“Your TV guy says we need a hundred fifty thousand purse,” Barstow said. He drained the bottle of Beck’s, burped, and put his feet up on the deck rail.
“He doesn’t have a clue,” O’Reilly answered. He got up, went into the kitchen, and came out with a couple more beers. “He figures if the purse is six figures, his pay will be, too. Fat chance.”
“Whaddya pay these guys, anyway?”
“It’s gone up since I was in the business, but not a hundred G’s, I guarantee.” He burped, too, longer and louder than Barstow’s.
Gordon will always try for the big bucks, O’Reilly thought. He’d known him for years, and he knew when Gordon was trolling. Hell, he was campaigning.
“Maybe twenty grand. For a few hours’ work, that’s pretty damn good.” He took another swallow. “But we’ll offer him twelve to start. He wants this job. He’ll get a lot of exposure.”
“What’d he make today?” Barstow asked.
O’Reilly shrugged. “The meet promoters were a bit evasive about that, but I’d guess around six or eight. Maybe less. Ours is gonna be more spectacular. A tow-in, with minimum twenty foot surf.”
“The Eddie Aikau looks for the same conditions. We don’t want to compete with those guys—they’re legendary.” Barstow’s eyes slid over to O’Reilly. “Have they started their holding period?”
“Not yet.” O’Reilly took a long swallow. “That’s why I need you to talk to the guys that make these things happen. I’ve had feelers out for months, but it’s nothing like talking to the local people.”
“Yeah, especially around here, where who you know is the bottom line. We’ve got to make sure we don’t step on any toes.”
O’Reilly made a rumbling noise in his chest that might have been a chuckle. “At least not the toes that matter.”
“We better sprinkle some gin on ti leaves, too. For good fortune.” Barstow smiled. “Stephanie always did it when there was some kind of event. She went nuts for our wedding.”
O’Reilly looked at Barstow out of the corner of his eyes. He didn’t know yet how much to tell him about the steps he’d already taken. The man’s gaze was out to sea, where stars were beginning to appear in the night sky. Barstow had always been intense, but he seemed touchier than he used to be. Probably because of his marriage problems. As far as O’Reilly could tell, he’d only talked with his son for about two minutes after he’d done so well in the contest this morning, and this was the first mention he’d made of his wife in a long time.
O’Reilly knew that he, too, was different than he’d been during their college days, and he wasn’t any more willing than Barstow to talk about it. One thing he knew for sure was that he needed this surf contest to be successful. Barstow, however, didn’t look like he needed the money. He just wanted to be part of the surf scene again.
He wondered if he should tell Barstow that after they left the meet this afternoon, he’d gone back to the Tubin’ Tanker. After all, Barstow’s kuleana (O’Reilly had learned this term from Mo‛o Lanipuni just today) was the surfing. He was supposed to use his contacts to get sponsors and to make sure that the local, uninvited surfers didn’t get their noses so far out of joint they made trouble.
O’Reilly’s business was getting the media contacts and the big names, so Barstow might get a little hinky if he knew O’Reilly was asking questions about the surf part of things. O’Reilly’s visit had been a spur of the moment thing. He’d been driving by Mo‛o’s just as the shaper was opening up shop. He’d apparently closed during the semi-finals. Passing by at that moment had seemed like good timing, and the visit turned out to be productive. Mo‛o had given him a few tips for getting beach and marine permits.
As he left, O’Reilly asked if there was anyone he should talk to about which jet skis to use for the tow-in contest, and whether any of the manufacturers would donate machines to the event. Mo‛o had spent a few moments putting tubes of sunscreen in a display case before he answered. “Try see Gabe Watson,” he said.
O’Reilly, of course, recognized the name as that of one of the morning’s finalists, but something kept him from revealing this to Mo‛o, mostly because he didn’t want to appear like a know-it-all. O’Reilly remembered Mo‛o’s conversation with the skinny guy and knew that he might fit Mo‛o’s definition of a fuckin’ malihini to a tee.
