Adrienne described the whole affair as "a clusterfuck of Hindenburgian proportions." Ana was inclined to agree. Even though she was not pleased about Bruce's presence for her own personal reasons, she was glad that he was there in his capacity as executive creative director. He would also be around later to absorb some of the blame, which would normally be divvied between the overseeing associate creative directors. Namely, her and Adrienne.
In one way, the number of agency people present was a good thing. For this shoot, the WomanLyfe client was a collective of four. Karin and three other women, each one dowdier than the next, all of them wearing capri pants, and each in their own way casually contributing to this atmosphere of chaos, anxiety, second- and third-guessing, and insecurity. Currently, all were perched on the frayed edges of canvas director's chairs at the Video Village, a small scrimmage of seats semicircled before the video playback monitor.
For the Capri Pants (Ana quickly came to think of them this way, for she could never remember all their names and did not care enough to try) huddled around the monitor, nothing was ever quite right. They would rotate the complaints, each taking a turn. That day alone, Ana decided that she had heard every known euphemism for "problem." It was an endless litany of concerns, nitpicks, worries, challenges, nif-naws, quibbles, tweaks, snags, holdups, and glitches, each needing to be acknowledged and given due diligence by the agency.
Wardrobe:
Capri Pants #1: We don't like what the subject is wearing.
Ana: Um, you approved it at the wardrobe fitting.
Capri Pants #1: We don't like it.
Ana: What are you thinking of for her?
Capri Pants #1 (Looks to others): Maybe some capri pants?
Talent:
Capri Pants #2: We want the subject to speak more clearly.
Adrienne: I'll talk to the director. (Speaks to director, comes back. More takes are shot.)
Capri Pants #2 (Looks to others): We still can't understand her.
Adrienne: The problem is that she can barely speak English. We told you that it would be a problem when you chose her. (Long silence.)
Capri Pants #2: We want the subject to speak more clearly.
Catering:
Capri Pants #3: We would like some Twizzlers on the craft service table. Could you please have someone from the production company get some?
Ana: Of course, right away. (Speaks to line producer, who sends a runner out for Twizzlers. They appear within twenty minutes.)
Ana: Here's your precious Twizzlers. Kindly shove them up your ass. (Unspoken.)
It didn't have to be this way. The process could have been, if not easy, then at least fairly simple. Drag the subjects in front of the green screens (the first battle that the agency lost to the client) and let them tell their stories off the tops of their heads. (Absolutely no scripts: the second battle that the agency lost.) Repeat with varying camera angles (multiple takes at different angles: the sole battle that the agency won), then everything gets supposedly, magically repaired in postproduction. Ana had never been on a shoot where the phrase "We'll fix it in post" was uttered so frequently that it felt like a mantra.
The one saving grace was the ten subjects themselves. Most of them seemed like genuinely nice, down-to-earth Midwestern women who had actually achieved good results with the WomanLyfe program. A couple of them related heart-wrenching stories about how WomanLyfe had helped them to lose weight, get in shape, and feel better about themselves for the first time in their lives. For Ana, it allowed her to believe (at least enough to get her through the shoot) that WomanLyfe actually did help some people. Nice to hear, especially after recently finding out that she would indeed be working on the agency's newest and most odious account, Parnoc Industries, manufacturers of war machinery.
By far, the best subject was an African American woman in her forties (who looked pretty damn good, Ana was happy to note), dressed in a close-fitting, short black dress, who told how she had once been over three hundred pounds. When prodded by Ana to share more of her story, she revealed that she had also been an alcoholic with an abusive husband. WomanLyfe had helped her lose the weight and given her a sanctuary, a place to go to feel better about herself. She was sober now and out of the bad marriage. The woman was articulate and told her story candidly and compellingly. A testimonial like this was like manna from heaven. Ana and Adrienne and Bruce all looked at each other at the same time, thrilled that they had someone with such a moving, emotional, personal story. After they finished shooting her narration in both close-up and a medium shot, Bruce, Ana, and Adrienne excitedly approached Karin.
