Entering the conference room, everyone glanced nervously at each other and pulled faces out of Ted Martin’s view.
“JJ, I’ll just sit at the back. Try to ignore me.”
“Okay everyone, a little unconventional I know but Mr. Martin is here from the brewery. Martin’s Brewery? This is a great opportunity for us. He’s just going to sit at the back, so try not to let his presence intimidate you. I want to hear it all, good and bad.”
Jamie was nervous and was sure the rest of his team felt the same. He stepped up to the white board and started to write.
“Let’s look at what we know. The beer is a sort of pale gold color, and its strength will be 5.2 ABV. It’s not a niche beer, and it’s going to go head to head with all the market leaders in bottled beers. It looks like we are going to have to reinvent the hovercraft on this one to make an impact in the market. Our goal is to come up with a name, a series of television commercials and all the usual marketing paraphernalia.
The competition is hard out there for shelf space in the bars, so we have to get it right. If it doesn’t appeal to the proprietors of the bars, it won’t get shelf space. So let’s start with the name. Jim, as far as names go, what do we know about the competition?”
“Beer names are shortened by the customers. They all have the brewery’s name in the title, but no one uses that.”
“Mary, please pass me the chart with market penetration. Okay, the main one, Budweiser, is obviously shortened to the first three letters, and it sounds manly. The rest have up to six letters like, so that has to be the maximum. We’re marketing the product to men, so bear that in mind. Right, who’s got the first idea?” Jamie looked around the room.
“Shag!” shouted Ben. The whole room giggled, then went quiet as they tried not to make eye contact to gauge the reaction of the client. “C’mon you guys, what’s the problem? That’s got to be a winner. Can you imagine asking the barmaid for a shag?”
“Might work in London,” said Ken, “but here you’d have to name it Screw!”
Everyone laughed aloud, and Jamie started to panic.
“Okay guys, that’s a start, but we won’t get that past the advertising commission. We need to explore that train of thought. It also has to appeal to the humorous side to get consumers talking about it, like in the old classic WKD ads, but without ripping them off,” said Jamie.
The team fired names in quick succession, like a machine gun, until Ben stood up as if he had a visionary moment.
“What about Gold? You said it’s a gold color. We could have ads about the “gold rush” in the Klondike. Set it in a tent bar to give it the appearance it had been around forever and throw in some comedy, turning it into a rush for liquid gold.”
“I think we’ll have trouble with that. It’s bound to be trademarked. Mary, put the name Gold through the computer,” said Jamie.
“Yes, it’s here and it covers drinks, so is Liquid Gold. I am sure I’ve seen a similar ad for a different product?”
Ben sat down, grumbling, as Betty the office junior, gingerly put her hand up, as if she were in the classroom.
“Yes, Betty?”
“I don’t like to state the obvious, but how about Blond? It’s sort of similar to Gold. Is that listed? The commercials could have a guy asking a bartender for a Blond, and a big bosomed blond could deliver the bottle to the table, then have his mates drool over her, abandon the bottles they have, then rush to the bar to order a Blond. That would position it in the subconscious of the consumer that it was okay to change product. All the marketing could centre on the picture of a blond holding the product, with all kinds of witty remarks.” Betty looked nervously around the room.
“That’s very good thinking, Betty.” Jamie was almost shocked. “Very well constructed.” He had to give her some credit.
“But ‘Martin’s Blond’ doesn’t have a ring to it,” said Ken.
“Who gives a damn about Martin’s Brewery?” Ben almost shouted. “We’re trying to sell the beer, not the brewery. It’s the same with new authors. They’re not happy until their name’s printed larger than the book title. I think, rather than a standard bottle, we could have it with the name raised on the glass, which could be in the shape of a naked woman. The label could be around the neck, where we could have all the legal jargon. If the bottle were clear glass, that would make it stand out in the fridges as the light illuminated the beer in the bottle. It would make the other beers we’re up against look drab in their darker bottles. What do you think, JJ?”
