by Hugh Mackay
But who to keep, and who to drop? And would it really be wise to put Hunter at the helm? Viewing all this from Milan, Ricardo wasn’t sure. He’d had some bad experiences promoting highly successful new-business winners into the top job. They never quite managed the switch from hustler to leader. Gravitas – lack of – was often the problem. Ricardo was a great believer in paying people handsomely to go right on doing what they were doing, if they were doing it well. He also believed in the very English idea that no one was easier to con than a conman, and he didn’t want vulnerable people running any of his agencies.
He had asked Harry Smythe to use his next trip to Sydney to establish the truth about Hunter and put the acid on the man himself. How good was he really? How substantial? How sorry had Cocky been to see him go? And what was Hunter’s frank assessment of the agency and its partners? And, indeed, of the key player at GBH, this man Weisbrot? Hunter’s opinions would be hopelessly biased and self-serving, naturally, but Harry was a master at doing the necessary cross-checks, and he and Ricardo had agreed that Hunter’s assessment would tell them more about Hunter than the people he was describing.
Harry was adept at preparing the ground. On a previous visit, he had encouraged Hunter to remove himself from the payroll at KK&C and set himself up as a consultant, so there could be maximum flexibility about how to deploy him when the time came, especially if Bravissimo decided to start its own Australian agency from scratch. (That flexibility included, of course, dispensing with Hunter’s services entirely, if he proved tiresome, as Harry was beginning to suspect he might.)
‘So tell me something about Kornfield and the other two. Smart, are they? Good people? The figures Kornfield showed me certainly looked impressive.’
Linc wondered where to start. Neither ‘smart’ nor ‘good people’ were terms he would have spontaneously considered applying to any of the three partners in KK&C. He utterly despised two of them, but felt he should stop short of mentioning that to Harry. Some diplomacy seemed called for. He assumed Harry would expect some show of loyalty; he seemed likely to be quite old school about that kind of thing. Best to start with Jhon: Linc felt more confident of being able to sound positive about him.
‘Kornfield? Very smart cookie. The figures he showed you would have borne little relation to the facts, but that’s one of his strengths. Every agency he’s ever worked for has claimed results that seemed hard to justify. But I respect Jhon. Everyone does. And people generally warm to him, which is why he gets away with such outrageous claims. Don’t get me wrong – I think he’s a brilliant financial strategist, but I’m not sure how much it has to do with running an advertising agency. People say McDonald’s isn’t in the fast food business – they’re in the real estate business. Well, Jhon is a bit like that, except I’m not sure what business he’s in, actually.’
Harry suspected that Hunter was out of his depth with money and would probably be incapable of reading a balance sheet. He must check the man’s academic record. He suspected it was soft. He jotted a reminder in the little notebook he always carried with him.
‘And Kelman?’
‘A spent force. Utterly. And I’m not being unkind. I think he’d probably say the same thing himself. People mostly know when they’re burnt out, don’t you agree? He’s had a remarkably good run in the industry – worked for some good agencies, run some top accounts. Everyone says how reliable he is. Need I say more? Reliable. I ask you!’ Linc grinned at Harry.
Harry wrote a few more words in his little book. His face betrayed nothing. ‘Go on, Hunter,’ he said.
‘So that’s Bob. Helluva nice guy, of course. But he’d be looking for a way out. A buyout would be his dream come true. And why not? He’s put in the hard yards. Never set anything alight. But not many people do, do they? Mediocrities, most people. That’s what the bell curve tells us, and that’s Bob in a nutshell. Not his fault. I like him.’ Linc paused. Everything he’d said was true, except the last bit. Should he qualify that? Probably not.
He looked at Harry for corroboration of this bleak assessment of the human condition, but none was forthcoming.
