Spin Control

by Holly O'Dell

  Holly O'Dell

  "Devin Underhill?" I stared at my boss.

  "Kate, you're one of my best reps, but I swear that sometimes you live under a rock," Gwen said with a dramatic swipe of her hand, her clunky straight-fromChinatown bracelets clinking hollowly together. "I know how you frown upon these so-called `society types,' but you have got to know who Devin Underhill is."

  Oh, yes, I knew exactly who Devin Underhill wasunabashed New York playboy, heir to the billion-dollar Hotel Bella chain, and the man who just happened to squash my heart like a cockroach two years ago. "It's starting to ring a bell now." I tugged at the neck of my thick pink turtleneck sweater. Probably not the best day to wear it. And was that my throat starting to close up? Oh, great, this was all I needed. I tried to recall proper breathing techniques from the one yoga class I took. Nope, that didn't work.

  Gwen turned to face Michael Korten, the publicist transplanted to the New York office from Los Angeles. "Good God, Michael. Please tell me you know who he is."

  "Of course I do. I emulate his kind." He absentmindedly smoothed his tie. Sarcasm-or at least I hoped that's what it was-saturated his words.

  "As you know-well, maybe not you, Kate, but you can pretend for me-Devin has dated every available, and sometimes not-so-available, socialite in Manhattan. Needless to say, someone of his stature who behaves in such ways gets quite the reputation-and attention from the press."

  I squirmed, but tried to cover for it by pretending my black skirt had twisted around. I had been avoiding the New York celebrity-gossip circuit (as much as one can in this town, I suppose) since the breakup with Devin, and, with one comment, Gwen had reminded me of all the voices I had been trying to quell in the past two years. And there I was, behind closed doors with my eccentric boss and a rather stuffy coworker I barely knew, discussing the man who had taken up significant space in my mind.

  Michael interrupted my mental wanderings. "So, why does Mr. Underhill need us to do publicity?"

  "Two things you should know about this project: Devin's not the one hiring us, and he doesn't know he's our client yet."

  I squinted at Gwen, who responded to my confusion. "It's his dad, Fox, who's doing the hiring. Fox's hotels have been experiencing a decline in profits-and image-and he thinks it might be because of his son, or rather his son's reputation. Women and all-night parties seem to be Devin's favorite vices," Gwen said in a confidential tone.

  Great. Thanks, Gwen. Really, could you say one more thing that'll make me want to dive headfirst into the Hudson?

  "And our job is...," Michael watched Gwen quizzically.

  "Fox has hired our company to give his son an image makeover."

  Gwen leaned in toward Michael and me and shoved her wire-framed glasses back atop her mane of frizzy black hair, a sign that she meant business. "Listen, you two, you're the best reps in this office, so I'm depending on you to make me-I mean us-some money and pull this off. I don't need to tell you that this is the most important project you will ever have at my company, and likely your career."

  "Isn't this all kind of a stretch?" Michael frowned as he rubbed one of his eyebrows. "I mean, tying someone's reputation to profits? I may not have an econ degree, but this doesn't add up"

  I cringed, because I knew what was coming next. It held the same horrifying yet gleeful fascination for me as watching The Maury Show featuring moms awaiting the DNA results of potential fathers. Disaster, waiting to happen. And I couldn't turn away. Michael hadn't been at Burton Relations long enough to know not to criticize the owner of one of the tiniest but most successful publicity firms on the East Coast. I'd seen her fire other reps who had done less to question her judgment. I held my breath and winced.

  Gwen shot him her patented withering stare that generally reduced most underlings into contorted heaps. "You're not here to question the reasons. Since when did publicists become the moral authority? Did they teach you that in California, Michael, with your L.A. hotshots?" The rumor buzzing around Michael when he first started at Burton Relations six months ago had been that he was one of the reps responsible for Courtney Love's transformation from bad girl to Hollywood chic. (No word on who was responsible for the transformation undoing all of this.)