“Not bad. I like the product differentiation,” Jamie agreed, but he was annoyed with their comments on the Brewery, although he knew they were right on. Looking over at Ted, he tried to keep a poker face. He decided to be positive. “Right team, we seem to be heading in the right direction here, let’s role play a television commercial in the way Betty portrayed and see how it pans out. Betty, since you’re blond, you can play the archetypal female.”
The exercise worked well, and then Jamie remembered Bill’s description of a blond at the singles’ club.
“Okay everyone let’s try this,” said Jamie as he scribbled notes.
Ben acted the part of a disinterested bartender, wiping a glass, as Jamie played the customer.
“Bartender, if you don’t mind, I would like a light-hearted detour off the information highway.”
“What the hell does he mean?” Betty asked, trying her best to look and sound stupid, whispering to Mary and standing next to Jamie.
“Ah, you mean a Blond,” answered Ben, presenting Jamie with an imaginary bottle of beer.
The whole group roared, as did Ted Martin, he was slapping his knee.
“The name’s clear,” said Mary. There is only one trademark listed for use under hair products.”
“I think it’s a winner,” said Ken. In the future, Martin’s could bottle some of their existing beers and market them as Brunette or Red Head to extend the range and give the consumer more choices.” Ken appeared desperate to contribute to the meeting and make an impression.
“I like Red Head,” laughed Ben. “Customers could have a ball with that one, especially if they left off the Red.”
Martin stood up and looked pissed. Jamie felt a huge lump in his throat. Then, the man’s expression broke out into an infectious smile and he gripped Jamie by the hand, shaking it vigorously.
“JJ, that was the most entertaining fifteen minutes I’ve had in a long time. Run with that Blond name; it‘s a pity we couldn‘t use Shag. I’ll throw a five-million-dollar budget at it spread across a series of TV ads, coaster mats and posters for the bars. I’ll even add a promotion for customers to email or text to win a prize. That’ll help us build a customer base for direct marketing. Prepare a contract, and I’ll have my people sign it. If it works out, we can take it to Europe and look at some of our other products. Incidentally, JJ, give the little blond girl a break on this one. What’s her name? Betty, I think it was.”
“Sure, Ted, right away. Do you mind signing a letter of intent with us as preferred agency for the project before you leave to cover the research costs?”
“Hell yes, JJ, have your secretary print one off for me and I’ll sign it right now. Of course the numbers will have to stack up and I’ll need to set up a conference call between you, the bottle manufacturer and my production manager, just to make sure whatever you come up with is practical. Oh, and I’ll have our attorney email a copy of the labeling regulations.”
With the letter of intent, duly signed and Ted Martin merrily departed, the whole team joined in a circle together and danced round the office. Soon the rumpus flushed out the senior partner.
“Just what the hell is going on here?” he asked as the circle broke up. Mary hugged Jamie and whispered in his ear.
“Welcome back, JJ.”
Jamie picked up the letter of intent and held it right in front of Cuthbert’s nose.
“Good God, JJ, that’s one-million-dollar gross profit for us and the chanc
e of more to come. Who’s leading on this one?”
“Betty and Ben are joint leaders on this account.”
“Betty? But she’s only a temp?”
“Not any more. She’s just come of age as a full member of the team. The campaign was her idea, sir, and Martin loved it,” he announced, as everyone gathered around Betty to congratulate her.
“Okay, I’ll inform payroll. Oh, and sorry about that thing yesterday. Perhaps you would like to join me for a round of golf of Saturday?”
“Sounds good, but Saturday’s booked with my daughter. Maybe another time?”
Cuthbert left as Jamie gave orders and felt pleased he had pulled one over on his boss.
“Right troops, up and at ‘em! Betty, contact the scriptwriters and give them a brief, then get a hold of the development department and have them run up some prototypes for the glass bottles. Ben, go to graphics and ask them to come up with some mock-ups for the posters and coaster mats. Then contact the printers and have them give us a lead-time and price. Mary, contact the networks and product placement agencies. See what slots they have available and find out the cost for production. Ken, when the samples are ready have Redmond’s on standby to carry out consumer and commercial research. God, isn’t life just great!”
