So there I was sitting pretty in a folding chair in an office high above 42nd across from Al Kaline, who incidentally was a dead ringer for Henny Youngman, minus the borsht-belt barbs. Dressed loud and obnoxious in my retro wide-knit purple sweater with matching purple tie, I’d blown my measly wages on one singular outfit bought exclusively on Pelham Parkway, where shnooks paid for expensive threads; not yesterday’s cob-webs. And based on my enhanced wardrobe and exquisite sense of attire, everyone and their battle-axe mother-in-law knew I was a wop from where else, the Bronx.

Anyway, Alvin Onion Rings had this penetrating stare that intimidated the living shit out of me. As usual he maintained that ‘I don’t got nutin’ for you now, no openings for employment at the moment; but don’t think I’m blowin’ you the fuck off, ’ he went on and on. ‘Just leave your number and don’t worry; I promise I will call you when something comes up.’ But behind those piercing eyeballs I sensed something that barely resembled (dare I say it) compassion; even though I had been blown off repeatedly with that typical monotone which actually meant just fuck off, for now.

Dejected like a degenerate gambler, I returned to the Passaic car dealership and subsequently resumed selling jalopies to the flush, fat, and sloppy. And precisely three weeks went by with no fucking call and not even a slight indication of a potential job prospect, albeit temporary. And to top it off business had suddenly declined at the dealership, with no car sales to the rich and bored, and therefore, no commissions. And worse, my disillusionment stranded me like a non-entity drowning in a sea of ubiquity. I just didn’t want to be there any more, period.

Then without warning, Larry fucking Mills strolls into the dealership one day and makes a beeline for me. ‘Did you talk to my man Al or what,’ he blurts out. I took a deep breath before my usual rapid-fire response. Before I could finish my reply, Larry lunged at me like a prize-fighter in the bout of a lifetime. He grabbed the phone off the fucking hook on my desk and gestured. ‘Pick up the goddamn phone,’ he commanded. ‘Just tell Al the fucking wad you wanna be on his team.’ So right then and there I called, and Al answered like a retired operator for Bell Atlantic. It occurred to me he probably forgot exactly who the fuck I was; a fucking nobody if not for my florescent threads etched in his cerebral cortex. Who else would have the meatballs to show up for a crucial job interview dressed like Red Buttons on a bad apparel day? Al hesitated a moment either because my indelible impression went the way of vaudeville, or maybe he was suffering from digestive spasms. ‘Oh yeah,’ he recalled matter-of-factly. Then there was dead silence, and I heard some muffled expletives. ‘Look, just see me on Tuesday, alright,’ he said impatiently. ‘And by the way…I may have something for you.’

For a moment I fought back tears, or rather droplets of prostration. I gulped hard as I absorbed the impact of that statement. When I finally replied, a stuttering spurted from my throat like Porky Pig being skewered by bee stings after a run in with a bee hive. ‘Fine. I’ll be there,’ I croaked. Like a master of the deal, Larry Mills just winked at me, shook my hand, and walked the fuck out. Later I told my miser boss I suddenly needed next Tuesday off.

For reasons beyond my mortal comprehension, the future was right in front of me. But my movements were inhibited by a gnawing apprehension that induced suspended animation. Suddenly the expanse from the bus terminal to 303 West 42nd Street became my predisposed appointment with destiny. Finally I shook off the delirious tremors and ascended the elevator to Al Kaline’s dank office on the 19th floor, where I knocked politely and entered. ‘Sit the fuck down,’ Al barked, like a Doberman pincher before distemper shots. And soon, somewhat unceremoniously, I was indoctrinated into the twisted pornographic pantheon that had captured me since my formative years; and lo and behold, be fairly compensated for a lifetime of sexual perversion and debauchery, among other things. Continue