“It’s a hip man’s entire outfit, from the time when baggy-pants Vaudeville entertainment gave way to Le Jazz Hot and a sleeker, more modern look. Picture Judy Garland in frumpy baggy clown suit singing ‘Be a Clown’ to Judy Garland in a man’s black tuxedo jacket, fishnet tights, heels and fedora singing ‘come on get happy’. Funky to sexy in a generation or two.”
Matt frowned. “Can you get me some DVDs on that?”
“It’s all on YouTube,” she said. “Jazz came out of the black music scene. In the twenties and thirties black performers started showing up in movies. Cab Calloway got famous and wore exaggeratedly formal pale zoot suits, but it wasn’t until swing dancing in the forties that the zoot suit culture took off.”
“It was the first commercial ‘teenage’ fad,” Tony said with nostalgia. “And it appeared in minority cultures, both black and Hispanic, before it went mainstream.”
“That didn’t end well,” Temple took up the narrative. “It was punished at the time in both cultures. The high-waisted baggy pants with tight ankle cuffs and loose, knee-length Civil War general coats, along with extravagantly swagged watch chains called hipster cat-chains were socially threatening. Think gangsta rap, which I have major problems with. Can it convert to something less misogynistic? Time will tell.”
“I think I’ve seen photos. ‘Swagged watch chains’,” Matt repeated. “Origin of ‘swagger’ and ‘swag’ today?”
“Good point,” Temple said. “Hip dudes used to be called hep or hip ‘cats’. Louie would love that, without the chain.”
“I remember,” Tony mused, “post-war zoot suit riots. We fifties teens of the James Dean era were hit with comparisons to ‘hoodlums’. With zoot suits in the forties, the excuse for a teen rebel uniform with the many yards of material zoot suits required was considered ‘unpatriotic’ in a time of fabric shortages.
“What’s expensive is faddish,” Tony added. “Wealthy zoot suiters wore multiple gold ‘watch chains’ looped down to their ankles. Poor guys yanked toilet chains off old-style tanks and used them. The point was, WASPs didn’t wear them. The underclasses did. And during World War Two sailors took offence and beat and stripped the zoot suiters.”
“That’s not faddish fun,” Matt said. “That’s a horrible footnote of history. How can people be dressing in zoot suits now and dancing down stairs in cat food commercials?”
“Because we’ve gotten over teen fads and outcast castes,” Temple said. “Not totally, but the creativity and expressiveness of that time and those people has been integrated into our cultural fabric. So we can share the fun and enthusiasm without the negative connotations.”
“This is way too deep for cat food commercials,” Matt said.
“Maybe not,” Temple said. “The zoot suit rebellion has been declawed by a lot of decades of social progress. The next step after belated acceptance is celebration.”
“So you’re saying cat food commercials can be relevant social commentary?” Matt sounded and looked dubious.
Temple shrugged. “I’m saying people just want to have fun. Don’t overthink it and maybe they’ll accidentally learn something. That top-notch director they want?” Temple asked Tony. “Danny Dove right here in town would be great at that.”
Tony was surprised. “The choreographer?”
“Set designer too. Catch the Black & White rock-group show with French Vanilla at the Crystal Phoenix Hotel. Danny designed both the fixed and moving stage settings. WOW,” Temple said. “Maybe the ads can start out in noir black-and-white, and then, POW, go to Technicolor, like The Wizard of Oz movie.”
“That’s a hot ticket,” Tony agreed. “She’s quite the idea girl,” he told Matt before turning back to Temple. “It was your Zoe Chloe Ozone persona that inspired the network.”
“That old blog and podcast stuff from the teen reality show?” Temple shook her head and sighed. “It’s dead in the water and has been for months. Fads fade at warp speed in today’s media world.”
“And a good thing,” Matt put in. He eyed Tony. “She went undercover with that persona and nearly got killed.”
“As she said, nothing dies on the Internet. Matt. Zoe Chloe is still out there. There could be a TV tour in this and you’re perfect for that,” he told Temple.
“Would Louie have to travel?” Temple wondered.
“Perhaps. Is that a problem?”
“Nooo,” Temple said. “He’s got a brand-new zebra-print carrier for the job. He’d look fab in a zebra-print fedora. Or zoot suit.”
“Whoa, Temple,” Matt said. “He would not love wearing the suit, I bet, and do you really want to tote a twenty-pound cat on and off a plane? Airlines don’t even provide room for under-seat shaving kits or feet these days.”
“First class,” Tony said, “would be in the contract. And media escorts. Don’t worry, Matt. I’d see your fiancée is treated like a queen, or at least a bestselling author.”
“Say,” Temple sat up taller. “I could write a book about Louie!”
Tony made a note on his leather-bound legal notepad.
Matt groaned. “Tony, Temple and I need to think and we need to talk this over. It could be hell moving to Chicago with Temple starting such multi-pronged media project.”
“Of course.” Tony eased back in his chair. “I see this as complex, yes, but fortuitous.”
“The network hasn’t been pestering me,” Matt said, “or you, about my possible national TV talk show gig. Meanwhile, every celebrity and his and her siblings are starting new shows.”
Tony grew serious. “True. You’ve played pretty hard to get.”
“I’m not playing anything, Tony. My mother just remarried and Temple and I are thinking about scheduling a wedding. I don’t want us to be rushed into something so demanding it’ll ruin our private lives.”
“Very sensible,” he said, standing to end the visit. “Keep this top secret. Buzz blows deals as often as it hypes them. If you have any questions, let me know. This is only in the development stages. It’s good to know about, because you both can still have a lot of input now.”
Matt shook, and then Temple shook, Tony’s soft manicured hand.
At the door Temple turned. “And I do have to ask Louie if he wants to do this.”
“How would you know?” Tony asked.
“Oh, Louie knows how to make his druthers known, don’t worry.”
26
The Minstrel Boy
Max’s heart was pounding. He felt he’d been making a pilgrimage commemorating the Stations of the Cross over all of Ireland, south and north, with Kathleen. The fourteen harsh images often hung on Catholic church walls, memorializing Jesus’s suffering, crucifixion, and death…and, sometimes a last image, a happy ending, the resurrection.
Sometimes Max thought the Church fixated on darkness. Yet now, so did Max. This journey, he hoped, would end at the grave of the best man he’d ever known, but first he must deal with the unsuspected living. He hoped he was on the brink of witnessing a rising from the dead.
Kathleen, practicing the controlling cruelty that had dominated her childhood, had told Max nothing, nothing about his cousin. Only that Sean was alive. That Sean was alive and now they were here, in County Tyrone of Northern Ireland, where he and Sean had gone astray on a quest for their roots and “adventure” tourism.
He stood with Kathleen before a quaint white-washed cottage. Ireland was breathtakingly picturesque, but traditionally the land and people were poor, with a harsh and tragic history. The only thing the modern Emerald Isle had to sell was charm until the “Celtic Tiger” awakened in the ’80s with a burst of high-tech businesses. Then a second Irish “famine” came with the global recession.