Exclusive Report

Deep Inside the Katfia

New York - Clueless Press International   On Tuesday, this reporter received an unexpected, yet as it turned out, welcomed, phone call.

"Hello."

"Yo. You dat famous reporter? I hear youze a fan of da Katharine. Is dat right?"

"Yes."

"OK, listen up. Be on da corner in Times Square under da big Coke sign at two o'clock Thursday. Da boss wants to meet ya. Ya got it? Two o'clock."

"Uh, sure. No problem. Hey, hold on... the boss of what?"

Click.

So, notebook in hand, I'm standing under the big sign at 1:58, submerged in a sea of bodies and yellow taxis whizzing by. Up to the curb pulls an ominous looking black VW bug, with blacked out windows (really thick windows). The driver's door opens and out steps one of the biggest, meanest looking guys I've ever had the privilege of coming face to face with.

"Hi," I said.

"Get in da car," he said. "In da backseat, on da floor. Youze not sposta see where we goin."

Huddled on the floor, I ride along. I'm tempted to look up to see where we are, but something tells me that wouldn't be a good idea. I mean, that little plastic flower that comes with the VW bug looked kind of dead to me...seriously. The big guy didn't seem like he wanted to chat either, so I kept my thoughts to myself. Where were we going? Who is this "boss"? How do you kill a plastic flower?

After about an hour of driving around, the car came to a stop, the door opened, and the driver said, "Dis is da end of da road."

I knew I should have worn brown pants. I keep a pair in the closet, just in case. Being a reporter for a rag like the Tattletale can be dangerous.

"Come on, we're goin' for a ride in da elevator," he said.

Relief flooding over me, I followed him through what appeared to be an underground parking garage, and we headed up to the penthouse. With the size of this guy, the rather large elevator felt about the size of an airplane bathroom. When the door opened, I knew that I was in my kind of place - Katharine McPhee stuff was everywhere. Posters. Magazines. About a hundred framed photos on the walls. A yellow dress in a beautiful cherry display case. Another display case holding a cute pair of glasses. A lifesize autographed cutout of David Foster. And, music to my ears, "My Destiny" wafting throughout the suite, piped in over hidden speakers. Ah....heaven.

Speaking of "My Destiny", what exactly was I doing here? And who did all of this stuff belong to?

The big guy led me to a set of double doors, opened them, and then closed them behind me. I found myself in a large conference room, again filled with Katharine memorabilia. Nice furniture, nice drapes, a real classy place. Seated around the mahogany table were fifteen people, all wearing orange t-shirts.

"Hi," said the one nearest me, rising from the table. "I'm Co, the second in command here. Before we begin our interview, you need to be aware of one important thing - there is no such thing as the Katfia."

The Katfia? Oh my God. The legendary underworld organization devoted to defending Katharine McPhee against stalkers, bashers, sleazeballs, lying journalists, and anyone else who actively resists the McPheever. OK, I think, I can play along with this.

"The Katfia doesn't exist," I repeat.

"Good," said Co. "Let me introduce you to everyone. On the left here are The Britts. They cover both the East and West Coast. You can call them ECB and WCB."

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," they said in unison. I'd never be able to keep track of who was ECB and who was WCB.

"We're in a bit of a hurry here," said Co, "So we'll just have a big 'Hi' after all the introductions. First, there's Jugular Jennie, our main enforcer - I don't need to explain what that means. Next is Big Shady, from the SoCal/Vegas operation. Sitting next to him is Glowmama, from the SoCal/Southwest office. Next are the 'Floridians', Gecki, Big Reeka and McBeth who run the East Coast/Midwest. On the right, we have Elphie - runs the Bama/Soul Patrol Region and is 3rd in Command, Next to her is Sassy, who runs the Texas/Southwest states empire region. For Hawaii, we have Mutskie. Canada is run by AllyKat and Bruno runs the International Operations. At the head of the table is the Godmother, McQueen."

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," they all said (except Bruno who said "Bien). They all waved at me with both hands. Must be some sort of Katism, or maybe it's like a secret handshake or something.

"Can I ask a couple of questions?" I asked.

"Of course," said McQueen. "Only a couple though, we have a rather busy agenda today. The tour is moving on to the West Coast soon, and we have a lot of planning to do to be ready for it."

"OK. From what I can gather, you folks are the most feared organization when it comes to protecting your idol. Katharine really has her back covered with you folks looking after her. How exactly do you deal with folks that would cause her harm?"

"Well," said McQueen, "McBeth there is really good with a Louisville Slugger, for example. A little friendly persuasion usually gets their attention. And then there was the accident that Big Shady was involved in. Some guy had to have a hockey puck surgically removed."

"What if they still won't listen?" I ask.

"Then, we make them an offer they can't refuse."

"You mean like in that Marlon Brando movie?"

"Sort of. Except we take it to the next level. We leave the other end of the horse."

"Do you have to do a lot of 'persuading'?"

"Not as much as in the weeks leading up to and after the finals. People are starting to listen to reason for the most part. We do maintain a watch list of certain journalists who think that they can say whatever they want, but we've been working overtime to make sure their ratings take a nose dive. So no, we're not as busy now as we used to be. We're planning on opening up a side operation, focusing on getting fans more involved in the Katharine experience. But our number one priority is still covering Katharine's back.

"OK, I'm sorry, but as I said, we've got a lot to do. It was nice chatting with you. If we need any press coverage, I assume we can contact you?"

Thinking of that Louisville Slugger, I nodded "Yes".

"Bye," I said.

"Bye and bien," they said, waving their hands.

Back in the VW, I thought about the experience I had just had. Who would ever believe a story like this? I mean, these folks were a legend almost as famous as Bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster. And I had the exclusive. Wooo wooo.

Standing once again in Times Square, I remembered the admonition Co had given me. "There is no such thing as the Katfia."

Right. Try telling that to the sucker who awakes snuggled up face first next to a horse's patootie.