THE SURFER SOLUTION
by
Cathy Yardley
THE SURFER SOLUTION
Copyright © 2005 by Cathy Yardley Wilson
Originally published as Surf Girl School.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
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CHAPTER ONE
“WE ARE GOING TO LAND the Kibble Tidbits account, or we are going to die trying!”
Allison Robbins nodded vigorously at her boss Frank’s vehement statement. She noticed that everyone else at the conference table at Flashpoint Advertising was also nodding in agreement.
“I don’t have to tell you how big this account is,” Frank said, pacing around the conference-room table like Patton rallying the troops. “We’re talking millions of dollars in media placement, more millions in brand-advertising development and creative development and direct mail. Their parent company? Only one of the largest fast-food restaurant chains in the United States!”
Allison tried not to think about the fact that one of the largest fast-food restaurant chains in the United States also had a dog food product. There wasn’t any correlation.
Probably.
Frank continued, undeterred. “And, if we land this part of the account, the Kibble Tidbits dog food product, there’s a good chance we could get the whole damn shooting match!”
Frank gestured to Allison, and she stood up. Her heart was beating fast, the usual before she had to make a presentation.
She had enough adrenaline in her bloodstream to bench- press a school bus.
“Frank’s asked me to pull together some notes on how we’re going to attack the proposal,” Allison said. “Gary? You want to run the slides?”
Gary, her assistant, instantly had the laptop and projector running like clockwork. Before they hit the lights, though, she noticed several people rolling their eyes and sneering ever so slightly. She didn’t blame them, she supposed...it was the day before Thanksgiving, it was three o’clock and a lot of them hoped to go home early. Beyond that, she knew she didn’t have their unswerving support.
It hurt a little, sure, but she knew it.
The fact was, if they managed to land this account, Frank was going to be promoted to vice president. That meant there would be an account supervisor position open for the taking, for one of the very account executives sitting around this table. Every single one of them was aware of it.
And Allison was going to have it, or die trying.
Everyone also knew that Allison was probably first in line for the job, she thought, clicking her laser pointer on, which only added to their resentment. That hurt just a touch more.
Her heart was still dancing wildly in her chest, but she pushed the sensation aside. She was next in line for a damn good reason. She was the best at what she did. Period. End of sentence.
“They’ve been saturating the market with some feel-good stuff, but more of today’s consumers are getting more health conscious—not just for themselves, but for their pets...”
She started to run through the slides, her voice never
wavering. The slides were very convincing, and she noticed lots of people taking notes. The slides ought to be convincing. She and Gary had been here till midnight getting them done.
“In addition to that, we’re going to suggest a direct-mail campaign to veterinarians, and maybe a coupon to the consumers themselves...” She paused. “Gary? Could you check the thermostat? It’s getting a little hot in here... I’ll bet they cranked up the heat again.”
That’s when she noticed everyone look around at each other. She felt as if she was on fire.
“Not too low,” Marianne, one of the other execs, said hastily. “Actually...honestly, I’m a little cold.”
“Really?” Allison realized that a couple of people were nodding, and to make matters worse, they were all staring at her. She took a deep breath, or as deep as she could manage, and tried to ignore the heat rushing through her. It was nothing. Probably just a little.. .well, she was only twenty- nine, so it wasn’t a hot flash. Maybe something she ate. “So, to continue. What we’re recommending...”
Her heart suddenly pumped faster, demanding her attention. What the heck?
“Allison?” Frank asked when she paused noticeably. “You all right?”
She struggled for focus, reined herself in. “Sure. Anyway, it’s all there in the handouts.” She wasn’t going to be able to continue. The feeling threatened to overwhelm her, and she forced herself to keep her voice steady. “You don’t need me to walk you through it. Especially when most of you probably have turkey and pumpkin pie on your minds, not dog biscuits.”
She got a polite business-laugh, and she realized that Frank was still staring at her curiously as she went back to her seat. She sat down because she was afraid she’d fall down. It felt about a million degrees in there. Worse, she was starting to find the atmosphere absolutely cloying. It was like breathing fog. She looked longingly out the hermetically sealed window.
Just one deep breath...
“Great job, Allison. Of course, that’s what I expect.” Frank walked to the front of the room. “I also expect everyone to be putting in overtime on this one. Whatever it takes. So enjoy your turkey or pie or whatever, because come Monday, we go to war. You can go ahead and go home early, if you like.”
His eyes said but not if you want to get the promotion.
They all thanked him, then filed out, going to their respective offices. Nobody was leaving, Allison felt quite sure of that.
Allison felt her head start to pound in tempo with her heart.
Frank hung back, staring at her. “What the hell was that about?” he asked as Gary packed up the projector and laptop. “You didn’t even go over your presentation, after all that work.” He squinted at her. “And you look sort of pale.”
“Frank, I am sort of pale,” she said, laughing it off. Or trying to. All she wanted to do was rush outside and take some gulping breaths, but she forced herself to get up slowly, steadying herself. “I’m in here at six-thirty, don’t leave until eight. When do I have time to tan?”
