I can be contacted on 305-664-6666.
Please let me know if this is of interest to you.
Best wishes,
Valerie Mercando
CEO
Mercando Public Relations Inc
Fuck, yeah! I get straight on the phone to Valerie Mercando. She does not fuck around. I tell her I can’t see her tomorrow as I’ve clients in the morning and a meeting at the channel/production company in the afternoon. So she suggests we meet for an early breakfast.
Oh yeah. Hello, bigtime! I’m inspired, so I get right onto Michelle!
To: michelleparish@lifeparishioners.com
From: lucypattybrennan@hardass.com
Subject: Hey You!
Hey Michelle,
Not only was it a great honor to meet you tonight, but to hear one of the foremost people in my field endorse everything I’ve been trying to teach for the last fifteen years — well, it kind of blew my mind! What a sense of validation! So I’m shamelessly taking you up on your offer of getting in direct contact with you.
I’d like to start by saying that you are numero uno, top of the pile, exactly where I want to be. I’m not going to give you all this creepy “I’m your biggest fan” stuff — from what I saw tonight you’ll have had that up to your eyeballs — but what I will say is that you are a massively inspirational figure in my life.
As you know, Michelle, I too am a personal trainer, a zealous warrior against the plague of obesity which is swamping our nation in blubber. And as you are also aware, I’ve recently become something of a media celebrity myself, since disarming that gunman on the Julia Tuttle Causeway. I’ve had a lot of attention as a result of this incident, with a cable-television company anxious to strike up a deal. I was wondering if it would be possible to pick your brains about the benefits and potential pitfalls of media stardom!
Not that I want to disclose too much personal stuff, but I’m a bisexual woman with an active sex life, and I know that this very fact makes me a target of interest for an avaricious media and public. Help! If you’re ever in SoBe, look me up!
Best wishes on your continued success,
Lucy Brennan
To: questions@jillianmichaels.com
From: lucypattybrennan@hardass.com
Subject: I Know It’s a Long Shot, But. .
. . on the off chance that you do answer emails personally, I’d like to start by saying that you are numero uno, top of the pile, exactly where I want to be. I’m not going to give you all this creepy “I’m your biggest fan” stuff — I suspect you’ve had your fill of that — but what I will say is that you are a massively inspirational figure in my life.
Jillian, I too am a personal trainer, a zealous warrior against the horrendous plague of obesity which is swamping our nation in blubber. I’ve recently become a bit of a media celebrity myself, having disarmed a gunman on the Julia Tuttle Causeway, right here in Miami Beach. I’ve had a lot of media attention as a result, with a cable-television company anxious to strike up a deal. I was wondering if it would be possible to pick your brains about the benefits and potential pitfalls of TV stardom.
Not that I want to self-disclose too much, but I’m a bisexual woman with an active sex life, and I know that this very fact makes me a target of interest for an avaricious media and public. Help! If you’re ever in SoBe, look me up!
Best wishes on your continued success,
Lucy Brennan
5. BLUBBER SUITS
I’M UP AT 7:07 with the sunrise, as I am every morning at this time of the year. It’s like a freakin switch. I can’t sleep when the sun’s up; even if I’m in a darkened, shuttered room without a chink of light, my body knows. So I’m into my workout clothes, stretching out, then pounding the sidewalks of South Beach. I see a couple of runners up ahead, a guy and chick, but I’m easily catching those mofos, then leaving their fake asses for dead. I bomb into Flamingo Park, where I stop at the bars to knock off four sets of fifteen pull-ups and chin-ups. I get back to my place on Lenox and shower, then take the Caddy up to Soho Beach House to see Valerie Mercando. We’re having a breakfast meeting at the back patio. I get there early as I wanted to see this joint, and I’m highly impressed. This will be the new Brennan hangout!
Valerie Mercando comes in, shielding her eyes against the morning glare, older than I imagined from her highish phone voice. She’s dressed in a light blue power suit, radiating a cool which says “I can do sass, but right now I really want to get down to serious business,” kind of like a Latina Oprah.
This is my beeyatch, of that I’m sure.
At my recommendation, she orders the same breakfast and insists on paying for both, and we get a table outside. Valerie, putting her shades back on, tells me that Thelma sent all the details for the show on to her. — Conceptually, I think it’s sound enough, but that is for you to decide. Financewise, I think they’ve come in a little low. .
— I’ve got to confess, I haven’t seen any offer.
— Didn’t you open the attachments?
— Not yet, I admit, having overlooked them and feeling a bit of an asshole. — You have to appreciate that this is all happening very quickly for me.
— Yes, it must be quite overwhelming. But at this stage I just want to say two crucial things: one, sign nothing. .
— I hear you.
—. . and two, do you want me to come along to the meeting this afternoon? I’m happy to do this, and act on your behalf on an interim basis. There’s no pressure on you to formally engage me, and if you go for somebody else, I’d happily brief them. Obviously, though, we’d love to work with you.
— Look, I’m convinced. You’re a straight shooter, so am I. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already earned your 10 percent, I tell her, feeling a thump inside at my use of the term straight shooter, which came from one of Mom and Lieb’s management books.
We shake hands and talk nonstop for over an hour. As we start to vibe, so Valerie’s tone becomes less businesslike and more open. — Camera crews are always chasing the cops. Be prepared for that kind of intrusion for around two weeks, she says, when I tell her about the media fuckers, — then it’ll be like it never happened, unless some other development puts it back in the news.
— It feels like it’s kinda over already.
— Don’t worry. You have something real to sell. Heroism is an unusual quality these days, we don’t see a lot of it. We try and tout our military, then have the Pentagon practically admit it’s also a hotbed of rapists and psychos. But individuals who can step up to the plate, they really capture the imagination.
— I agree.
Then she breaks into a little giggle. — Some say we’ve got a lot to answer for in TV, especially reality television. Let me be frank. She drops her voice. — I came into this game wanting to do quality stuff, but there’s just no demand. People are so scared, dumbassed, and pliable, they just switch over if they feel challenged, into a world of useless parasites like Paris or the Kardashians, who have money. They want to either imagine themselves in that circle, or just see them get fucked.
— For sure, I nod. Hell, I like this woman, she doesn’t pull punches.
— So we’re crying out for a real hero. Therefore you’ll be getting a lot of attention, and she lets a sly glance sweep over me, — though I don’t suppose that will be a problem!
For a second or two I wonder if this dirty bitch is flirting with me, but quickly dismiss the notion. — One of the things about looking fit is that the damaged goods tend to leave you alone, I explain. — But this is South Beach, so you’re never too far away from a cocky asshole, or self-absorbed douchebag.