Truth in Advertising Page 0,71
has the agenda, but I’d also like today to be informal enough for people to jump in. The other thing is confidentiality. What we’re talking about here is serious and proprietary and potentially huge for this company. You wouldn’t be on this call if you weren’t vital to this project. So what’s said here stays here. Who’d like to start us out?”
There’s silence and then laughing.
I’m wondering if Martin or Alan is going to do any setup but perhaps there’s no need since we all know why we’re here.
I decide to jump in.
I say, “Hey, everyone. It’s Fin Dolan in New York. Well, on a train from New York to Boston.”
Carole says, “Hey, Fin.”
“I thought I’d say a few words about our thinking.”
“Great,” Carole says. “Exactly what we were hoping for.”
Perhaps it’s the three cups of Amtrak high-octane coffee and the Sara Lee crumb cake I’ve had, but I’m feeling good. I want to lay the groundwork for the Al Gore idea. I want them to see the genius.
I say, “I think what makes this product so great is that it will have such an impact on the planet. On landfills and oceans. And I think we need to align ourselves with the environmental movement. Diapers can be green. That’s an amazing thought. You think of what a diaper is and does . . . and here we have something that won’t harm the environment. . . . How remarkable is that?”
There’s an unusually long silence and I worry that I’ve hit a bad cell zone.
It’s Carole. “I’m sorry. Who did you say you were again?”
“It’s Fin.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t see that name on our call sheet. You’re in Gentron’s New York office?”
“Gentron? This isn’t Snugglies?”
“Get off this call now or we will hunt you down and sue you!”
• • •
I check into a hotel using our company’s rate and take a long shower. Eddie has e-mailed us the name of a restaurant near where he works. It’s not far from the hotel.
Ian calls.
“Why didn’t you call in?”
“I did. Just to the wrong call. I was seconds away from being a tech billionaire. How’d it go?”
“Tough to say. Might have liked Al Gore.”
“Did they buy anything?”
“They’re having a think, getting back to us in a couple of days.”
“Was I missed?”
“No. There were half-a-dozen people on the phone and at least twenty in the room. You okay?”
“Fine. Why?”
“When’s the last time you guys were all together?”
“The first Clinton administration. We’ll be fine. We’re just like a family. Except for the caring part.”
• • •
There’s a sparse crowd, lots of seats at the bar, a few people sitting in the lounge area. A bitterly cold night a few nights into the New Year. I’m nervous.
The bartender is Grace Kelly. She’s Grace Kelly when Grace Kelly was twenty-five, a vision, the porcelain skin and the ice-blue eyes, the honest-to-God blond hair, a smile and a beauty that unnerves your internal monologue. Then she speaks. And what comes out is the world’s heaviest Boston accent.
“How ahh ya?” she says, which can also be pronounced How are you?
“I’m good. How are you?”
“Me? I’m supah. What can I get ya?”
“Beer would be great.”
“Sam Adams?” Except it comes out “See-aaaaam Adams.” Long soft vowels. It makes me love her more.
She draws the beer from the tap and I watch her. She is used to being watched.
“In town on business?” she asks as she puts the glass down in front of me.
I nod, do a kind of bobblehead doll move, back and forth. “Well, it’s certainly a kind of business.”
“That sounds intriguing,” she says with a flirty smile that makes my insides turn to jelly. “What do you do?”
Me? What do I do? I’m a fighter pilot. I’m a rescue diver. I’m a stunt man. I do stunt work. Hanging off cliffs, that kind of thing. Did you see the opening of Mission: Impossible III? That was me hanging off that rock. No. I’m with Oxfam America. I’m back in the U.S. to drum up money for a new project I’m working on. It will bring video games . . . I mean, water . . . to a village. I’m a vascular surgeon. No . . . don’t. Just tell the truth. I’m a copywriter and I’m in town because my father died. He died and we were estranged and now my family and I will hear his last will and testament. Say it.
“I’m in town to try to buy the New England Patriots.”
“You’re kiddin’!”
“I’m not. I