by Sue Margolis
Chelsea refused to be intimidated by the fact that nearly all the bosses at PCW, all the people she had to pitch ideas to, were men. From the off, she had never been scared to go into meetings and argue her corner. She was highly competitive and absolutely refused to be cowed. Fear simply wasn’t part of her vocabulary. “You know, Graham,” she would say, insisting on pronouncing Graham like most Americans do, as Grahm, to rhyme with ham, “I think we really need to start thinking outside the box here. I mean, it seems to me that you guys just haven’t considered the click-through rate on this thing. And have you calculated the cost per click?…I figured not. Well, I have some preliminary data here which I’ve printed out and would like to pass round.” The way it usually worked was that everybody would sit there examining her figures and come to the conclusion that she had a point.
While she wasn’t exactly easy to warm to, women forgave her because they were in awe of her New York hey-mister-don’t-bullshit-me feistiness. A few women—Cyn included—made no secret of wishing they had her balls. Some of the men felt the same. Mostly though, with the exception of Messrs. Price, Chandler and Witty, from whom she commanded considerable respect, the blokes referred to Chelsea behind her back as “the Terminator.”
Cyn’s relationship with Chelsea hadn’t gotten off to a good start. Before she was taken on by PCW, Chelsea had three interviews over a four-week period. During that time the coffee machine kept going on the blink and Cyn, along with everybody else, took her turn at doing a coffee run to the sandwich bar over the road. By pure chance, each time Chelsea arrived for an interview, Cyn was handing out cups of coffee. On the day she started work, Graham Chandler took Chelsea round the office and introduced her to everybody. “And this is Cyn, another of our junior copywriters.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve seen you getting the coffee. Be a sweetie, would you, and fetch me a skinny cappuccino, hold the chocolate.” Had Graham not introduced Cyn as another copywriter it might just have been reasonable for Chelsea to assume she was one of the office juniors, but even then, her puffed-up, snooty manner was inexcusable. What made the whole thing worse was Graham standing there and saying, “I know it’s not really your job, Cyn, but maybe you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course not.” Cyn smiled thinly, realizing she had no option but to go and get Chelsea her coffee.
As the weeks went by, though, Chelsea’s manner changed where Cyn was concerned. It never became warm, exactly, but she seemed to be making a real effort to be more friendly. Cyn put it down to guilt over the coffee incident. Soon Chelsea was inviting her out to lunch, and Cyn decided it would be churlish to refuse. She had even got round to apologizing over the coffee incident, claiming she didn’t realize at the time that Cyn was a fellow creative. “You know, I’m perfectly aware of how the men at PCW see me,” she said on one occasion, referring to the “Terminator” epithet, “but the fact remains that women still aren’t getting the opportunities they deserve in this business. The only way for us to push through the glass ceiling is to fight. You are clever and talented, Cyn. Women like us need to stick together—to keep faith with the sisterhood. Say, if you ever want to brainstorm some ideas with me or have me give you my opinion on something, feel free.”
“That’s so kind of you,” Cyn said. “I really appreciate that. And if you have any thoughts or ideas you’d like my opinion on, don’t hesitate to come to me.”
“Oh, how absolutely darling of you,” Chelsea simpered, smiling at Cyn over the slitty black-framed glasses she’d taken to wearing. Cyn couldn’t work out why she felt as if she’d just offered Nancy Reagan a joint.
Then a few weeks ago, Chelsea had said something to Cyn that made her feel even more uncomfortable and took her right back to the coffee episode. It was the day all three agency directors were taking Cyn out to lunch to say thank you for the work she had done helping secure a big shampoo account. Most people in the office had patted her on the back and said well done. Chelsea, on the other hand, had come striding over, all radiant smiles, her arms wide open. She wrapped Cyn in a huge bear hug and kissed her on both cheeks. The expression on her face seemed to convey genuine delight. “Well done, you,” she cooed. Cyn returned the smile and thanked her, but there was something about Chelsea’s emphasis on the word you that had felt not so much congratulatory as patronizing and condescending. It was as if Cyn was the class dunce, who had despite all the odds somehow managed to win a house point.
Later on, when she thought about it, Cyn told herself she was just being ridiculously oversensitive. When did she become so paranoid that she was starting to judge people purely on the emphasis they put on one word?
On the other hand, Cyn was no fool and she knew there was a strong likelihood that Chelsea was being bitchy because she saw her as a rival. One of the senior copywriters was leaving PCW and it was common knowledge that Cyn and Chelsea were both being considered for the job. Normally the agency wouldn’t have considered promoting somebody who had been there for as short a time as Chelsea, but since she was so talented the directors knew that if they didn’t promote her, they risked losing her. Cyn knew she wasn’t without talent—she’d won the Aqua Elite shampoo account after all—but since then, her professional life seemed to have taken a bit of a downturn.
First there was the stupid joke she’d made to Keith Geary. He’d been taking a conference call with a Japanese electronics company launching some new, very powerful loudspeakers, and she was sitting in. “Keith,” she giggled at one point, “tell them they could always say ‘The XL2000 speakers. The loudest you’ve ever heard. From the people who brought you Pearl Harbor.’” Of course they were on speakerphone and the Japanese heard everything. PCW lost the account.
Graham Chandler had been gracious enough to see the funny side and told her not to worry, but she could tell he was cross.
There was no doubt in her mind that Chelsea would get the senior copywriter job. Surely Chelsea knew that, too. How could she not?
GUCCI GUCCI COO
A Delta Trade Paperback / June 2006
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2006 by Sue Margolis
Delta is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Margolis, Sue.
Gucci Gucci coo / Sue Margolis
p. cm.
1. Pregnancy—Fiction. 2. Jewish women—Fiction. 3. London (England)—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6063.A635 G83 2006 2006040161
823/.914 22
www.bantamdell.com
eISBN: 978-0-440-33613-6
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