"She's awesome," said Bruce. "She's the star. This will be the real keeper of the campaign."
Karin shook her head vehemently. "No, we're not using her. Her story is too depressing. We don't want to talk about anyone being an alcoholic or in a bad marriage. That's not our brand. Plus, she's dressed like a trollop. That dress is way too short."
"Karin," said Bruce, with an impassioned sharpness to his voice that Ana had never before heard him use with a client, "her story is inspiring. It will help other women come to WomanLyfe who are in similar situations. I guarantee you. It's just the sort of thing we want for the brand. Letting women know that here is a way that they can change their lives." He paused and lowered his voice. "And she happens to look great in that dress."
Karin glanced blankly from him to Ana and Adrienne, and then said, "We're not using her. We always bring ten women when we do a shoot, then we use our favorite four. She is not one of our favorite four." She then walked away toward the craft service table and helped herself to a napkin full of Peanut M&M's.
Bruce just stood there. Finally, he squinted, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. Even though she felt crushed herself, Ana actually felt bad for him.
Adrienne muttered under her breath. "I fucking hate that bitch."
Bruce turned to her and said curtly, "Don't say that about our client."
Adrienne lowered her eyes and walked away.
"You okay, Bruce?" said Ana.
He looked at the ground and nodded once, more to himself, it seemed, than in response to her question. "Yep."
The rest of the day proceeded in much the same manner. Bruce stood with the "director," a video production guy from Grand Rapids who, though vaguely competent, did everything that Karin asked for, and nothing that Bruce, Ana, or Adrienne asked for. Still, Bruce stood there, acting as if he were working with a real director, though real directors almost always defended the creative.
Ana and Adrienne sat at the Video Village, trying to make conversation with the Capri Pants. It soon became apparent that these women had no power, they were simply Karin's lackeys. At which point, Ana and Adrienne gave up.
After Subject 4, Adrienne gave Ana the eye, then a tilt of the head, to indicate a move over to the craft service table. Ana got up without a word and followed Adrienne over to the coolers filled with bottled water and pop.
"Fuck this," said Adrienne. "I've got to get out of here. Let's step outside. I have to get away from these idiots."
"Shouldn't we stay here in case Bruce needs us?"
"Has he needed us yet?"
Ana shook her head.
"Then let's go. We're not going to leave town, just get some air. Unless you can't bear to be away from Bruce." She headed toward the soundstage door.
Ana said nothing and just followed. In the two weeks that had passed since they got the word that the agency would be producing WomanLyfe's interim campaign, Adrienne had been chilly with her. Ana had tried to talk to her, told her that there was nothing going on with her and Bruce, but things had been definitely strained between them.
They walked through a short padded hallway to get outside. Adrienne pushed open a heavy, metal-clad door, let Ana out, and then shimmed a doorstop into the jamb so it remained open just a crack. They walked out to a large alley behind the soundstage. The sun stung Ana's eyes after being in dim light for so long. A headache was brew
ing. She put on the vintage Jackie O sunglasses that she'd had fitted with her prescription and regarded the building. It was fairly plain for a place that had been built in the twenties. Supposedly, it had been Charlie Chaplin's soundstage before he moved out to Hollywood for the better weather.
Adrienne sat down on the open tailgate of a truck that was currently unoccupied. She pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights, plucked a cigarette from it, stuck it in her mouth, and then fished around in her purse for a lighter.
"Since when do you smoke?" said Ana.
"I like to smoke sometimes," Adrienne responded, cigarette bobbing between her lips. "Especially when I'm stressed. It feels good. You should try it."
"No thank you. I have enough bad habits."
Adrienne continued to claw through her bag. "You're telling me."
"Come on, Ade, what does that mean?"
Finally, Adrienne found the lighter, sparked it, and lit her cigarette. "You know what it means, Ana." She took a deep drag, exhaled. "When he talks to us, he's actually talking to you and I'm just standing there. You're always going to be his favorite because of what happened. That's the way it works around here."
