Tony Partly Cloudy (21 page)

LONG CONSIDERED THE HEIR APPARENT to New York’s Scarlatto crime family, the suave, sophisticated Carbone allegedly became a “made” man at the ripe old age of 19. Publicly dissociating himself from known Mafia activities, Carbone instead maintains a high profile in the legitimate business world. Still, most union insiders consider Carbone to be the unseen puppeteer behind AFEW Local 417, the powerful New York chapter of the American Federation of Electrical Workers, a labor organization with a long history of corruption and violence. Despite frequent arrests and occasional indictments, Carbone has never been convicted of any crime. Rumors of extortion and kickbacks persist, however, with authorities claiming—

“Mr. Fletcher?” The speakerphone jolted Fletcher from his reverie. He closed the web page he had been perusing, and hit the button on his phone console.

“Yes, Claudette?”

“You have a Mr. Carbone here to see you.”

Fletcher had been dreading this. “Thank you, Claudette,” he said, swallowing hard. “Please send him in.”

A moment later, Claudette opened the door into Fletcher’s office, letting in a man wearing a suit that made Fletcher’s thousand-dollar Hugo Boss look like a potato sack. Behind him was another man, this one dressed in a long black leather car coat that lived up to its name – it was big enough to wrap around a car. The man himself was big enough to eat one.

As Fletcher stood up, the smaller of the two men said, “Mr. Fletcher, it’s good to meet you. My name is Jimmy Carbone.” He extended his hand.

Fletcher took it, saying, “Dale Fletcher.” The men shook hands. “Can Claudette get you anything to drink?”

Jimmy said, “No thanks, I’m fine.”

Fletcher gestured to the other man, to whom he had yet to be introduced. “How about you?”

Jimmy said, “Eric isn’t thirsty.”

The man whose name must be Eric said nothing, registering no sign of even hearing the conversation.

“All right, then,” Fletcher said. “Claudette, that will be all.”

As Claudette closed the door behind herself, Fletcher said, “Please, have a seat,” gesturing toward the two chairs that faced his desk.

Jimmy sat down in the chair on the right. Eric walked over to the door, turned around to face the men, and quietly turned to granite. Fletcher swore the man had even stopped breathing.

Jimmy broke the silence. “I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Fletcher. I’m sure you’re a busy man.”

“Well, I do have my hands full here at WEFQ, but you said it was important.”

Jimmy smiled. “I’m sure you do have your hands full, Mr. Fletcher. That’s why I’d like to talk to you. I’d like to make your life a little easier.”

Fletcher’s stomach tightened. Was this mobster going to offer him money to audition Tony? He’d been busy worrying about threats, but hadn’t even thought of the bribery angle. Trying to stay cool, Fletcher said, “I’m not sure I understand. How can you make my life easier?”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Jimmy said. “It’s my understanding that my nephew Tony is interested in auditioning for what I think you call an on-air position here at WEFQ.”

“Your
nephew
?” Fletcher couldn’t contain his surprise.

Jimmy waved a hand. “Well, he’s not exactly my nephew. We’re related, but it’s one of those complex things, you know, like third cousin step-nephew once returned, or something.”

“You mean, once removed?”

“That’s it,” Jimmy said, snapping his finger. “Once removed. Hey – do you know how that works, the whole once removed thing?”

Fletcher started to say something, then stopped. Finally he shrugged and said, “You know, I have no earthly idea what once removed really means.”

“Me neither,” Jimmy said, smiling as he shook his head. “And you know what? I have yet to meet anybody who does.” At this he laughed, and Fletcher found himself joining the mobster in a brief chuckle. This Carbone character really was an engaging man.

Returning to a more serious tone, Jimmy said, “Bottom line is, my
distant relative
Tony, of whom I am very fond, is very interested in auditioning for this position. And from what I understand, he has thus far been unsuccessful in securing an audition. Is that correct?”

Fletcher shifted in his seat, causing the polished leather upholstery of his chair to make an undignified farting sound. Great, he thought, I’m sitting on the world’s only three-thousand-dollar whoopee cushion.

