Cousin Fred and I Meet Chick Farris in Vegas, baby!

Happy Friday everyone, hope your upcoming weekend is a good one. Just a reminder, tickets are still available for the Junior Brown concert at the Woodward Arts Theatre downtown. Ticket price is $50 and gets you into the silent auction that starts at 7PM, the show which starts at 8PM, and then a chance to meet Junior himself after the show. It’s gonna be great!
 

I’m hopeful that I’ll be able to get back there for the performance. Cousin Fred and I are still holed up in the Oasis Boutique Motel in arid Boulder City, Nevada. We have another meeting in Vegas, baby! with Chick Farris today. I’m planning to hit the road back to Cosmic City after that.
 
So far, Cousin Fred has pulled enough out of the quarter slot machines around town to keep us in food, drink and lodging. The accommodations are reasonably priced, certainly a lot less than it would have cost us to stay in Las Vegas, baby! The rooms are remarkably clean and quiet too. That helped us get a power nap before we had to drive into the city after our long journey.
 
The drive into Vegas, baby! yesterday for our initial meeting with Farris was only about 30 minutes using the freeway. Chick’s altogether able assistant told Cousin Fred that we would all meet at the Lily Bar and Lounge in the Bellagio. We got more than a few stares with Brutus when we pulled into the parking garage at the hotel. The attendant directed us to the back of the facility. We made quite a racket as Cousin Fred’s whip CB antenna kept scratching along the overhead in the garage as we drove. I think we also took out a couple of exit signs along the way.
 
When we entered the Lily, the place was surprisingly busy. It occurred to me that I had no idea what Chick Farris looks like. I asked Cousin Fred if he had Chick’s number which he said he did. He told me it’s stored on his phone. Only problem is, his phone was still in Boulder City.
 
“No problem,” said Cousin Fred. He starts working his way through the crowd, approaching just about everyone with, “Chiiick, baby! How are you? Oh, sorry.”
 
Finally, I see some nervous looking guy in the back gesturing to Cousin Fred. He’s at a corner booth, at least I guess you can call it a booth…it was more like an L-shaped plush sectional sofa with a few small cocktail tables.
 
At the same moment I saw what must have been hotel security zeroing in on Cousin Fred who was still working his way through the overdressed crowd doing his “Chiiiick, baby!” greeting.
 
I grabbed him and steered him toward Mr. Nervous at the back of the room. As we got closer, I could see a slightly-beyond-middle-aged guy sitting there. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses like you would expect to see on a desert patrolling state trooper. He just seemed to stare straight ahead. He was wearing what I guessed was an Armani suit with a silk shirt that was open down to mid-chest. The guy definitely spent time in a spray tan booth. He had that sort of George Hamilton carrot orange look to his skin.
 
As we neared the table, I looked back to see the hotel security guys starting to pull up. Guess they figured we wouldn’t be bothering any more guests with “Chiiick, baby!”
 
Mr. Nervous was wearing a black business suit with a black shirt and white tie, but it was his shoes that really caught my eye. Black, pointy-toed things they were, with the pointy ends kind of curled up. His facial features were kind of pointy too. He looked like some nightmarish elf in mourning. At that point, I really wanted to run out of there.
 
Mr. Nervous introduced himself to us as Mr. Farris’ trusted aide without actually telling us his name. I shook his hand. It was moist, with sweat I hoped. He then turned to introduce us to Chick Farris who turned his mirrored sunglasses in our general direction, but didn’t get up to greet us. I leaned across one of the tables to shake Chick’s hand, but he turned his head to the left and stared off into space.
 
Mr. Nervous leaned into my ear and whispered, “Mr. Farris never shakes hands because of the germs. He is hypersensitive and vulnerable to diseases, you know.”
 
This was getting creepier by the second.
 
As I sat down, I suddenly realized Cousin Fred was back across the room trying to talk to two women who were dressed to the nines and doing their best to avoid any eye contact with him.
 
Chick, without looking at me asked, “Do you know who I am?”
 
Before I could answer with “not a clue”, Mr. Nervous informed me, “He’s Chick Farris, the king of all broadcast television.”
 
As soon as he said that, something tripped in the back of my mind. A faint memory stored upon a decidedly mature brain cell issued forth. I remembered this guy. He had hit after hit on television, but that was back in the 70’s and 80’s. I even recalled that there was some scandal where his partner Bill “Billy the Tip” Tipmann turned up dead. There was an investigation, but Chick was exonerated.
 
I guess a look of recognition had washed over me. Chick looked in my direction and muttered, “So, what do you boys have for me?”