everything except get a soft-on. I suppose if I really needed one, I could always borrow yours.”
“I don’t want to talk about my sex life,” Corky said.
“Tell us all about it, we’ve got half a minute to waste.”
The audience laughed louder. “Don’t encourage him,” Corky told them.
Goldstone watched as the audience began applauding. “Is that a punch line of his?”
The Postman nodded.
“I’d like to do something for you now,” Corky told the people. “Even I don’t know how or why it works, but for some strange reason, if I take a diamond and hold it long enough, it turns into a heart.” He turned to Fats, and held out a deck. “Choose any diamond.”
Fats clutched a diamond six.
“Show the people.”
Corky helped him raise his arm.
“Now if you’ll give it back I’ll just—”
“—give it back my ass. If you’re a real magician, change it while I’m holding it.”
“Moving on,” Corky said, “I would now like to—”
“—you mean you’re not gonna make it change?”
“Not with you holding it, obviously. You’re really impossible tonight, I’d like to change the subject until you simmer down.” Corky stopped, pointed out toward the Postman. “Ladies and gentlemen, a man who means a great deal to me is here this evening, say hello please to my agent, Mr. Ben Greene, the Postman. Stand up, would you Ben?”
The Postman stood and everybody looked and applauded.
“Keep standing—please—I’d like to say a few things about what you mean to me and Fats.”
“He’s a great agent,” Fats said. “Corky and I feel honored because mostly, the Postman handles the biggies: Dick Contino—he’s the fella told Mario Lanza to go on a diet—it’s thanks to the Postman that right now in Stratford Tab Hunter is playing Gertrude—that’s a coup, folks—and he’s not just interested in show biz, nossir, he knows his politics too—handles Wilbur Mills’ presidential campaign, don’t you?—and here’s the climax folks—and remember you heard it here first: tonight the Postman has concluded an exhausting session of negotiations climaxing in the following announcement: Miss Vicki has just been booked into the Superdome. Thanks, Ben, you can sit down now.’ ”
The Postman sat down and glanced across the table. “Sorry you came?”
Goldstone drank his Scotch. “Kid’s good,” he said.
“That was nothing—I got maybe the best magician in fifty years matched with the first X rated dummy on the block. Eat your heart out.”
“I’d like to do some estimations now,” Corky said.
“Hey wait—” Fats said. “I got this six of diamonds, you said you’d change it to a heart.”
“You ruined that too,” Corky said.
“Omigod,” Fats said then. “Look—” Corky helped him raise his arm. “It turned into a heart while I was holding it.” He looked at Corky, shook his head.
“How’d he
doooo
that?” Fats called loudly, and the audience applauded again.
“How
did
he do it?” Goldstone asked the Postman. That was before he ordered a double Clan MacGregor.
The Postman just sat back and smiled …
On the way to the dressing room between shows, the Postman said, “It’s a funny thing, but he bombed here bad on an amateur night.”
“Hard to believe.”
“Well he didn’t have the dummy then. He disappeared about a year, came back again with Fats, and they booked him regular. The rest, as they say, is gonna be history. I don’t think he’s hit twenty-eight yet.” He knocked. “Me,” the Postman said.
From inside Fats said, “Oh shit, it’s gangrene.”
Goldstone laughed. “Gangrene—that’s funny.”
They walked in. “Just wanted to make an introduction, Corky. This is George Goldstone.”
Corky got up. “How do you do, sir.” He held Fats in one arm.
“Nice act,” Goldstone said. “Lot of potential.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if you were right,” Corky said.
“What about me?” Fats said.
“Behave, huh?” Corky
“I don’t want to talk about my sex life,” Corky said.
“Tell us all about it, we’ve got half a minute to waste.”
The audience laughed louder. “Don’t encourage him,” Corky told them.
Goldstone watched as the audience began applauding. “Is that a punch line of his?”
The Postman nodded.
“I’d like to do something for you now,” Corky told the people. “Even I don’t know how or why it works, but for some strange reason, if I take a diamond and hold it long enough, it turns into a heart.” He turned to Fats, and held out a deck. “Choose any diamond.”
Fats clutched a diamond six.
“Show the people.”
Corky helped him raise his arm.
“Now if you’ll give it back I’ll just—”
“—give it back my ass. If you’re a real magician, change it while I’m holding it.”
“Moving on,” Corky said, “I would now like to—”
“—you mean you’re not gonna make it change?”
“Not with you holding it, obviously. You’re really impossible tonight, I’d like to change the subject until you simmer down.” Corky stopped, pointed out toward the Postman. “Ladies and gentlemen, a man who means a great deal to me is here this evening, say hello please to my agent, Mr. Ben Greene, the Postman. Stand up, would you Ben?”
The Postman stood and everybody looked and applauded.
“Keep standing—please—I’d like to say a few things about what you mean to me and Fats.”
“He’s a great agent,” Fats said. “Corky and I feel honored because mostly, the Postman handles the biggies: Dick Contino—he’s the fella told Mario Lanza to go on a diet—it’s thanks to the Postman that right now in Stratford Tab Hunter is playing Gertrude—that’s a coup, folks—and he’s not just interested in show biz, nossir, he knows his politics too—handles Wilbur Mills’ presidential campaign, don’t you?—and here’s the climax folks—and remember you heard it here first: tonight the Postman has concluded an exhausting session of negotiations climaxing in the following announcement: Miss Vicki has just been booked into the Superdome. Thanks, Ben, you can sit down now.’ ”
The Postman sat down and glanced across the table. “Sorry you came?”
Goldstone drank his Scotch. “Kid’s good,” he said.
“That was nothing—I got maybe the best magician in fifty years matched with the first X rated dummy on the block. Eat your heart out.”
“I’d like to do some estimations now,” Corky said.
“Hey wait—” Fats said. “I got this six of diamonds, you said you’d change it to a heart.”
“You ruined that too,” Corky said.
“Omigod,” Fats said then. “Look—” Corky helped him raise his arm. “It turned into a heart while I was holding it.” He looked at Corky, shook his head.
“How’d he
doooo
that?” Fats called loudly, and the audience applauded again.
“How
did
he do it?” Goldstone asked the Postman. That was before he ordered a double Clan MacGregor.
The Postman just sat back and smiled …
On the way to the dressing room between shows, the Postman said, “It’s a funny thing, but he bombed here bad on an amateur night.”
“Hard to believe.”
“Well he didn’t have the dummy then. He disappeared about a year, came back again with Fats, and they booked him regular. The rest, as they say, is gonna be history. I don’t think he’s hit twenty-eight yet.” He knocked. “Me,” the Postman said.
From inside Fats said, “Oh shit, it’s gangrene.”
Goldstone laughed. “Gangrene—that’s funny.”
They walked in. “Just wanted to make an introduction, Corky. This is George Goldstone.”
Corky got up. “How do you do, sir.” He held Fats in one arm.
“Nice act,” Goldstone said. “Lot of potential.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if you were right,” Corky said.
“What about me?” Fats said.
“Behave, huh?” Corky
Similar Books
