POOR MAN’S PUDDING
It’s the day of the big MaxiBudget meeting: Ludo versus Dennis, with Oscar and Ernesto looking on. I have done nothing. Since yesterday my visit to the favela has been replaying itself on a loop in my head. I even found myself in a photographic shop this morning, buying five packets of instant camera film—and I don’t know the girl’s name.
Oscar is on high alert, as always when new work is being presented. He gives a jumpy, enthusiastic preamble on how revolutionary an idea MaxiBudget is; how much good it will do; how the fact that it benefits us and our clients is a beautiful added bonus, and nothing to be ashamed of. The speech is for Ernesto’s benefit, to show him how excited we are about the job, but rather than reacting generously to Oscar’s bluster, as I would expect—however little he buys into it—our client sits hunched over his coffee, failing to look engaged. Ernesto has always lacked guile. His feelings show as plainly as if they were tattooed on his forehead, and knowing him as well as I do, I can tell that something is wrong, and that it has nothing to do with the meeting.
Dennis is trying to be modest, but is keen to make an impression. He thinks his ideas are something special, and eventually his moment arrives.
‘All feedback welcome, of course,’ he says, standing to unveil a series of large boards. ‘They’re just concepts really.’ He retreats further into the silence. ‘A starting point, at least.’
The images before us are of happy, well-fed children of all races standing by piles of food waste—rotting fruit, flyblown meat, ripped plastic bags—and looking up with smiles on their faces into the beaming light of the MaxiBudget logo, from which bursts fresh produce of every variety, along with the names of some of the big brands whose products will be available in the stores. There’s a choice of two different lines printed in large yellow letters over the images. One reads, MaxiBudget: On Your Side. The other reads, MaxiBudget: Now It’s Your Turn.
‘I was trying to play around with this benefit we’re offering —that with MaxiBudget you’ll have access to the quality brands you couldn’t afford before. That you aren’t alone. MaxiBudget as your ally, if you like.’
A couple of people round the table murmur noncommittal compliments, waiting to judge the mood of the room. Everyone looks expectantly at Ernesto.
‘I think we’ve got something interesting here,’ says Oscar, in the gap left by Ernesto’s silence. ‘It’s simple, and clear, and it would work across all the different media. I don’t see these as final strap lines, but as a starting point for the tone of the launch I think they are promising.’
‘OK,’ says Ernesto, knowing he’s expected to respond.
‘It’s only a start,’ says Dennis. ‘But I think it could set us in the right direction.’
Ernesto turns to me. ‘Ludo, what do you make of this?’
‘Honestly?’ I say, not looking in the direction of Oscar or Dennis.
‘Of course.’
‘I think it’s patronising.’
Oscar’s eyes widen. His urge to leap for my throat is tempered only by the presence of an important client.
‘It implies they’re already at rock bottom,’ I continue. ‘It implies that they want the same things we have brainwashed the rich into wanting—and that the summit of their ambition is to be consumers like us.’
There’s an audible intake of breath. If Oscar wasn’t conscious of my family link to Ernesto then I would be dead by now. Yet again my connections are my safety net.
‘These people aren’t beneath us,’ I say. ‘They’re just unlucky. They deserve nothing but respect. Everything is against them, but they hold on. They are humanity at its most tenacious. Can you imagine living like that? If your house is washed down the hill, you have no choice but to regroup and start another. It’s a state of near-anarchy. But somehow, the system works. Ingenuity prevails. Walls are built from scrap and rubbish; materials are reclaimed and recycled. People struggle on.’
Dennis tries to talk over me, but I hold up a hand to stop his voice.
‘One day we may all have to live like this. And then they’ll have the last laugh. Answer me honestly: who around this table would know how to build their own house? Who would even know where to start? These people are the advance guard. They’re trained-up and ready. They are insured. I don’t think we can speak to them like this. They won’t listen. They’ll laugh in our faces.’
Everyone’s looking at me.
‘So what would you do, Ludo?’ says Ernesto, with interest. Thank God he’s not a real client. If I spoke like this to someone who actually cared about his business I’d be thrown out of the window.
‘I don’t know. Something that’s more of a tribute to their powers of survival than a lesson in how to graduate to a consumer lifestyle.’
‘And how exactly is that going to launch a chain of supermarkets?’ says Oscar, keeping his rage in check for now. ‘This is a business. We have a commercial responsibility, not a social one.’
‘But even looking at it purely from an advertising point of view, this campaign won’t work. Of course these people have aspirations, and of course they want a better life, but they are also proud of the communities they have made. Don’t try and tell them that we have what they’ve been waiting for, and that it’s a scaled-down version of what’s available to the affluent. They won’t want to hear it.’
I sit down again, shrugging my shoulders as if to say Take it or leave it. Dennis wants to weigh in to defend his idea, but Oscar is shrewd; he holds back to see how Ernesto reacts.
‘I agree with Ludo,’ Ernesto says, quietly. ‘The last thing we should do is be patronising.’ He is barely in the room—just staring off into space—but it’s the steer Oscar was waiting for.
