Distributors was located in an old one-story warehouse in Anaheim. I followed Persky up the loading platform and into the long, narrow building. Racks of books and magazines ran throughout the building seemingly without any kind of system. We walked past the shipping tables, at which a few men were busy packing and filling orders, and down the dirty aisles to the back of the warehouse, where there was an office of sorts behind a glass partition.
It was an open area with several desks scattered around and one large desk off by itself in a corner. Two women and a man were at the smaller desks. Both women were on the phone taking orders; the man seemed to be making up invoices. He looked up. “Ronzi’s expecting you,” he said, picking up the phone. “I’ll call him.”
A few minutes later a burly-looking Italian with thick black curly hair and heavy eyebrows came barreling in. He didn’t waste any words. “I’m Giuseppe Ronzi,” he said. “Come over here and sit down.”
We followed him to the big desk. He threw some books and magazines off the chairs and onto the floor. One of the girls silently left her desk and picked them up as we sat down.
“You got a mock-up?” he asked me.
“No. But—”
He cut me off. He stared at Persky belligerently. “I tol’ yuh not to come out here without a mock-up. I got no time to waste with amateurs.” He got to his feet. “Goddammit! It’s tough enough tryin’ to run a business without—”
“Mr. Ronzi,” I said softly, “how would you like exclusive distribution of
Playboy
in the LA area?”
He looked at me with an expression of disbelief. “What’d you say?”
I made my voice a little louder. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard something about
Playboy
.”
“You heard me,” I said, still louder. “You interested?”
“I gotta be crazy not to be.”
“Is that what you told Hefner when he came around the first time?”
“You know fucking well I never got a chance at it. He never asked me.”
“Then don’t make the same mistake twice.”
“How can I make the same mistake twice when I never made it the first time?” he yelled. He turned to Joe. “What’s a matter with this guy? He crazy or something?”
“He’s crazy,” Joe said, smiling.
I got to my feet. “Okay, Joe, let’s go.”
Joe got out of his chair. So did Ronzi. “Where the hell are you going?” Ronzi shouted. “I thought you guys came out here for a meeting.”
“You said you wanted a mock-up. Since I don’t have one, I won’t waste your time.”
“Sit down, sit down,” he said. “You’re here. We might as well talk.”
I returned to my seat. “Okay.”
“Who’s behind you? Lonergan?”
“Who’s behind you? The Mafia?”
“Don’t be a smart ass. You want us to distribute your paper or don’t you?”
“I don’t know yet. You haven’t made me an offer.”
“How the hell do I know what to offer until I know what you got to sell?”
“That’s a good question.”
“If it’s the same throwaway rag it used to be, I don’t want it at any price.”
“Neither do I.”
“I got eight thousand racks spread around.”
“That’s good.”
“You give me a raunchy paper an’ I get you into two thousand of them. Ten in each. That’s twenty thousand copies. At a dime a pop for you, that’s two grand clear. That’s not bad.”
“Not for you, it isn’t,” I said. “But the kind of quality I plan to put into the paper, I have to net at least five thousand an issue to get whole.”
“You are crazy. There ain’t a freebie paper in town that’s good for fifty thousand copies a week.”
“That’s what you told Hefner,” I said.
“How many times do I have to tell you, I never spoke to the man?” he shouted.
I laughed. “Just a figure of speech. You would have told him exactly what you’re telling me.”
“You ain’t Hugh Hefner yet.”
“That’s right,” I agreed. “But how do you know who I’ll be tomorrow?”
He turned
It was an open area with several desks scattered around and one large desk off by itself in a corner. Two women and a man were at the smaller desks. Both women were on the phone taking orders; the man seemed to be making up invoices. He looked up. “Ronzi’s expecting you,” he said, picking up the phone. “I’ll call him.”
A few minutes later a burly-looking Italian with thick black curly hair and heavy eyebrows came barreling in. He didn’t waste any words. “I’m Giuseppe Ronzi,” he said. “Come over here and sit down.”
We followed him to the big desk. He threw some books and magazines off the chairs and onto the floor. One of the girls silently left her desk and picked them up as we sat down.
“You got a mock-up?” he asked me.
“No. But—”
He cut me off. He stared at Persky belligerently. “I tol’ yuh not to come out here without a mock-up. I got no time to waste with amateurs.” He got to his feet. “Goddammit! It’s tough enough tryin’ to run a business without—”
“Mr. Ronzi,” I said softly, “how would you like exclusive distribution of
Playboy
in the LA area?”
He looked at me with an expression of disbelief. “What’d you say?”
I made my voice a little louder. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard something about
Playboy
.”
“You heard me,” I said, still louder. “You interested?”
“I gotta be crazy not to be.”
“Is that what you told Hefner when he came around the first time?”
“You know fucking well I never got a chance at it. He never asked me.”
“Then don’t make the same mistake twice.”
“How can I make the same mistake twice when I never made it the first time?” he yelled. He turned to Joe. “What’s a matter with this guy? He crazy or something?”
“He’s crazy,” Joe said, smiling.
I got to my feet. “Okay, Joe, let’s go.”
Joe got out of his chair. So did Ronzi. “Where the hell are you going?” Ronzi shouted. “I thought you guys came out here for a meeting.”
“You said you wanted a mock-up. Since I don’t have one, I won’t waste your time.”
“Sit down, sit down,” he said. “You’re here. We might as well talk.”
I returned to my seat. “Okay.”
“Who’s behind you? Lonergan?”
“Who’s behind you? The Mafia?”
“Don’t be a smart ass. You want us to distribute your paper or don’t you?”
“I don’t know yet. You haven’t made me an offer.”
“How the hell do I know what to offer until I know what you got to sell?”
“That’s a good question.”
“If it’s the same throwaway rag it used to be, I don’t want it at any price.”
“Neither do I.”
“I got eight thousand racks spread around.”
“That’s good.”
“You give me a raunchy paper an’ I get you into two thousand of them. Ten in each. That’s twenty thousand copies. At a dime a pop for you, that’s two grand clear. That’s not bad.”
“Not for you, it isn’t,” I said. “But the kind of quality I plan to put into the paper, I have to net at least five thousand an issue to get whole.”
“You are crazy. There ain’t a freebie paper in town that’s good for fifty thousand copies a week.”
“That’s what you told Hefner,” I said.
“How many times do I have to tell you, I never spoke to the man?” he shouted.
I laughed. “Just a figure of speech. You would have told him exactly what you’re telling me.”
“You ain’t Hugh Hefner yet.”
“That’s right,” I agreed. “But how do you know who I’ll be tomorrow?”
He turned
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