[Chapter 5: Marketing Plan]
Frank DeLao's large palm closed around Orlando, his gold ring flashing next to his watch.
"I'm Frank DeLao! My God, kid -- Orlando, you could pass for twenty-eight with that build," he said.
His fingertips tapped the young man's rising biceps. "Played quarterback in school? Wait a minute..."
He leaned in to study that face, sculpted like a Greek statue. "No, no. That face belongs in that coming-of-age comedy Richard Linklater was putting together -- the Hollywood talent scouts would kill to sign you."
"Thanks for the compliment, Mr. DeLao." Orlando instinctively pulled back. "But I didn't play football."
"If you've got that body and you never played, your high school coach must have been blind."
Frank folded his arms like he was appraising merchandise. His gray-blue eyes scanned Orlando from head to toe, his index finger stroking the stubble on his chin with a soft rasp.
"Ha! I think I know how to package you. Maybe go for the All-American sweetheart--" He snapped his fingers. "More precisely, the male version of the All-American sweetheart. Sunny, clean-cut, athletic; middle-aged women would lose their minds over you, high-school girls would dream about you at night, retiring grandmas would spend their pensions on your posters. You'd be huge across half the country. By the way, is the gender split in this country still roughly even?"
Orlando frowned slightly.
This guy sounded like he knew his business. On the surface, nothing he said seemed off. Physically, Orlando did fit what America was calling a young male heartthrob in the 1990s -- those guys were supposed to have muscle. But Orlando didn't see himself as just a heartthrob; he saw himself as a creative person.
At that moment, Seymour smiled and spoke up. He motioned to MJ's former manager. "Frank, before you work on Orlando's image, I think you ought to hear this..."
The old man pushed the Walkman across the table.
Frank glanced at Daisy Cuomo, who simply sat there composed and gave him a gentle smile.
Frank had come partly to return a favor and partly to show off the New York connections he claimed to have. He didn't fully believe it was common to run into a truly creative genius by chance.
But based on looks alone, he thought this kid could be packaged and sold.
Then Frank flipped his thinking. If the kid hadn't looked so good, would Daisy Cuomo have bothered to call him and Seymour over at all?
"All right!" Frank grinned. "Let's hear what our genius Orlando Keller has written."
He put on the Sony Walkman headphones and listened to the simple but punchy demo.
---
While Frank listened, Seymour kept talking with Orlando and Daisy.
"To be honest, I've been retired a few years. My industry contacts now mainly ran through Warner." The old man said, "Ms. Cuomo, maybe I could recommend Orlando to Atlantic Records?"
The small label Seymour once ran had been folded into Atlantic after Warner acquired it. Atlantic now sat under Warner, and it was one of the most prestigious labels in the Warner family.
Orlando didn't speak up. Whether the original body or he himself, he knew next to nothing about the record industry in the 90s.
"Warner would be good." Daisy chuckled lightly. "Mostly because I'd met Mr. Ross a few times."
Mr. Ross?
Seymour's mouth opened. The old man then gave a wry smile.
Okay, Mr. Ross must be Steve Ross, who had become the chairman and CEO of Time Warner after the merger completed earlier this year. That was a much higher-level connection than the Warner Records vice president Frank knew. Not to mention Atlantic's general manager, Doug.
This was the kind of New York upper-crust networking Daisy had access to. Seymour looked at the naive-looking Orlando and couldn't help but think the kid had landed a serious soft touch.
Orlando read the old man's thoughts and thought, This is nothing. Steve Ross was only one contact. Daisy's father-in-law was the current governor of New York. Her uncle had been Kennedy's right-hand man and was now one of Wall Street's law enforcers -- almost one of the nine living pillars of the American justice system.
By all later Internet talk, thirty-year-old widow Daisy Cuomo was one of the country's social aristocracy. That was why, after being reborn, Orlando had done everything he could to cozy up to her.
---
"Wow!" Frank suddenly ripped off the headphones and slapped the leather armrest of the tape deck with his right hand; the silverware on the table nearly jumped.
When the Sony Walkman stopped spinning, he tapped the table with his knuckles. "The melody was fresh, instantly catchy. Was the inspiration from kids in the Bronx?"
"I'm from the Bronx," Orlando said, nodding.
Frank thought for a moment. "Hip-hop plus country -- country rap? It's pretty cool, pretty novel. Where did you get the idea?"
"I just thought mixing styles was cool." Orlando lifted his head; his hair brushed his brow. "And the inspiration for the song also came from Black music."
"Yeah, that was cool. By the way, you must be mixed-race?"
"Yes. I've got German, Latin, and Black ancestry."
"You even have Black ancestry? Mr. Stein, what do you think about bringing race into the marketing plan?"
"What are you thinking?" Seymour raised an eyebrow.
"A young musical prodigy with a redemption arc. There's nothing like that in the market right now. Seeing his looks and hearing this song -- there's a contrast that could sell. Black audiences would eat him up!"
Frank DeLao grew more excited the more he spoke; his eyes almost shone.
"Sure, doing that would make the song controversial. Black audiences might love it, but some conservative white folks might boycott it."
"Who cares? No one can please everyone. Stir up controversy and discussion -- that's how you get buzz. In showbiz, buzz was everything."
Frank snapped his fingers and grinned, already assuming the role of Orlando's manager.
*****
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