Sitting at the meeting, in the red-carpeted, soundproofed conference room, Pebble felt tense. Well, if this meeting lasts long enough, at least I’ll learn how to live with heart palpitations!
Thinking of her dream of wild lovemaking with Einar Bro at the Hotel D’Angleterre the night before made her smile. Wipe that grin off your face, sweetheart – it was only a dream! She tried to look and feel serious, but it was all in vain. The dirty grin stayed on her face – until another weird thought popped up. I wonder what I would have felt like if I was sitting across the conference table from Einar this morning instead of here! Pebble sobered up fast. God, the man really is a “Worm”! Pebble shivered. Suddenly she understood why people in the business who weren’t particularly fond of Einar’s strong-arm tactics called him “Worm” behind his back.
Peter Cato, the sandy-haired Fem-Ads’ boss, entered the room looking positively sublime in comparison to Einar. Cheri, the receptionist, swept in behind him and closed the door carefully.
Oh no, thought Pebble, Cheri! She’d forgotten about Cheri, the former fashion model who was now Fem-Ads’ eye-catching receptionist. Every time Pebble saw Cheri, she was reminded of the sorry state of her wardrobe. And the sorry state of her wardrobe forced her to contemplate the sorry state of her single-parent economy. I’ll never be able to compete with the likes of Cheri if I don’t improve my wardrobe! The thought really bugged Pebble because divorce had been more than just emotionally painful for Pebble, it had been financially draining, too. Don’t even look at her clothes. Don’t even try to imagine how much she paid for that divine jacket she’s wearing. Cheri’s lips might have been a touch too red, but the jacket was great. Boy I would look fabulous in that! Pebble was convinced a jacket like Cheri’s would take 10 years off her immediately. Pebble, you’ve got to pay your bills first. PERIOD! You’ve got to fill that refrigerator again. PERIOD! Don’t even think…for a minute…that…maybe…no…no, no, NO!
In fact, things were actually looking up for Pebble. Besides the fact that she hated being negative about anything, her cash flow was really improving. Sure she sometimes got depressed, but deep down inside Pebble was as American as apple pie. She had that outlook, that optimism and was a firm believer in programming herself for success. Pebble was sure she’d make it if she only believed in herself a little more.
Peter sat down and straightened his tie. Everyone else (eight people were present, including Pebble) rustled their papers and had those let’s-get-down-to-business looks on their faces. I hope nobody gets carried away! thought Pebble, suitably impressed by the general mood of determination. It’s only five past nine and this could be a very long meeting.
Pebble’s problem was that it was difficult for her to take the advertising business seriously. How could anybody who had an uncle who had been to the March on Washington in 1963 and heard Martin Luther King say, “I have a dream” get worked up about all this media stuff? No matter how talented people were – it was still only advertising. The thought kept popping up, even though Pebble was giving it her best shot, and even if she actually liked the work. Still she’d hear that voice going –after all, it’s only advertising. Funny, the voice had the knack of turning up the volume whenever her copy was lousy. Only then another voice usually shot back –then why are you trying so hard, sweet-heart? Why are you so damned nervous? Well, nervous or not, the good girl in Pebble was used to going that extra mile. Sometimes I get the feeling that men are the only people around here who take the advertising business seriously. Maybe all the women are just great pretenders; me included. Pebble stared at her notes, waiting for Peter to speak. What do I care? Women are such good rip-off artists anyway. Just think of all the practice we’ve had. Looking at the faces of the other women at the table changed Pebble’s mind fast. Brother…do they look serious – and competent, too. Maybe I’m the only one here who’s a great pretender. Sara Sorensen was so efficient-looking that Pebble imagined her sailing effortlessly through the workplace slaying dragons as easily as she tied her toddler’s shoes. Dear God, give me some of her sharpness.
The business world had a way of confusing idealists like Pebble.
