behind. I was going to pick one up yesterday after work, but that didn’t happen.”
Timothy said, “There’s a Verizon store just over on Michigan Avenue. I could write down directions if you want.”
“Thanks.” I suddenly smiled. “Actually, I do know someone. I met a woman over at a diner near my apartment. She offered to show me around town.”
“That sounds promising,” he said.
“She was really . . . kind. And beautiful.”
“Where do you live?”
“In the Polish area, near Jefferson Park.”
“I’ve been there. Those Polish women. They say that the Polish women are the most beautiful in Europe, and, even better, they don’t know it.”
“I don’t think she’s Polish,” I said.
“Well, good luck anyway.” Timothy glanced down at his watch. “It’s almost one-thirty. The jury should be through deliberating. Let’s go check the verdict.”
“Nervous?” I asked.
He nodded. “I was born nervous.”
A brisk wind blew down Wabash as we made the hike back to the agency.
“Is it always this cold?” I asked.
“Lake effect,” Timothy said. “Cuts to the bone.”
It took us fifteen minutes to make it back to the Leo Burnett Building. Kate approached us as we stepped out of the elevator. She looked frantic. “Any word?”
“I don’t know. We just got back from lunch,” Timothy said.
“Where’d you go?” she asked.
“Uno.”
She nodded, then turned to me. “Did you love it?”
“What’s not to love?” I said.
“You said it.” She turned back to Timothy. “Potts has been on the phone since he got back.”
“Are you spying on him?” Timothy asked.
“Of course I am.”
Timothy leaned forward and whispered to her, “I’ll let you know.”
We walked back to our desks. I was just settling into my cubicle when my phone rang. “Potts wants to see us,” Timothy said.
Timothy tilted his head at Kim and she nodded. Timothy smiled. I took this as a good omen, though seeing Potts’s face put doubts back in my mind. He still looked angry. He was leaning back in his chair, glaring at us. We sat down before he asked us to.
“They liked it, didn’t they?” Timothy said.
Without smiling, Potts said, “They loved it.”
“I knew they would,” Timothy said.
“They still need to focus-test,” he said.
“Bring it on.”
“What were their comments?” I asked.
Potts’s gaze focused on Timothy. “They said, ‘Next time bring us the good stuff first.’ ” He looked us over. “Now get out of here. You’ve got work to do.”
We both got up to leave.
“Jacobson, you stay.”
I glanced at Timothy. He raised his eyebrows then walked out, shutting the door behind him.
Potts gazed at me for a moment. “Sit.”
“Yes, sir.” I sat back down.
“So that was your concept.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You pulled that off pretty fast.”
“I come from a small firm. We rarely had the luxury of time.”
“As it should be. Some of our people have lost that mentality. Production takes time, but a great idea can come in a millisecond. Where are you from?”
“A small Denver agency. Jacobson.”
“Jacobson. That’s your last name.”
“My father was the founder.”
“Family business,” he said. “Why did you leave?”
I thought over how much I wanted to tell him. “The pond was too small.”
“I understand,” he said. “Big fish need room to swim. Did you have any management experience at Jacobson?”
“Some. It was a small firm, but I was over two other copywriters.”
“Good. Because I’m putting you over the BankOne creative team. I want you to inspire them. Right after I fire Leonard.”
CHAPTER
Thirteen
Today was a good day, which gives me hope that there might be others. I don’t know if this is the beginning of a new season or the tenuous, tranquil eye of the hurricane.
Joseph Jacobson’s Diary
Friday night I had a dream about April. I don’t remember anything about it, just that she was in it. It had to have been something good, though, because for the first time since I left Colorado I woke without dread, which might not be the same thing as waking happy, but under the circumstances, I’d take it.
I checked my watch. Eight o’clock. I showered, using the last of the paper towels to dry myself. Then I dressed, put on my parka and walked down the street to Mr. G’s.
The diner was crowded and the line of people waiting to be seated stretched out the door.
Turning sideways, I slid past everyone and walked inside. The place was nearly as frantic as the New York Stock Exchange. There were four waitresses at work, including April, who was standing behind the counter making a cappuccino. She smiled when she saw me. “Good morning. You made it.”
“You doubted me?”
“No,” she said, then slightly cocked