"Oh yeah."
"He's a good man, your father."
"Yeah, thanks."
"You tell him I said hello, all right?"
Frank had no intention of telling his father he'd had any contact with Paulie at all, but nodded anyway. "I'll do that."
Paulie glared at the cereal. "Doctor makes me eat a bowl of this slop every day. If I don't eat it, I get constipated something fucking awful, Frank. I end up squatting on the toilet trying to push a turd the size of a fucking grapefruit out of my ass, and trust me, that ain't exactly a fun time, you know?"
Frank nodded, unsure of how to respond.
"If the oatmeal don't get me," he chuckled, holding up the magazine, "the snatch does. I don't know why, but looking at pussy always gives me the runs. Ain't that the strangest goddamn thing, Frank?"
"Yeah, I'd have to say it is."
"But who the hell wants to hear about that, right?" He tossed the magazine onto the couch, leaned back, and pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket. "I got things all set up for you tonight in Providence."
Frank felt a rush of relief. "Great. Who am I meeting with?"
"Fella by the name of Rain. Charlie Rain."
"Doesn't ring a bell."
"He's a min."
"Min?"
"Short for minnow," Paulie explained, lighting his cigar with an unsettling sucking sound. "It means he's small change in the business. Still, it's the best way in. All the other independents are gonna waste your time. They'll bleed you and cut you loose. Rain's been working New England and parts of New York for about two years now, so he's new to the game himself. Does mostly high school and small college stuff, an occasional state fair, but that's it. From what I hear, the boys respect him. They tell me he's an honest, harmless sort of guy. Pays on time, pays fair, and he's easy to work with. He earned his chops with Big Louie Bazooka."
"The wrestler?"
"No, the hair stylist, of course the wrestler. Louie wrestled when you were a kid. After he retired he went to work for a few of the big boys, learned the promoting game and then branched out on his own. He ran ad-book shows for a few years. You know those sleazy police union deals where they set up a telephone boiler room and pressure people to make donations in exchange for a couple tickets to the show? I guess he took Charlie Rain under his wing and taught him the business. But about a year ago Louie had a stroke and wound up in some nursing home in upstate New York. He could be dead by now, I got no idea."
Frank lit a cigarette. "Anything else you can tell me about Rain?"
"I spoke to him myself. He seems like a nice enough guy, very respectful. He's in his early forties and comes from a sales background, but the story going around is that when he was in his early twenties he played on some TV show for a couple seasons. Some bullshit about this doctor and his wife who adopt all these fucked up kids. Anyway, the show only lasted two seasons and Rain went into a tailspin and blew all his cash. I hear he was a dope-head, and he's supposedly still got a bit of a drinking problem, so keep that in mind."
"How do you mean?"
Paulie offered a wry smile. "Drinking's a weakness, right? See, Rain wants to expand. He's looking around for a deal but Louie taught him right, so he don't trust nobody in the game. That means he's either gotta find some mark businessman with a few bucks to burn, or a young hustler like you who can make things happen."
"You think he'll trust me then?"
"Of course not." Paulie shrugged. "Still your best shot, though. Out of respect for me, he's willing to talk to you. Remember, this is a closed business. You don't get in unless you know somebody, and sometimes even that's not enough."
Frank nodded. "I understand."
"No, you don't. It's a whole different world, and don't nobody know what really goes on in it unless you're there. Of course, it's changed a lot since I worked it. In my day it was easier. There weren't more than four or five guys in the whole country you had to deal with back then. That all changed a couple years ago when the big boys started running wrestling like a fucking cartoon instead of a sport. All this marketing and sales bullshit – fuck that. I packed fans in from here to the Canadian border, Frank, and you know what sold the tickets? Heat, rivalries between the guys. I sold the sport on what went on inside the ring, not all this comic book shit they're doing nowadays. It's all hype, Frank. They spend more time screaming and yelling, doing interviews and selling toys than they do working. Most of these stiffs in the game couldn't hold a fucking candle to the boys I worked with. I'm talking real headliners, guys who knew how to work. Guys who knew how to keep their mouths shut."
"How should I approach Rain?" Frank asked.
Paulie scratched his crotch. "Tell me what you know."
"I graduated from school in Boston in 1981. I learned the broadcasting and promotions business, worked in radio for a couple of years – "
"Doing what?"
"Promotional sales. The money sucked and job security was even worse. I wanted to try and get in on the ground floor with one of the big event promotions or talent-booking firms in New York or Los Angeles, but I was newly married and my wife didn't want to move. Needless to say, that didn't leave me a hell of a lot of options."
"Broads – always the fucking problem – and wives are the worst. Pain the nuts."
Frank forced a bit of laughter. "I had to find something steady that paid decent, so I took a retail sales job. I'm still there, only I'm assistant manager now."
"What do you sell?"
"White goods."
Paulie frowned. "Sheets and pillows, shit like that?"
"No, no. Refrigerators, stoves, dishwashers. I work at Appliance Mart over in Fairhaven."
Paulie seemed unimpressed, and Frank didn't blame him. He sat quietly smoking his cigar for a few minutes then asked, "You do anything else?"
"I get in on a scam now and then for extra cash," Frank admitted, "but nothing serious."
"Ever been pinched?"
"Not as an adult."
"What'd they get you for as a minor?"
"Assault and battery. Twice."
Paulie laughed. "Got a temper, huh?"
"I'm mellowing."
"Why you wanna get involved in wrestling, Frank? Why not music or boxing or something else?"
"I always loved wrestling, used to watch it all the time up until a few years ago."
"Christ, don't ever say that to nobody else. Makes you sound like a mark."
"Sorry, I – "
"Don't be sorry, just watch what you say is what I'm trying to tell you."
"Between you and me, Paulie, I don't want to spend the rest of my life selling stoves to housewives, you know what I'm saying? Maybe if I can make a few moves and get in with the right people I can turn things around."
Paulie considered what Frank had said before responding. "Does your old man know about this?"
"Does it matter?"
"I guess not." He sighed. "It's just that I always liked your father, Frank, and I wouldn't wanna do anything to make him think less of me."
Frank wasn't sure that was possible.
"With all due respect, Paulie, I'm a grown man."
"Which makes me one dried up old fuck," he said with a laugh. "Okay, kid, we'll leave him out of it."
"Good. Now, when I meet with Rain, should I be honest with him?"
"Hell no." Paulie sipped his coffee. "You got to understand something. Except for a handful of guys, everybody in the business acts like they're more than they really are. The problem is, nobody ever knows for sure who's telling the truth and who isn't, so you don't trust nobody and you go about your business assuming everybody you deal with is full of shit. It's just the way things are. You never shoot the works, understand? Keep Rain guessing. He'll do the same to you."
"What did you tell him about me?"
"Only that you're a friend of a friend and a man that's to be treated with respect," Paulie answered. "All he knows is that you're a businessman of some sort, looking to get into the game. If you go telling him you sell refrigerators or some shit like that, he'll laugh right in your face and you'll never get another shot. He'll spread your name around like manure, and nobody in the business'll ever take you seriously."