Dreams Die First (6 page)

CHAPTER 8

“The distributors want to see a mock-up before they even talk to me,” Persky said. “And they said if you don’t come up with good pictures, not to bother coming in.”

“What do they mean, good pictures?” I asked.

“Girls,” he said flatly. “Tits and ass they already got. They want cunt pictures.”

“Did you tell them about the editorial policy?”

“They don’t give a damn. Words is something they read after they buy the paper. Pictures is what grabs them.”

“Okay, we’ll get pictures then.”

“It ain’t that easy. The agencies and the photographers will break you. We can’t compete for the exclusives. We haven’t that kind of bread.”

“Then we’ll shoot our own.”

“You know some photographers?” he asked.

“We’ll find them. Meanwhile, get in touch with the movie studios. I want to get on their press lists. They’re always sending out pictures of starlets.”

“That’s not the kind of pictures they’re talking about.”

“I know, but it’s a beginning. There may be some we can use.”

“I got an idea,” he said.

He went to his desk and returned with his attaché case. He took out some small magazines and spread them on the desk.

The titles blew my mind.
Anal Sex
,
Oral Sex
,
Lesbian Love
,
Fuck Party
. I picked up one and riffled through the pages. It was exactly what the title said it was. “Where’d you get these?”

“From Ronzi Distributors. They got them under the counters all over town at five bucks a pop. They got a proposition for us. We give them an exclusive distribution deal and they’ll look the other way if we lift a few pictures. Of course, we’ll have to crop them carefully so that nobody can trace them.”

“We’d be off the stands in a minute if we printed pictures like these.”

“We crop them to show only the girls.”

“Who’s behind Ronzi?” I asked.

He looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Some guys from back East, I hear.”

“Mafia?”

“Like I said, I don’t know.”

“What else do they want besides exclusive?”

“We didn’t go into that.”

“Set up a meeting, I’d like to talk to them.”

“Sure. I’ll get right on….” His voice trailed off and I followed his gaze out the front door.

A black Mercedes stretch-out 600 limousine was rolling to a stop. A uniformed chauffeur leaped out and opened the rear door.

I immediately recognized the man who got out of the car. I had seen him often on television. What I hadn’t realized was how large he was in person. Over six-four and with shoulders so broad that he had to turn sideways to come through the doorway.

The kids stopped working. Their voices were filled with hushed respect. “Peace and love, Reverend Sam.”

He held up a benevolent hand. “God is love, my children,” he rumbled with a warm smile.

“God is love,” they answered in unison.

He came through the store toward my desk. I rose to my feet as he approached, making everything in the store look dwarfed beside him. “Mr. Brendan?”

“Yes, Reverend Sam.”

He held out a hand. “God is love. It’s a pleasure to meet you, boy.”

I took his hand and felt not only his tremendous strength but a flow of energy that seemed electrically charged. “My pleasure, sir. What can I do for you?”

He glanced sideways at Persky. “Is there some place we can talk privately?”

“Of course. Follow me.” I led him up the back stairs to the apartment and closed the door behind us. “This okay?”

He nodded. I waved him to a chair at the small kitchen table. “Care for coffee or something?”

“No, thank you.” His eyes were appraising. “I came to thank you in person.”

“For what?”

“My son, Bobby,” he answered. “You did something I’ve never been able to do: You straightened him out.”

I looked puzzled and he chuckled. “In some ways, I mean.”

I laughed. “I don’t want you giving me too much credit.”

He was still smiling. “For the first time in his life somebody got him to work.”

“Maybe nobody ever offered him a job before.”

“I offered many times. But he wasn’t interested.”

“You’re his father,” I said. “As far as he was concerned, that didn’t count.”

“Maybe that’s it. Anyway he’s a different person now. He’s not just drifting anymore.”

I was silent. I had nothing more to say about Bobby. But I could tell that he wasn’t finished.

“You know Bobby’s homosexual?”

I nodded.

“Are you?”

I smiled. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re not sure?”

I shrugged. “There was a time when I was sure of everything. Now I know better.”

He glanced around the small apartment. “You live here?”