‘But one thing I will say for Bob – and credit where it’s due – he does keep his drinking problem out of sight of clients, most of the time. Bob’s a single-malt man, through and through. He’s no good at all after five, and it’s hopeless if he gets trapped in a long lunch. Unfortunately for him, Bob came into the industry towards the tail end of the era of the long lunch – not his fault, but it coloured his approach somewhat. So he does well to keep it under control. If any of us are at lunch with Bob, we can relax as long as he’s just having a glass or two of wine, but if things drag on and he switches to whisky, it can get pretty willing. But we’re all accustomed to covering for him when we need to, so, apart from that, totally reliable – that’s Bob.’
‘One partner to go,’ said Harry mournfully. It hardly seemed worth writing any of that down.
‘Markus Craven,’ said Linc with a chuckle. ‘Craven by name and . . . no, that’s a cheap shot. Just kidding. Good old Markus. The golden-haired boy of the industry ten years ago. And, look, I’d have to say Markus does charm the clients. He comes across as sincere as buggery, which is a plus in this business. But you want to know what Markus’s problem is? His thinking is locked in the twentieth century. It’s all about media billings in his head. His mind-set is commissions, not fees, so he hasn’t yet worked out how to charge appropriately for the kind of thing I do. For a start, he hasn’t begun to imagine what social media can do for his clients at far less cost. He has no idea about promotions that attract the kind of attention that will put you on YouTube, or the kind of thing that gets the Twitterati swarming. He thinks inside the box. Old thinking. Mind you, he thinks very well inside the box. You want a traditional, mainstream media campaign? Markus is your boy. It will be solid, and pretty, and dripping with emotion. That’s his bag. But if you want to knock the socks off a client – and the punters, of course – if you want to cause a ruckus, if you want to create a unique position for a new brand, like BudJet, don’t let Markus anywhere near it. Wait till you see what we have planned for The Ripper. There’s scarcely a media dollar in the budget.’
Harry was writing quite extensive notes, though not about Markus.
Oblivious, Linc powered on. ‘You know the three most important words in a new product launch? Promotion, promotion, promotion. That’s the way with a radically new product like The Ripper. And BudJet, too. I’ve shown BudJet how to promote the hell out of the brand and own television as well, with tiny ten-second spots cobbled together from stock footage. Creative? Markus scarcely knows the meaning of the word.’
Harry Smythe scarcely knew the meaning of anything Hunter was saying. The process of advertising was deeply mysterious to him. But he sensed that Hunter was intent on creating strategies that saved clients money rather than encouraging them to spend it – strategies that seemed to minimise his clients’ media spend, in particular. At first blush, this didn’t strike Harry as a sensible approach to the business of making money, but what did he know of business? Perhaps there were hidden depths.
And yet, Harry had to admit that in spite of several serious questions hanging over Hunter’s view of the world, he was an undeniably engaging chap. An enthusiast. A ball of fire, in point of fact. Harry had never encountered anything quite like Hunter. He could practically feel himself wanting to buy something from him.
‘We should perhaps spend a moment on the GBH people, Hunter. Jerry Weisbrot, in particular. The word is he rather worships the ground you walk on. What’s the basis for that? I don’t mean to be rude, old chap. Just asking.’
Linc was caught in a bind. His private opinion of Jerry Weisbrot was that he was weak-willed, feeble-minded and lacking conviction . . . about anything, really. A man devoid of leadership skills, with no capacity for strategic thought. A man utterly dependent on the work of others to keep him afloat. Most people assumed his appointment as marketing director was
a reward for long service: both of his assistants were far smarter than he was, so perhaps someone in Dayton, Ohio, had calculated that such an arrangement could work well, at least in the short term.
But if Linc said any of that, the paradox would be obvious to Harry. If Jerry Weisbrot was weak-minded, would that mean his assessment of Lincoln The Hunter was worthless? Better play this one very carefully, Linc thought.
