by Joan Ellis
‘Fantastic. Good journey?’ asks Josh.
I enjoy watching him work. It’s a master-class in schmoozing. I can learn a lot.
‘I was just telling Ella, I found myself in this amazing club last night. You might know it, Josh. Gorgeous girls, legs up to their necks and I’m thinking, ‘Play your cards right, Clive and you’ll be in here.’ No such luck, a few bottles of incredibly expensive bubby later and it turns out they’re all chaps. Even the one with the enormous...’
‘Eyes?’ I suggest motioning him to sit at the table. ‘We’ve got some great stuff to show you so shall we make a start?’
Clive nods but I can tell his head is still in the nightclub, nestled in some bloke’s cleavage, a latter-day Carmen Miranda, all falsies, feathers and forbidden fruit.
Josh clears his throat.
‘Honeydrop Cough Syrup. Great brief, thanks Clive. Hope you like what we’ve done with it.’
Josh knows how to sell work to Clive, fortifying every word with credibility and integrity.
‘We’re positioning Honeydrop as the first thing mums reach for when their kids get sick. They need to trust the brand. We’ve come up with something very exciting. Instead of doing just a press ad, we have, for the same budget, created a TV commercial.’
Clive looks thrilled, like a small boy on his birthday who expects a goldfish but gets a puppy. Good old Chloe, I knew he would love it.
‘Fantastic. Good thinking, Josh,’ he says grinning broadly.
It was my idea, Josh, I think. You could give me some credit and glance my way occasionally.
Josh whips out the storyboards from underneath the desk.
‘Picture this,’ I say as I begin to outline the commercial. ‘It’s night-time, we hear a child coughing. He is trying to sleep but can’t and is keeping the whole family awake, including the dog. Then, we see a big close-up shot of Honeydrop, thick and golden, being poured into a spoon. As if by magic, the kid stops coughing and the dog’s eyes close. We even hear it snore. Big packshot, logo and finish.’
‘Terrific, chaps. I love it but just one problem – you’ve got two actors in this commercial, the mum and the son. It’s going to cost us a fortune in repeat fees.’
‘No, it won’t. The star of the show is the dog. We focus on his lovable face, awake then asleep. We never see the kid – just hear him coughing. And we never show the mum either – we only see her hand pouring the Honeydrop. We don’t need an actress just a hand model,’ I reassure Clive.
Clive is smiling – I’ve won him round.
‘TV lets us hear the cough and then hear the silence,’ I explain.
‘I don’t think you can actually ‘hear’ silence, Ella,’ says Clive laughing. He looks at Josh for approval and he obliges by joining in with the joke. Josh stops laughing and for no reason, suddenly changes tack.
‘Your budget is very tight, Clive. Maybe this would work better as a press ad?’
What is Josh up to? We’ve sold him on the idea of a TV commercial. It’s much better value for money.
I look at Clive’s face. He’s that little boy again; bewildered as he watches the exciting puppy he’s fallen in love with turn back into a boring goldfish. Josh is deliberately sabotaging our strategy. We’ve gone from a prime- time, thirty second TV commercial to a press ad in less than half a minute. How did that happen? I don’t know what Josh is playing at but it’s game over.
‘We’re not talking a cast of thousands. Just one dog,’ I say, feeling the ground slip from under me.
‘Directors don’t come cheap,’ says Josh. ‘Plus there’s the expense of the studio and the crew. We’re talking a two day shoot, at least.’
If I had a gun, I’d shoot Josh myself. I retaliate by firing off ideas like rounds of ammunition.
‘We’ll use a new director, someone brilliant but hungry,’ I say. ‘I know someone who’ll do it for cost and I can get the media boys to do a deal with breakfast TV. We can do this.’
I’m running on adrenalin and meeting myself coming back. Josh is getting jittery. And that’s before he has even touched his coffee.
‘By all means get your man to quote,’ says Clive, paying lip-service to my suggestion.
‘The director’s a woman,’ I explain. ‘Her name’s ...’
‘I’ve only just got used to the idea of you working on my account, let alone a lady directing my ad.’
‘Don’t worry, Clive. I know just the chap for the job,’ says Josh sniggering as Clive explodes with laughter.
‘Just joking, Ella. Personally, I’d love to go the TV route. If you can get me a quote today, I can run it up the flag pole and see who salutes,’ guffaws Clive. ‘How does that sound?’
Like patronizing bullshit, I think.
‘I’ll bike the storyboard over to the director now,’ I say biting my lip. I give the Honeydrop layout to Jill.
‘Those two are like school boys,’ I tell her.
‘Yes, but not ones you’d want to keep in detention,’ she says rolling her eyes.
She’s one step ahead of me and has a courier on stand-by. I ask her to get our TV production department to negotiate a good quote with the director. Just as I am about to walk back into the boardroom I hear Clive whispering.
‘Will Peter be back to take this on, Josh? If we go the TV route, it will be a mega campaign for us. Ella may not be up to handling a project this size.’
