The Next Big Thing

by Sadie Hayes

  It was at the campus gym that inspiration struck. As usual, she’d brought her Us Weekly and set up on an elliptical under a television hanging from the ceiling that the staff kept tuned to E!.

  She started with the people around her: One elliptical over, a pudgy Asian guy in tattered sweatpants was huffing and puffing, sweat pockets thick on his gray t-shirt. On the other side, a slim redhead wearing nondescript cotton shorts and shirt sat on a stationary bike, her legs hardly moving the pedals, engrossed in a thick biochemistry textbook. In front of her, a buff Latino guy in high-school-gym-issued basketball shorts and t-shirt studied his biceps in the mirror as he did endless reps with a thirty-pound weight.

  Next she considered the noise in the room: On the television above her, a L’Oréal ad was running, selling extrahydrating shampoo. Her magazine was opened to a CoverGirl ad pitching new extralength mascara. She took out her earbuds to hear what was on the gym speakers: The radio had cut to a Macy’s winter merchandise arrival sale. She looked at her latest e-mails on her iPhone: Bloomingdale’s shoe sale, Groupon for Shellac manicures, Lacoste semi-annual sale at Stanford Shopping Center.

  She had suddenly felt the acute awareness that she was surrounded by ads, and they weren’t trying to reach these other people in the gym; they were trying to sell to her.

  Patty Hawkins, in her Lululemon shorts, American Apparel sorority t-shirt, custom Nike tennis shoes, high performance Nike Dri-Fit socks; Patty Hawkins, with her two-hundred-dollar haircut and four-hundred-dollars-every-twelve-weeks highlights, her makeup bag full of Bobbi Brown foundation, Trish McEvoy eye shadow, Smashbox eyeliner, and NARS blush, all of which she’d carefully researched as the best product offered by its respective brand; Patty Hawkins, who matched her Natori bras to their partner panties; Patty Hawkins, who read Vogue and Us Weekly and ate Fage Greek yogurt and drank Diet Coke and took class notes in Moleskine notebooks with purple La Pen pens: She was an advertiser’s DREAM.

  And for the first time, on that elliptical, Patty saw herself for what she was to an advertiser: an image-conscious big spender whom they desperately wanted to purchase their products. And far from feeling exposed or exploited, this made Patty feel empowered: They wanted her to like them. She, and girls like her, could make or break their brands. She was incredibly important as a consumer, and that made her incredibly powerful.

  Since that moment Patty had developed a full-blown business plan wherein she got girls like her together to talk to advertisers. She’d start, naturally, with local businesses and girls in her sorority. But then she could move on to other college campuses and reach out to national brands. She could leverage the sorority for more girls to participate. She’d do local in-person meetings, or one-on-ones, or online surveys. Brands would pay her and she’d pay part of it out to participants, or they could pay her cash and the participants in free products. She looked at her Facebook friends list and counted the number of girls who’d qualify: 348. And if it caught on, all of them had networks of their own they’d tell about it.

  She’d make a Web site where girls could keep a profile and be contacted directly by marketers. Maybe she’d even give it a social angle, like Toms shoes, and donate part of her profits to women’s shelters.

  But the question remained: What to call it? “Girl Talk”? Too hipster band. “Female Insight Network”? Good acronym, but it sounded too corporate. “What are we?” Patty said to herself. “We’re like … a female … focus group. I’m organizing focus groups for advertisers targeting cool girls.”

  “Focus Girls.” That was it. She smiled and nodded to the bulletin board. It was the last piece, but now she was ready.

  That was a week ago, and today Patty was ready to get started. She grabbed a notebook and headed down the stairs to meet T.J. and her first trial group.

  She’d called T.J. when she’d had the idea to get his opinion on the company—mainly to make sure she wasn’t crazy—and he’d suggested she do a test run pronto. They’d agreed that Franklin Whittaker, a successful investor in retail companies whose kids she used to babysit, would have a good product to test, and he readily agreed to have one of his marketing officers come run a focus group for a new makeup brand. It hadn’t been hard to convince eight of her sorority sisters to give an hour to the group, especially when she guaranteed free makeup samples and a potential job lead for a cool new company.