As an afterthought, Jamie gave Mary a new instruction.
“Put that joke about the blond through Google; it’s bound to be from a joke book somewhere,” he said, handing her his scribbled notes. Jamie headed to the park for lunch and he passed Casey’s Gymnasium. He entered, looked around and decided to join. Better to have lunch doing something useful, he thought.
Jamie was about to enter his office building after lunch, when he recognized the guy from the park the day before, the guy who kept looking at him. Their eyes met for a moment as they passed. Entering reception, John called him over.
“Maybe this is nothing, sir, but something strange just happened. A guy just came in here and said he had an appointment with you. Asked which floor you worked on.”
“Nothing strange about that.”
“Yeah, but then he asked for the company name. I passed him the visitors’ book to prepare a nametag and he turned and left. It just seemed odd, him not knowing the company name.”
“He probably has an appointment for later, did he give his name?”
“No, but he had a distinct foreign accent.”
“I’m sure he’ll be back. Thanks for telling me.” How strange.
Contents
Never too old to learn
Jamie arrived at home; the kids were still at work at their summer jobs before college started. He set about his chores washing the clothes and preparing something for the family to eat. With everything in motion, he relaxed in his favorite recliner that had outlived three sofas since he was first married. He adjusted it for comfort before settling in to start his daily crossword.
Crosswords had proven to be his savior, particularly since June left. It reminded him of his days in bomb disposal when he pitted his wits against an unseen foe. But now he battled the deadly cryptic crossword compiler. He could blank out everything around him, as his mind honed in on the task at hand to the exclusion of all other thoughts. He loved the isolation as he sweated out each clue. Once he had the final letter entered in the box, he would feel a tinge of success then toss it in the wastebasket. It didn’t quite have the same buzz as diffusing a bomb, but to Jamie it was a close second, especially when they changed compilers and the panic set in.
Ellie and Steve arrived within a few minutes of each other, and after changing their clothes, they joined Jamie for dinner. Rather than disappearing with their food as usual to watch television, they sat down at the kitchen table and talked. Rising to the occasion, he asked how their day had gone, relaying his own successful endeavors. All was peace and harmony as the family finally pulled together.
“Dad, sorry to burst your bubble, but Saturday night is the singles’ dance, remember? Have you realized that it involves the term ‘dance’?” Ellie asked.
“Dance? I’d not really given it any thought. Maybe it would be better if I gave it a miss.”
“Don’t you dare chicken out! You’ve taken the first step joining the club, so after that, learning to dance will be easy,” said Ellie.
“Yeah, we can teach you, can’t we, Ellie?”
Jamie blushed at the thought.
“Come on, dad, we have three whole days. Nothing complicated, just shuffling about. Okay?” pleaded Ellie.
“Okay, maybe we can give it a try after our dinner’s settled?”
Jamie wondered what he had stumbled into and maybe the effort of learning wasn’t worth it. But deep down he knew he would have to overcome his phobia at some stage. He had only ever tried to dance with June when he was steaming drunk. But even inebriated, coordination eluded him, and June would sit down embarrassed or grab someone else. Jamie tried to relax in his armchair, but instead watched the clock as the minutes ticked away. Every movement of the minute hand seemed as if connected to a wind up mechanism in his mind, as he almost reached the level of panic attack. Ellie came down the stairs in a leotard, as if going to an exercise class. Jamie started to relax thinking maybe she had forgotten and was leaving.
“Come on, let’s get to it, dad,” she said, as she put a holographic disc in the player and grabbed Jamie by the hands pulling him up.
“I thought we were having a dancing lesson?”
“I was talking with Steve. Maybe it’s better to do it in stages. Trust me I have a plan,” she said and pressed PLAY on the remote. The hologram illuminated the centre of the room with an exercise session.