  Michael didn't seem particularly affected by Gwen's freeze. He just looked at me, looked back at her, and shrugged. "Okay, you've got a point, Gwen. But what kind of challenge, really, are we looking at here?"

  I refrained from giving a big "Hmph!" I knew what kind of a challenge we were facing. I could give Michael ten examples from the top of my head; after all, I had experienced at least that many in my six months with Devin. But this was no time for reminiscing or lectures-no question, I had to gracefully remove myself from this project.

  I just didn't have a clue as to how to do it.

  "It's a huge challenge, Michael, because you're dealing with an outrageous reputation, and that supercedes all else." Gwen used her intimidating-authority-figure voice. "Devin Underhill could rescue baby seals from a clubbing death, but the press would only focus on the wild party that was thrown afterward in honor of his heroic ways"

  "Good point, though I will be forever tainted by the baby-seal metaphor." Michael barely smiled-there was that barely-disguised sarcasm again. I glanced at him; he was all business with his carefully pressed white oxford shirt and proper tie. That he helped with the Courtney Love makeover had to be a lie. I had this image of her flailing about his L.A. office while he tried to awkwardly avoid her coming on to him, saying in a stodgy tone, "Ms. Love, we must consider the business at hand" I smirked at the scenario and had almost forgotten why we were all in the office in the first place ... almost.

  "So," Michael continued, "I find it interesting that his dad is hiring a publicity firm" Gwen eyed him, daring him to continue on this line. Instead he put up his hands surrender-style. "I know, I know. Don't question, just do"

  I had to give him credit, Michael was quick. He immediately took the cue, his skepticism set aside, if not veiled. "What's our plan of action? Is there a timeline for making this all come together?"

  Gwen looked at the ceiling and scratched her neck with her faux fuchsia-colored nails. "I was thinking that you and Kate could hash out the plan. First thing is to gather all the press clippings you can find of our bad boy from the last few years-good, bad, ugly, I don't care. If his name is listed in the Wall Street Journal, I want it. If it's on Page Six, I want it." She rose from the perch on her desk and began to pace in front of her windows, in the zone. "The next thing to do is to identify patterns, as we do for all of our clients. I don't care what you do, just make the pieces fit. The problem with this one is that we have to present the information delicately. Remember, Devin has no idea-"

  "That we're going to rain on his playboy parade?" Michael suggested dryly.

  Gwen didn't miss a beat. "That his dad has this planned for him."

  "This should be interesting," Michael observed.

  I cleared my throat. "When exactly is he going to break it to Devin?" And could I be on the other coast by then?

  "When they're in our office tomorrow."

  "What?" Michael and I cried in unison.

  "Settle down, settle down," Gwen assured us, her skittish minions. "I told you at the beginning of this conversation, you two can handle it. If it means you stay up all night, then take a three-day weekend on me"

  Michael was incredulous. "You mean that we have to have our proposal done in twenty-four hours? What about our other clients?"

  "I'm going to put some junior account executives on them," she said carelessly. "Might as well throw them a bone. Listen, I can tell you that Fox Underhill is paying us very good money to do this for him and his son. And that information doesn't leave this room" Gwen loved using t
hat line. Often I would get this image of Gwen's office bulging with information that wasn't allowed to leave her office. Would the tidbits eventually explode out the door and rain down on the desks of unsuspecting executives?

  I was staring out the window watching traffic pass when Gwen took notice of my lack of enthusiasm. "Kate, you haven't said much, and frankly, dear, you're being an airhead." I knew how much Gwen adored labeling her workers, and if this one incident would forever brand me as a ditz, I had to take control of my emotions-as if that were realistic at the moment. But just then, Gwen softened a bit. "Is everything okay?"

  I tried to muster my buried courage. "Um, actually, I would like to talk to you after this meeting." Michael quickly turned his head toward me, and I flushed. "It's nothing, really. Just a few ideas I'd like to run past you, Gwen."

  "Let's have Michael stay and hear them"

  "It's about a different project I'm working on" Another lie.

