Insane City (19 page)

As the rehearsal dinner approached the dessert course, Rose decided it was time for her and Sid to

take their medicine. She opened her massive purse and took out the plastic box filled with brownies. She

set it on the serving cart next to her and began rummaging through her purse, looking for her reading

glasses so she could unwrap the brownies.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Sid.

Rose was about to give her automatic response to Sid, which was that no he didn’t have to go to the

bathroom, when it occurred to her that maybe he did, as it had been some time since his last trip. She

decided she had to go, too. So she closed her purse, stood, and told Sid to come on. The two of them

toddled slowly from the room.

On their way out, they passed a waiter coming in. The waiter’s name was Miguel; he had been

assigned the task of unveiling and serving the Groom’s Cake when given the signal by Tina. He positioned

himself by the serving cart in the corner and noticed the plastic box sitting next to the silver dome. This

did not look right to Miguel. He opened the box and saw that it was filled with brownies individually

wrapped in plastic. He assumed that these, like the cake, had been provided by the wedding party; he also

assumed that they were meant to be part of the dessert offering and somebody had failed to unwrap them.

Miguel was a man with initiative. Using his body to shield the cart from the rest of the room, he

lifted the dome and set it aside, exposing the football cake, which lay in the center of a silver platter.

Working quickly, Miguel unwrapped the brownies and positioned them artfully around the cake, making a

nice display. Miguel was pleased with his work and his quick thinking. He stuffed the wrappings into the

box and tucked it out of sight on the cart’s lower shelf. Then he replaced the dome and turned just in time

to see Tina signaling him that she was ready to begin.

Tina tapped her water glass with a teaspoon, bringing the table to silence. She rose and made a

short, graceful speech, thanking the wedding party for being there. She then signaled Miguel, who rolled

the cart to the middle of the table and, with a flourish, lifted the dome. Everyone
Ooh
ed at the Groom’s

Cake; Seth stood and kissed Tina. Tina noticed the brownies arranged around the cake. She hadn’t

ordered brownies but assumed the hotel had provided them. Seth also noticed the brownies but assumed

Tina had ordered them.

Miguel sliced and served the cake, putting a brownie on each plate next to the cake slice. Everyone

agreed the cake—Seth’s favorite, orange sponge cake with chocolate frosting—was delicious. They also

raved about the brownies, especially Wendell Corliss, who considered himself a serious chocolate

connoisseur. He declared he had never tasted brownies quite like these. Miguel served him a second one,

which he ate. He then asked Mike if he planned to eat his brownie, which was untouched; Mike, who did

not like chocolate, said sure, and Wendell wolfed that one down.

The brownies were all consumed; the room was now abuzz with conversation and laughter. More

wine arrived, and a selection of liqueurs. Miguel wheeled the dessert cart out. He passed Rose and Sid,

reentering the room after the long, slow toddle back from the restrooms. Upon reaching her seat, Rose

said, “Where’s my brownies?”

Seth’s head whipped around. “They’re not in your purse?” he said.

“No,” said Rose. “I put them right here, on a little table. But now it’s gone.”

“Oh God,” said Seth.

“What?” said Tina.

Seth lowered his voice. “You didn’t order brownies to go with the cake?”

“No. I think the hotel gave us those.”

“Actually, I think they were my mom’s.”

“Oh! Well, that was very nice of her. I didn’t eat one, but people seem to really like them.”

Seth opened his mouth, about to reveal the true nature of the brownies. Then, seeing how pleased

Tina was with how the dinner was going, he closed his mouth, figuring he’d already subjected her to

enough stress for one evening. Besides, the dinner
was
going great. The guests, aside from Rose and Sid,

were happy to the point of giddiness, especially down at the Wendell Corliss end of the table.

Wendell was not known for his sense of humor; he rarely smiled, except for business reasons, and

pretty much never laughed. But now, suddenly, he was downright jovial. This did not go unnoticed by the

brownie-free Mike, who decided that now might be a good opportunity to subtly steer Corliss toward the

topic of—without directly mentioning it—the current vacancy in the Group of Six.

