Truth in Advertising Page 0,64

us.”

Ian says, “Cleaner if it’s newborns.”

Martin says, “Pam. Any of these a production problem in the time allotted?”

Pam says, “All of them. But with enough money you can do anything.”

Martin says, “They’ll put money against this. Alan. Your thoughts.”

Alan says, “I think there’s some great work on the table. Truly.”

Jill nods aggressively.

Alan says, “It’s original. It’s ownable. I like that. They’ll like that.”

Jill says, “If I can speak to Alan’s point, let’s remember why we’re here: to do nothing less than revolutionize the diaper industry.”

Alan says, “That’s who we are. As a company, and as a diaper maker. It’s contemporary. It’s now. I love the contextualization of it. Gritty, raw, on brand.”

He’s lost the plot at this point and is just saying whatever pops into his mind.

Jill says, “Definitely on brand.”

Alan says, “We’re saying something here that other diapers can’t. Al Gore or the McDonough idea. Bold.”

Martin says, “Let me have a think. Thank you, everyone.”

There is a brief, deflated pause and people gather their phones and papers and stand and stretch. Still seated at the end of the table, Keita smiles and says, “I like Captain Underpants.”

• • •

Ian comes by my office.

He says, “How do you think that went?”

I say, “Good. I think it went well. You?”

“Not good.”

“No, me neither.”

Ian says, “I need a night off. Do you mind?”

“Course not.”

“I’d like to stop thinking about revolutionary diapers for a bit.”

I say, “Baby, you need to relax.”

“Please don’t call me baby.”

“Baby, I know all about relaxing. Let me give you a piece of advice.”

“Please don’t.”

“When the world is on your shoulders, gotta straighten up your act and boogie down.”

Ian says, “Stop.”

I say, “Livin’ crazy, that’s the only way.”

“You’re not stopping.”

“Life ain’t so bad at all if you live it off the wall.”

“You’re the whitest, straightest man I know.”

“I’m about to stand up and dance.”

Ian says, “I’m leaving.”

Later, I read disheartening stories online about drug-related kidnapping, murder, and dismemberment in Mexico and how it’s spreading to tourist communities.

The phone rings.

“Mr. Dolan? It’s Margaret Nash, from Cape Cod Hospital.”

“Margaret. Hi.”

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all.”

Margaret says, “I’m calling because your father’s vitals have taken a bit of a turn, and while we’re not in a danger area, I did want to let you know. It’s cause for some concern.”

I look up to see Keita standing at my door. I hold up an index finger and smile.

I say, “What . . . what exactly does that mean?”

Margaret says, “It means we’re moving him to the ICU for a measure of precaution.”

I say, “Okay. Well, that makes sense, I guess.”

“Yes. Well. I wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you. Honestly. That’s very kind of you.”

I hang up and look at Keita.

“Keita,” I say. “Hello.”

I stand up and he walks over and we shake hands.

Keita says, “Fin. I like your presentation very much. Would you have time for one quick drink?”

Time to leave my nine to five up on a shelf.

• • •

Somehow it’s late and I am drunk, in the back of a $350,000 Mercedes Maybach, with Keita and a man and a woman whose names I do not know and who do not speak unless Keita speaks to them first.

Keita says, “Tonight we have a party of epic proportions.” It’s something he has said several times during the evening, a go-to line. (Mine’s “Hmm, that’s interesting.”)

Dinner was innocent enough. Gotham Bar and Grill. Then a series of bars on the West Side. The Standard, Pastis, Hotel Gansevoort, Soho House. The man and woman who are currently seated in the front of the Maybach secured entrée into each place and somehow whisked us past waiting crowds, got us seated at corner tables. Drinks appeared and were paid for without my ever seeing a bill or a wallet.

Keita says, “Fin. You are super awesome. You are like Darrin Stephens.”

“I am like Darrin Stephens, Keita my friend.” A not particularly clever retort on my part, but the best I can do at the moment. Keita, however, finds this hilarious. All evening he seems to find everything I say either fascinating or hilarious.

Keita says, “Fin. There were two Darrin Stephens. Why?”

“Well, Keita, that’s tough to say. Dick York, the actor who played the first Darrin Stephens, left the show. Then came Dick Sargent. Two guys named Dick.”

Keita’s torso hurls forward he laughs so hard. Loves a dick joke, apparently.

I say, “Here’s the best part.”

Keita’s drink was three-quarters of the way to his mouth but is now suspended inches from his lips. His eyes go wide