‘Well done, Ludo. Those focus groups of yours are obviously paying off,’ he says. ‘But what should we do instead?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘I have a nasty feeling that the whole idea of the MaxiBudget chain is suspect.’
‘Could I talk to you alone for a moment?’ says Oscar.
When we’re out of earshot of the meeting room, he pulls me into an alcove that’s painted with a huge, cartooned grim reaper, his scythe menacingly poised over Oscar’s head.
‘Brother-in-law or no brother-in-law, this is starting to piss me off. You’re putting an important piece of business in jeopardy. I don’t care what this is all about—maybe you’re in love with that cleaner of yours—but whatever it is, don’t ever undermine one of our ideas in front of a client again.’
When we return to the meeting, Oscar says, ‘I think we should take a short break, and come back with some fresh thoughts.’
Everyone files out, leaving Ernesto staring down at a pad on the table, making listless notes.
‘That was very unlike you,’ he says, looking up. ‘I enjoyed it.’
‘Good. Now are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you?’
‘Can we talk somewhere?’
‘Let’s go for a walk. Get some street food.’
I take him to a place I found yesterday on my way back from the favela: a ramshackle kiosk near a newsstand on a dusty street corner, manned by a jovial guy in a filthy apron who is probably one of Flávia’s neighbours. We order salt cod bolinhos and cheese pasties, and stand at the counter eating and talking, while the man behind the counter makes fresh sugarcane juice, forcing the long, fibrous stalks into a giant pulping machine and collecting the sweet green liquid in beakers at the other end.
‘I wouldn’t have pictured you here,’ says Ernesto. ‘I thought you were only interested in the finest restaurants the city had to offer.’
‘I’m only a snob about quality.’
‘Hear that?’ says Ernesto, transmitting my compliment to the proprietor. ‘You should be delighted—this man is hard to please.’
Setting down our juice, the owner smiles appreciatively, and flexes his bicep for us, like it’s an indicator of his culinary prowess. As we’re about to walk off with our food, he h
olds out a plastic pot of individually wrapped wooden toothpicks.
‘For after your meal,’ he says. ‘The poor man’s pudding.’
‘Poor man’s pudding, exactly,’ Ernesto says, smiling at him.
We stroll back in the direction of the office.
‘So what’s the matter?’ I say. ‘Let me guess. Your wife?’
He nods. ‘I talked to her about the stuff we were discussing the other day.’
‘You did? How was it?’
‘It could have been better. I came clean with her about working for her father. She told me off for being secretive. And that annoyed me. So I just brought it up.’
‘Brought what up?’
‘My suspicions. I didn’t mean to. It just came out.’
‘And what did she say?’ I ask. My food is instantly inedible.
‘That I was right. That she had been seeing someone else.’
Interesting.
‘Some guy from her office,’ he goes on. ‘It’s over now, apparently, and it only happened twice.’
‘Shit, man. I’m sorry to hear that.’
What fucking guy from the office?
‘How are you feeling about it?,’ I continue.
‘I’m glad, in a way. It means I’m not going mad—that there was something happening when I was away.’
‘What else did she say?’
‘Actually she told me to come and talk to you about it. She said you’d know what to say. Sisterly love, huh?’
I smile. ‘That was good of her.’
What fucking guy from the office?
During the second half of the meeting, my legs quiver. The urge to overturn the table and sprint out of the room is so strong that I want to hit myself into submission. Dennis stands with a marker pen while everyone else calls out words that describe how it would feel to live in a favela. I have said nothing, but words like angry and hungry and impotent are accumulating fast on the whiteboard. Knowing that I will have to RIP OFF MY SKIN if I am made to stay in this room for a moment longer, I get to my feet.
‘Ludo? You’re leaving us?’ says Oscar.
‘Bathroom.’
‘Come back with an idea, will you?’
I take a deep breath as the bathroom door closes behind me. Flávia has been here recently—the smell of her eucalyptus cleaning fluid and a hint of her sweat linger on the air. Already though, the floor round the urinals is tacky. Oscar, no doubt, idly hosing all over the place while his mind lingered on something unpleasant. To think that Flávia has to deal with this every day, cleaning up after people who imagine themselves too busy to take proper aim.
I need time to think. I can’t deal with Oscar staring me in the face waiting for an idea when Melissa and her ‘guy from the office’ are on my mind. What does it mean? Is it a signal from her, a warning shot? And what is this other feeling—this crippling guilt towards Ernesto? Suddenly, the sight of his big, desolate face across that meeting-room table is more than I can bear.
After staring at myself in the mirror for a minute and splashing water on my face, I quietly re-enter the airless, mindless room.
‘We had an idea while you were away,’ says Dennis, impossibly smug.
‘Tell him,’ says Oscar.
‘I’m sure you have a point about the strategy being wrong,’ says Dennis. ‘I don’t know enough about it yet. And those ideas were just a starting point. Perhaps I should spend some time in a favela to see it for myself.’
‘That might help.’
‘In the meantime, I had another thought that might be interesting.’
‘This is great, Ludo, listen to it,’ says Oscar.
‘I thought we could organise a launch night for MaxiBudget here in the building. Invite everyone from the favela round the corner and announce our intentions—to make sure they understand where we’re coming from.’
