Truth in Advertising Page 0,53
minibar to raiding it dry.
From feeling blessed to walk cross-town, in the shadow of these magnificent buildings, these storied streets and avenues, to cursing the cross-town traffic, which moves at an average speed of four miles an hour, I once read. “I have a meeting at Palmolive!”
I will curse the stench and the humidity of August in New York. I will forget large chunks of time as I dedicate month after month to projects that are suddenly killed, put on the backburner, or cut because of budget concerns.
It will change. All of it. Imperceptibly at first. Then irrevocably. Thirty comes. Thirty-five surprises you. The prospect of forty stuns you. Once the money was a wonderful surprise. Now it is not enough. A restlessness creeps in. A wanting of something you cannot quite put your finger on. Stories of others people’s lives fascinate you. The idea of many things—a career change, a sabbatical, graduate school, a tattoo—seems interesting but you never do any of them. Others somehow found time to marry, have babies. You hold them when they come to the office (the babies, not the adults). Round faces, absurd toothless smiles, soft and warm. Someone changed the clocks, pushed them ahead when you weren’t looking. There is, occasionally (though more and more frequently), a small pit of anxiety in your stomach. You keep waiting for something to happen. And that is your mistake.
• • •
The subways are empty. It feels like everyone is out of town. The recession-proof rich are skiing in Killington, Aspen, Gstaad. They’re sunning in Turks and Caicos, Miami Beach, Mustique. Others are enjoying the break with family, friends, catching up, making old bonds strong. They’re talking and laughing. One wonders if others know a secret.
Ian and I sit in my office and try to come up with ideas for a revolutionary diaper. We visit the other teams, check on their progress, talk through their thinking. Sometimes we make the ideas better. Sometimes we make them worse. Sometimes we talk about how strange the circus is and why people would pay money to sit and watch clowns and elephants. We look at reels of award-winning commercials from Super Bowls past for inspiration, if by inspiration you mean ideas we can steal. In the afternoon I call the hospital and ask for Margaret. If she’s not working she’s told me to ask for the pretty one. Each day the news is the same.
• • •
I get an e-mail from Rachel Levin asking if we’re still on for Tuesday night. Rachel is a friend of Stefano’s. He’s been trying to fix us up for a few months. I’ve been reluctant. In fact, I haven’t gone out since we called off the wedding. I’m tempted to cancel, postpone, something. But I e-mail back, saying we’re still on.
I receive an e-mail from Jill, cc’ing Ian, Alan, Frank, Dodge, Martin, and the teams. The subject heading is “Revision to Brief. Important.” She says the client, at the urging of counsel, would like to remove the words one-hundred percent non-toxic.
• • •
Late afternoon, a gunmetal sky. A few days before New Year’s Eve. Ian and I go out and bring Starbucks coffees and cakes and cookies back for everyone. We’ve decided to work as a group for a few hours, see what happens. We sit in my office. Paulie leafs through an advertising awards magazine. Stefano’s head is back and his eyes are closed. Raj sits on the floor cross-legged. Malcolm is on the couch between Paulie and Stefano looking at his nails. He keeps sniffing them, which is bothering me, but I can’t seem to look away. Ian sits at my desk. I have no chair.
Stefano says, “I have an idea.”
I say, “Fantastic. Tell us.”
Stefano says, “The idea is that we get more time for this assignment.”
Ian says, “That’s not really an idea.”
Malcolm says, “I like that idea.”
Paulie says, “What’s the worst that happens? We don’t come up with anything.”
Ian says, “The worst that happens is that we don’t come up with anything, the client finds someone else to do it, and we all get fired.”
Stefano says, “You have to admit, though. Very rushed. This is an American thing, I think. Rushing around. Always in a hurry. Do you mind if I smoke, Fin?”
“Yes,” I say.
He asks to smoke every time we get together as a group and try to come up with ideas, which almost never works. (The ideas. Or the smoking, for that matter.) But sitting in a group gives