Pebble knew, of course, that she wouldn’t be the proud owner of a wallet stuffed with shiny credit cards for very long if she didn’t play the advertising game according to the rules. So she was motivated. In fact, she was enjoying the luxury of plastic money so much that she was almost too meek. She didn’t have enough experience yet to know that real plastic money is actually easier to keep when you dare. But she did know one thing, though. I want success without guilt! Pebble was definitely ready for that. You see success without guilt was something no man had allowed her, or rather, something she’d never allowed herself in the presence of any man. Now she was ready for it and wanted it bad. She wanted to sinfully enjoy spending money before she got too old. She heard the clock ticking in the background of her life.
Peter started talking about the WonderLift campaign they were about to launch. Am I really a part of this idiocy? The man had an irritating tendency to drone on in the most condescending way. This wasn’t the first time Pebble had worked for Peter. Two years earlier, she was a ghostwriter for him while he was creative director at DDB Needham. She actually came up with the concept and a slogan (for the American market) for a campaign Peter was working on for a Danish company called Nordkyst. Nordkyst made marvelously quirky, high-quality Scandinavian cotton clothes for kids – but the company was a newcomer on the American market. Pebble’s concept and slogan were wildly successful in the United States, but she never got any credit for it. Nobody ever discovered that Pebble was the creative genius behind the whole show. Peter Cato was lauded to the skies in the press and Nordkyst turned into an overnight success in the United States. As a result of Pebble’s concept, Nordkyst found an extremely profitable niche selling their high-quality, organic cotton clothing to urban professionals who were willing to pay top dollar for upmarket quality for their kids. Pebble hit the money by producing a brilliant concept and copy and a quirky slogan which communicated the Nordkyst sense of style and purity with charming directness.
Pebble never really trusted Peter after the Nordkyst bonanza, but she didn’t dare go public either – even if Mel, her favorite uncle in New York, urged her to. When Mel heard the story – he was a senior account director at Young & Rubicam – he roared over the phone, “You’ll be rich and famous when people find out the truth!” The line positively crackled with his energy. “People will be pounding at your door, begging you to work for them!” But how could she? Her uncle was incensed by the injustice of it (yes he was the one who’d heard Martin Luther King) – he’d seen how successful the campaign had been in the US way before his favorite niece told him that she had created it. But Pebble was newly divorced and too shell-shocked to comprehend her uncle’s words. The irony of Pebble’s failure to grasp the situation was that Mel happened to play tennis with the guy Nordkyst hired to run their U.S. operations. “I’ll get Richard on the phone today.”
Pebble was sorry she’d told her uncle. She suffered from tunnel vision and couldn’t see that Mel was offering her a shot at the stars. All she could think of was what would happen if Peter Cato denied her story. “Mel, you’ve got to promise me, on everything’s that’s sacred to you (Pebble knew that wasn’t much) that you’ll never, EVER tell anyone!”
Pebble was in tears. When he heard her crying, he calmed down again, “What can happen, sweetheart? What? In the worst case, you’ll come to New York and I’ll give you a job.” But Pebble didn’t want Young & Rubicam in New York. The very thought of life on Manhattan, competing with all those bright and beautiful New Yorkers while worrying about her kids growing up in New York sent chills up and down her spine.
Besides Pebble had other plans and she knew she had to have wings before she could fly. Maybe I was just lucky anyway. Maybe I just hit the right thing by accident. So who cares what Mel thinks? If he wants to be disappointed in me, let him. What does he
know about my life anyway, sitting there in his posh office on Madison Avenue and going to the Hamptons on the weekends? She needed to take charge of her life in her own way. And besides, I’ve got kids to think about. Mel might be my favorite uncle, but I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown-up woman who’s struggling to be whole and independent for the first time in my life.
Which was why Pebble put her foot down and was proud of herself for doing the right thing.
In spite of what Pebble thought, Mel really did respect the wishes of his favorite niece, so he kept his mouth shut.