"Why are you being this way?" said Ana, unhappy to even be speaking indirectly of these matters. "Anyway, not all that much really happened." Even saying it didn't make her believe it.
"Fine, let's say that's true. Do you know what that makes you?" She pointed a finger at Ana. "You're The Unattainable."
"What does that mean?"
"It means just what it means." Adrienne let out a derisive snort. "Anyway, don't you know? Even though you two supposedly didn't do it, it's like you did. Everyone thinks you did because of the way he acts around you."
"They do?"
"Of course they do. You think Jerrod isn't spreading that shit all over the agency? It's a done deal. You may as well have fucked him."
"He is such a little bitch."
"Ana, is he that wrong? Really?"
"Yes, he's wrong. Nothing happened."
Adrienne rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's right—no penetration." She delicately held up her hands like a little girl. "So nothing happened."
"Jerrod was spreading those rumors even before—" Ana stopped herself before saying something she had avoided admitting to herself.
"Please, is it really all that different since it allegedly wasn't actual sex?"
"Would you be quiet, please?"
"There's no one around here but us, Ana." Adrienne took a deep drag of the cigarette. "You know, maybe it was just heavy petting. If it was actual sex, Bruce might be more discreet with his ogling. Now he's all full of longing."
"Just shut up, okay?"
"Dude, you're never going to get fired now. No matter how bad things get in this city, you'll always have a job at the agency."
"What?" The word came out high-pitched, almost cartoony. "That's ridiculous. Why would you say such a thing, Adrienne? Why are you saying any of this?" Ana suddenly remembered the look on Bruce's face after she pushed him away. She realized that it had been anger. As if to say, Why would you deprive me of this? "I actually rejected him," Ana said, trying not to stammer. "Eventually." She wasn't sure where she was heading with this, but she was going to go with it. "He could've made my job a living hell after what happened. He still could."
Adrienne tipped her head and stared blankly at Ana. "But he hasn't, has he? No. Far from it. He just looks at you with his little sad face." She stuck out her tongue halfway and made a gagging noise. "It makes me fucking sick."
This was hard to refute. Ana had noticed the same thing: when she would suddenly turn to face Bruce, she would catch him looking at her. He would immediately turn away or talk to someone else, but she saw it. It confused her because she still liked it, even after what had happened. But the idea that other people noticed it bothered her enormously. "And why would it make you sick?"
"It just does."
"Why, Adrienne? 'Cause he's looking at me that way and not you?"
"Fuck you." Adrienne threw her cigarette to the ground and walked away.
Ana stood there, not even sure how any of this had happened. She didn't really believe that Adrienne was jealous of Bruce's attention. Adrienne seemed to hate Bruce these days. Ana had just wanted to say something cruel. And she had succeeded with a silly, spiteful comment that would have better suited a mean high school girl. Now her partner, who was her closest friend, was seriously angry with her.
As much as it bothered her to admit, it appeared that in Adrienne's mind, Ana had really done something wrong. Ana did not think of it that way: Even if Bruce was currently paying a bit more attention to her, nothing had really changed. She and Adrienne both still had jobs, as unpleasant as they may have seemed at the moment. Also, not that Adrienne cared, but Ana had narrowly escaped cheating on Joe. (Though she was still not quite believing that herself.) Either way, what right did Adrienne have to get so upset with her?
Everything felt wrong these days—Ana's job, her relationship with Joe, Adrienne. She felt wrong. She thought about leaving the shoot, catching a cab to the hotel, packing her suitcase, and heading for the airport. She and Joe would figure something out if she weren't working. Maybe she could be the happy-go-lucky freelancer for a change. Or maybe she would just actually fuck Bruce. Apparently, in everyone else's mind, Ana had already done the deed. So what was the difference?
She decided that she better get back inside. But when she pulled at the metal-clad door to return to the soundstage, it wouldn't open. She pulled again to make sure. It was definitely locked.