“I was really sorry to hear about Herb Wentworth,” Mike said, bringing up the name of the recently

deceased industrialist who had been, Mike believed, a member of the Group. “What a shock.”

“A shock?” said Wendell.

“Yes,” said Mike.

“You were shocked that Herb died?”

“Well, yes. I mean, no, he was definitely getting on in years, but, I mean, he was . . . it was quite a

loss.”

“Herb Wentworth,” said Corliss, “was the deadest person I have ever met who was not technically

dead.”

“Really?” said Mike, surprised to hear Corliss talking about the late business legend this way.

“Really. You’d be with him and there would be times when he wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t do

anything, wouldn’t
move
. He was like a corpse.”

“Huh,” said Mike.

“One time,” said Corliss, “I was sitting next to Herb at dinner and I swear he didn’t say a word,

didn’t eat anything, didn’t move a muscle, for five minutes. I couldn’t really tell if his eyes were open or

shut. So I was kind of watching him out of the corner of my eye and I’m thinking,
I wonder if old Herb
has

kicked the bucket here
. I was thinking about nudging him, but this is Herb Wentworth we’re talking about.

You don’t nudge Herb Fucking Wentworth.”

“No,” agreed Mike, a bit shocked by Corliss’s language, but not saying anything.

“So I’m watching him,” continued Corliss, “and I see this fly walking around on his head. Herb had a

huge
head, totally bald, and this fly is just strolling around on it, very casual, for a fly. And then, while

I’m watching, the fly walks
into his ear
. All the way in. And I didn’t see it come back out. Can you

imagine?”

“Having a fly walk into my ear?”

“No, being the fly. Being
that
fly and walking into Herb Wentworth’s ear. I mean, to the fly, that

earhole was the size of the Lincoln Tunnel. But the fly just walked in there as if it knew exactly what it

was doing. Think about it. Think about the
confidence
.”

Mike tried to think about it, but had no luck.

Corliss said, “But at that point, what do you say? Do you say, ‘Wake up, Herb! A fly just walked into

your ear’?”

At this point, Corliss emitted what could only be described as a giggle. Mike couldn’t believe it.

Wendell Corliss did not giggle.

“How do they do that, anyway?” said Corliss.

“How does who do what?” said Mike.

“Flies. How do they walk around on a smooth surface like Herb’s head? Or a wall? Or a
window
,

for God’s sake? I mean, it’s
glass
. What holds them on?”

“I think they have little suction cups on their feet,” said Marty, who’d been listening and who had

eaten a brownie.

“Seriously?” said Corliss, turning with interest toward Marty, to the visible annoyance of Mike.

“Suction cups?”

“No no no,” said Big Steve, another brownie consumer weighing in. “They have like little hooks.”

“Hooks?” said Corliss, fascinated now.

“On their feet,” said Big Steve.

“But getting back to Herb Wentworth,” said Mike.

Corliss ignored him. “How can they attach themselves to glass with hooks?” he asked Big Steve.

“What do they hook onto?”

“That’s the thing,” said Big Steve. “Even really, really smooth surfaces have tiny irregularities. The

hooks can hook onto them.”

Corliss picked up his water glass. “So what you’re saying is, there are tiny irregularities in this

glass?” He held the glass up close to his face and peered at it. “My God,” he said.

“You can see them?” said Marty.

“See what?”

“The irregularities?”

“No . . . The light. Look at the
light
!”

Marty and Big Steve both raised their glasses to their eyes and both said, “Whoa.”

Corliss turned to his wife, who had also consumed a brownie and had been staring straight ahead for

several minutes without blinking. “You have to see this,” he said, extending his glass. “The
light
.”

She looked at him and said, “Do you think we could get a pizza?”

“That is an
excellent
idea,” Corliss said.

“What?” said Mike.

Ignoring him, Corliss signaled a waiter, who hustled over.

“We’d like to order a pizza,” said Corliss.

The waiter, who had just finished serving these very people a lavish, multi-course Italian meal, from

antipasti through dessert, said, “A pizza?”