‘Weisbrot has a huge reputation in this town,’ he said. ‘He’s one of GBH’s longest-serving people in the Australian operation, although he’s very new as head of marketing. I assume he never wanted to broaden his horizons – via a move to Dayton, for instance. Most of GBH’s up-and-comers like to have a stint over there. Not Jerry. The thing about Jerry is . . . well, the thing about Jerry, I guess, is that he trusts me. That’s the thing about Jerry. I’ve put a lot of runs on the board for Jerry. Before I went to Cocky, I worked on the GBH account at another agency and Jerry was a middle-order marketing executive who needed someone to make him look good. And now again at KK&C – same thing, really. We’re both more senior than we were then, but my brief is much the same: make Jerry look good. So I do that, and Jerry has learnt to trust me. He respects me – I think I can say that. We understand each other. Jerry is the man where KK&C are concerned. If Jerry left GBH, who knows? Not that he’ll stay there forever. He’s a bit younger than Bob Kelman, but he’s been calculating his superannuation pretty carefully, year by year, ever since I’ve known him.’
‘You’re saying Weisbrot is weak.’
‘Did I say that? Weak?’
‘That’s what I heard you say. But I appreciate your point. If Bravissimo’s real target is GBH, then they need to strike while Weisbrot is in the marketing director’s chair. I assume the launch of this new curry-based snack product will be crucial to him retaining that post.’
‘The Ripper? Possibly – though GBH are pretty loyal to their long-serving foot soldiers. I haven’t heard any whispers to suggest his position is under threat.’
‘I’ve heard differently, Hunter. But that’s by the bye. Dayton have their doubts, is my understanding. They, too, acknowledge your role in making Weisbrot look good, as you put it.’
Linc was both flattered and confused. Perhaps he should have realised that Jerry’s considerable shortcomings would be as apparent to his international masters as they were to Linc himself. So why did Dayton give him the top job in marketing? For his delegation skills?
‘This has been most instructive, Hunter. Most helpful. Let’s summarise, shall we? Bravissimo needs Weisbrot to hang on until the deal is done, because with just the right amount of pressure from you, he’ll bring the entire GBH account across to KK&C. If that relationship were to be disrupted in any way, who knows in which direction a new broom might choose to sweep, as it were. Kelman will head for the door as soon as someone offers him a fistful of cash. Kornfield may well be an asset in the short term. Craven needs to be reassigned – he has passion, but no vision, and his creative powers may be waning. Correct?’
Linc nodded.
‘That of course leaves the question of a CEO up in the air.’
‘I thought we’d pretty much agreed –’
‘Assume nothing, Hunter, would be my advice. Ricardo tends to put Italians into these roles, at least at the start, to set the tone. He might not do that in this case, since we all accept that your own role may turn out to be pivotal to the success of the strategy. But I thought it best to alert you to the ways of the Milanese.’
Linc chose to interpret this as a typically cautious, typically conservative view of an Englishman who knew nothing about advertising, nothing about Sydney, and nothing about the ways of Lincoln The Hunter.
‘One more thing, dear chap. The talent. Who are the agency stars that you yourself would want to retain? People you would want to work with if . . . well, if it turned out to be your decision to make.’
‘Easy. Otis, the strategy planner.’
‘Oh, the translational marketing chap. Have I got that right? I understand clients have been rather impressed by that term.’
‘Indeed. And there’s Markus’s PA, Joanne Darby, who’s really the nerve centre of the agency and rather wasted in Craven’s area. She is capable of so much more. She ought to be executive assistant to the new CEO, at least. General manager, possibly.’
‘I have heard a bit about Ms Darby. Yes. You’re on good terms with her, I gather.’
Linc appalled himself by blushing like a schoolboy, and Harry made another note in his little book.
‘Anyone else?’
‘Rats and mice, the rest of them. Eminently replaceable. Nothing wrong with them. Dime a dozen, really. They’re all okay. Good, but not inspiring. I think that’s a fair summary. They get the job done.’
‘Remarkable, really, that an agency would do as well as this with such a dearth of talent,’ Harry said dryly as he rose to leave. ‘Have another drink on me, Hunter. I’ll pay the bill on the way out.’