  “Nervous?” T.J. stood up from the bench in the Delta Gamma entryway as Patty skipped down the stairs.

  “A little,” she admitted.

  T.J. reached out a hand and massaged her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling. “You’re going to do great.”

  “Thank you so much for being here,” she said honestly, her heart beating fast with helpless flattery at T. J. Bristol’s attention. Even though she never really had a thing for T.J., it was impossible to avoid his charisma when he aimed right at you.

  “Girls ready?”

  “Let’s go see.”

  They went into the lounge, where her eight volunteers were already sitting around the fireplace chatting. Richard, the marketing officer for Tinsley cosmetics, arrived shortly thereafter. He was tall and handsome, a fortysomething metrosexual who oozed fashion sense and sex appeal. The girls were putty in his hands as he asked them questions about their preferences for foundation and what bothered them about their current mascara.

  In the end, he gave everyone a bag of sample goodies and passed his card to Sarah, a senior who was looking for a job in marketing after graduation.

  “That was amazing,” Sarah squealed after Richard left. “Like, I would pay to do that all the time, Patty.”

  The other girls agreed, and Patty felt her face flush and her heart swell. It worked! She’d created a company girls wanted to be a part of. She’d uncovered a need that mattered.

  She heard a pop and turned around. T.J. had opened a bottle of champagne and was pouring glasses for the girls.

  “To Patty!” they chimed, clinking glasses.

  Patty sipped her champagne and looked thankfully at T.J., who was flirting with Sarah. Her mind flashed involuntarily back to the definition of his chest muscles when she’d been on the treadmill next to him at the gym in Hawaii and she imagined them beneath the navy polo he was wearing now. He was so much cooler than Alex … and maybe now that she had a company of her own, he was the kind of guy she should be going for instead of dumb jocks. She shook the thought from her head, joining the chatter about how hot Richard was and what-was-everyone-wearing-tonight-to-the-party-at-SAE.

  7

  Having a High Time

  “Are you okay?” Roger asked gently, looking over at Amelia as the pair walked the three-mile path that led to and from campus to the Dish, a towering old satellite dish Stanford University once used for space research that now, its technology long since replaced by better science, served as a recreational haven for the community.

  Their weekly walks had become increasingly important to Amelia as Adam had become more and more distant.

  She swallowed and said, “I guess I’m just confused.”

  “There’s a lot to be confused about,” Roger offered. She’d filled him in on the meeting at PKC, on their new role designations, and on T.J.’s latest request that she do a photo shoot for Forbes magazine.

  “Do you trust T.J.?” he asked.

  “Absolutely. He’s loyal and smart and…” She blushed, conscious of how such admiration would come across.

  “And Adam?”

  Amelia was quiet. Then she said quickly, “Of course I trust Adam. Adam’s my brother.”

  “I didn’t ask whether you love Adam, I asked whether you trust him.”

  Amelia felt a lump forming in her throat. She turned to Roger, looking very seriously at him. “Adam is the only person I’ve ever had in my life; he is everything to me.”

  Roger lifted his eyebrow and met her sternness with his own. “That’s not what I asked.”

  “I’m just worried he’s susceptible to
pressure.”

  Roger shrugged a shoulder. “Most of us are.”

  “T.J.’s a really great leader,” she said to change the subject.

  He sighed and said, “Speaking of susceptible…”

  “What?” Amelia looked up, blushing.

  He grinned back at her. “Be careful, Amelia.”

  She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Can we please talk about something else? I’m sick of thinking about Doreye for the moment.”

  “As a matter of fact, there is something I want to talk to you about.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going away for a while—a few months, maybe; I’m not quite sure of the dates.”