Now, two years later, watching Peter Cato drone on, Pebble wasn’t so sure she’d done the right thing. Maybe Mel was right. Maybe I should have blown the whistle on the guy. But who can tell? That was then and this is now. Peter gave me a break when I needed it. Which was true. Two years ago, when Pebble walked out on her husband Slim, she needed work desperately. At the time, she didn’t even think about how little Peter paid her for ghosting for him (it was all under the table anyway), all she knew was he put food on her table when she was struggling to free herself from a lousy marriage. I was a nobody then. Before she talked to Mel, it never occurred to her that the man might have misused her. I mean that was way before Einar got wind of me…way before I did that campaign for the Wiberg Brothers…I was an absolute zero then – a nobody. How can I blame Peter for taking advantage of my talent when I was the one who was begging for work? The enormous success of the Nordkyst campaign had caught everybody by surprise, including Peter and Pebble.
Peter fidgeted with his pen while he talked. He was still doing it. Even though Pebble hadn’t seen Peter for a while, she remembered how Peter always twirled pens between his fingers when he talked. Today it was a Stabilo permanent fine line pen. Peter’s trendy Italian jacket was obviously from one of those upscale men’s shops located on Strøget, Copenhagen’s Walking Street and fashion strip. At least the Nordkyst success improved the way the man dresses. Pebble felt a rush of jealous anger. She wanted Jon and Adam to be able to buy clothes like that, too.
“The goal of our campaign is to tell women that WonderLift is going to revolutionize their lives and their ability to stay young,” Peter was saying in his most condescending voice. How the hell would he know what women go through! Sometimes it really is hard not to crack up laughing. The man is simply too much.
I think I’ll go out and buy myself that black-lace bodystocking I’ve been wanting to buy for years. Meetings are always a good time to make important, life decisions anyway. And buying a black-lace bodystocking definitely was one. You see, Pebble had been waiting for years, for almost a whole lifetime, to buy that body-stocking. She’d been waiting for the right man to come along, but suddenly, listening to Peter Cato, she realized that maybe she’d already missed her chance at the stars and the right man. At least she was sure Albert wasn’t the right man. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be too old for that bodystocking anyway if and when he does show up.
But getting old, and Madison Avenue and following your star were all beside the point just then.
The point, at the moment, was WonderLift – the name of a new product and the reason why this highly select group of well-groomed and well-educated (and mostly young) people were meeting. Listening to Peter, one had to conclude that WonderLift was going to revolutionize the aging balance of every almost-40 or over-40 woman in the world. And Denmark seemed to have the dubious honor of being the launching pad of this eighth wonder of the world. Pebble couldn’t help but like the man for talking about the female body and the challenges of aging with such ardor.
Her job was to create an English-language campaign and media kit for WonderLift. Peter was counting on the fact that Pebble would have to come up with a catchy slogan, too, if she was going to be live up to her reputation as the rising star in the Copenhagen ad world. During the preliminary briefing a week ago, Peter had emphasized to the group that Pebble’s campaign and media kit were mainly targeted to the American market. (Peter hadn’t forgotten Nordkyst either). But to keep things under wraps until they were ready to launch WonderLift in the US, the English material Pebble created would first be translated into other languages. It amused Pebble no end to think that she’d soon be in print describing the latest do-it-yourself Danish facelift in Spanish, French, Italian, Greek, and God knew what other tongues.
Looking at how young everybody else sitting around the shiny conference table was besides Peter and herself, Pebble had the odd thought that maybe Peter didn’t hire her just because she was a great copywriter. Maybe he figured that at my age I’ve had enough experience in the various challenges facing women to be able to tell other women how to use WonderLift without dying of shame. Obviously, Shawn O’Brien, the brawny, beer-drinking Irish copywriter who was another hot number in Copenhagen at the moment, wouldn’t have qualified for the job! The thought tickled her until she noticed seven pairs of very-qualified eyes focused intently on her.
It was her turn to speak. She was supposed to present a broad outline of her concept for WonderLift. It was a crucial moment for Fem-Ads, because if Pebble came up with a good angle, they might just be able to work all the visuals and the online campaign around her ideas, too. Peter must have had his fingers crossed, hoping this silly goose would lay another golden egg.
Pebble’s heart thumped loudly in her breast. Writing was easy; talking about it was the hard part.
