By the time Gil Talbott rolled into town in the obligatory red Ferrari, ready to seal the deal, flashing a cashier’s check for $700k, and itching to take a stake in my condom business, I had already figured out that he was a professional con man. There was no doubt that he was a high-roller and that he had a shit-ton of cash, my lawyer confirmed it, but he was a con man nonetheless.
The internet didn’t offer much information in those days, not like today, but I was able to dig up a few court cases in New York that exposed the scam. Mr. Talbott was sued for misappropriating funds from companies he invested in. Not only that, but he took out huge loans in one business’s name and then lived lavishly, buying gifts for himself, his friends, and his family, things such as luxury cars and expensive vacations all over the world.
He took out far more than he put in. I was convinced it had to be a money-laundering operation of some kind involving drug money or worse.
Mr. Talbott was sued for misappropriating funds from companies he invested in. Not only that, but he took out huge loans in one business’s name and then lived lavishly, buying gifts for himself, his friends, and his family, things such as luxury cars and expensive vacations all over the world.
My lawyer was stunned by what I found. When I showed him the evidence, he told me to cut bait–immediately. I had a big fish on the hook, but it was a voracious shark that was able to chew me up and spit me out without trying.
“Any benefit for you, Jon, would be short-lived,” my lawyer told me. “You’ll not only end up penniless, you’ll end up taking on all of the debt he builds up. And who knows what this guy is really involved in? This is a lose-lose situation.”
That was tough. One minute, I was a handshake away from becoming a near-millionaire; the next minute, I was back where I started.
The money I had coming in from condom sales at that time was not enough to survive. I needed to expand distribution in a big way. The clock was ticking. I had 400,000 condoms with an expiration date in a Public Storage locker in Santa Monica, and now, without my day job, I was going to wind up homeless if I didn’t figure something out, pronto.
Through connections I made at my last place of employment, I was able to line up freelance editing gigs here and there. It helped me get by, just barely. I edited all kinds of stuff, from a pilot episode of a hidden camera show to XXX feature films. The director of the first hardcore porn film I cut listed my real name in the credits, and I still haven’t been able to wipe it off the internet. It doesn’t matter now, but back when I was trying to get mainstream work, it didn’t look good.
The director of the first hardcore porn film I cut listed my real name in the credits, and I still haven’t been able to wipe it off the internet. I suspect Disney and a couple of other studios put me on a “do not hire” list.
Negotiations with Robert Anderson, one of the owners of Lifestyles condoms, started up again on the phone. He invited me to join him at an event at the Las Vegas Convention Center. The NACS Show is the world’s largest distributors’ event, the best place to get your products into convenience stores and gas stations, and Robert offered to display my product on his table for free. I called my sister to come out from the Bay Area and help me try to land some big deals.
Lori and I met Mr. Anderson in person for the first time on the convention floor at NACS. He was standing alongside Julian Priest, the owner of Prestige Marketing. The two of them got right to the point. Julian told us that he and Robert wanted to manufacture Hot Rod Condoms and distribute them all across the U.S. He said that they’d get them into every store that sells condoms. The catch was that I’d only get 2% of net sales.
I told him that would be a pretty hard deal to accept. I could wind up with my condoms in stores everywhere, and that’s great, but I would only be making a penny or less per condom. At that time, I had them manufactured and packaged in Thailand, and I was paying about three cents per condom. I was selling them for a dollar each retail and fifty cents wholesale. I could potentially make much more money if I just kept at it myself, slowly increasing distribution.
Julian Priest then made a bold claim that I didn’t believe at the time but have since found to be true. His Prestige Marketing company held a near-monopoly on condom distribution in the U.S., controlling 80% of the market. He owned the shelf space in all of the major pharmacy chains, convenience stores, liquor stores, and adult novelty shops. And he let me know that he could keep me out of all of those places if he wanted to. It was my first hint that he was a cut-throat, a backstabber, and not someone I’d ever trust or partner with.
I didn’t give Julian and Robert an answer. I told them I’d have to think on it.
My sister and I partied pretty hard in Vegas that weekend and made a lot of great connections. I collected handfuls of business cards from dozens of small distributors who were eager to get Hot Rod Condoms into their catalogs and onto store shelves. Unbeknownst to me, Julian Priest was aggressively making extremely inappropriate and unwanted advances on my sister.
“Julian said that if I sleep with him this weekend, he’ll guarantee us a better distribution deal,” Lori told me over dinner. “He said he’ll make us rich.”
“That fucking scumbag!” I responded after almost choking on my steak.
“I told him I wasn’t interested, I’m not a slut,” she said. “I told him I’m happily married and have two kids. I have more than enough money. I’m not desperate.”
“Well, no way in hell am I doing business with that piece of shit,” I told her. “Avoid him. Don’t talk to him. I’m pulling all of my shit off of their table first thing in the morning. They can fuck off.”
We left Vegas and headed back to California before noon, determined to put that ugliness in the rearview mirror.
Mr. Priest called my sister to apologize and then, in the next breath, asked her out again.
Her husband grabbed the phone, “Don’t ever call here again if you know what’s good for you, motherfucker!”
But that was not the last we heard of Julian Priest.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Note: this is a rough draft of a larger story that I’m hoping to turn into a book.
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⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "What a page turner! This story is an amazing piece of investigative work—both compelling and heartbreaking." - Amazon review
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Amazing art. ;)