Man of the Year by Lou Cove

Author:Lou Cove
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flatiron Books

The Rocky Campaign

Who’s that teenager in the shower? Plastic curtain threaded under his arm, covering the right half of his chest and the wet white of his blubbery belly, a man boob hanging free. Hard Day’s Night hair. Big smile. How could this tubby kid grow up to be Howie?

I flip to the next photo. Same kid. Younger. Hair parted to the side and greasy. He’s wearing a jacket and tie and he has virtually no neck. Even fatter than in the shower.

“That’s Rocky,” Howie says. “That’s the Italian Stallion. The Jewish Jaguar. He doesn’t look the part, but he’s the kid next door, so you want to root for him.”

“I’m with you,” Papa nods. He’s come home early from work, a rarity, and we’re gathered around the pool table playing a quick round of eight ball.

“Of course you’re with me,” Howie sniffs. “You were a fat kid, too. We need the rest of the country with me. How do you go from having the biggest boobs in the seventh grade to being a male centerfold on every news rack in America? Hard work! Millions of sit-ups! That’s what I’ve been doing. But if you look at my photos in the magazine you only get one part of the story: just another good-looking guy with no tan line and a flat stomach. Someone you can’t be. But then you see these,” he flaps the eight by tens, one in each hand, “and your whole view changes. Suddenly you can get behind this horse. Because that’s the whole American Dream thing. Rags. Riches. Fat. Thin. Same thing.”

“Still with you,” Papa nods. “Two in the corner.” Sunk.

“Terrific. One down, twenty million to go. Thanks, Chubby.”

“Hey, don’t alienate your base, pal. First rule of politics.” Papa lights his dormant cigar and smoothes his mustache as he hunts his next conquest on the felt.

“Point taken,” Howie concedes. “Now here’s how you can really help me, because this whole self-promotion thing is not me. I may have been born Jewish, but I didn’t get the memo on how to succeed in business without really trying.”

“Step one,” Papa says, “is try.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Ten in the side.” Bang. “Step two, get those photos out there. You hit on just the right thing—a narrative. Fat boy makes good. Universal appeal. Now sell it. Have you shared these photos with Playgirl yet?”

“Nope.” Howie looks pensively at the glossies, his old self staring back at him.

“Don’t they have a PR office? Let them do some of the legwork.”

“They’re not going to do bupkes. Can’t pick favorites. Besides, they don’t get what I’m up to here. This takes the idea of men’s sexuality beyond John Wayne. Past the unattainable falsehood…”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Howie jumps up, spreads his arms: “Look at me! I’m five foot eight, one hundred fifty pounds. Not what your average steak-and-potato-eating American thinks of as a man’s man. Dustin Hoffman with muscles, that’s me. The fact that I could be Man of the Year could mean a lot, to a lot of guys.

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