‘Isn’t it a cute idea?’ says Oscar. ‘A launch party where we invite all those kids right on our doorstep to come in, explain the plan to them, and get feedback on how we should position it. Like a big community brainstorming event. You say we haven’t got it right, Ludo—well, let’s ask them. Let’s throw open our doors and show them a good time.’
‘You could even, if you liked, only serve the brands we represent, seeing as those companies will all be present,’ says Dennis.
‘Better still, have themed courses, sponsored by different clients. That way everyone can be involved—even the detergent people,’ I say, not entirely seriously.
‘Now you’re getting it!’ Oscar claps me on the shoulder with a damp palm. ‘And your job, Ludo, is to use the contacts you have in the favela to get the word out. Explain to them what’s going on and get them all to come over here. I think we should do this soon. At the end of the week, if we can. Let’s aim for Friday night.’ He turns to Ernesto. ‘Happy?’
Ernesto nods miserably.
‘Excellent. Perhaps we could even see if our friend Zé Generoso is available to attend,’ says Oscar. ‘If we all ask him at once, he might be persuaded to make the time.’
‘OK,’ Ernesto says.
‘You’re a genius,’ says Oscar to Dennis, who smiles awkwardly in his spotlight. ‘This guy. What would we do without him? I swear if he was a woman, my next love child would be quarter Australian.’
After the meeting, Ernesto and I go to my office.
‘What do you think I should do?’ he says, collapsing on to the sofa.
‘I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe she’s been so stupid. I’m furious with her myself.’
‘Please don’t say anything to her. I don’t want her to think I’m being indiscreet by talking about this stuff with you.’
‘As you wish.’
His last words as we say goodbye in reception are, ‘I just don’t know where I went wrong.’
When he’s gone, I rush back upstairs and call Melissa at work.
‘What’s this about a guy at the office?’
‘Educated people usually begin telephone conversations with some form of greeting.’
‘Tell me. What’s his name?’
She sighs. ‘For a genius, you can be very stupid at times.’
I pause, trying to catch up. ‘There is no guy at the office?’
‘Of course there isn’t. I did you a favour, though I can’t imagine why. The guy from the office is you. And as I told my husband, I’m not seeing him any more. Haven’t we already had this conversation?’
‘You . . . you did it for me?’
‘I didn’t see any reason to endanger his friendship with you as well as his marriage to me.’
I blink twice and stare at the graffiti on my office wall. The word FREEDOM, painted in giant yellow letters, swims before my eyes.
‘Ludo? Are you still there?’
‘I’m here.’
‘How is he?’ she asks, tentatively.
‘Not great. I think you’re right—it has to stop. For good.’
‘I’m glad you agree.’
‘Thank you for not saying it was me.’
‘You’re still my brother, though. You’re not ducking out of that one.’
I sit at my desk, head in hands. There is no guy at the office. The information should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Because of me, Ernesto thinks his wife has been cheating on him, and the simple fact is that she hasn’t—at least, not in the way he thinks she has. Her mind slams the door on me whenever we are together, and keeps it firmly shut. It isn’t right that Melissa should be protecting me like this. Nor is it right that Ernesto should be imagining something worse than the truth.
I pick up the phone again.
‘What’s so urgent that we have to meet now? I have a lot of work to do and I need to get home to see Melissa. This thing is eating me up.’
‘I have to talk to you first.’
We’re in a bar halfway between my apartment and the penthouse, a comfortable, unpretentious place we liked during our student days, with sawdust on the floor and li
ttle wire cages on the tables for salt, pepper, toothpicks, Tabasco. The Bohemia beer pump on the bar is so chilled that a thick carapace of solid ice has formed around it, and our glasses of very cold beer are refilled automatically by the waiter as we talk. A spirited game of dominoes is taking place at the table behind us, and there’s a pleasant, after-work vibe which would make this meeting agreeable, were it not for the conversation Ernesto and I are about to have.
‘Well—what is it?’ He tosses a palmful of peanuts to the back of his mouth, and holds up his beer glass, which is slick with condensation. ‘Your health.’
‘There are a couple of things I need to say to you. The first is that I think I might be able to help you with your other problem.’
‘What other problem?’
‘The one you told me about, to do with the Shadow Command. I think there might be a way I can get them to leave you alone.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘No, but I can try. What was the guy’s name again?’
‘I only know him as Jeitinho.’
‘And you don’t know which favela he lives in?’
‘Not exactly, but I think it’s not far from your office. What are you going to do?’
‘Leave it to me, will you? I want to sort this out for you.’
‘Ludo, this is incredibly dangerous. You should stay out of it.’
‘Believe me, I should be the one doing this for you.’
‘Why?’
I look him in the eye. ‘You aren’t going to like it.’
Something firms up in his expression, and now I have his full attention. ‘OK.’
‘Melissa is lying to you. There is no guy at the office.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Just listen for a second. She’s lying to you. But you can trust her. Because she’s only lying to protect me.’
His beer glass stops halfway to his mouth. ‘To protect you? What do you mean?’
‘It’s me who’s been sleeping in your bed. I go over there sometimes when you’re away. She hates being on her own.’
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