“LOOK LIKE YOU FEEL!” Pebble Beach read the phrase from the notes she spread carefully before her on the gleaming table. That was how she wanted to headline WonderLift. No introduction, no mention of WonderLift, no nothing – just flash bam – LOOK LIKE YOU FEEL!
Late at night, working up a storm in her tiny office, she thought she had the makings of a slogan. She remembered how she jumped with joy when “LOOK LIKE YOU FEEL” flashed on her screen for the first time. It was like playing the slot machines and hitting the jackpot. She must have written 50 versions of it before she got it right. Other people, even highly qualified people in the business, didn’t really comprehend how hard it was to get it just right. Only another copywriter would appreciate how difficult it is to say something easy.
She continued, throwing out ideas which took hours to produce, “IT’S EASY. AND IT LOOKS SO NATURAL!” “LOOK AS YOUNG AS YOU FEEL!” She knew the phrases were simple, but simplicity can be deceptive.
Maybe I thought they sounded good in the middle of the night, but now I’m not so sure. She thought everything she said, everything she thought was so powerful, sounded strangely flat. Pebble might be a brilliant copywriter, but she certainly wasn’t a brilliant speaker.
When she finished, Pebble looked at all faces around the table – Anne, Jakob that wonderful Art Director, Peter, Sara, Cheri and the rest – they were all players on the same team. For a fleeting moment, Pebble was afraid everybody looked bored, until she realized they were all playing with her phrases – turning her words over and over again and wondering if “LOOK LIKE YOU FEEL!” had that special greatness which is the cornerstone of so much good advertising. She was positive Peter continued to fidget with his pen on purpose. He’d never let that poker face of his show anything, especially not when all the Fem-Ads grunts were sitting around the table just waiting for him to give them a sign.
At home, when it was safe to be free and creative, she’d been bold enough to write: ENJOY LIFE AS A WOMAN! Now she threw it out – one last tidbit.
Enjoy life?
Who am I kidding?
Pebble Beach felt much too warm. Why can’t I just email my ideas to meetings like this? Someone else could read them. Mel, her hotshot uncle in New York, would have laughed at her shyness. What intimidated Pebble most was the silence. She called it “the Scandinavian silence”. That was the hardest part of it, even though she’d been living in Copenhagen long enough to know that Scandinavians are a strangely unemotional lot. She should have been prepared for it and actually she thought she was, but it still got to her. No standing ovations this far North!
(If you’re Swedish, you’re getting downright emotional if you go as far as raising an eyebrow.) But it hurt. Being American, silence still meant disapproval in her book. She saw the success she’d been dreaming of and all her shiny credit cards with PEBBLE BEACH engraved upon them fading rapidly into the sunset. Why aren’t they clapping? Why aren’t they cheering? Come on fellows, a little applause wouldn’t hurt…or at least a smile? Peter kept quiet. Slowly people began to talk. No wild praise, just talk. People liked her ideas, but she didn’t care. I need strokes. And even if she knew Peter wasn’t going to jump up and offer her a fat job as the new Fem-Ads Veep, well he could at least have nodded in satisfaction. Dream on sweetheart, Peter’s always been a cold-hearted, manipulating, money-hungry…well okay…so he didn’t jump up and cheer…Get a hold on yourself, Pebble!
Pebble sat back in her chair and sighed while everybody else talked. Peter was writing furiously on his yellow legal pad. She knew that was a good sign. Well at least I must have inspired him. Then Anne Lind, the project manager, started using the flip-chart and talked a bloody blue streak about timetables and deadlines and launch dates and simultaneous ad thrusts online, in the newspapers and in international women’s magazines around the world – all normal procedure when launching a new product like WonderLift. Peter didn’t even look up, but continued to write furiously. Cheri went out to get coffee.
Pebble would have given much to see what Peter was writing. And well, there went another day in the life of Pebble Beach – your newly divorced, 40-something, trying-hard-to-be-successful-fast-tracker woman-of-the-world – well sort of.
Adventures of Pebble Beach Page 2