Sh-Boom

by Don Potter

  * * *

  Things often change quickly in the agency business. Acura was spending big, which I liked, the Dallas office lost Lone Star beer, which I didn’t like. Infomercials offered low cost and high profits for us if we partnered up with the right products, which delighted me. The chance of grabbing the huge Burger King account was being dangled in front of us and Nancy, as usual, was turning big profits in the States and in Europe. The snapshot of our business looked good. But in the world of advertising it never seems to stay that way for long.

  I was preparing to fly to Pittsburgh for a Board meeting when Jim Hanson, the top American at Acura, called. We met at the California Club.

  “I wanted to tell you first,” Jim said, “I’m leaving Acura.”

  “How come?” I asked truly surprised by what he said.

  “GM made me an offer I just couldn’t turn down.”

  “You’re not jumping ship to go with General Motors?”

  “Acura’s been kicking Cadillac’s ass in the marketplace,” he said. “And the addition of Lexus and Infiniti into the mix ain’t gonna help any. The German cars have upped their game too and Detroit is taking a pounding.”

  “Because the cars have been crap for years.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ll have your hands full, Jim.”

  “Yeah, call me a dumb patriot, but I’m looking forward to pushing some Detroit iron again.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “End of the month.”

  “Where does that leave Carlson?”

  “In place for the time being, but you know the old saying about new brooms. So stay close and be on your toes.”

  “Any grumbles about our work?”

  “None.”

  I put out my hand. “Congratulations, Jim. I look forward to pitching you and the Cadillac account one of these days.”

  He grinned. “You never stop, do you?”

  “Would you like me if I did?”

  I walked out to the valet with Jim, wished him well and called my office as soon as he left. “Get me everything on Cadillac’s advertising. Send it to me in Pittsburgh.”

  There is nothing more nervous that an advertising agency Board room. It’s because, to paraphrase Fairfax Cone of Foote, Cone & Belding, we live and die in a business where the inventory – our people – come up in the elevator every morning and goes down again every evening, which means we have no control. They can do whatever they want and go wherever they want whenever they want. People with money like control. This is the wrong business for that.

  “Are we losing Acura?” Jerry Madsen, my old leather-tan, expensive hair-transplanted Floridian pal, asked when I announced that Hanson was leaving for greener pastures.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “You mean we might?”

  I shrugged. “Jerry, nothing’s forever. They like our work; they’ve liked it from the beginning. I’ll be staying real close and keep my eyes open and my ears tuned in. Let’s talk about infomercials and direct marketing. Something new in our life.”

  “Late night cheap crap,” Jerry muttered. “Beneath us.”

  “We have to move with the times. Life’s like a baby’s diaper, Jerry. Sometimes it has to be changed.”

  This was an old, conservative crowd and that quip got more laughs than expected so I offered them a juicy bone to gnaw on. “Oh, I almost forgot. We also are in the running for Burger King.”

  “That’s better,” Jerry grumbled. “Bad food, good money.”

  “Tell us all about it, Vince.”

  Vince D’Angelo straightened in his chair. He was so proud to be on the Board, though he would never admit it, and I was happy to see him there. “Burger King’s Mike Hunter likes Carlson and wants to work with us. I pitched him on some preliminary strategic thinking and got very positive feedback. We’re in the early days but I’m feeling optimistic.”

  “And that sounds like a good place to break for lunch,” I said without a complaint from anyone. Board members love the long elegant lunches and would never been caught dead in a Burger King. They just wanted the advertising money.

  Vince pulled me to one side as we left the board room. ”Guess what?”

  “Vince, spill it.”

  “Nancy Gates, our little PR princess, was spotted in the Hamptons this past weekend at a party hosted by Trip Wilson’s father.”

  “Was Trip with her?”

  “Of course Trip was there. I don’t think his father is quite her style. Then, again, who’s to say?”

  “Got photos?”

  “I wouldn’t be telling you this without proof.”

  “Our beautiful slithery snake.”

  “This shindig was a big fund raiser for the Democrats. All the fabulous rich New Yorkers were there.”

  “It’s a free country,” I said,

  “Since when?”

  “If confronted, she’d say it was important to attend these kinds of events. Part of her job is to mingle with these kinds of people. And she’s right. Did she come or leave with young Wilson?”

  “Don’t know, but I understand she spent most of the evening with him hanging around.”

  “He’ll wake up dead in his bed if he’s not careful.”

  “We can only hope,” Vince said and grinned.

  “Let’s talk about something positive. Tell me more about Burger King?”

  “Mike Hunter’s my point man there. We’re still friendly from my days at BBDO, when he was on the agency side. He’s not a game player. It looks really promising.”

  “It’s got to be more than just promising. Carlson will have to resign all our regional fast food accounts before we pitch Burger King, and that’s a life-threatening hit. I want some assurances that this account is pretty much in the bag before doing that.”

  “Mike wants us there and I can deliver the kind of creative he needs. He says it’s a slam-dunk, but I didn’t want to say that at the Board meeting.”