Size isn’t everything. A mantra I imagine Clive has no choice but to comfort himself with most nights. His poor wife must be easily pleased. I cough loudly and walk back into the room.
‘Sounds like you need some Honeydrop,’ jokes Josh in a rare moment of levity.
I ignore him but smile at the client.
‘Thank-you so much for coming, Clive. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible with that quote. And please give my regards to your wife,’ I tell him.
We shake hands and Jill ushers him towards the lift. He’ll be home in time to put his feet up with a nice cup of tea before a spot of hanky-panky with his Sloane-Ranger wife. I imagine she makes love wearing only a string of pearls and a tiara. Now I know Clive is safely out of ear-shot, I take a pot-shot at Josh.
‘In your efforts to undermine me, you nearly lost us that one. Poor Clive didn’t know what was going on.’
He snaps his file shut.
‘Nothing personal, Ella. You can’t expect me to encourage the client to spend money he hasn’t got. Just doing my job and being honest with him.’
‘Well, that’s a first. Integrity isn’t usually a stumbling block.’
‘I’m not sure your judgement is as sound as it could be right now. You’ve obviously got some issues in your personal life.’
He looks away and straightens his tie. I can’t believe he wants to turn my crisis into his opportunity.
‘I never bring my home life to work,’ I tell him.
‘Ella, I was there when you took that call from your boyfriend. Admit it, you’ve taken your eye off the ball.’
I’ve got my eye on two balls. His. For now, I settle for giving him one of my looks, the one I reserve for Peter, Darren and Cara if I ever see her again. Josh picks up the negative vibe and scuttles off. I take the plates of untouched biscuits and plonk them on Jill’s desk for people to help themselves. That’s over a thousand calories saved. Now I need to be as resourceful with the client’s budget.
‘Adam called. Said to tell you he’s running late and he’ll see you at the restaurant,’ Jill tells me, looking up from her typewriter. ‘I put a note with the storyboard for the director asking if we could have the quote by close of play, hope that’s okay?’
‘Today, that’s not giving them much time, is it?’
‘Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing you arguing in the meeting and just thought if we act quickly, while Clive’s still excited about doing TV, we might be in with a chance. I’ve chivvied up our TV department to liaise with them this afternoon.’
‘Good thinking, Jill. Thanks.’
She really is firing on all cylinders today. Oh dear, I’m only supposed to have stepped into Peter’s shoes not adopted his idiotic idioms.
‘You’re interviewing another team at three. And then I’d like to run some of my ideas past you for the team building event.’
‘Great. We’ll talk later,’ I say running for the lift before the doors close.
By the time I arrive at the restaurant Adam has chosen what he wants and is buttering a chunk of bread.
‘I’m having the steak. What d’you fancy? Quick, grab the waiter,’ he says between mouthfuls of seeded granary.
I order the cod then reach across, pick the poppy-seeds out of his bread and eat them one by one.
‘Have it all. It’s too healthy for me. How’s it going?’ he asks scoffing the last white roll.
‘Usual Josh crap. He tried to pull the rug from under me, in front of the client,’ I tell him.
‘No change there then. Nothing you can’t handle,’ he smiles. ‘Are you doing what I told you and remembering to smile at the client?’
I grin at him by way of reply. He laughs.
‘Once more with feeling? Anyway, how’s the new team doing?’
‘Chloe’s brilliant at the ideas and David draws them up like a god,’ I tell him as our food arrives.
His sirloin steak looks delicious. Reluctantly, I push aside my creamed potatoes and spear a flake of boring but low-calorie fish.
‘Don’t you want that?’ Adam asks eyeing up my mash.
I shake my head and he helps himself. Lately, there have been too many opportunities to eat too much and too little time to work it off. I caught Darren looking at my legs the other day. He was no doubt thinking, ‘Look at the size of those thighs.’ Or something equally complimentary. I must ask Jill to renew my gym membership and get me a new leotard, something with a bit more give. My waist measurement has increased in direct proportion to my new, over-inflated salary.
The restaurant is packed. Waiters move gracefully around the room, running to and fro tending to their customers’ fragile egos. If they can’t have the pay rise they want, at least they can have their steak cooked just the way they like it. Adam’s eyes dart around the room, checking out the plates of other diners making sure no-one’s got something bigger and better. He seems satisfied that he’s chosen well and eats his meal quickly in big, rapid mouthfuls.
‘Is that good?’ he asks pointing at my food.
I nod. He takes it as an invitation to sample my meal. I put my knife and fork down. I know when I’m beaten.
‘Chloe does all the Kitty Rescue stuff for me. It’s great, I don’t have to pretend to be Marmalade anymore,’ I tell him wondering if he’ll eat the deep-fried courgette flower.
I really want those potatoes now. Too late, Adam has polished off the lot.
‘So Chloe is Marmalade! What did she do to deserve that? Seriously, you’re giving her other stuff to work on too?’