  Gwen smirked. "Sure, whatever you say. Before we let Michael go, we should get a plan together today. You can have Rita pull press clippings and do online searches. Then you two should put your heads together and come up with a tactful but persuasive way to present your findings to Devin and his dad." She returned to the desk and folded her hands prayer-style. "Please, please, please remember that Devin doesn't even know what's happening. I talked to Fox earlier today, and his plan is to invent some meeting for him and Devin to attend in the building, and oops, he's just gonna pop in and see how his old friend Gwen Burton is doing. Before you know it, we'll all be chatting like old friendsone of whom needs a new public personality, mind you. They'll be here at ten o'clock tomorrow, so at eight, I want to look over what you came up with and offer suggestions." She looked back and forth between the two of us. "Got it?"

  "Of course!" Michael replied a little too eagerly. I think he and I both knew that something this dicey, this much of a stretch, was never so smooth. And to get it done in record time only added to my stress.

  Michael rose from his chair; he had abnormally straight posture. "I'm going to get started. I'll let you two have your talk. Oh, Kate, do you want to meet over lunch?"

  "Can we do it after? I have lunch plans" Not really, but I was about to. I needed to meet with my best friend, Anna, so she could help me process (translation: overanalyze) the sticky problem I had just acquired. Besides, after the conversation I planned on having with Gwen, I'd be off the project and would have no need to talk about Devin ever again.

  "I guess I'll just catch you this afternoon." Michael quietly closed Gwen's door.

  For about thirty seconds, the only thing audible was my accelerating heartbeat. In that time, I devised ways to tell Gwen about my past with Devin. Surely Gwen would see the ethical conflicts with me working as my ex's right-hand woman. Alternatively, she could fire me for not being up-front right away. No, she couldn't do that, could she?

  I had been on a four-year roller-coaster ride at Burton Relations, and this is what I wanted-the assignment that was going to push me to the top of that last hill, with no fear of ever dropping again. It just was too bad that an ex-boyfriend was going to be the vehicle to get me there.

  "Looks like I'll be the first one to talk" Gwen finally broke the silence with a stern look that could stop traffic.

  My relationship with Gwen was a complex one-at one moment I could be teasing her, and fearing her the next. But no matter how I felt, I have always respected Gwen for starting her own PR firm on her thirtieth birthday twenty-some years ago. In my time with Gwen, I had seen turnover-much of which came from those used to working in conventional agencies who couldn't understand why this outlandish woman would actually make her representatives do their own research or attend the events they promoted on weekends. Somehow I had broken from that pack. Gwen always said that she saw a part of herself in me, which scared me because I never knew which part.

  "I think I know why you're being shifty," Gwen smugly remarked. "I know why you're so reluctant to work on the project."

  How did Gwen know? And why did she put me on this project knowing what she knew? Perhaps it was a test-one at which I was failing miserably. That still didn't answer the how. Fox Underhill had only met me once while Devin and I dated, so he certainly wouldn't remember me and certainly couldn't know that I worked at this firm. I wasn't even sure if Devin remembered what I did for a living, so that couldn't be it. "Am I that easy to read?" I asked sheepishly.

  "You're worried about working with Michael, aren't you?"

  As if. I let out a screech. "God, no. Michael is great! I mean, I barely know him, but he seems really smart and good at what he does. My problem is much deeper than that" Gwen crossed her arms, her lime-green blouse bunching up. She pulled the glasses from the top of her head and peered at me with curious eyes.

  I opened my mouth but was greeted with silence. I couldn't tell Gwen. I had the strange sense that she would be disappointed in me. "It's just that I'm not cut out for this celebrity stuff. You know that. I like to work on products and properties, not figureheads." At least I had moved from telling lies to telling half-truths.

  Gwen stood up and sat on the edge of her desk, about two inches from my face. "I have a reason for doing this," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "The thought of retirement is always crossing my mind. Of course, could I trust someone to carry on the Burton name? It certainly won't be children-it's a little too late for that-too bad my cats couldn't run this place! Wait, where was I? Oh, yes" She walked over to the door to check that it was closed completely. "It's no secret, Kate, that you're one of my favorites at this place" She closed her overmascaraed eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. "If you nail this project, you will be a partner in this firm. And at twenty-nine, you'd be the youngest ever, I might add. Even younger than I was when I started the business, my dear."

