Carlon / SLIPPERY PEOPLE /

Chapter Three

Susan is gone when Greg gets back from his run and therefore unable to veto his outfit choice for the meeting she’s been pushing for weeks: vintage three-quarter sleeve Talking Heads tee shirt, black jeans, and a casual sport jacket. Normally, he’d forego the jacket, but it is March. While Greg was once a suit and tie everyday kind of guy, he avoids them like the plague.

Greg sets off for the train station and is shocked to find the late-morning train on time. He settles into an unoccupied three-seater and gets to work polishing a stand-up bit he’s been working on.

After his health scare, he realized he needed to laugh more and began spending time at a local comedy club, where he was a regular patron of their new talent showcase night for years. This past year, though, a dare, he did an open mic and got bit by the bug. After consistently performing for six months, he has a tight five minutes and is looking to double it, which may not sound like a lot but seconds can feel like hours when you’re in front of a room full of strangers—particularly those who have nothing better to do on a weeknight other than sit and watch new talent.

He’s lost in his thoughts when Larry the conductor comes through the car collecting tickets.

"Whoa, if it isn’t Mr. Catch a Creep," the conductor says loudly while taking his trademark harmonica out for a quick blues riff, much to the chagrin of Greg’s fellow commuters.

"I guess the beard isn’t working," Greg says.

"Nope." Larry looks at Greg’s shirt. "Stop making sense. Say do you know the connection between Talking Heads and Columbo?"

"Murder Under Glass," Greg replies without skipping a beat. "Directed by Jonathan Demme who went on to win an Academy Award for Silence of the Lambs."

"I can’t pull the lamb’s wool over your eyes," Larry says and plays another riff before continuing through the car. It sounds like Tom Petty’s American Girl, but Greg can’t be 100% sure—Larry isn’t what you’d call skilled on the harp.

Greg allows himself a self-indulgent laugh at one of his new jokes, “Looking to save some money, I recently bought a new bedroom set from Ikea and I now know that stands for, I’ll Kill Everyone Afterwards. Forget premarital counseling, if you and your betrothed can put together a bedroom set from Ikea without stabbing each other with an Allen wrench, you just might make it.”

He shuts down his laptop when the train enters the tunnel in Harlem. Ten minutes later, he’s exiting Grand Central Station and on his way to Fresco, his favorite restaurant in midtown.

Given its proximity to Rockefeller Plaza, Fresco has earned the nickname of NBC’s commissary; talent and executives from his former network are the primary patrons, including the current host of The Tonight Show.

The moment he enters, Greg is greeted by Marion, who opened the restaurant in 1993.

"As I live and breathe, Greg James. What happened to you? You got too skinny! Why we never see you no more?" Marion is a New Yorker through and through, with the vernacular to prove it.

"It’s good to see you, Mar."

"How you feeling? We were so worried about you," Marion says, hands flailing, a by-product of her Italian heritage.

"I feel like a new man."

Marion gives him a once over, clearly considering whether the newer version is a downgrade. "Well you don’t look it. No suit. That beard?”

"Hey, at least I am wearing pants," Greg retorts, knowing Marion didn’t mean to insult him.

She scans her reservation book, shaking her head. "I don’t see your name down here, but it’s not a problem if you’re okay sitting in the bar area."

Normally, he’d prefer sitting by the bar instead of next to all the power brokers in the main dining room but tells Marion that the reservation may be under his wife’s name.

"Yes, I have a Susan down here for noon. You meeting your wife for a romantic lunch in the city?"

"Not quite, I’m meeting a business associate of hers. Ever hear the name Charlie Delmar?" Greg asks on a whim.

Upon hearing the name, Marion rolls her eyes and makes a face.

"What?" Greg asks. "That bad?"

"It’s just that he’s so—"

Before she can continue, the door opens behind Greg and a booming voice proclaims, "Charlie Delmar is in the house."

"—loud," Marion says under her breath.

Marion winks at Greg and he turns to greet Charlie.

Charlie is a few years younger and dressed in a suit that Greg estimates cost more than his first car. His blond hair is shaved around the ears but long on top, like he just stepped out of a 90s Zima commercial.

Charlie looks Greg up and down and says, "Dressed for success I see." He whips off his coat and hands it to young woman at coat check, flashing her a wink and pointing at the tip jar. "I’ll get ya on the way out."

Her look suggests she doesn’t believe it for a second. She’s spot on. Charlie Delmar is a notoriously poor tipper.

Greg and Charlie follow Marion to a corner table next to the cast of a daytime talk show featuring doctors who scold the audience on their health failings. Greg is familiar with the show because he has nothing but free time during the day and wonders whether they devote more time to medicine or their hair and makeup.

"Do you have anything more private?" Charlie asks.

"The bar is pretty open," Marion replies.

Charlie dismisses that immediately. "The bar is for losers and we are winners."

"Very well then," Marion says. "Your server will be with you shortly."

After Marion leaves, Greg and Charlie play a game of chicken to see who will speak first. In his younger years, Greg would have waited it out—it’s a power play—but he simply doesn’t care about that stuff anymore. "Susan says you’ve got something I might be interested in."

"I appreciate your taking the meeting. I’ve been eager to see you for a while but got the sense you weren’t interested. What changed?"

"My wife’s persuasive."

"You got that right, babydoll."

The nickname babydoll throws Greg for a loop and he’s momentarily at a loss for words. Greg has met hundreds of guys like this over the years, guys who are all sizzle and no steak, or, as his dad would say “big hat, no cattle.”

"Can I give you some advice?" Charlie asks and Greg nods his approval—this should be good.

"You gotta stop dressing like shit. You were on primetime for God’s sake"

"Thanks for the tip," Greg says while taking a sip of water and thinking that Charlie must have gone to the Dr. Josef Mengele school for bedside manner.

