His having mentioned the possibility of working with him made me feel both lucky and nervous. I was anxious that it not fall-through. But, I told myself, even if I should never meet this man again, I would never forget his presence. That smile of his could calm people going down in a crashing plane. And since I often felt like I was going down in flames . . .
Quentin brought mayhem upon America. History will regard him as a super villain. It will position him somewhere between Benedict Arnold and Genghis Khan on the infamy scale. That’s the reason why this historical record is so important.
Few knew the inner workings of this man. None but those who had spent time with him privately could grasp the true nature of his soul before the rise of Prison Wars. I trailed him through every significant phase of the Prison Wars venture. As what we did led to total disaster, my being positioned so closely to him made writing this account both an act of redemption and a moral necessity.
Perhaps Quentin served as an unwitting alchemist. On that day he partially transformed me into a luxury-expecting tennis player. He taught me not to worry. I believe his spirit was then entirely free from bad intentions. He lived in bliss and thought of nothing else. And so perhaps his life, and its impact on us, should change the way we normally quip about ignorance; Ignorance is bliss, but it can lead to hell.
CHAPTER TWO – PRESS CONFERENCE
I told all my friends (both of my friends) and my colleagues about my meeting with Quentin and how excited I was about it. But between the time of our first encounter and the press conference we only spoke twice.
A few days after I returned to Omaha, Quentin called to tell me of the logistics; which hotel, flight, limo company etc. were to escort me. And right before my departure date, he called again to confirm that I was coming.
Though I had Quentin’s number I was too nervous about accidentally blowing my opportunity to call him. Both times he called me the same dynamic applied. In disbelief, and not wanting this to fall through, I tried to sound unexcited and businesslike.
Quentin treated me like an old friend. He apologized for not contacting me more often. He had been really busy getting final negotiations and logistics ready for the big night and promised we’d have some real quality time to talk after the press conference.
“Sounds great,” was all I could say. My head and heart had to process both the fear of blowing this opportunity and tremendous excitement. This emotional balancing act percolated under every word.
Though I was honored and felt his warmth from our first handshake, trusting is hard for me. After each call I felt jaded, evil, and dirty. He had love and trust while I had skepticism. Had the world made me so gun shy of people? Was it my upbringing? It was almost unnerving to talk with him. My lack of love became more apparent to me each time. It was if I were being readied for a therapeutic immersion I might not be able to handle. That period filled me with the type of tension that must precede religious conversions.
I was intrigued by the potential of our relationship. Not having many connections with people--and those just being with run-of-the-mill folk -- friendship with him seemed like a rare and strange blessing. Like a beggar confronting Jesus, I wasn’t sure why I was worthy of such attention.
Looking back, perhaps he chose me because I was average. It is easier to trust folks that haven’t swum with big sharks. Perhaps it was out of an admiration for my writing. But I’ve never thought my writing was that special. Perhaps he just enjoyed bestowing blessings on good people that seemed to need love.
Such were the sorts of questions that besieged my worried brain in the weeks preceding the big event. Even after the limo picked me up, after I flew for a second time in his private jet, and I was dropped off in front of the Sunset Hyatt, I could barely believe that this was happening to me.
The Wilshire Beverly was the normal place for large corporate announcements in Los Angeles. Both of my previous assignments covering mergers were held there. The Hyatt on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood had an entirely different atmosphere. In retrospect, choosing it was a stroke of genius. The rich-meets-poor, party-infused atmosphere of this adult playground was perfect for the juvenile spectacle being announced.
The Sunset Strip is Hollywood’s hottest street. This was the first time I had seen it at night. The whole thing is television. Though it was night, the street was lit as brightly as a movie set. The sidewalks were full of women that looked like supermodels. All of the guys looked like they are top-of-the-chart rock stars. Never had I seen such a concentration of people wearing tight, vinyl and leather pants.
The excitement builds in the Sunset Hyatt elevator. How fantastic you are is measured by how high you go. I remember predicting that the order of the passengers leaving. The couples all went first, then went the heavier businessmen, then went the sleek young businessmen, the scruffy partiers left and then we three hit the top.
Leaving the elevator I passed guards at a table and finally entered a large dark room with booths. I went to the wet bar in the left of the room. Drinks were on the house, but everyone was leaving five-dollar tips in the tip jar. Against the back wall there was a stage where a disc-spinner was fronted by a revolving cadre of strippers that went all the way to topless.
The topless women didn’t go too well with this media crowd. The media folk looked too old to be titillated with such teenager type stuff. But they didn’t disregard the strippers. They weren’t shocked and outraged. They just tried to look disinterested. I suppose the odd blending of elderly and youthful thrills is now a part of our youth-worshiping culture. The media men not showing enjoyment made them appear bizarre and antiquated.
Not having anyone with me, I scanned the crowd. One guy stood out. He was tall angular, thick and dark. He had a bad-guy dartiness in his eyes and spoke to no one all night. It might have been due to my focusing on him as a character, but he appeared to take crowd pictures too often. Once or twice I actually felt my privacy was violated as he seemed to be taking pictures of me.
I was going to confront him when I noticed that there was an outside. Just how special the place I had the privilege to be in became immediately apparent as I first viewed the rooftop patio. It sported another bar and a full buffet. But beyond this it had a view to die for - a view of all the lights of Los Angeles.
Twenty-four floors below I looked down upon the jammed cars that cruised the strip. They thought that they were hot. And I realized I was in the hotspot they were dreaming of. Damn! This was it. I was in where the in-crowd was.
Looking down from this fantastic height actually put me in the mind of achieving final glamour by jumping. Now that I was finally fulfilled I didn’t need to continue. The glass wall that lined the roof likely made the temptation of jumping a repeating subconscious theme to all. But it was so tall that our fulfillment would have to wait.
And there, precariously perched on a riser was Quentin. The riser was so high that it lifted him above the glass partition. Behind him shone all the lights of the city. In front of him was a small table with a pitcher of water and a glass on it.
I think he must have been waiting for me. Because as soon as he saw me and gave me an uncharacteristic thumbs-up he launched into his presentation.
“Ladies and gentlemen I am ready to proceed. If I may have your attention I’d like to start by thanking you for coming here this evening. I hope you’ve had a good time thus far. And again, thank you for coming.
“Ladies and gentleman, what you are about to hear about may disturb you. It may excite you. It may make you think that I am a madman. But it will happen.
“What I am about to announce will be the single most important development in the history of media. I am not joking or exaggerating. Take me seriously. The contracts have been signed. The legalities have been checked. We are set to go in approximately three months.
“Please hold your questions until the end of my announcement. But know that Prison Wars are for real. ESPN has already bought the broadcast