He’s chewing on the courgette floret and pulls a face.
‘Be mad not to. The Honeydrop concept was awesome. She’s so sharp but I think David would make a better designer than an Art-Director. I still can’t understand why Chloe’s so wedded to David.’
‘Because they’re married,’ he tells me matter-of-factly, spitting the offending mouthful into his serviette.
‘What?’
‘Well, as good as. They live together – didn’t you notice they’ve got the same address?’
I hadn’t even read that part of their CVs, no eye for detail, that’s my trouble. That’ll teach me to be all about the big picture.
‘Doesn’t matter, does it? Can’t imagine they’re lovey-dovey around the office. Chloe struck me as a cold fish when I met her,’ he says handing his empty plate to the waiter and simultaneously giving detailed instructions about what he would like for pudding.
‘Chocolate cheesecake, please, a nice big bit,’ asks Adam. ‘With double cream instead of crème fraiche. Hate that stuff, tastes like it’s gone off.’
‘Cold fish? I don’t get that impression. She reminds me of me when I first came into the industry.’
‘You? But you’re lovely,’ he says showing me the dessert menu.
His words dance happily inside my head. I could kill for an almond and pear tart. My blood sugar is so low I could take candy from a baby. But that’s the trouble with Soho, it’s a kids-free zone. No young mums with sticky toddlers. No elderly people either, just greedy young professionals, all fighting over the icing on the cake. Perhaps I should take a bite of the cherry instead, fewer calories.
‘Why didn’t they tell me they lived together?’ I wonder.
‘They did. It’s on their CV. First thing I noticed.’
‘That reminds me I’m seeing another junior team at three – gotta run.’ Or waddle, I think as I hand Adam a twenty-pound note. He refuses.
‘My treat. Can I have your pudding?’ he asks.
‘I haven’t ordered one.’
‘I was going to have the Raspberry Pavlova for you.’
‘Be my guest. Thanks for lunch, Adam.’
‘Oh yeah, I forgot. We’re going to have a house-warming party soon, nothing special, just a few people over for dinner. I’m dreading it. Jan’s planning on inviting some of her new doctor friends. I know they’re all be thinking, ‘What is she doing with him, some jerk in advertising.’
‘You’re as good as they are.’
‘They think I’m thick because I went to art school not University. Anyway, I’ll let you know the date nearer the time but it may have to be midweek to fit in with their shifts. Hope you can make it. Bring Tom if you want. Everything okay?’ he asks when he sees my face.
I’ve gone from smiley to sullen in a heartbeat.
‘Not exactly. Think I’ve been suffering from Bad Boy syndrome but I think I’m on the Twelve Step Programme to recovery.’
‘What?’ he asks confused as to why I’d make a joke about something that’s not funny.
‘Don’t worry. I’m fine. We can talk about it later. I’ve got to go now.’
I ease myself out from between the tables, my bottom skimming the soup of the person next to me.
‘Promise you’ll come?’ he pleads.
‘Promise.’
He smiles. I’m not sure if it’s at me or at the glorious sight of his pudding that has just arrived.
‘Here,’ he says seeing my look of longing. ‘Try this. Heaven on a plate.’
I take no persuading and open my mouth as he spoons in a mound of meringue and cream.
‘Food of the gods,’ I tell him as I run out of the door.
When I get back to the agency, I find a memo on my desk from Josh. Looks like Jill’s quick thinking saved the day. The director, like everyone at the moment, is desperate for work and came back almost immediately with an unbeatable quote. Jill also persuaded Mr Media to drop everything to cut a great deal on air-time. Even Josh couldn’t fault the final figure. We won’t make much of a profit but the kudos we’ll gain from this one ad will do wonders for our reputation.
I run into Chloe and David’s office and feel just like I did the day I passed my eleven-plus, elated, knowing everything was about to change for the better.
‘Honeydrop has approved the budget. Congratulations! You’re going to make your commercial. Shoot starts next week so clear your diaries.’
Chloe stops what she’s doing and glances at me as if she is mentally plotting her next three moves.
‘Thanks for giving us this opportunity, Ella,’ she says.
‘It was your work that impressed the client. Thank you,’ I reply.
‘You’ll be on the shoot too?’ David asks me nervously.
‘No, you’ll be in good hands with the director and her crew; she’s great. I’ll get her to pop in and have a chat with you about the script. She loves it and can’t wait to start working on it.’
Chloe seizes the moment, ‘Do we have a permanent job then?’
‘Oh,
we need to talk,’ I say the excitement I felt just a moment ago evaporating.
She watches me from under her fringe, saying nothing. I plough on desperate to fill the silence.
‘Have you enjoyed your time here?’ I ask.
‘Are you hiring us or not?’ she persists. ‘Only Steve Winter has asked to see our work.’
She lets her word hang between us like a cobweb. And Steven Winter is the big fat spider in the middle, ready and waiting to snatch the prize away from me again.