“It’s a flat, round piece of baked bread dough topped with tomato and cheese,” said Corliss. This

absolutely slayed Big Steve, Marty and Greta, all of whom began giggling uncontrollably. Corliss

beamed; he
never
made people laugh, especially not his wife.

“Sir,” said the waiter, “I’m afraid we don’t have pizza on the menu.”

“Then you need to order one,” said Corliss.

“Order one?” said the waiter.

“Yes. A delivery pizza.”

“You want to have a pizza delivered here? To this restaurant?” said Mike.

“Exactly!” said Corliss.

“OK,” said Mike, who was not about to contradict Wendell Corliss even though Corliss was acting

weird. In fact, Mike was noticing that almost everyone was acting weird. Even his wife, Marcia, was

behaving oddly: she had risen from her seat and was now intently studying a picture on the wall.

Meanwhile, farther down the table, Banzan Dazu was leading Kevin, the bridesmaids and the rest of the

Clark relatives in some kind of chant.

“So what’s the best pizza around here?” Corliss asked the waiter.

“On Key Biscayne, that would be Stan’s,” said the waiter. “But they don’t deliver.”

“Of
course
they’ll deliver,” said Corliss. He withdrew an iPhone from his pocket, tapped at the

screen for a bit, then held it to his ear.

“Hello, this is Wendell Corliss,” he said. “I’d like to speak to the owner. Corliss. C-o-r-l-i-s-s. Yes,

I’ll hold.”

“You know what you’re like?” said Marty.

“What?” said Corliss.

“The fly.”

“Which fly?”

“The one who walked into the guy’s ear.”

Corliss frowned. “How so?”

“Well, like you said, the fly was
confident
. It’s walking around on this dude’s head and it sees the

hole, and instead of being scared of the hole, the fly is, like, ‘I’m going
in
there.’ Which is dangerous. I

mean, what if the dude goes, ‘Shit! There’s a fly in my ear,’ and he slaps his hand over it and the fly is

trapped? That’s a huge risk. But the fly goes in there anyway. The fly doesn’t stand around thinking about

the danger. The fly just
does
it. He takes the risk and that’s how he gets the reward.”

“But what
is
the reward?” said Big Steve. “I mean, what’s inside the guy’s ear that a fly would

want?”

“I don’t know,” said Marty. “Maybe flies eat earwax. Flies will eat a lot of things.”

“Earwax could be a source of protein,” said Big Steve.

“There you go,” said Marty. “But the point is”—here he pointed at Corliss, who was following the

conversation with deep fascination—“you’re like the fly. You want a delivery pizza, so you
act
. The rest

of us, we’re all walking around on the outside of the head. But you, you went
right into the fucking

earhole
.”

Corliss stared at Marty for a moment, then said, “What do you do?”

“Do?”

“For a living.”

“I’m an attorney,” said Marty.

“Where?”

“I’m in between positions.”

Corliss held up a finger and spoke into the phone. “Hello, yes, is this the owner? Stan? Stan, my

name is Wendell Corliss. C-o-r-l-i-s-s. I would like to order a delivery pizza. No, I understand that. But I

am prepared to make this worth your while.”

“Tell him pepperoni,” said Greta Corliss.

Corliss nodded, holding up a
Wait a second
finger. “Stan, I don’t think you understand. I’m aware

that you have a no-delivery policy. I respect that. But here’s what I’m saying, Stan. I’m saying that if you

can find a way to deliver a pizza to us here . . .”

“With pepperoni,” said Greta.

“. . . a pizza
with pepperoni
, Stan, then you would find that the upside, financially, would be

extremely rewarding.
Extremely
, Stan. Are you familiar with the Transglobal Financial Capital Funding

Group?”

Mike listened to this with his mouth open. Wendell Corliss was a man who could alter the financial

stability of entire nations, a man who could, and routinely did, leave heads of state waiting on hold. And

here he was cajoling the owner of a
pizza joint
. Mike tapped Corliss on the arm and said, “Listen, why

don’t you let me just send one of my guys over there to get the pizza, OK?”