But he wasn’t, not at all. He was asking locals’ opinions about this deal. And he wasn’t malihini, either. A long time ago, he’d spent two years in Hawai‛i when his dad was in the Air Force.
O’Reilly popped open another Beck’s. “Marty, you ever hear of Gabe Watson before this weekend’s meet?”
He could sense, rather than see, Barstow’s head turn toward him.
“Don’t think so, why?”
“Cuz someone told me he knew about tow-in contests.”
Barstow took his time finishing his beer. “Most of these guys have jobs other than surfing. They have to. You know where he works?”
“No.”
“I’ll ask around,” Barstow said. “You still got media lined up for next few weeks?”
“The guy who owns the Tubin’ Tanker gave me some contacts for the beach permits.” O’Reilly watched Barstow for signs of annoyance, but Marty seemed to perk up a bit. “He said there’s a big swell predicted, and he thinks we could get a holding period starting next week.”
“As in Monday?” Barstow set his beer bottle down with thunk. “What’s the surf prediction?”
“Big storm in Alaska. The NOAA buoys are pinging already. It could be huge by Thursday or Friday.”
“Give me those names and I’ll call tomorrow.” Barstow picked up his beer again and leaned back in his chair with a smile. “It’s really gonna happen, isn’t it? I tell you, I’ve had my doubts.”
“I know what you mean,” O’Reilly said. It was a good thing, too. He couldn’t afford this beach house much longer, and he certainly couldn’t afford to go back to the mainland empty-handed.
He swung his feet down from the porch railing. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, though. Gordon’s got to start doing TV spots for us in the next day or two. I’ve got four other networks coming in by the middle of the week. What’s the response from the surfers we discussed on the phone?”
“So far, I’ve got eighteen out of the twenty teams you wanted. They’ve been waiting to see if the swell comes in. Some of the Australians and Europeans will leave in the next day or two if we give ’em a green light.”
“You just made my week, man.” In the light that filtered from the kitchen, O’Reilly could see Barstow return his grin.
“What’s your time frame?” Barstow asked.
“If the surf’s good, we could start the first round Thursday. Friday, we do two more. Surf prediction is for twenty-five foot faces and rising. Saturday, we’ll have quarters and semis, and on Sunday, we’ll do the finals. If we need, we can spill over to Monday.”
He looked over at Barstow. “What sponsors you got so far?”
“It’s lookin’ good. Wait’ll I show you. Not only equipment for the meets, but I’ve got some huge names—sports drinks, suntan lotion, clothing. Some of the surfers have their own sponsors, in addition.” Barstow looked thoughtful. “What’s the meet going to cost us to run?”
“About seven hundred fifty thou.”
“Cheaper than football, I bet.”
“No shit.” O’Reilly chuckled.
“What will the winner’s purse be?”
“I’m thinking of a hundred twenty thousand, which is bigger than any of the other contests. Plus, we’ve got sponsorship guarantees for the top three finalists that amount to multiples of that number. Right now, the winner could make up to two-fifty, three hundred with sponsorships. Minimum.”
“Yeah?” Barstow squinted over his drink. “You’ve got something up your sleeve, don’t you?”
“I was savin’ it till I was sure, but one of the credit card companies is talking about a contract for the winner.”
“You’re makin’ my day. How much we talking?”
“Seven figures. It’s a first for a surfer.”
Barstow nodded. He was looking happier by the minute, and O’Reilly felt good about that. If his old friend was going through a hard time on a personal level, it was nice O’Reilly could help out in a business sense.
“You haven’t asked what we’re going to clear.” O’Reilly handed him a fresh beer.
“Okay, what are we gonna make?”
O’Reilly threw back his head and laughed. The ocean breezes ruffled his thinning hair. “Don’t quote me yet, but we should each clear a half mil. And that’s just for this year. This is the beginning of a wonderful new tradition.”