Linc took Harry at his word and ordered another Campari. As he sipped it, the full force of Harry’s remark about a possible Italian CEO for the agency sank in. After all this, Linc thought, after all this, would they really install some wog in Kelman’s place? It was unthinkable. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be right.
But perhaps he needed a contingency plan. If Jerry Weisbrot’s position really was insecure, Linc thought, a discreet call to one of his contacts in Dayton could do no harm.
12
THE LUNCH DATE began well enough. Linc had a morning meeting at GBH and had arranged to meet Joanne at the restaurant, so at least they wouldn’t be seen leaving the agency together.
She had insisted on est. ‘Our very first date, my Hunter. Let’s make it special. And for goodness’ sake don’t be furtive about it. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with two colleagues lunching together. It happens all the time.’ (Later, Linc would have cause to be grateful to her for supplying that word ‘colleague’.)
When he caught sight of her on the pavement outside 252 George Street, Linc was astonished. He had never seen her so stylishly dressed, nor so carefully made-up. And were her heels always so high? To Linc, she didn’t look remotely like a woman heading for a routine business lunch. Why was she overplaying her hand? Was there some unspoken agenda? Linc was on red alert.
As they climbed the stairs to est, Joanne slipped her hand into his arm. It felt like an electric shock. ‘I need to hang onto something in these heels,’ she explained, seeing a flash of anxiety cross his face. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll let go at the top of the stairs, and I won’t hold your hand under the table.’
Linc was uneasy. He’d never even brought Hermione to a place like this – flash restaurants existed for him only as battlegrounds for business – and he felt all eyes were on him as they were shown to their table. All his old, long-buried anxieties about taking girls out came back to him in a deeply unwelcome rush.
Having so recently lunched here with Bob Kelman and Neroli Fishbein, he was at least able to offer some small talk as they got settled and opened their menus. He could suddenly see how small talk could serve a social purpose. He wished he’d known that thirty years ago.
‘This used to be an advertising agency, you know,’ he said. ‘Where we’re sitting was the media department of George Patterson, and Bob says there used to be a fountain there in the middle of –’
‘Oh, I know all that. The fountain, the columns, the chandeliers, the spiral staircase. Bob has bored me to sobs with it several times. Don’t you start. Let’s talk about anything but advertising, once we’ve got the order in. Anyway, I didn’t think you went in for small talk, my Hunter.’
Linc’s anxiety increased. Not talk about advertising? He had been fully intending to explain his BudJet strategy to The Darby. He thought she would be impressed, as Neroli had been. He cast around for a topic. The one thing he really wanted to talk to her about – the future of the agency under the Bravissimo banner – was right off the ag
enda, even with The Darby. Especially with The Darby. She was far too close to Craven for Linc to feel he could reveal any of that to her, or confide in her about anything, really.
The waiter came and took their order. Joanne asked for wine. ‘Just a glass,’ she said, and left it to Linc to choose. That only sharpened his awareness of the vast abyss of his ignorance about Joanne’s tastes, her preferences, her attitudes, her family background, her working history, her life. Except in one respect, she was a closed book to him.
He need not have worried. Seeing him hesitate, Joanne ordered a pinot grigio and then plunged into animated conversation about the looming wedding of a niece. She was good at this, and she could see Linc begin to relax, even to laugh, as she shared some of her personal stories with him, laying the ground, she thought, for their next lunch, when she would expect some self-disclosure in return. For Linc, the time passed surprisingly quickly and pleasantly.
Across the room, out of their line of sight, Marjorie McClelland was studying Linc and Joanne with mounting interest. Marjorie was Hermione’s mother and therefore, inescapably, Linc’s mother-in-law. She was having one of her regular lunches with some old chums from med school. Since they had all retired from clinical practice, they were working their way through the smartest restaurants in the city. Today it was the turn of est.