  Amelia felt her stomach drop, her brain jumping to spring break and how she’d been secretly hoping he’d invite her to spend it at his house in Santa Cruz. Now she’d have to figure out something else to do to distract herself from the loneliness of the empty campus. “Where are you going?” she asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

  “I haven’t yet decided. I’m overdue for a sabbatical and I want to find somewhere I can be disconnected.”

  “Oh,” she mustered.

  “You’re angry with me,” he observed.

  “No, I understand.”

  “I’m calling your bluff. Spill it.”

  “Well,” she started, “I just find it a little … selfish … that you would want to just drop off the face of the earth and leave people you care about hanging like that.” She blushed at the forcefulness of her comment. “I mean, I’m not saying you care so much about me, or that you should…”

  This time Roger stopped, grabbing Amelia by the shoulders and staring down at her with an intensity that surprised her. “Amelia…” He paused. “Listen to me very carefully: I care about you, okay? I care about you more than I can say.”

  She looked at his watery eyes and felt puddles form in her own. She swallowed hard to keep the tears back.

  “And not just as a mentee, okay? Or as an investment. You are one of the most special people I’ve ever come across, and the more this”—he stopped and corrected himself—“I mean, the older I get, the more I realize how lucky I am to have people like you in my life to pass things on to, and to carry on my vision.”

  “I just wish your timing were better. Adam’s been so distant, and I don’t have anyone else,” Amelia sputtered, no longer trying to hold back the tears.

  Roger pulled her into a hug. “You’ve got to be strong, my dear. Just focus on what your heart is telling you to do and you’ll discover you’ve got all the strength you need to do it.”

  She let the tears flow into his shirt until she didn’t have any more left.

  “Come on,” he said, “that’ll do you for a while.” She nodded in agreement. She wasn’t sure where all that emotion had come from, but she felt better now that it was out.

  “Just make me a promise while I’m gone?”

  “Okay.”

  “Leave those tears up here. Don’t let them”—he gestured with his chin down to Silicon Valley below—“don’t give them the privilege of seeing you cry.”

  She swallowed and looked out at Stanford’s campus and the valley around it. “I won’t. Never.”

  “Because, Amelia,” Roger said, and took a deep breath, “people think Silicon Valley is all friendly innovation, but there are sharks out there. You can’t always see them, but they’ll attack the minute they smell blood in the water.”

  8

  Small Favors

  “I just don’t understand why you can’t say thank you.” Adam’s voice cracked in his effort to control it.

  “Because I don’t understand what I’m thanking you for,” Amelia stubbornly insisted from the passenger seat.

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” Adam clenched the steering wheel and turned to face his sister. “I skip my classes to drive you to this Thirty Under Thirty extravaganza, give up my whole evening to wait around so I can drive you back to Palo Alto, and not only do you show up late, you actually have the nerve to complain to me about having to be here?”

  A car honked and he noticed the light had changed. “Chill out!” he screamed at the car as he moved his foot to the gas.

  “I’m sorry I was late, and I’m sorry you had to give up your day,” Amelia said as diplomatically as she could, “but A, I didn’t ask you to do those things, and B, I don’t understand why I can’t talk to you anymore about the things that make me nervous.”

  Adam’s blood was boiling. Amelia could be so mind-blowingly clueless. “A,” he said, “you didn’t ask—you never ask—you just assume. You always assume that I’ll just be there to do whatever you need.” As he said it, he realized how true it was. “And B, you don’t get to talk to me about this because you know I want it. I want to do the press and the photo shoots and the stories, and it’s so…”—he searched for the words through his anger—“it’s so unfair that you get all of this when you don’t even want it.”

  Amelia was silent. She stared straight ahead and kept her jaw locked. “This is it,” she finally said.

  “What?” He jumped.

  “This is the hotel,” she said in calm irritation.

  He rolled his eyes in annoyance as he pulled into the driveway. “You go on and I’ll go park,” he said, but Amelia was already out of the car. She slammed the door behind her.