“I will after Bobby gets through fixing it up. Right now he’s scouring the secondhand stores for furniture.”

“He tells me that you will need advertising to stay in business.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you have any now?”

“I’m guaranteed four pages an issue.”

“Could you use more?”

“Of course.”

“My church advertises regularly in the papers and on radio and television. I can take some space and ask businessmen in my congregation to do the same.”

“I’d appreciate that,” I said. “But wouldn’t it be better if you see the kind of paper we put out first?”

“You object to religious advertising?”

“No. But you might not like what we do.”

“Bobby already told me. You’re going to print pictures of naked women and write about sex and drugs. I have no objections to that. It’s part of life. I’m a preacher, not a saint or a moralist. I want to help people find themselves and lead happy lives. Isn’t that what you’re trying to do in your own way?”

“I used to. But the ideals are gone. Now all I want to do is make a lot of money.”

“Nothing the matter with that either.” He chuckled deep in his throat. “I’ve managed to do pretty well combining the two.”

He didn’t have to tell me how successful he’d been. I had heard how the money poured in.

“I’d like to buy a piece of your paper,” he said.

“Sorry, I made a rule when I went into this. No partners.”

His eyes were shrewd. “I hear Lonergan has a piece.”

“You heard wrong. He has a contract guaranteeing four pages of advertising an issue, which he subcontracts out of his advertising agency. He has nothing to do with the ownership or the running of the paper.”

“That’s smart of him.” By the way he said it, I knew he had figured out Lonergan’s interest.

“We should be getting out our first issue in two three weeks. Why don’t you look at it and then let me know what you want to do?”

“I already know what I want to do. How much for a full page?”

“I don’t know yet. We haven’t worked out a rate sheet.”

“How much is Lonergan guaranteeing you a page?”

“Eight hundred.”

“You think that’s fair?”

I nodded.

“I’ll take one page a week for a year,” he said. He reached into his pocket, came out with a roll of money and began counting thousand-dollar bills onto the table.

When he got to forty, he pushed the pile of bills toward me. “I think buying a year in advance entitles me to two weeks free.”

“You’re entitled to more than that.”

“I’m satisfied.”

“You don’t have to pay in advance. What if the paper doesn’t last a year?”

He smiled. “That advance should increase your odds on staying in business. You can use the money to put out a better paper.”

“There are still no guarantees.”

He got to his feet. “Then I’ll play the devil. I’ll deal for your soul. If you fold before the year is out, you can come to one of my services and consider the bill paid.”

CHAPTER 9

Ronzi Distributors was located in an old one-story warehouse in Anaheim. I followed Persky up the loading platform and into the long, narrow building. Racks of books and magazines ran throughout the building seemingly without any kind of system. We walked past the shipping tables, at which a few men were busy packing and filling orders, and down the dirty aisles to the back of the warehouse, where there was an office of sorts behind a glass partition.

It was an open area with several desks scattered around and one large desk off by itself in a corner. Two women and a man were at the smaller desks. Both women were on the phone taking orders; the man seemed to be making up invoices. He looked up. “Ronzi’s expecting you,” he said, picking up the phone. “I’ll call him.”

A few minutes later a burly-looking Italian with thick black curly hair and heavy eyebrows came barreling in. He didn’t waste any words. “I’m Giuseppe Ronzi,” he said. “Come over here and sit down.”

We followed him to the big desk. He threw some books and magazines off the chairs and onto the floor. One of the girls silently left her desk and picked them up as we sat down.

“You got a mock-up?” he asked me.

“No. But—”

He cut me off. He stared at Persky belligerently. “I tol’ yuh not to come out here without a mock-up. I got no time to waste with amateurs.” He got to his feet. “Goddammit! It’s tough enough tryin’ to run a business without—”

“Mr. Ronzi,” I said softly, “how would you like exclusive distribution of
Playboy
in the LA area?”

He looked at me with an expression of disbelief. “What’d you say?”

I made my voice a little louder. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I heard something about
Playboy
.”

“You heard me,” I said, still louder. “You interested?”

“I gotta be crazy not to be.”

“Is that what you told Hefner when he came around the first time?”

“You know fucking well I never got a chance at it. He never asked me.”