“Mr. Carbone,” he began, “I—”

“Please. Call me Jimmy.”

Fletcher cleared his throat. “All right. Jimmy, this is no reflection on your neph... well, on Tony. This is a very competitive field, and we’ve had literally hundreds of audition tapes submitted to us. We’re screening them, and we’ll probably only end up auditioning a dozen of these people. And, I repeat, that’s out of several hundred applicants. So it’s nothing against Tony, who by the way is doing a fine job. It’s just that competition for on-air jobs like this is very intense.”

“I see,” Jimmy said, folding his hands on his lap. He sat and looked at Fletcher, his face impossible to read.

Eager to fill the silence, Fletcher went on. “Also, I have to say, most of the applicants for this position already have a lot of on-air experience. Tony’s an excellent meteorologist, and he’s been a real asset behind the scenes. But most of the people he’s competing with have a lot of air time under their belts.”

Jimmy leaned forward in his seat. “Mr. Fletcher, do you like Tony?”

Fletcher sputtered. “Do I what? Do I like him? Sure I like him. Everybody here loves him. He’s got a terrific personality, and he does great work.” As Fletcher spoke, Jimmy was nodding. Fletcher continued, “But liking Tony has nothing to do with whether he’s the right person for this position. I mean, this is business we’re talking about here, not friendship. You’re a businessman – you understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Jimmy said. “But I’m also listening to what you’re saying. So far you’ve told me Tony is doing – and I quote – great work, that he’s an asset, that everybody loves him, and that he’s got a great personality.” As Jimmy listed Tony’s credentials, he made a show of counting them on his fingers. “So yeah, of course I can see how you wouldn’t want to hire somebody like that. Who would? I mean, this is business we’re talking about here, am I right?” Jimmy’s expression betrayed none of the mockery his words contained.

Fletcher’s face was hot. He was sure he was blushing, and hated himself for it. But he wasn’t GM of the twelfth-fastest-growing station in the Top 150 market for nothing. It was time to teach this Mafia goon something about the television business.

“Mr. Carbone,” he said, enunciating carefully to emphasize the fact that he was refusing the man’s directive to call him Jimmy. “Can I be frank with you?”

Jimmy spread his hands, a
bring it on
gesture.

“In this business,” Fletcher said, “there are certain unspoken but very real...
standards
in place, as far as what is considered acceptable in broadcast journalism. Those who aren’t involved in this business may or may not be aware of this, but trust me, it’s reality.”

He paused, but Jimmy was silent.

“For example, you probably won’t see a news anchor who looks like, say, a hippie. You know, with the long hair, maybe some earrings, some crazy clothes. Similarly, you’ll probably never see somebody who doesn’t enunciate clearly, or who doesn’t speak proper English.”

Still no response from Jimmy.

To avoid babbling, Fletcher paused to organize his thoughts. Then he got it.

“Mr. Carbone, are you familiar with the game show, Wheel of Fortune?”

Jimmy surprised Fletcher by breaking into a huge grin. “I love that show! But I can’t believe some of the jamooks they get on the show. I mean, last week, there was this guy who didn’t know who Count Dracula was. Freakin’ guy thought the phrase was about a mountain, so he guessed it was
Mount
Dracula.” Again Fletcher found himself laughing along with this man.

While he had Jimmy smiling, Fletcher went in for the kill. “And who do they have turning around the letters on that show?”

“Vanna...” Jimmy said, drawing the name out with an appreciative leer.

“Exactly,” Fletcher said. “Vanna White, always in a new thousand-dollar gown.”

“That’s a very classy lady,” Jimmy said.

Fletcher smiled. This famous gangster was just another lecherous simpleton after all. Some tough guy, he thought.

Fletcher said, “Now just imagine that instead of Vanna White turning around those letters, they had, say... Ernest Borgnine in a Speedo.”

“
Madonn
’!” Jimmy said. “Don’t even suggest something like that. Christ, what a visual.”

“Agreed,” said Fletcher. “What I’m getting at, is there’s a certain expectation of what you’re going to see when you tune in that show. Would you agree with that?”