The lifelike woman talked away and they followed the stretching exercises. Piece of cake, he thought, not much different from how we used to loosen up in the army. Although he didn’t feel nearly as nimble, he struggled to touch his toes. Once the instructor had talked them through each exercise, the music came up and they started to do a series of routines. Jamie was surprised to find it fun.
“Now that you’re limbered up, we can move on. Just follow these simple steps. Stand holding your feet together then step one leg out and draw it back again, then repeat with the other leg. Got it? Now as you put your left leg out, stretch your right arm pointing upwards drawing it back. As your left leg comes back to the centre, do the same with the opposite arm,” the instructor said.
Jamie followed, quickly getting the hang of it. The music started and they just kept repeating the movements. As the program went on, routines were added and soon they had a whole series of moves working to the music. Jamie couldn’t believe it. All those years thinking God had left him lacking in the rhythm department, and after a simple workout lesson, he had mastered the basic art of dancing.
“That was great, dad; I knew you could do it. Tomorrow, Steve and I will go through our music, and we can try it for real.”
“Yeah, great, dad, but here’s a hint. Leave off the pointing the finger bit with the arms stretched out. It makes you look like a fairy. Or better yet, it looks a little like an ancient 70s disco,” said Steve.
“How would you know? You weren’t even a bad idea back then.” Jamie punched him in the arm.
The phone rang and Ellie answered.
“Dad, there’s some weirdo on the phone for you,” she passed him the handset and he returned to the comfort of his armchair.
“Oh, Bill, it’s you. My daughter didn’t say who it was.”
“Your daughter? Oh, Christ! Apologize for me will ya? I thought maybe you scored.”
“Are we still on for Saturday?”
“I hope so, that’s why I’m calling. I’m bored with drinking orange juice. Do you want to take a taxi, or would you mind being the designated driver?”
“A taxi is fine by me, but I thought it was important to have transport?”
“Yeah, but Saturday night’s a bit different. The club has a special deal with the hotel. It's only thirty dollars an hour for a room, no questions asked. Go
od old American enterprise.”
By the hour?” Jamie laughed. “Okay, a taxi’s fine. Maybe they could pick you up and then call me?”
“I don’t have a pen. I’ll phone you later for your address.”
“No problem, Bill, it’s a plan.”
Jamie finished the call feeling uncomfortable. He really didn’t know Bill and decided to call him back to change the arrangements, so he didn’t come to his home.
“I hope this guy isn’t going to be a pain. What did he say, Ellie? I don’t think he knew I had a daughter and he sends his apologies.”
“Oh nothing, dad, that explains it. Don’t let it worry you.”
Jamie made light of it but all the same, it put a whole new perspective on his, newfound pastime. How could any woman invite a guy home, having only just met him? For all they know he could be a rapist, a murderer or a screaming pervert. It must take a leap of faith, especially if she has kids. Surely, any sensible woman would prefer to make a date away from her home. Maybe I’m just being naïve. I’ve got a lot to learn.
All the same, to be on the safe side, Jamie phoned him straight back and told him on second thoughts he would prefer to drive and pick Bill up. He went a step further. The following day Jamie asked Mary to do a background check on the guy and everything seemed to be in order.
Saturday soon came and dance practice progressed with Jamie feeling more comfortable. There were a few hilarious incidents, when Steve kept insisting on showing him how to move around the dance floor to rap tunes. But despite feeling confident in his own home, Jamie was far from convinced he would be able pull off the real thing.
Ellie seemed happy enough, as she prepared to go shopping. This was the first time Jamie had taken her out on his own since she was a child. She seemed to enjoy the notion of his undivided attention. After breakfast, Jamie relaxed with his crossword, and Ellie and Steve bounded upstairs, only to reappear with bundles of full garbage bags. They took Jamie’s car keys and disappeared into the garage. Jamie went upstairs for his wallet and noticed one of his closet doors open and empty. My god I’ve been robbed! In full panic mode, he threw open the other closet doors and all that remained was his work suits, shirts and ties. What the hell? Then it dawned on him, the garbage bags!
Survival Instinct Page 6