* * *
The fact that there was a weekend splitting up a four-day video shoot was ridiculous. Thursday, Friday, Monday, and Tuesday. This might happen on a real commercial shoot, but on this kind of rinky-dink production? Please. Ana soon discovered that this schedule was specifically designed so the WomanLyfe clients could have a shopping weekend in Chicago. Extra days in a nice hotel for them—that was what they were willing to pay for, not a real director or production company. Thankfully, the client did not expect to be entertained over the weekend, at least by the creatives. They were staying at a different hotel with the account people and no one would see them again until Monday.
It was also a lucky break that Bruce was needed at the agency over the weekend, so he had caught a Friday-night flight back to Detroit, not to return until Monday morning. That made things easier for Ana. The prospect of a weekend with Bruce in yet another city was something that had worried her. Especially since Adrienne was not being a cooperative human shield these days. Nor was she being much of a friend. Ana had called her on Saturday morning about breakfast, and then later for dinner. Adrienne was not answering her cell.
Ana ended up spending the entire Saturday in her room, moping around, eating room service food, watching television, reading, working, and playing Snood on the computer. She didn't even let the cleaning staff in to straighten up. (How many clean towels does one woman need?) Sad, when she had a big, beautiful city out there to explore. (There was so much of Chicago that reminded her of Detroit, yet without all the abandoned buildings.) She could have asked Joe if he wanted to drive in for the weekend, but since he hadn't called once, she was pretty sure that he was mad at her, along with everyone else.
Except Bruce, of course. Which was its own odd situation. She had been surprised how he'd kept his distance during the whole shoot, only speaking with her when it had to do with work. Maybe it was because all eyes were on him to save this fast-sinking dreadnought of a client, especially since it was Cherkovski's pet project, but Ana continued to be amazed by how thoroughly one man could erase an incident that had felt like such a big thing to her. Was he just trying to be professional? Was he waiting for another chance? She tried not to think about it one way or the other, except she just kept thinking about it.
On Sunday, she got out of the room finally, hit the treadmill in the workout room, then cleaned up and went for a walk down Michigan Avenue. She
strolled in and out of some places, but they were all the same generic mall stores. She noticed that everyone sort of looked the same too: so many apple-cheeked Caucasians, all holding a cup of Starbucks, pushing around gigantic baby buggies, and wearing one or more articles of North Face clothing. It all depressed her enormously until she found the Garrett Popcorn store, where she bought big bags of both caramel and cheese corn. So delicious. She ate half of the caramel corn walking back to the hotel and felt better. Cheese corn and pay-per-view movies sustained her through the rest of Sunday. She didn't leave the room again until their seven thirty a.m. meet-up in the lobby.
* * *
On the set, everyone was there, but there wasn't much conversation. Which was just fine. The client, sated after a weekend of shopping and dining, was too tired to create many new problems. Besides, they had bonded heavily with Trish the account supervisor. They were all laughing and rehashing all the fun and shopping and meals they had over the weekend. Ana hated all of them. Adrienne was staying away too. Bruce as well. It seemed like everyone from the creative department had given up trying to turn the spots into anything good. WomanLyfe would just get whatever crap they wanted.
At the end of the shoot day, no one had drinks together at the hotel. Everyone just disappeared back to their rooms. Ana thought about calling Joe, but why hadn't he called her? Did he somehow find out what happened? Did he hear something more from Malcolm about the rumors? Maybe he knew about the whole Bruce situation and had decided that now was the perfect time to graduate from virtual to analog MILFs. The idea of this disturbed her deeply.
That night, after consuming the rest of the caramel corn, Ana fell asleep watching television, until a jarring dream awakened her at 4:43 a.m. She dreamed that Joe had been in a car accident. His Volvo had flipped and he couldn't get out and she couldn't get to him. The smell of dripping gasoline was so vivid to her, so real, that she was practically crying when she woke up. Ana seriously considered calling Joe, but she stopped herself, knowing that a late-night call would just scare the wits out of him. And what if someone else was there?
The Narcissism of Small Differences Page 21