  “Set up a meeting with Hunter. I want to hear how much of a slam-dunk this is before resigning our other fast food accounts.”

  “You’re more cautious than the old days.”

  “Got to worry about our people.”

  “Speaking of that, I’m going to need more people. Those with solid fast food backgrounds. People like that cost money. When we put this together, the next thing on the agenda is more office space. It feels like a refugee ship where we are now.”

  “Once we get the business, I’ll give you what you want for startup.”

  “Want me to do anything about Nancy’s night in the Hamptons?”

  “No, I want you alive. I’ll talk to her.”

  48

  British Conservative Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher resigns after 11 years on the job. Congress passes the Clean Air Act. Washington, DC elects its first Black women mayor. And Rob squares off with Nancy, one more time.

  * * *

  The thing I hate most is losing a client. The thing I hate almost as much is jogging. I’ll tear around a squash court all day long, or climb Everest twice before lunch with a grand piano on my back, but jogging around and around the same track has to be the most boring activity ever devised. It’s best suited to keep a hamster busy. But Nancy wanted to jog while we talked, so I gave her that one. I had no intention of giving her anything else. We ran the first mile in silence.

  “Your numbers look good,” I said.

  “Bullshit, my numbers look great. They always look great,” she answered as we swerved around a young woman staring at a Walkman and oblivious that she was in harm’s way. “You advertising guys should be so lucky.”

  “We’re going to be.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “If I did, would it stay between us?”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “Not one bit and that look of innocence is way too rehearsed. Make it appear less rehearsed and give it a lot more emotion.”<
br />
  “Oh, Rob.”

  “For one, Acura is a solid client for the LA office.”

  “So you’re on your way to being the next David Ogilvy?”

  “What do you want to be, Nancy? The next Mary Wells?”

  I overshot her by a few yards when she stopped suddenly and I had to turn around and go back.

  “No, I want to be, make that intend to be, the one and only Nancy Gates.”

  “Is that why you were with Trip Wilson in the Hamptons?”

  She wagged an admonishing finger at me. “Naughty boy, spying on me again. Did your secret agent man tell you how many people were there and who they were; business people, successful, and potential Carlson Public Relations clients?”

  “Nancy, Trip Wilson’s bad news for us and your history with him is not good.”

  “I’m not going to spend my life avoiding people just because you don’t like them. You talk to Jay Chiat all the time, and he’s a competitor. The Carlson Communications Public Relations operation is very successful because I work my ass off. I go places, meet people, squeeze my cleavage into tight dresses and flash my pearly-whites. That’s my job and I am so good at it.”

  We did a stand-off while other joggers ran past.

  “The problem, Rob, is you’re becoming too much like Carlson Communications in general.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Old, tired and stuck in a routine. The company needs new blood and fresh leadership.”

  “That would be you?”

  Her barracuda-bright smile was answer enough. “Better call off your amateur gumshoes, or I’ll accuse you of harassment. I could sue you for millions, me being a helpless little gal who is struggling against you big bad men.”

  “Drop the born-again-virgin routine. I could fire you for more reasons than you can think of, and I have proof.”

  “And I could wander over to Trip Wilson’s company and take all my clients with me. Carlson Public Relations would be history by the end of the month and the rest of the company would follow a month later. You disappoint me, Rob; I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “Maybe you’re right, Nancy. Maybe I am getting old, tired and stuck in a routine. But I’m not giving up quite yet, because I still believe in the agency. Too bad you don’t.”

  Her words echoed through my mind as I flew home. Maybe I was getting long in the tooth. Carlson’s ad side had grown more conservative over the years; everyone certainly had grown fat and comfortable. No, no, no. I wasn’t ready to be fed to the young lions yet, not at all. I had plenty of roaring left in me. This promised to be our best year in terms of billings. Acura was rock-solid. Nestle was backing the Stouffer’s Lean Cuisine line with big bucks. Several other clients were increasing their budgets. European ad revenues were improving and infomercials promised low cost/great revenue. Lastly, even though it meant resigning a handful of regional fast food accounts, which is a bit scary, nailing down Burger King would make the future bright. Very bright, indeed.

  I opened my briefcase and scanned the Cadillac materials the LA office had sent me but never had time to review. They sorely needed a better agency with new ideas; but it wouldn’t be us, we had Acura.

  The house was almost dark when I got home. The caregiver, who had replaced the housekeeper who I bought off to say she was going back to Mexico to care for her sick mother, was in her room downstairs. Just one light was burning upstairs, in our bedroom. I went inside and ran upstairs. Ginger sat in the corner, her arms wrapped tightly around her body. I held her. She was trembling.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  I could feel her jaw moving as she tried to speak. But failed.

  Tears sped horizontally across her face as she shook her head. “Dad,” she said, Your dad.”

  49

  Pan American World Airways files for bankruptcy. Operation Desert Storm begins in Iraq. Los Angeles police are videotaped beating a Black motorist, Rodney King. And Rob gets to face more hard truths on the home front.