“Well, make sure you’re not coming down with a cold,” he said with a grumpy note of concern.
“I will,” she said. A cold. Maybe that was it. The flu.
“Because I really need you on point for this. We can’t afford to screw this up.”
“Of course.” Like she didn’t know that?
He waited a second, just to let her know that he was serious, then he left. She walked slowly back to her office. She felt nauseous.
Gary was putting the laptop away, but he stood up. “What happened?” He repeated Frank’s question but, unlike Frank, his voice rang through with real worry.
“Nothing,” she said. “Can I ask you for a favor?”
He looked at her, frowning. “Your wish, my command, yadda yadda. What do you need?”
“Did you bring your car?”
He blinked at her from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Um, yeah. What, do you need me to pick something up?”
“More like drop something off,” she muttered, grabbing her briefcase from behind her desk. “Come on. I’ll tell you on the way.”
They walked toward the parking lot at a fairly decent pace. She could see some people glancing at her, obviously wondering if she was leaving early. She kept her expression schooled, and ignored the desire to hold Gary’s arm for support, letting him talk about her schedule, the upcoming prese
ntations.. .the works.
When the doors opened to the outside, she took in a deep, explosive breath.
Gary glanced around, then put a steadying arm around her waist. “Whoa. What the hell?”
“Anybody looking?” No matter how hard she breathed, she still felt as if she couldn’t get enough air.
“No.” Now his voice crackled with worry. “What’s going on?”
“You’re taking me to the hospital,” she whispered. “Slowly. Something’s wrong.”
If anyone could look casually panicked, it’d be Gary. She almost laughed at the war of emotions on his normally impassive face. “You got it.”
She got into his car, barely grinning at the way he sedately pulled out of the parking lot...and then gunned the engine when they were out of sight of the building.
“What is it? What’s happening?” Now that they were safely out of earshot, Gary’s voice rang out like a very high- pitched trumpet. “You looked awful. I thought you were going to pass out.”
“I feel like I can’t breathe,” she said, finally leaning back against the cushions. “My heart’s beating like a wild woman.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Well, it’s not what I’d call comfortable," she snapped.
“Do you think it’s a heart attack?”
“I don’t... well. Hmm.” She tried to remember what it had been like when her father had his three heart attacks. The problem was, she’d never actually been there when he’d had them. All three times, he’d been in his office at work.
That probably wasn’t a good sign, she thought, gnawing her lower lip.
She rolled down the window, tried to take deep breaths as the beginning of rush-hour Los Angeles traffic zoomed around her. They pulled into the emergency room with a squeal of tires. Gary practically carried her to the door.
“I am not completely incapacitated here,” she said.
“At least you feel well enough to bitch at me,” he said with his usual straight face.
In a shorter amount of time than she would’ve expected, she was shuttled off by a nurse practitioner. “So? You’ve got chest pains? What type? What time, exactly, did they start?” the woman asked.
“A little squeezy, and my heart’s beating like crazy. They started about an hour ago.”
“Have you had any heart problems before? Any heart attacks?” She handed Allison an aspirin, which Allison stared at. ‘Take this.”
Allison did as she was told. “No heart problems personally, but attacks run in the family.”
“Feel nauseous? Dizzy?”
“A little of both,” Allison admitted.
“Lie down. Breathe this.” The nurse put the tubes of oxygen in Allison’s nose and then started unbuttoning Allison’s shirt, sticking her with EKG pads. “Are you taking Viagra?”
Allison was so surprised, she sat up, strangling herself on the oxygen hose. “Am I taking what?"
“Are you taking anything like Viagra?” the nurse repeated impatiently.
Allison couldn’t help it. She let out a burst of nervous laughter. “Do I look like I have erectile dysfunction to you?”
“Gotta ask it, whether you’re male or female. Okay. Just lie back and let me check this out.”
Allison did, focusing on her breathing.
“Ms. Robbins.. .have you been under any stress lately?”
“Well, sure. Who isn’t?” That probably shouldn’t have come out as defensively as it did.
“Are you regularly under pressure?”
“Only when I’m awake,” she tried to joke, then thought about the last nightmare she had—a client review where she was giving a presentation in nothing but granny panties and a big grin. “Okay. Sometimes when I sleep.”
The woman nodded knowingly. “Well, I can’t say this conclusively, and the doctor’s going to want to talk to you, but from everything I’ve seen, you aren’t having a heart attack.”
Allison slumped back against the gurney. “That’s a relief.”
“But I will say one thing,” the nurse added. “You seem to be having the mother of all panic attacks.”
“FIVE. . .FOUR . .THREE. . .TWO. . .ONE!”
Sean Gilroy watched, amused, as his surf buddies and their families surrounded a vat of boiling peanut oil. His good friend Mike was wearing a big black apron and a welder’s mask, and he was slowly lowering the turkey into the oil. There was a ragged cheer when the whole bird was submerged.
“Whooo!” he yelped, stepping back and taking a triumphant, Rocky-esque stance. “We have turkey! I repeat, we have turkey!”