Jimmy nodded.

“Well, Jimmy,” Fletcher said, again using his first name to emphasize how well they were now getting along, “the news is like that, too. There’s a certain kind of person the audience expects to see telling them about the news, giving them the sports, letting them know what kind of weather they’re in for. And if you veer too far from that expectation, you’ve got...”

“A big ugly guy in a swimsuit. I got you,” Jimmy said.

“Exactly.” Fletcher quickly added, “I’m not saying Tony is anything as awful as that. But what I am trying to say is that Tony... well, he’s just not what we consider on-air material.” Fletcher smiled encouragingly.

“I think I see what you’re saying,” Jimmy said. “I mean, Tony is kind of a big palooka. Until you get to know him, that is. He’s got a heart of gold, that kid.”

“I’m sure he does,” Fletcher said. “But yes, the first impression he gives is that of, well, a big palooka, as you put it. And while I mean absolutely no offense to him or you, I think you’ll agree that it would be highly unusual for somebody with such a strong accent to be an anchor on TV. Let’s face it, the second Tony opens his mouth, there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s from Brooklyn, is there?”

“I suppose not,” Jimmy said, “although I probably don’t notice it like a Midwesterner might.”

Fletcher thought he might have detected just the slightest bit of scorn in the way Jimmy had said
Midwesterner
, but who could tell with this clown’s wiseguy accent?

Fletcher wanted to wrap this up. “I hasten to add that I don’t make these rules, Mr. Carbone. I’m just letting you know what the reality is, without for one minute claiming that it’s fair or just. I hope you understand what I’m telling you.”

“Yeah, I think I got it,” Jimmy said. “Basically, even though Tony’s a good meteorologist, well-liked, and an asset to your business, the fact that he looks and talks like a big Italian guy from New York rules him out from being a contender in this line of work, based on pre-existing prejudices that you yourself had nothing to do with creating. Is that about the size of it?”

Fletcher marveled at Jimmy’s retention of details and ability to organize his thoughts so well. Maybe this goon wasn’t quite as stupid as he’d thought.

Fletcher nodded, putting on what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. “You’ve hit the nail on the head, Jimmy. It may not be fair, but that’s the way things are.”

Jimmy surprised Fletcher by leaning forward and rapping twice on his desk.

“That,” Jimmy said, “is where I can help make your life a little easier.”

Fletcher froze. Was this guy just not getting it?

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Mr. Carbone.”

Jimmy seemed to grow taller, even though he remained seated. “Mr. Fletcher,” he said, “I’m sure you’re familiar with a concept that’s become increasingly popular recently – the idea of being
politically correct
?”

Fletcher nodded, unsure where this was going.

“Me, I think it’s getting out of hand,” Jimmy said. “It’s getting so you can’t say anything to anybody – even if it’s true – for fear of offending somebody, know what I mean?”

“Absolutely,” Fletcher said. “In TV we’re extremely aware of this, believe me.”

“And what do people do when they get offended? Do they settle it like men? Hell, no – they sue you, am I right? Christ, everywhere you turn, somebody is suing somebody else. Our society keeps getting more lit... leet... what’s the word?”

“Litigious?”

“That’s it. We’re living in a litigious society, where nobody has the balls to call a spade a spade.” Jimmy hurriedly waved a hand. “I don’t mean spade like, you know, an African American. It was just a figure of speech. Christ, look at me – this is exactly what I’m talking about! Case in point, know what I mean?”

Fletcher said, “Believe me, I know what you mean. For instance, we’ve got as many lawyers here on staff as we do meteorologists, and for the very reasons you just gave. And it keeps getting worse.”

“Mr. Fletcher, you took the words right out of my mouth. It keeps getting worse. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I don’t understand,” Fletcher said.

“Well, let’s look at what you’ve told me today. Basically, you’ve said Tony can’t even get a shot at this job because he’s big, he’s Italian, and he’s from New York. And I understand completely. But can you imagine what would happen if one of those political correctness freaks got hold of that information? Christ, they’d sue you ‘til the cows came home. They’d say it was disc... desc... what’s the word?”