  * * *

  Stevie was in the waiting room when I got to the hospital. He looked scared. With him was Jennifer Gladstone, a young woman from management at the Manor House. She looked worried.

  “Jennifer, Stevie. How is he?”

  “He broke his pelvis, among other things,” Stevie said. “I went to visit grandma and him. I was telling them about school when grandma nodded off in the middle of Days of Our Lives and he took me out to see his scooter. We were sneaking around like a couple of ninja. He said it was a big secret.”

  “That’s because we took the scooter keys away from him the day before yesterday,” Jennifer said. “He almost ran down the McManus sisters.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Two ladies who live in the Sierra wing. Mister Fleming shouted at them as he raced down the path, but one is deaf and the other one uses a walker. They tried to get out of the way, but you understand it’s not easy at their ages.”

  “Are they all right?”

  “A bit shaken, scraped knees and elbows, and something to talk about for the next six months, if they remember. Otherwise, fine.”

  “I don’t understand. You said you took the keys away from him.”

  Jennifer looked very worried. No doubt nightmares of endless lawsuits were tormenting her mind. “We did. They were hung up on a hook in the nurses’ station for safe keeping. Your father must have slipped in and taken them when no one was looking.”

  I nodded. “That’s him these days. Guess Dad’s enjoying his second childhood. Surprised he didn’t hotwire it. How is he?”

  “He underwent surgery and now he’s in intensive care,” Jennifer said.

  “Any doctor’s reports?”

  Jennifer was close to tears. “They say he’s as well as can be expected.”

  Stevie giggled and instantly stifled it. “Sorry. but Grandpa took off like a rocket, swerved to avoid those old ladies, almost hit a tree and ploughed through a flowerbed before crashing into a bench. He went flying through the air.”

  “And you think that’s funny?” I stared hard at him. “That’s what you’re laughing at? Really?”

  “No, Dad. I’m laughing at what grandpa said as he ploughed his way through the flowers.”

  “What?”

  Stevie giggled again. “He said, screw the damn geraniums!”

  Ginger was not well enough to attend my father’s funeral. More frequently now, events large and small trigger anxiety at the least and terror at the worst. It was impossible to know what would affect her, or how badly, because she was almost completely mute. She had dressed and was ready to leave for the funeral service, only to hide away in the bathroom at the last moment, weeping. I left her with the caregiver.

  I forget what I said at the service and every word I uttered seemed a cliché. I work in a world of word manipulation and perhaps in doing so I had in some odd way devalued them. Stevie was far more eloquent. He spoke about his grandfather and how much he meant to him with an unflinching honesty. The thought crossed my mind that when the time came he might not do that for me. On the drive home I glanced at him and said, “You are a wonderful human being, Stevie.”

  He said, “Screw the geraniums.”

  50

  Starbucks opens its first store outside of Seattle. US Senator John Heinz, heir to the Heinz fortune, is killed in a helicopter crash. The final airing of Dallas draws a record number of viewers. And Rob’s life is getting increasingly complicated.

  * * *

  I was getting calls from our offices with fast food accounts. And I was more than uncomfortable. One by one they were calling to tell me they had resigned these clients as I instructed. I listened and scribbled on a notepad a running tally of how much income we were losing. This wasn’t pretty and the Board would sure as hell agree with that. It was fish-or-cut-bait time and I could just hear Jerry Madsen bitching about what a foolish move this was to anyone that would listen. But,
not until Carlson was void of all fast food accounts could we officially nail down the Burger King business.

  I had met Mike Hunter at his office several times since Vince D’Angelo first announced Burger King’s interest in us. Mike seemed to be a straight-shooter and judging by the pictures on the credenza behind his desk, a strong family man too. The walls were plastered with countless charities’ awards, from Boy Scouts to Special Olympics. Mike Hunter was a likeable man who seemed to care greatly about his community, a good man to know. I liked him from the start and thought he was as trustworthy as they come. Of greater importance he seemed to like us as well.

  Vince was turning out a strong original campaign that Mike assured me would make Carlson getting Burger King’s business a done deal. I hoped so, my God I hoped so, because the numbers scrawled on my notepad were in the millions and this money was important to the bottom line for three of our five offices.

  I got a postcard from Nancy. She was in Italy. I could tell because there was a picture of Venice on the front. The short message on the back said she was learning different languages and having a great time - bella! bella! - while producing lots of new business for Carlson Public Relations. She signed it Ciao, Nancy. I was bent on figuring out a way to convert some of that into revenue for the advertising side of the agency but domestic issues first.

  And all the time, Acura was there safe, solid, and highly profitable. Our LA office was the agency’s Fort Knox.

  The next call was a surprise. Trip Wilson.

  “And how are you out there in Hollyweird this fine day?” Trip asked in his typical and highly practiced superior tone.

  I don’t work in the movie business and our former client, Universal, was long gone: but for some reason people from outside LA using that word Hollyweird always irritated the hell out of me. “Fine, Trip, how are you? Thinking of buying Disneyland?”