Truth in Advertising Page 0,87

with stained carpeting. There are no decorations, nothing to suggest Christmas. The feeling is less festive and more of a mandatory conference on ethics in the workplace. I stand at the back, having arrived late. The anxiety pit in my stomach has returned. I feel as if I’ve not done the homework and am trying not to be called upon. Also, I want a clear line of sight to the men’s room. I’m still having digestive issues.

At present Frank is speaking. He has been speaking for some time. Dodge stands at his side. “When you take away the bricks and mortar, the computers, the copiers, the faxes, and phones, all the paper and the soda and stuff, you, our people, are our most important resource. I love you guys. And no, I don’t mean in that way. Although some of you, I’d be open to it.” He laughs, though no one joins him. People make disgusted faces. Someone says, a little too loud, “Asshole,” and causes a small commotion. Frank seems unfazed.

Later, promotions are announced. New partners, awards. Outstanding Employee. Best Attitude. Person Who Makes the Workplace Better. Outstanding Account Service Person, Outstanding Copywriter, Art Director. The magic of the AV Department flashing a giant photo on the huge screen at the front. To look around in these moments is to see something rich. When a name is announced for a promotion or partnership or an award, I see, in the faces of my coworkers, the happiness they feel for this person, hear the genuine applause as the embarrassed recipient returns to his or her seat, red-faced, swarmed by their seatmates. The older women in accounting—from Brooklyn and Queens and the Bronx—have changed from their work clothes into pretty dresses, nicer shoes. People look around in their chairs, wave to friends, a kind of instant regression to high school. The women giggle. The men push one another on the shoulder. We look for something deeper than merely a paycheck.

After the buffet and polite chat, the mixing and socializing, the music is turned up and the lights are dimmed and the line at the open bars set up around the perimeter of the enormous, hideous, curious-smelling room begins to grow. People react with lunatic delight when a Kool and the Gang song is played. “Cellllllll-e-brate good times, come on . . . da-da-da-dut-dut-dut-da-da . . . waa-who!”

The music gets louder, the dance floor gets more crowded, women remove those pretty party shoes as they pit out with sweat and take large gulps off of their sixteen-ounce plastic cup of Bud Light (regular Bud was the only other choice). Odd pairings, both on the dance floor and in the room itself. People begin to touch one another when explaining a point. Or hug one another for no reason. “You’re the best!” God was bored with the humans, so he invented alcohol.

It is one-thirty in the afternoon.

I see some of the young copywriters and art directors talking with some of the young account and media girls. Will you remember this day, any of you, years from now? I see Ian talking with two older, heavy-set women who work in human resources and for some reason it breaks my heart. He is a person who cares about other people, wants them to feel welcome, as if he, himself, is throwing the party.

“Helen,” he’ll say. “Are you having a good time? You look gorgeous in that dress. Why don’t you wear your hair like that more often?”

I see Phoebe in a cluster of people across the room. She smiles, but something’s different. I’ve made a horrible mistake.

I see Martin talking with Frank and Dodge. He sees me, motions me over.

Frank says, “Fin. You can fix this, right? You can make your mark with this one. Merry Christmas, by the way. Even though it’s January.” It’s something Frank says. Make your mark. Every assignment, every ad, every spot could be the thing that will vault you to . . . what? Fame, I guess. I’m not really sure what he’s talking about.

Before I can respond Dodge puts his arms around me and holds me. “Of course he can fix it. This is the prince of diapers. And what a handsome prince he is. What an opportunity. The Super Bowl. And yes, Merry Christmas in a completely nondenominational way,” he says. “And I can say that because I’m a Dutch Jew, okay?” Forced laugh. The hug goes on several seconds too long. Boozy breath. I’m holding my