BLACK to Reality by Russell Blake

someone younger.”
    Black offered a wan smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve had a ton of practice disappointing people.”
    Simon laughed – a good sign.
    “Funny guy. Good. The show could use some funny. Last season the dialogue was as dull as a State of the Union address, am I right? Funny’s good.”
    “He’s also a certified rock god, Simon. I gave you his pedigree. How many guys sold that many records?” Bobby chimed in.
    Simon looked at Black more closely. “Yeah, but he doesn’t really look it, does he?”
    Bobby rolled his eyes at the comment. “The man’s a frigging stealth fighter. Silent but deadly. And don’t worry about the glitz. I’ve got a girl that’s going to make him look like Bon Jovi. Trust me on this. Plus, he can actually play. Anyone else in this office had twenty-nine million people buy his album?”
    Simon’s door opened, and Alex Sands walked in, dressed in a tight black knit top and cream linen slacks. “Sorry I’m late.”
    “Gentlemen. Alex. Winner of last year’s show, and this year, one of our three judges,” Simon announced with the solemn gravitas of a diplomat.
    Alex moved to where Black and Bobby sat and shook hands. He leaned against the bookcase on the wall, and all Black could think was that the man was beautiful – dark, thick, curly hair; chiseled tan features; the physique of a gymnast. Black’s sense of inadequacy intensified with each passing moment.
    “We were just talking about how Mr. Black here sold more records than Elvis,” Simon explained.
    “Oh, wow, you’re him! That’s right. Simon said something about that. Cool. Nice to meet you,” Alex said, and Black’s opinion of him dwindled with each word. Pretty house, but nobody home, Black thought. Figured. Probably had hot and cold running Lamborghinis and a Victoria’s Secret girlfriend.
    Simon beamed like Black was his new puppy. “And he’s funny. A comedian. I don’t need to see any more. The man’s got my vote. Oh, one thing – you on dope or an alcoholic or anything? We had a problem last year…”
    “Nope. Although do you pay more if I am?”
    Alex looked Black up and down. “You think you still got what it takes to wow a crowd and win this? No disrespect, but a lot of the audience is going to be young – teens and twenty-somethings.”
    “My assistant came to a show last night and was literally speechless. Need I say more?” Black figured he might as well get some mileage out of the ordeal.
    “Yeah – she’s a pistol,” Bobby confirmed.
    “But what about your…image? No offense, but you look kind of like a movie extra,” Alex said.
    “I was shooting for mortician.”
    Simon laughed nervously. “See? Man’s a regular Louis CK. Whadda ya think, Alex?”
    Alex shrugged. “If he’s okay with you, I’ve got no problems.” He gave Black a skeptical look. “You met the band yet?”
    “That’s next. He just finished jamming with Rooster. I thought the man was going to offer him a production deal on the spot,” Bobby said.
    “All right. Congratulations, Mr. Black. Or Jim, right?” Simon asked.
    “Everyone just calls me Black.”
    Simon stood and rounded his desk, glancing at his platinum Rolex Masterpiece wristwatch. “Thanks for coming by, Black. A real pleasure. You’re going to do great. Bobby, have your friend go to work on him, doll him up. You know the way out, right? Grab some Perrier or something for the road. Me and Alex need to have a talk. You excuse us?”
    The Vietnamese assistant materialized just outside the door and led them back to the lobby, his steps silent on the granite floor. Black and Bobby were quiet until they were in the elevator. When the doors hissed shut, Black broached the subject that had been nagging at him.
    “Bobby, I hate to bug you, but if I’m going to do this, I need the first week’s pay up front. Just like any other job. Two grand. Is that a problem?”
    “No problem at all. Can you swing by tomorrow and get a