Daniel Price - Slick

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Lawrence Zeiger and I had a few things in common. We both grew up in New York. We both hailed from German Jewish ancestry. We both changed our names at age twenty-four, mostly for aesthetics but a little bit to hide our German Jewish ancestry. I became Scott Singer. He be came Larry King. And he did it ten years before I even became at all.

Larry King Live had been a staple of CNN since 1985. During that time, Larry had interviewed pretty much every name you’ve ever heard of, plus a few thousand you haven’t. He’d even chatted up people who technically didn’t exist. Aside from Jay Leno, no media figure had crossed the fourth wall more times than Larry, appearing as himself in over two dozen Hollywood properties, from Ghostbusters to Murphy Brown to The Exorcist III . Not being a CNN viewer, Harmony didn’t learn of Larry’s actuality until she was booked onto his show. She always assumed the guy with the suspenders was just another fictional character.

But Larry certainly believed in her. On Thursday and Friday he had devoted the entire hour to Harmony, bringing in his usual panel of experts to squabble over the merits of her case. He closed the show by promising a “very special guest” on Monday.

And now here she was, sitting across the desk from him, in front of his signature light map. All throughout his intro, she smiled and fidgeted with palpable anxiety. I felt for her, even though I knew she was in good hands. Larry King was not a gorgeous man, but he had a heart of gold and a steadfast neutrality. He wasn’t emotionally manipulative like Barbara Walters, or completely insane like Connie Chung. He was a throwback to gentler times, when objectivity ruled the news.

On Harmony’s left was Alonso, the sharpest-looking one of the bunch. Despite his commendable appearance, the poor man had been reminded by everyone, from me to Maxina to Larry’s producers, to keep his big trap shut. This was Harmony’s vehicle. He was just the airbag.

Okay, said Larry , before we even start, do you want to explain that button you’re wearing? What does that mean, “The Jury?”

With a pleasant laugh, Harmony raised the round button clipped above her right breast. The camera briefly zoomed in on it.

“This has nothing to do with the case. The Jury’s just the rap group my roommates are in. They’re gonna be real big, real soon. Hey guys! Hi Tracy!”

Madison shot back into the apartment and practically vaulted onto the couch. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing. It just started.”

So you’re a big fan of rap .

“I love rap, Larry. I always have. East Coast. West Coast. It don’t matter to me, as long as it’s good.”

“Well, if it don’t matter to her,” Madison mocked, “it don’t matter to me.”

I looked to the door. “Where’s your mother?”

“She’s coming. She’s just texting Neil.”

“Oh. Is he expecting you guys at home?”

Madison shot me a dark look. “Was that a joke?”

“No. Why would that be a joke?”

“Scott, I’m trying to hear this.”

A lot of people expected you to have a problem with rap, given the circumstances .

“I never had a problem with rap, Larry. Rap never hurt me. It was just a man who happened to be a rapper. I mean, if he was a milkman, nobody would be blaming milk.”

Madison gaped in affront. “Oh my God. Is she for real?”

Yes, but that line couldn’t have been more forced. Come on, Harmony. Stop trying to be cute.

Okay. I know this isn’t easy, but let’s talk about Hunta for a second .

Alonso was about to speak, but Harmony cut him off. “Actually, I’m trying not to talk about him. I don’t want to talk about him. Anything I got to say about him, I’m saving for the trial.”

Harmony patted Alonso’s shoulder. “See? I listen to you.”

Better. Much better. It took all my energy not to smile. Damn it. I shouldn’t have let Madison stay. I should have watched this alone, without anyone watching me.

So you expect it to go all the way to trial. No settlement.

“I don’t know what to expect anymore. I’d just love for this whole thing to be over. Actually, I wish it had ended back in January, before the whole Melrose thing.”

Finally, Jean entered the apartment. For once she was dressed stylishly in a professional gray blazer, short skirt, high heels, and expensive earrings. She looked pretty damn formal for a self-employed graphic designer. She looked pretty damn good.

She closed the door, then flashed me an edgy grin. Hi. Thanks for having me. You must be insane.

I returned an acknowledging shrug. Sorry. I meant well. I’m scared, too.

“Have a seat,” I said, motioning around. “Anywhere.”

She took off her blazer, revealing the sleeveless white blouse she’d worn to Club Silence. If she was embarrassed to be seen in the same shirt twice, she didn’t show it and I didn’t care. With arms as perfect as hers, she could wear that top for the rest of her life and I wouldn’t mind. God help me. I had yet to recover from Saturday night’s tumult. All I did was put my attraction on layaway while I dealt with Harmony.

Jean sat down on the couch, on the other side of her daughter. From the way she held herself, you’d think there was a spitting cobra between us.

I leaned back to get a clear view. “Do you want anything to drink? Or eat?”

“Scott, you’re missing this.”

Jean shook her head. I sat forward again, muttering to Madison.

“Should I turn on the captions?”

She was still fixed on CNN. “Don’t bother. She’s going to get up in a minute and start thumbing through your magazines.”

Now, on Thursday, you told the press to leave you alone. You wanted them to respect your privacy. Why are you speaking out now?

“Because I’m already all over the place,” Harmony replied evenly. “I mean, I know they’re just doing their job, but…I don’t know. Ever since Thursday, I been reading all this stuff about me, and it’s all been…”

You feel you’ve been misrepresented .

“I feel like I’ve been simplified.”

I had to laugh at how right she was. As Harmony spoke, the network ran alternating text bites on the bottom third of the screen, under her name. was raped and impregnated by stepfather at age 11/ discovered murdered bodies of mother, half-brother in 1994 / spent 13 months in hospital after being hit by police car.

“I mean, I see these experts and psychologists talking about me like they know me. Complete strangers are talking about these things from my life like I was a TV movie or something.”

Well, you’ve been through an awful lot for someone so young .

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be defined by the bad things that happened to me. I mean, everyone’s had something bad happen to them at some point. It affects the person they are but, I mean, it doesn’t necessarily define them.”

Madison mocked her again. “I mean…I mean…I mean…”

“Oh, like you’re so eloquent.”

“Shut up.”

So what do you think defines you?

After a few seconds of stumped silence, Harmony laughed. “Wow. I guess I brought that on myself. Uh, let me think about that.”

Larry took the opportunity to cut to the first commercial.