  Adam parked the car and took deep breaths as he walked from the lot up to the St. Regis Hotel, where Forbes was holding their Thirty Under Thirty photo shoot. By the time he got there his anger felt suppressed and his heartbeat had returned to normal.

  “I’m Adam Dory,” he said to a woman with a clipboard who guarded the entrance to the banquet room where the event was taking place.

  “You’re not on the list,” she said simply.

  “No,” he explained, “I am. I’m Adam Dory, with Doreye. It’s D-O-R—”

  “I know how to spell it; you’re not on the list,” she said flatly, unwilling to negotiate. “Each company got two names and yours is not one of them.”

  “But I’m the COO of the company,” Adam explained, still getting used to the sound of his new title.

  “The what?”

  “Never mind,” Adam scoffed, his angry heartbeat returning. “Who’s on the list besides Amelia, then?” He knew T.J. was back in Palo Alto.

  “Patty Hawkins.”

  “What? Why is she on the list?”

  The woman shrugged and looked past Adam to the next person in line. “Can you please step aside?”

  Adam’s patience snapped and he felt like his head would explode. He clenched his jaw and glared at the woman, feeling his nostrils flare as he took four deep breaths and tried not to think about how much he hated T.J. for not talking to him about this and hated Amelia for being too oblivious to care.

  He stormed out the glass doors, narrowly avoiding a cab as he pounded across the street onto Union Square, not sure where he was going but certain he needed to get somewhere quickly.

  “Adam!” He faintly heard his name but didn’t turn. “Adam!” He registered the voice and finally squinted across the street to see Ted Bristol waving from the entrance of Saks and coming toward him followed by … Lisa.

  Before he could process it, or the shocked paleness of Lisa’s face, Ted and his daughter—Adam’s ex-girlfriend—were right in front of him. It had been weeks since Adam had seen or spoken to Lisa, and as much as he had tried to get her out of his mind, he felt relieved to see her, looking as perfect in person as she had in his dreams.

  “Adam! What are you doing in the city?” Ted shook his mentee’s hand firmly and patted his shoulder. “How’s everything going? Have you met my daughter, Lisa?” He presented his daughter, whose face was sheet white.

  Adam swallowed. “You look very familiar,” he said, and offered his hand to shake hers.

  She took it. “Yes, you too. From around campus, I guess?” Lisa looked long and hard at Adam. “Dad? How do you know Adam Dory?”

  “Adam’s become a men
tee of mine. He’s COO of the company your brother’s working for at Roger’s incubator—Doreye.”

  “COO?” Lisa asked, emphasizing the O, as she searched her former lover’s face for his reaction to that title. Adam’s anger burned in his throat. She had no right to look at him like that anymore, as if she knew him.

  “Yes,” Adam said firmly. He turned his attention to Ted. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had to come up to the city for an event tonight and promised Lisa a shopping trip for her birthday.” Ted gestured toward the oversize Saks shopping bag he was carrying. “Don’t have girls, Adam, they’ll wipe your bank account clean.”

  Lisa’s birthday. Adam had completely forgotten. He wondered what she’d done to celebrate and felt a pang of jealousy knowing he hadn’t been invited to the party.

  Ted looked at his watch. “Hey, listen, Adam, did you drive up here?”

  “Yeah.” Adam snapped back to face Ted. “I just … had some COO duties.”

  “Do you think you could give Lisa a lift back? Like I said, I’ve got this event, and that way she won’t have to take the train.”

  “Oh, that’s okay, Dad,” Lisa jumped in, her face blushing furiously. “I don’t want to put Adam out.”

  Ted looked at her and said, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure he doesn’t mind,” then turned back to Adam. “Do you, Adam?”

  Adam swallowed, glancing between father and daughter, and finally mustered, “No, no, of course not.”

  Ted clapped his hands. “Great! We’re all settled, then.” He kissed his daughter on the forehead and handed her the shopping bag. “Happy birthday, my dear.” He turned to shake Adam’s hand and gave him a hundred-dollar bill. “You two have dinner on me. And thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”