down at the hole I’ve made and the people I’ve fucked up, but I’m flyin’, right alongside all the dirt and rock and shit. And I’m getting higher and higher, and it’s getting quieter and quieter. It’s beautiful, dude.
“And then I’m falling, but it’s cool because I’m light, like a feather, right? I’m floatin’ and I’m fallin’. And I touch down, and it’s peaceful there, too. I’m miles away from what I’ve done. But nothing’s the same anymore. Something blew up, dude. Blew up bad. You don’t never put things right after that.”
“Something to drink, maybe? Water? A Coke?”
“I’d like a beer.”
“Mm, not cool, really. You know, we’re trying to run a business here.”
“Yeah,” Casey rolled his eyes and snorted disdainfully. “I get it.”
“Christ,” Hutch thought. “It only took fifteen seconds for this kid to bust me as the Establishment. And I’m barely thirty-five!”
He pressed on. “You’ve got a great look, very street. Ever done any modeling?”
“Nope.”
“Any acting experience?”
“Nope.”
“Been in a band? Been before an audience for any reason?”
“Nope.”
“Given a speech in a speech class?”
“Nope.”
“Played around with a home video camera? Maybe done some goofing around on camera?”
“Nope.”
“Any store surveillance tape we could get our hands on?”
Casey just stared at him. For all his proclamations of ballsiness, Hutch hadn’t had to make any nervy calls yet in the network’s young life. If he were to go with this hunch, give this skanky, silly young man a potentially global platform with which to do God knows what, that would be ballsy. That would be R 2 Rev.
Establishment, my ass.
Hutch studied Casey, trying to picture him bouncing off a multi-million dollar satellite, into homes with doors locked to protect themselves from just such street trash.
Point man for a revolution.
It got very quiet.
“ Boom!!! ” Casey screamed, then cackled delightedly. Once again, he was a feather, freed from a bomb.
So Casey Lattimer had been there when R 2 Rev made its debut three years back, part of the veejay team that also included Mimi SoWett and Dr. Poon, the hip-hop firebrand whose profane hit albums and string of felonies brought much street cred to the new net.
Keeping Casey on a short leash—meaning on tape—Hutch packaged the kid brilliantly, sending him out into the street for engagements with the fans, unleashing him, Howard Stern-style, at stuffy gatherings, and setting him up with the occasional celebrity interview, during which Casey would invariably try to score drugs. Hutch now had over seven minutes of video trims, offering nothing but his young star trying to mooch dope off famous people. He imagined such encounters going out live, and he shuddered.
After several months of study, Hutch knew that Casey simply could not serve R 2 Rev as a live entity. True, there was something scintillating and scary about letting him loose on-air. Early on he did an entire four-hour block built around stepping in dog shit and trying to get it off his shoe. It was, in a train wreck kind of way, terribly compelling television. (The fetching NYU grad riding the tape delay that day didn’t let a single “shit” get through and was honored accordingly. If Annie McCullough had thought to look, she’d have seen that this kid was nearly on the same salary track she was.)
No, Casey was to be caged on tape for the life of his involvement with the network.
Finding venues for his very special talents, however— that became Annie’s problem. Manhattan and the surrounding boroughs were quickly ruled out, both by the fact that Casey’s antics had half the city wanting to throw his scrawny little ass in jail, and the fact that Letterman and all the other TV wise-asses had been milking New York backdrops for decades.
Hutch didn’t want his network confined to the coasts, where trends have such a short shelf life. He wanted to
“And then I’m falling, but it’s cool because I’m light, like a feather, right? I’m floatin’ and I’m fallin’. And I touch down, and it’s peaceful there, too. I’m miles away from what I’ve done. But nothing’s the same anymore. Something blew up, dude. Blew up bad. You don’t never put things right after that.”
“Something to drink, maybe? Water? A Coke?”
“I’d like a beer.”
“Mm, not cool, really. You know, we’re trying to run a business here.”
“Yeah,” Casey rolled his eyes and snorted disdainfully. “I get it.”
“Christ,” Hutch thought. “It only took fifteen seconds for this kid to bust me as the Establishment. And I’m barely thirty-five!”
He pressed on. “You’ve got a great look, very street. Ever done any modeling?”
“Nope.”
“Any acting experience?”
“Nope.”
“Been in a band? Been before an audience for any reason?”
“Nope.”
“Given a speech in a speech class?”
“Nope.”
“Played around with a home video camera? Maybe done some goofing around on camera?”
“Nope.”
“Any store surveillance tape we could get our hands on?”
Casey just stared at him. For all his proclamations of ballsiness, Hutch hadn’t had to make any nervy calls yet in the network’s young life. If he were to go with this hunch, give this skanky, silly young man a potentially global platform with which to do God knows what, that would be ballsy. That would be R 2 Rev.
Establishment, my ass.
Hutch studied Casey, trying to picture him bouncing off a multi-million dollar satellite, into homes with doors locked to protect themselves from just such street trash.
Point man for a revolution.
It got very quiet.
“ Boom!!! ” Casey screamed, then cackled delightedly. Once again, he was a feather, freed from a bomb.
So Casey Lattimer had been there when R 2 Rev made its debut three years back, part of the veejay team that also included Mimi SoWett and Dr. Poon, the hip-hop firebrand whose profane hit albums and string of felonies brought much street cred to the new net.
Keeping Casey on a short leash—meaning on tape—Hutch packaged the kid brilliantly, sending him out into the street for engagements with the fans, unleashing him, Howard Stern-style, at stuffy gatherings, and setting him up with the occasional celebrity interview, during which Casey would invariably try to score drugs. Hutch now had over seven minutes of video trims, offering nothing but his young star trying to mooch dope off famous people. He imagined such encounters going out live, and he shuddered.
After several months of study, Hutch knew that Casey simply could not serve R 2 Rev as a live entity. True, there was something scintillating and scary about letting him loose on-air. Early on he did an entire four-hour block built around stepping in dog shit and trying to get it off his shoe. It was, in a train wreck kind of way, terribly compelling television. (The fetching NYU grad riding the tape delay that day didn’t let a single “shit” get through and was honored accordingly. If Annie McCullough had thought to look, she’d have seen that this kid was nearly on the same salary track she was.)
No, Casey was to be caged on tape for the life of his involvement with the network.
Finding venues for his very special talents, however— that became Annie’s problem. Manhattan and the surrounding boroughs were quickly ruled out, both by the fact that Casey’s antics had half the city wanting to throw his scrawny little ass in jail, and the fact that Letterman and all the other TV wise-asses had been milking New York backdrops for decades.
Hutch didn’t want his network confined to the coasts, where trends have such a short shelf life. He wanted to
Similar Books