“Then don’t make the same mistake twice.”

“How can I make the same mistake twice when I never made it the first time?” he yelled. He turned to Joe. “What’s a matter with this guy? He crazy or something?”

“He’s crazy,” Joe said, smiling.

I got to my feet. “Okay, Joe, let’s go.”

Joe got out of his chair. So did Ronzi. “Where the hell are you going?” Ronzi shouted. “I thought you guys came out here for a meeting.”

“You said you wanted a mock-up. Since I don’t have one, I won’t waste your time.”

“Sit down, sit down,” he said. “You’re here. We might as well talk.”

I returned to my seat. “Okay.”

“Who’s behind you? Lonergan?”

“Who’s behind you? The Mafia?”

“Don’t be a smart ass. You want us to distribute your paper or don’t you?”

“I don’t know yet. You haven’t made me an offer.”

“How the hell do I know what to offer until I know what you got to sell?”

“That’s a good question.”

“If it’s the same throwaway rag it used to be, I don’t want it at any price.”

“Neither do I.”

“I got eight thousand racks spread around.”

“That’s good.”

“You give me a raunchy paper an’ I get you into two thousand of them. Ten in each. That’s twenty thousand copies. At a dime a pop for you, that’s two grand clear. That’s not bad.”

“Not for you, it isn’t,” I said. “But the kind of quality I plan to put into the paper, I have to net at least five thousand an issue to get whole.”

“You are crazy. There ain’t a freebie paper in town that’s good for fifty thousand copies a week.”

“That’s what you told Hefner,” I said.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I never spoke to the man?” he shouted.

I laughed. “Just a figure of speech. You would have told him exactly what you’re telling me.”

“You ain’t Hugh Hefner yet.”

“That’s right,” I agreed. “But how do you know who I’ll be tomorrow?”

He turned to Joe. “How come you bring me all the crazies?”

Joe smiled. “If he were sane, he wouldn’t go into this business.”

Ronzi turned back to me. “Thirty-thousand-copy guarantee. Cash in advance. I’ll eat the returns for an exclusive.”

“Not enough. Forty thousand copies at twelve and a half cents on the same basis and you’re exclusive for the first year only.”

“My partners won’t go for it. I got no protection. What if the fucking thing takes off? I get left holding my cock while you grab the brass ring.”

“You can always give me more money.”

He scowled. “I’d feel better if you give me just one idea of what I’m buying.”

I had him and I knew it. By now he was convinced that he was turning down Hugh Hefner. But I still had to come up with the clincher. “Who buys these magazines and papers?” I asked, stalling for time.

“Guys buy them. Who else?”

“And why do they buy them?”

“Pussy. They get their rocks off on the pictures. They’re always lookin’ for somethin’ new.”

He didn’t know it, but he had just given me the idea. “Now, you’re getting warm.”

“I am?” He was puzzled.

I looked at Joe. I wanted to think the expression on his face was one of respect, but it was probably simply wonder about what I was going to come up with next. The idea was shaping up, but I needed a few seconds more to get it together. I lobbed the ball at Persky. “Okay, Joe, do you want to tell him, or should I?”

“You’re the boss. You tell him.” He sounded uncomfortable, not wanting to get caught off base.

I lowered my voice. “It’s got to be confidential. Not a word outside this office. I don’t want anybody stealing this one.”

“I’m like a priest at confession. I don’t tell nobody,” Ronzi said solemnly.

I smiled. Somehow he didn’t fit the role. “New pussy,” I said.

“New pussy?” he repeated questioningly.

I nodded. “Lead feature, front page. Banner headline. New girl in town! A beautiful chick in micro-mini or hot pants. Carrying a small valise. At a bus or train station or an airport. Streamer headline right across her cunt in bold white letters. See her naked in our centerfold! And there’s a new girl each and every week. Fifty-two weeks a year.”

Ronzi’s mouth was open. “That’s fucking genius! Why didn’t you tell me before, Joe?”

I got Joe off the hook. “He was bound to secrecy.”

“It’s great. You know what I like about it? She’s naked inside the paper, not outside. That means they got to buy it to see her.”