“Thank God for that,” Sean’s sister, Janie, said, holding her baby daughter on her hip. “I was worried that maybe we’d just have French fries for Thanksgiving.”
Sean chuckled. “You’ve been spending too many holidays with that traditional family of your husband’s,” he pointed out, tugging at her ponytail the way he did when they were kids. “’Bout time you returned to your surf roots.”
She smiled. “I know. It’s been a while since I hung out with you and the Hoodlums. Or my big brother, for that matter.”
“Graduating from college, getting married, two kids in two years,” he said, stroking his niece’s face and feeling a little goofy grin cover his face, even as he felt a little pang. “It’s not like you haven’t been busy. Besides, I’m always here, kid. You know that.”
“You can say that again,” his friend Gabe said with feeling.
Sean’s eyebrow went up, with a little grin. “Commenting on my lifestyle, buddy?”
“Just saying what everybody else says, bro.” Gabe’s lightning-flash smile showed that he meant no malice in the statement, but there was still a look of concern in his eyes. “Next year, you might want to think about shaking things up, that’s all.”
“Shaking things up how?” Janie asked, curious.
“Like maybe a new girlfriend,” Sean’s friend Ryan interjected, popping the top of a Negra Modelo beer. “Dude, you’ve been single for the past two years. Guy doesn’t have a girl for that long, there’s a chance he might, you know, explode.” He took a sip of beer. “Just thinking about it freaks me out.”
Mike walked up, popping the front of his welder’s mask off his face. “Yeah, but you’re not Sean,” Mike pointed out. “He’s a lot more surf-Zen than you are.”
“So what, that makes him a monk?”
“No, it just means that he’s not ready to hit on every girl who walks into the surf shop,” Mike responded, glancing nervously at the turkey. “Of course, if we’re voting for what Sean can change next year, I’d say replace that piece-of- crap pickup truck of his. Creaking around in that would make me nuts.” He grinned. “But I’m not that Zen, either.”
Sean shook his head, listening to them bicker. He walked out toward the surf, taking a sip of his own beer. He was going to eat too much tonight to go for a night surf, which was too bad. He’d been surfing every day for the past month, despite the cold November temperatures. He was just too restless lately. For somebody who people described as Zen, he wasn’t feeling serene and calm lately. The problem was, he had absolutely no idea why he was feeling so wound up. He’d been going along, perfectly fine, doing the same job, in the same city, and the same apartment, for...he quickly did the math. About sixteen years.
So why was he feeling so restless now?
Gabe walked next to him, also looking out at the water, watching as the sun set into the Pacific. “What’s going on, buddy?” he asked, and now there was no joking... his voice was all concern.
“The usual,” Sean replied. “Been slow down at the surf shop, and Oz is going progressively balder by tearing his hair out.” Oz, his boss and the owner of the shop, was not a great businessman. “Otherwise, the surf’s been great, if sorta cold. So my life’s pretty much normal.”
“Are you still happy at the surf shop?”
“I love working at the surf shop,” Sean said. “You know me."
“Yeah, I know you.” Gabe’s voice sounded a little resigned. “If you wanted a new job, or a change, you know… the offer’s always open. You could come work for me at Lone Shark Clothing.”
Sean shifted uncomfortably, staring at the ocean, watchingthe last sliver of the crimson sun disappear into the waves.
“I love you like a brother, Gabe,” he said in a low voice, “which is why there is no way in hell I’m going to work for you.”
Gabe sighed impatiently. “Look, it’s not like a handout. It’s just... I’ve known you since high school, and that’s how long you’ve been working at Tubes, for Oz.” He shook his head. “Sometimes a guy can get bored, doing the same thing.”
Sean took a deep breath. Or restless. “I don’t know clothes. I know surf stuff. I like helping people choose their gear, talk waves. I like teaching kids in the summer,” he explained. “I like the community. And besides, I feel like I owe Oz.”
“I know he took you and Janie in when you were kids,” Gabe said. “But you’re, what, thirty-one now? And he doesn’t pay you nearly enough, you know that.”
Now Sean felt really uncomfortable. “Yeah. I know that. But he lets me live over the shop. It’s a trade-off.” Before Gabe could keep going, Sean put his hand up. “I appreciate your worrying about me, man. But, well, it just feels too much like a handout, and I don’t need a favor. I can take care of myself.”
Gabe looked at him, frowning, then shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Yeah, well...you’re acting like your sister.” Sean grinned. Gabe’s sister, Bella, was a notorious buttinsky. “And your wife would kick your ass if she found out.”
“If I found out what?”
Charlotte, Gabe’s wife, walked up, her expression curious. Sean had known her for years, too, but it was still amazing to see the two of them together. They’d been married for three years now, and it still seemed as if they were in perpetual honeymoon mode. They got razzed about it by the rest of the Hoodlums, their rowdy bunch of surf friends. But Sean knew better. Gabe and Charlotte were like peanut butter and jelly, a perfect match.
The Surfer Solution Page 1