Truth in Advertising Page 0,6
paper.”
It’s a thing we say on every shoot when we realize the spot isn’t going to be any more than average.
Ian asks Pam what she’s doing for Christmas.
Pam says, “Family. Pittsburgh. Vodka. Cigarettes. You?”
Ian says, “Dinner for friends. Jews, atheists, fellow homos, the great unwashed. People who have no family or family they don’t want to go home to. Tons of food and wine. No store-bought gifts. Everything has to be handmade. Could be music or a video, whatever. It’s amazing. We’ve been doing it for about five years.”
Pam says, “That’s so gay.” She looks at me. “You?”
I say, “Mexico.”
“Family?
“Not so much.”
“Friends?”
I say, “Alone. Going alone.”
Pam says, “That’s weird.”
“Is it?”
“Weird and sad. No family? Of any kind?”
“We’re not that close.”
Pam says, “I hate most of my family. I can understand. But you seem reasonably normal. Why alone? Bring that cute little assistant of yours. Half the men in the agency would divorce their wives for her.”
I say, “Phoebe? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Ian raises his eyebrows. Pam does the same.
I say, “We’re just friends. We’re good friends. She’s my assistant.”
Ian says, “She’s not your assistant. She’s the creative department assistant.”
Pam says, “She’s your office wife.”
I say, “What does that mean?”
Ian says, “Everyone has an office husband or wife. I have both.”
I say, “Who’s your office husband?”
Ian says, “I’ll never tell.”
Pam says, “But you have to be careful of the power-struggle thing. They can’t report to you. Does Phoebe report to you?”
I say, “No. Why?”
Pam says, “Good. Eliminates the sexual-harassment thing, which I myself had to deal with when I was screwing a production intern last summer. Poor thing left in tears.”
I say, “You’re a romantic.”
Pam says, “At least I’m not going on Christmas vacation alone.”
I say, “It’s a last-minute thing. An interim vacation. I’m planning a big trip for after the New Year. February. Possibly March.”
Ian says to Pam, “My dear friend Mr. Dolan has been saying this for a while. He calls it the big trip. That’s his name for it. He’s a copywriter.”
I say, “The big trip is going to be amazing. Life-changing. I just can’t figure out where to go, though. It’s complicated.”
Pam says, “What’s complicated about it?”
I say, “I have these two tickets to anywhere in the world. Two first-class tickets.”
Ian says, “Very expensive tickets.”
Pam says, “I thought you said Mexico.”
I say, “I did.”
Ian says, “It’s complicated.”
Pam says, “You have two first-class tickets to anywhere in the world and you’re going to Mexico? No offense to Mexico, but are you high?”
I say, “No. I’m not using them for Mexico. They’re for the big trip. After Mexico.”
Pam says, “So, wait. You have two first-class tickets anywhere in the world and instead of using them, you’ve bought another ticket to Mexico.”
I say, “Yes.”
Ian says, “It’s complicated.”
Finally I say, “They’re the honeymoon tickets.”
Pam says, “The what?”
I nod slowly, waiting for her to do the math.
Pam says, “Shit. The honeymoon tickets.”
I say, “The honeymoon tickets.”
Pam says, “Yikes. Sorry.”
I say, “So it’s complicated because I don’t just want to use them for a trip to Mexico.”
Pam says, “Do you ever hear from her?”
“Not so much.”
Did I mention I canceled my wedding? I probably should have mentioned that. I was supposed to get married last May. I was engaged to a really wonderful woman. Amy Deacon. But then I got a very bad case of cold feet. More like frostbitten feet, where they turn black and your toes fall off and you think you’re going to die. That’s the kind of cold feet I had. We canceled six weeks before the wedding was to take place. We were going to go to Italy on our honeymoon. I’ve been trying to take a vacation ever since then, trying to use the tickets. In the past eight months I’ve planned three trips, canceling two because of work and one for a reason that escapes me. To be honest I feel that the tickets hold power. The tickets urge me to find the right destination, to figure out where they want me to go. This place will be the place that assures me happiness. It doesn’t say this on the tickets, unfortunately. Mostly it just talks about the restrictions. The problem is that the tickets expire in three months. And I can’t get the obscene amount of money I paid for them back. So I have these tickets.
My cell phone rings. It’s Phoebe, our aforementioned group’s assistant.
I say, “Stop bothering me. I’m an important executive.”
Phoebe says, “How’s Gwyneth?”
“Gwyneth who?”
Phoebe says, “Tell me!”
“Honestly? She’s heavy. Bad skin. She