  My heart resumed its incessant pounding. This was it. This was the crucial step I needed to make. It's what I had been working toward since I'd moved to New York six years earlier after a short-lived tenure in hell covering weekly city council meetings for a small, suburban newspaper on the outskirts of Kansas City. Unfortunately, after the move it took me two years of additional hell, Manhattan-style, to find Gwen, but I found her. And I had jockeyed for position with the others my age, working my way up the food chain, slavering over the idea of running a business of my own some day.

  Now Gwen was offering me what could be the most professionally and financially lucrative proposal I had ever gotten. If only I could get the position by marketing Gucci handbags!

  I took the bait, perhaps a little too quickly. Certainly no self-respecting career goddess would let a chintzy ex-boyfriend push her off the path to success, would she? This is what I want, I repeated.

  So why was a nagging feeling tugging deep within me?

  I couldn't rely on my gut instincts anymore, as they often were just veiled paranoia. For now, I had to be a researcher, observing her subjects objectively. The self-affirmation litany began: I am a skilled public relations representative assigned to the most crucial project of my career. I am a skilled public relations representative who, so help me Higher Power, is going to have to come face to face tomorrow with the man who-

  Okay, maybe self-affirmations were overrated. Just faking it sounded good.

  I eyed Gwen eyeing me, curiosity overtaking her face. I gave Gwen what surely was my most winsome smile. "Thanks for the offer. You're right, I should be able to handle a job like this." I should. I would. And I saw it in my mind's eye, the perfect execution, and myself several months later, sitting in this chair ready to sign the appropriate paperwork indicating that I was a partner.

  "There's my girl!" Gwen almost leapt. "I was worried there for a while."

  I rose and walked toward the door. "No need to worry. I'm going to catch up with Michael."

  `By the way, Kate" I pivoted to face Gwen. "Devin Underhill is only a New York celebrity-not internationally known, but suitable to be auctioned off as an eligib
le bachelor at a fundraiser in SoHo" Gwen paused. "What I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't be intimidated by his quasi-celebrity status"

  I gave a halfhearted nod. If only Gwen knew that his place on the social ladder was the least of my concerns with Devin.

  I feel like I'm in junior high," I said, hypnotically pushing around the red-curry chicken on my plate. "It's been two years, and we only dated for six months, yet one mention of his name and pfft, I unravel faster than a predictable plot. I almost feel like a fraud. I claim to be this strong, independent, urban woman, but listening to myself makes me want to gag"

  Anna vehemently shook her head, her long, loose, enviable red curls bouncing vibrantly. "You are strong, independent, and urban. You're also human. Welcome to the masses."

  In work, I knew I could command a room full of executives. In love, however, I crumpled when a man dumped me. "So why can't I transform myself?"

  "Quit acting like there's something wrong with you! Men break our hearts" She folded her arms across her tiny black T-shirt, which simply stated Nerds Rule.

  "We cry and watch soppy movies and eat Ben & Jerry's until we can't see. That's life. Sometimes it takes longer than we like to admit. Granted two years is a little long, but hey, who am I to judge? We both know how I am in the relationship world."

  "Speaking of relationship worlds, how's Tommy? I haven't heard you talk about him in a few weeks" Her guilty look was a dead giveaway. "Uh-oh. Is it time for another soul-cleansing trip?"

  When it came to dating, Anna was the opposite of me-and most women our age, apparently. She enjoyed the breakup more than the hookup. Whenever she ended a relationship (and she was always the one who ended it), she took a vacation to "cleanse the soul" Then she got right back into the scene, anxiously awaiting her next trip-um, relationship.

  Anna tried for penitent but quickly slipped into mischief, green eyes flashing. "I can't help it! We're just too similar, and blech, who wants that? So I think we're going to have a little talk tonight."