"Sorry if that’s harsh, babydoll, but I’m a straight shooter."

Babydoll again? Greg feels the urge to call Marion over and request that she stick her dullest wine opener through his eardrum.

Charlie’s straight shooting is temporarily paused when their server comes to take a drink order. Charlie orders an old-fashioned. Greg rarely has an alcoholic beverage before five but given how today is shaping up, he orders a cabernet, rationalizing that red wine is good for the heart.

"Wine huh? I pegged you for a domestic beer guy."

Greg can’t tell if he means this as an insult. Either way, at least he didn’t call him babydoll again.

"So, babydoll, really, I know your wife can be persuasive, but why are we really here?"

With the third babydoll, Greg’s blood starts to boil and he imagines himself as Michael Corleone just before he makes his first kill. He considers excusing himself to go to the men’s room, but shakes off the thought. "I’m at the point where I want to start taking some meetings."

"Okay then." Charlie cracks his knuckles, what Greg assumes is his windup for the pitch. "Susan’s told me you’re looking for the exact opposite of Catch a Creep. Come Together ain’t just a great Beatles song, Babydoll, it’s a fantabulous idea. Let me help you with it.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but how can you possibly help me? Your clients are mostly reality stars who couldn’t appear sincere if their lives depended on it.”

It’s uncharacteristic for Zen Greg to take such an abrasive attitude, but Charlie has a tendency to bring out the worst in people, including reformed alphas like Greg.

Ignoring the insult, Charlie starts talking. "Picture this, you profile people who were adopted, do a deep dive into the impact that had on their lives, and then bring them together with their birth parents. No one goes to jail." Charlie says this like it’s his idea.

“So I guess Susan was paying attention when I ran that idea by her,” Greg says sarcastically. “What I’m failing to see, though, is what you bring to the table.”

Charlie sits back in his chair and extends his arms in a self-confident manner. "I have the perfect proof of concept opportunity for you."

“A distant Kardashian cousin is not what I’m going for.”

Charlie ignores the insult and looks around the room for effect. "I have a big-name client who was adopted and wants to reconnect with her birth father. Consider this a gift to you."

"Who?" Greg braces himself to hear the name of some B-List reality star or YouTube sensation who’s earned millions of followers through her ability to flawlessly execute a smoky eye by only using her toes.

Charlie folds his hands on the table and flashes a wide grin. "Tabby Sunrise.”

Greg is floored. Tabby Sunrise fills arenas with screaming teenagers who eat up her trademark teen angst revenge songs. He can’t say that Charlie Delmar hasn’t earned his attention.

"Give me the broad strokes," Greg says, now much more businesslike.

Charlie looks around once more to make sure no one’s eavesdropping. In his mind he lives in a world where only the paranoid survive.

"She’s aware that she’s developed a bad girl reputation and wants a feel-good story to help turn her image around prior to next year’s Grammys. We kicked ideas around and it came out that she was adopted and I thought maybe we could use that. After Susan told me what you were trying to do, I thought you’d want on board. Am I right?"

Greg wants to slap the self-satisfied grin off of the publicist’s face, but has to admit he’s intrigued. It’s just the kind of story that would whet the appetite of any network suit looking for a new hit show, but the investigative journalist inside him wants to know why, out of all the big time publicists Tabby could hire, she went with Charlie.

“Why did she come to you with this? You aren’t exactly known for your work with musicians.”

Charlie anticipated this question and is prepared with a response that plays into Greg’s good nature.

“The fact of the matter is, babydoll, she’s a fan of yours. She tracked me down looking to see if I could make an introduction. If you agree, she’s willing to give Susan the opportunity to represent her memoir.”

“Well that explains why this meeting was so important to Susan,” Greg admits out loud. “So, you want me to do some digging to find her birth parents?"

"That’s the beauty of it, she’s already done the legwork."

Greg leans in. "Tell me more."

"Whoa babydoll, I’ve already said too much here. The vultures are lurking. With your permission, I’m going to put you in touch with her manager, Keith Niblick. He can arrange a meeting."

"Feel free to give him my number."

“Say, what are you doing for the rest of the afternoon?”

Greg tells Charlie about heading over to the satellite studio just a few blocks west of the restaurant for his appearance on Jane’s show.

"Well how serendipitous, Tabby’s hosting a meet-and-greet over there with some of her fans, a little appearance I arranged at 3pm that’s going to be streamed on YouTube. You could meet her after your appearance.”

“How coincidental,” Greg mutters.

Charlie offers another fist bump and Greg goes back to his Michael Corleone fantasy of shooting Charlie Delmar dead in the middle of the restaurant.

“I also have her doing an appearance in Ft. Lauderdale this week at a Spring Break event, you know, keeping her close to her fans.”

“Not a bad place to be this time of year.”

Charlie balls his right hand into a fist and offers it across the table for a bump. Greg reluctantly complies. After the bromantic gesture, Greg wrongly assumes they’ll get to know each other a little better. Instead, Charlie engages in a text exchange with Tabby.

“He’s agreed to see you. Play up the bleeding heart angle.”

Her response comes seconds later. “Nice work, Charlie. When?”

“This afternoon at the studio.”

“K.”

Charlie remains glued to his phone the entire time between this exchange and the arrival of his market-priced branzino, when his phone is replaced by a knife and fork.

"Sorry about that babydoll," he says. "The grind never stops.”

In between bites of fish, Charlie says, "I’m gonna reach out to her manager now and tell him you’ll be happy to meet her after your appearance this afternoon. You cool with that?"

Greg would be cooler with it if Charlie hadn’t sprayed branzino all over his face.

"That works."

"Yes babydoll!" he proclaims, and offers his fist for Greg to bump a third and final time. They spend the remainder of their lunch in silence.