about it again. Otherwise, we’re wasting our time here, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Just don’t be stupid.”
“ ‘Don’t be stupid,’ ” he repeated. “Check.”
Her departing smile was brief.
12
M yron spent the rest of the day working the phones. He strapped on his Ultra Slim headset and paced the office. He talked up college coaches, mining for potential free agents. He touched base with his clients and listened to their problems, both real and imagined, therapist-style, which was a large part of his job. He sifted through his Rolodex of companies, trying to conjure up a few endorsement deals.
One serious lead came a-knocking on its own: “Mr. Bolitar? I’m Ronny Angle from Rack Enterprises. Are you familiar with us?”
“You run a bunch of topless bars, right?”
“We prefer they be called upscale exotic nightclubs.”
“And I prefer to be called a well-endowed stallion,” Myron said. “What can I do for you, Mr. Angle?”
“Ronny please. Can I call you Myron?” “Myron please.”
“Great, Myron. Rack Enterprises is entering a new venture.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ve probably read about it. A chain of coffeehouses called La, La, Latte.”
“For real?”
“Pardon?”
“Well, I think I did see something about this, but I figured it was a joke.”
“It’s no joke, Mr. Bolitar.”
“So you guys are really going to open up topless coffee bars?”
“We prefer they be called upscale erotic coffee experiences.”
“I see. But your, uh,
baristas
will be topless, correct?”
“Correct.”
Myron thought about it. “Makes asking for milk something of a double entendre, don’t you think?”
“That’s very funny, Myron.”
“Thanks, Ronny.”
“We’re going to open with a big splash.”
“That another milk joke, Ronny?”
“No, Myron, but you’re a pretty funny guy.”
“Thanks, Ronny.”
“Let me cut right to it, okay? We like Suzze T.” Suzze T was Suzze Tamirino, a journeyman (or is it journey-woman?) on the pro tennis circuit. “We saw her picture in the
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit issue, and, well, we were very impressed. We’d like her to do a cameo for our grand opening.”
Myron rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “When you say cameo—”
“A brief performance.”
“How brief?”
“No more than five minutes.”
“I don’t mean brief in terms of time. I mean in terms of clothing.”
“We’d require full frontal nudity.”
“Well, thanks for thinking of us, Ronny, but I don’t think Suzze will be interested.”
“We’re offering two hundred thousand dollars.”
Myron sat up. Easy to hang up, but with this kind of dough, he had a responsibility to follow up. “How about if she wears a small top?”
“No.”
“A bikini?”
“No.”
“An itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny bikini?”
“Like in the song?”
“Exactly,” Myron said. “Like in the song.”
“I’m going to state this as plainly as I can,” Ronny said. “There must be nipple visibility.”
“Nipple visibility?”
“This point is nonnegotiable.”
“So to speak.”
Myron promised to call him back later in the week. The two men hung up. Negotiating nipple visibility. What a business.
Esperanza came in without knocking. Her eyes were wide and bright.
“Lamar Richardson is on line one,” she said.
“Lamar himself?”
She nodded.
“No relative or personal manager or favorite astrologer?”
“Lamar himself,” Esperanza repeated.
They both nodded. This was a good thing.
Myron picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Let’s meet,” Lamar said.
“Sure,” Myron said.
“When?”
“You name it.”
“When are you free?”
“You name it,” Myron said.
“I’m in Detroit right now.”
“I’ll catch the next plane out.”
“Just like that?” Lamar said.
“Yup.”
“Shouldn’t you pretend you’re really busy?”
“We going to date, Lamar?”
Lamar chuckled. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Then I’ll skip the
“Okay.”
“Just don’t be stupid.”
“ ‘Don’t be stupid,’ ” he repeated. “Check.”
Her departing smile was brief.
12
M yron spent the rest of the day working the phones. He strapped on his Ultra Slim headset and paced the office. He talked up college coaches, mining for potential free agents. He touched base with his clients and listened to their problems, both real and imagined, therapist-style, which was a large part of his job. He sifted through his Rolodex of companies, trying to conjure up a few endorsement deals.
One serious lead came a-knocking on its own: “Mr. Bolitar? I’m Ronny Angle from Rack Enterprises. Are you familiar with us?”
“You run a bunch of topless bars, right?”
“We prefer they be called upscale exotic nightclubs.”
“And I prefer to be called a well-endowed stallion,” Myron said. “What can I do for you, Mr. Angle?”
“Ronny please. Can I call you Myron?” “Myron please.”
“Great, Myron. Rack Enterprises is entering a new venture.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ve probably read about it. A chain of coffeehouses called La, La, Latte.”
“For real?”
“Pardon?”
“Well, I think I did see something about this, but I figured it was a joke.”
“It’s no joke, Mr. Bolitar.”
“So you guys are really going to open up topless coffee bars?”
“We prefer they be called upscale erotic coffee experiences.”
“I see. But your, uh,
baristas
will be topless, correct?”
“Correct.”
Myron thought about it. “Makes asking for milk something of a double entendre, don’t you think?”
“That’s very funny, Myron.”
“Thanks, Ronny.”
“We’re going to open with a big splash.”
“That another milk joke, Ronny?”
“No, Myron, but you’re a pretty funny guy.”
“Thanks, Ronny.”
“Let me cut right to it, okay? We like Suzze T.” Suzze T was Suzze Tamirino, a journeyman (or is it journey-woman?) on the pro tennis circuit. “We saw her picture in the
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit issue, and, well, we were very impressed. We’d like her to do a cameo for our grand opening.”
Myron rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “When you say cameo—”
“A brief performance.”
“How brief?”
“No more than five minutes.”
“I don’t mean brief in terms of time. I mean in terms of clothing.”
“We’d require full frontal nudity.”
“Well, thanks for thinking of us, Ronny, but I don’t think Suzze will be interested.”
“We’re offering two hundred thousand dollars.”
Myron sat up. Easy to hang up, but with this kind of dough, he had a responsibility to follow up. “How about if she wears a small top?”
“No.”
“A bikini?”
“No.”
“An itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny bikini?”
“Like in the song?”
“Exactly,” Myron said. “Like in the song.”
“I’m going to state this as plainly as I can,” Ronny said. “There must be nipple visibility.”
“Nipple visibility?”
“This point is nonnegotiable.”
“So to speak.”
Myron promised to call him back later in the week. The two men hung up. Negotiating nipple visibility. What a business.
Esperanza came in without knocking. Her eyes were wide and bright.
“Lamar Richardson is on line one,” she said.
“Lamar himself?”
She nodded.
“No relative or personal manager or favorite astrologer?”
“Lamar himself,” Esperanza repeated.
They both nodded. This was a good thing.
Myron picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Let’s meet,” Lamar said.
“Sure,” Myron said.
“When?”
“You name it.”
“When are you free?”
“You name it,” Myron said.
“I’m in Detroit right now.”
“I’ll catch the next plane out.”
“Just like that?” Lamar said.
“Yup.”
“Shouldn’t you pretend you’re really busy?”
“We going to date, Lamar?”
Lamar chuckled. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Then I’ll skip the
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