Forgiveness? Maybe it comes easy to some people.
Not to me.
So why, standing in Black’s this morning, did I dial Loews Vanderbilt Hotel?
Aside from my desire to avoid assault charges, I hoped to corner Uncle Wyatt and get some answers.
“Carla Fleischmann’s room, please.”
“Fleischmann? Thank you, sir. I’ll put you through.”
A short pause, two rings, and there she was. Even at six o’clock, she sounded composed and professional. When I explained the purpose of my call, she expressed cautious optimism. “Really? So you’re interested in doing the show.”
“Yeah.”
“Glad to hear it, Mr. Black. I’m sorry if you feel coerced in any way.”
“Oh, that? A little blackmail never hurt anyone. No worries.”
“For the record, it was Greg’s idea. He’s well intentioned, in a subversive way. He believes in the passion of your story—really owns it on a heart level.”
“I’m touched. Now do you need me to sign those papers you left?”
“Yes. If we can go over them together, that’d be optimal.”
“I can’t guarantee my response on the show.”
“Any more violent outbursts, Mr. Black, and you will face criminal charges.”
“Of course. What I meant was, I don’t know if I can forgive my uncle. Don’t know if I can actually say the words. Is that a problem?”
“All the better, actually. Good editing can streamline or sanitize the show, but it all comes down to human drama. It’s the bread and butter of reality television. Oftentimes the unpredictable episodes are the most effective.”
“And they get the highest ratings?”
“That too.”
“When do we—what’s the terminology—shoot the segment?”
“The actual filming will take place next month. If you’re selected, we’ll fly you to an undisclosed location and lead you through the process. Expenses will be covered as well as a per diem for meals. First things first, though,” said Carla. “We’ll want to do a recorded interview and go over the eligibility requirements. You’ll fill out a nine-page questionnaire—”
“Nine pages?”
“There’s also an authorization and release form as well as certification of veracity. If any provisions of the certification are breached, you agree to pay the network one hundred thousand dollars per breach, plus disgorgement of any money or valuables received in connection with the breach.”
“You’re scaring me now, Ms. Fleischmann.”
“We’ll also have complete access to your public records, credit reports, and such. It’s legal protection for both parties.”
“Uh. What about minor blemishes?”
“My record. It’s not squeaky clean. Got a few drug-related issues, but that’s not who I am. Not anymore.”
“There’s actually nothing to fear so long as you’re honest and uphold your end of the agreement. It’s all in print, in black and white for you to see, and you’ll receive a copy for your own peace of mind.”
“Well, in that case …,” I said with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“Still want to proceed?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to talk me out of it.”
“On the contrary,” Carla said, “I’m setting the hook. Once you take the bait, we don’t want to lose you.”
Brianne was punctual and cheery, a real angel. Although five years separated us, twenty-two didn’t seem too young to me. Not when we were together. She carried herself with confidence that conveyed she knew what she wanted and wouldn’t let obstacles stand in her way.
I like that in a woman. Particularly if I’m what she wants.
Brianne’s desires, so far, remained unclear.
Bottom line? She was good with customers, satisfactory with espresso drinks, and a reliable employee. Brianne Douglas: better-than-expected employee. Aramis Black: better-be-careful bossman.
“Here you go, sir.” She handed a blended coffee drink to the last person in line. “Thank you, and have a great day.”
“You too. Don’t lose that smile.”
On his way out, the man nearly bumped into my packaged whole-bean display.
“Brianne.” I nudged her hip with mine. “He was into you.”
“Right.”
“It’s the way guys are, you know? Flirty and charming as long as they’re waiting to get what they want.”
“Like girls are any different?”
Brianne shook her head. “They’re totally different.”
“Says who?”
“Once a guy gets what he wants, he’s bored. Challenge over, ready to move on to the next thing.” She was wiping down the espresso machine. “Girls, on the other hand, are harder to read.”
“No kidding.”
“It’s true.” Brianne twisted the knob so that steam hissed and curled. “Once girls set their eyes on something, they’ll do just about anything to keep someone else from cutting in.”
“I’ve seen guys like that.”
“No you haven’t. Not to the same degree.”
“You lost me.”
“Guys,” she clarified, “can usually let go and let a relationship slowly die. Girls will almost die before letting the relationship go.”
“Okay, okay. I’m convinced you know exactly what you mean.”
“Aramis, you are a hopeless cause.”
“Is that any way to speak to your employer?”
“Ahh, he’s playing the boss card.”
“Get to work,” I said. “I’ve got errands to run.”
“Ha ha.”
“No. Seriously. I’ll be back in a while, so feel free to make yourself a sandwich and a drink. I’ll have my cell. I won’t be far away.”
“Where’re you going this time? Aren’t you going to tell me what all this hush-hush stuff’s about? It’s driving me crazy.” “Sorry, Brianne. All top secret.”
“You’re determined to keep me in the dark, aren’t you?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I return. Let me just say this.” I placed a hand on my chest. “Brianne Douglas, you may be in the presence of a future star.”
“Hey, not fair.” She stomped one foot in mock petulance as I moved away. “Aramis, come back.”
I threw my sweatshirt over my head, winked, then headed out the back door.
Carla Fleischmann and I agreed to meet for an early lunch at the hotel restaurant. I headed to Loews on foot after a detour into FedEx Kinko’s for the required copies of my driver’s license as well as digital photos of family, friends, and yours truly. I pulled a travel-size cologne from my pocket and slapped some on my face, under my sleeves.
Carla met me in the lobby—in a charcoal gray slit skirt with black nylons.
“Quick question, Mr. Black, before we get started.”
“Sure.”
“Have you or any of your immediate family ever been a member of SAG?”
“Excuse me?”
She tossed her red hair to the side. “The Screen Actors Guild.”
“Uh. No. Doesn’t seem to run in our genes.”
“Wonderful. We can’t allow any conflicts of interest. How about civil-action suits? Any filed by you or anyone related to you?”
“Off the top of my head, the answer’s no.”
“Good.”
Greg Simone joined us for the meal, clipboard in hand. He was all business. Before I’d finished my first bite, he was guiding me through the paperwork trail, verifying that I would subject myself to all network obligations, stipulations, and heretofore undisclosed gyrations.
After the forms were explained and completed, signed and sealed, he and Carla led me to a private meeting room where we rendezvoused with the camera crew. They’d arranged some of those shiny, silvery panels to help with the lighting and set up two plush armchairs at an angle to each other to give the interview a cozy, we’re-here-in-so-and-so’s-living-room feel.
“Will I have to face my uncle again?”
“We have an interview with him later today. But you? No. Not until the filming next month, assuming you are selected.”
“Okay.”
“We prefer to capture that first encounter with no script, no coaching.” Greg leaned closer, as though divulging a trade secret. “We can always go back and make changes.”
I curled my lip. “I’d say Uncle Wyatt and I already had our first encounter.”
“Yes, well. We got that on tape, didn’t we, Roger?”
One of the cameramen answered Greg Simone with a nod.
“And the charges? They’ve been dropped as part of our agreement, right?”
“Absolutely,” Greg assured me.
I played it cool. Eased into an armchair while staring at the cameraman. Wedged my sleeves up onto my elbows, displaying my tats for all to see. Over the years I’d figured out how to spend my coins of attitude and intimidation, and it felt good—downright intoxicating—to know they still bought me instant respect.
Every man yearns for and needs respect in the same way that women need love. But just like love, respect can come in guises so tainted and deformed that we risk damage by embracing it.
For example, some might think fear’s the same thing as respect. It’s not.
I learned that from my father.