No Talkin’ To The Big Guy In Red
Or how a little planning ahead might have helped an inveterate scribe without foresight.
“Bluffstein. Talk!”
I understood from past experience that Bennie Bluffstein, Kris Kringle’s press flack, is nothing if not a guy with something else pressing at every moment. “Yo. Hello. Time is money. Anybody there? Talk. My phones are blinking like Circus Circus.”
“Uh, well, yes, Bennie, c d kaplan here …”
“Congrats. Very kind of you to finally speak up. We know each other?”
“Yes, Bennie, well, kinda. We talked a couple years back. I’m a columnist for the Louisville Eccentric …”
“Sure, yeah, I remember. The Maven, right? Cocky, ya know, calling yourself The Maven? Wanted an interview with Claus at that place in Indiana. Santa Claus Land. Am I right or am I right? My mind’s tighter than Jenna Jameson’s jeans.”
“It’s Holiday World now.”
“Right, right. Four or five years ago, right? Labor Day weekend.”
“Memorial Day.”
“Right. Santa’s Spring into Christmas tour ’99. You wanted a same-day interview with the big guy. What a shvitzathon. Hotter than Britney and Madonna tongue wrestling in a sauna. The AC was broken, too. Hoosiers, I’m tellin’ ya. How about this memory? Like an elephant, I tell ya. It was the day my nephew Sheldon, Hildy’s son, the nogoodnick, he was my gofer for the summer. Kids are lined up to the Tilt-A-Whirl and the schlepper left the key to the gift trailer back at the motel. I’m tellin’ ya, that kid. No future. A dumpkopf, just like his father, my brother, Boris. You didn’t call ahead, right? Wanted an interview right then.”
“Well, yes.”
“Here’s a tip for you, kid. You wanna be The Maven, learn how things work. Like, I don’t know, calling ahead to set up an interview with the most famous guy in the world. Capeche?”
“Bennie, you know, that day really taught me a lesson …”
“I should hope so. You wanna be big, you gotta think big. And plan ahead. But enough of this chit chat, you got 30 seconds. Whataya, whataya?”
“Well, Bennie, I was hoping maybe your client would have 15 minutes, half an hour maybe, to chat. Even a phoner would work. Sometime in the next week or so.”
“OK, Mr. Eccentric Maven, let me see if I got this right. It’s the beginning of December. My man’s big day of the year is, oh let’s see, three weeks away. And you want face time for a sit-down during Kringle’s crunch. Is that what I’m hearing? Are my ears full of wax? Didn’t you just say you learned the lesson about planning ahead? Have you heard of, I don’t know, September?”
“Bennie, please, I need your help here. My editor’s pissed. Louisville is basketball country. I was supposed to interview this former player, but, uh, he’s out of town until deadline, and …”
“And you forgot to call ahead. So now you’re looking to Bennie Bluffstein to bail you out.”
“Gosh, if you could …”
“Are you nuts? Do you know what it’s been like this year? Lemme tell ya. My cousin, Maury, the big guy’s comptroller, totally underestimated the demand for war toys. Brilliant. Believe me, come the first of the year this guy is outtahere. We’re back ordered on Barbie gowns. And the Mrs. — lemme tell ya, Kringle’s wife has always been a prima donna — wants the weekend before the big day off to hang with The Donald and his new bride. He’s a former client by the by. OK guy. Bad hair.
“Then there’s all the image stuff. The big guy took a major hit with that movie last year. You know, ‘Bad Santa.’ Oy, what a mess. Billy Bob Thornton — don’t even mention his name in my presence. What a job he did on our rep. I got everybody calling me. Disney. The Vatican. A nightmare, I tell ya. That Jolie gal with the big lips, she wants him back, she can have him.
“Even this ‘Polar Express’ hasn’t helped. Everybody loves Tom Hanks. Used to be a client, you know, had to let him go. But even his flick’s not rubbing off on Claus.
“And, so, in the middle of all this, you want 30 minutes for a sit-down with Kringle? You think I’m nutsarama or something?”
“Well, no, Bennie, I was just hoping, maybe, you could find it in your heart to help a guy out, to give a little, to …”
“Give. Give? Whataya think this is, Christmas or something?”
Click.
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