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PLANET BRADY
In which the inevitability of the future becomes increasingly apparent.
Being rich and famous will hardly change me at all. Genuine humility cannot be bought and sold, and I think my advantage is that I have foreseen my success, so I will not be caught off guard by the shiny trappings that will soon arrive at my door. Fortune and fame will come hand and hand for me, I am certain.
It is true that I will get my own apartment. Yes. And I will have furniture, to be sure. And boulle flooring. And floor-to-floor-to-ceiling windows. But I will still putter around my apartment in my socks and drink juice out of the bottle. In the mornings I will eat over the sink. I will continue to do much of my shopping at the Associated, but maybe I will spend more time at Zabar's. I will not have a maid, though I might have one of those semi-ridiculous hangers-on who feels like doing the laundry and dishes every now and then as a favor.
The fame I have will not be annoying. It will be the kind of fame that brings adulation from an informed group of people. Fame that isn't based on looks, or I should say, based completely on looks, but more on talent and intelligence. Artists and musicians and scientists will stop me on the street. I will be approachable-famous, and they will grasp me by the elbow and say, "Brady, your work has meant so much to me. And my family." I will smile warmly and say, "My pleasure, Old Man" if they appear younger and male, and "I'm glad to help, Young Lady" if they appear to be older and female. The smile lines at the corners of my eyes will be a defining feature in political cartoons that portray me favorably with the Greats of History.
I would buy only the cleanest, most expensive prostitutes. Ah ha ha ha. As you can see, fortune will not dull my risqué sense of humor.
I will still walk to work and take the subway. On occasion, I might take a cab. Perhaps even car service to the airport or late at night, but otherwise, I am a budget traveler. I will fly first class, though. Everywhere. Sometimes, in Air Force One, but I will nap the entire time to show that I am aware that the President works for me, Citizen Richards. I will occasionally vote, especially during elections, and like Ted Danson and Kim Bassinger, I will share my political expertise with those who read People Magazine. The difference is that my stance will be an elaborate put-on, a remarkable tweaking of our society's blind trust in the words of celebrities.
I will wear the same clothes that I already own, though I will replace my undershirts and socks more often. I will buy new clothes here and there -- jeans, sweaters, shirts -- but I won't turn into some fashion fop, as the Fashion Industry is rather shallow and I have more meaningful things to do with my life. I might tend to don classic styles of suits and morning coats, as there are some things that never go out of style.
There will be offers for me to guest lecture or teach classes. I will politely decline the spotlight, but I will graciously attend the event in order to Learn, because you never stop Learning. Perhaps someone will recognize me and coax me onto the stage, but I will refuse to say anything more than, "I could learn more from each of you here than I could ever teach." I would refuse anything further, with the exception of honorary degrees from prestigious universities. And maybe one from Colorado Diesel College, just for kicks.
Every now and then, I will completely abscond from my life and the duties associated with eminence, and live life as it is in "Roman Holiday," which is an excellent movie. Audrey Hepburn's granddaughter or whoever in her family is about my age and possessed of genes most similar to Audrey will fall in love with me, and it will be one of the great tales of modern romance and heartbreak that It Just Can Never Be.
One phrase that will be commonly associated with me and my altruism is noblesse oblige.
There just might be some paternity suits, but all are unfounded. Actually, no, Who I Am will be too respected for petty attention-grabbers even to think to sully me.
In the event that I am called to court, the judge will laugh the case right out, and there will be newspaper headlines, "Justice System Is Saved!" Academic Journals will call the years 1993-whatever year it is, "America's Newest and Greatest Golden Age," and my name and some of my works and programs will be cited as evidence. I will not frame these articles, as that seems a bit smug. Places of business I patronize will probably frame them, though, and I will be happy to autograph whatever they wish. I will hold salons in my house to which the best and brightest will come and bring sliced cucumbers and their homemade hummus. I will fish with men of brilliant minds, play tennis with foreign dignitaries, and occasionally be seen at the private clubs of powerful men with suspicious ties to suspicious people. Those very same suspicious people will send me cases of Scotch at Christmas, but if there are any dealings with the authorities, they all will distance themselves from me so as not to dishonor my unassailable character.
I will buy my mom that villa in Italy she's been asking me for since I won that cartoon contest in eighth grade.
At opulent functions, people will try to crash the party by saying they knew me in grade school, or from camp, or what-have-you. I will be called to the velvet class separator, and I will look at them carefully. I will recognize them, but waver, just to see them sweat, because I know they will find it funny and memorable later, even though my memory of them is that they tried to bully me after I beat their good friend in a wrestling match in sixth grade. I will look avowed enemies straight in the eye (that is, if I have enemies. Most people will become starry-eyed when recollecting stories of Knowing Brady), and I will welcome them with open arms, saying, "Put this joker on my tab!" Of course, I do not have a tab, as I tend to be comped. I leave a generous tip, though, which means that I can lounge comfortably in the kitchen with the waiters and valets when I need a break from the falsity of the moneyed crowd.
In hot summers, I will say things like, "Let's have something tall and cool to drink," but it will sound heartfelt and valid, even caring.
I will attend Playboy Mansion parties only if they are for a charitable cause, and only if Hugh Hefner (Hefe, I will call him, punning on "Jefe" in Spanish, which means "Chief," which he will find funny) is still alive.
Though I sit on the boards of many fine institutions, such as libraries and museums, there will come a time I take up residence in a remote section of Colorado or Oregon, where I will enjoy solitude and the simple living in the open wilderness. Of course, I will return to the city for Opening Galas and black tie events.
When I die, the world will mourn my humble passing. There will be a generation of children who are named for me, joining the countless libraries, museums, schools, thoroughfares, common lexicon, principles, and planets that also will bear my name.
How do I know that this future is in store for me? The other night, a clean-faced, well-dressed woman to whom I said hello as I passed her on the street offered me her card. She clearly trusted me and found me to be someone worth approaching. I figured I must have the honest demeanor that will lead me to renown. "THE SWEETER YOU ARE THE BETTER I TASTE," was the tagline for her business. At $200 an hour (and up), I realized that I would have to be destined for riches, as well.
By Brady Richards
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