Chapter 7
DES
Itext Tanner to let him know that the insurance documents are in. Once we’re cleared, we should be good to go, and his kiddoes will be covered.
Des: I’ve submitted the paperwork, darling. You don’t need to nag me anymore.
Tanner: Good. I’ll have a meatloaf waiting for you at home tonight.
I stroll into my office with a dopey smile on my face. It’s not a corner office, but it’s one of the biggest on the floor. During one late night trying to brainstorm a pitch, I measured the other offices. Not my proudest moment, but sleep deprivation and stress will do that to a guy.
I read through my emails and look over some new taglines that my team came up with for Brenner’s Mustard and their new spicy mustard.
“Hey,” Kyle says, doing his annoying knock on my door. It’s up there with the sound of drilling into a tooth, which is appropriate since dealing with him is as joyful as a trip to the dentist.
Kyle exudes golden-boy energy that’s totally unearned.
He only got this job because his dad was one of the agency’s founders.
Even though his dad retired years ago, Kyle’s still here—still thinking he owns the place, still acting like the little kid who used to ride his tricycle around the office and bother everyone with his ideas.
We’re both associate creative directors.
I got my position through tirelessly climbing the ladder over fifteen years; Kyle got his because of the right DNA.
“Kyle. What’s up?” I ask with the minimal acceptable amount of pleasantness.
“How are things going with Brenner’s? I heard a rumor that your team had to redo everything. They weren’t happy with anything you presented.” He curves his lips down into an exaggerated frown.
“It happens from time to time. Well, for you, it’s a regular occurrence from the rumors I hear.” I flash the same exaggerated frown at him. “I appreciate your concern. You can run along now, nepo baby.”
“Ouch. I haven’t heard that one before.” His chuckle sounds like a dog throwing up, but less pleasant.
I look up, and his dumb face is still in my doorway.
“What?” I keep my eyes glued to my computer in the hopes he’ll run along soon.
“You want to hear another rumor going around?” Kyle asks.
“If it’s the one about you catching gonorrhea on a Disney Cruise, I’ve already heard it.”
“It was a staph infection, and it was pretty serious.” He drops his ugly smile.
My junior copywriter Craig comes in—at six foot five, he should be in the NBA in my opinion— and lets me know Stan, the agency’s creative director, is calling a meeting for everyone.
“Everyone?” I ask.
“Everyone,” he confirms.
“I wonder what it could be…” Kyle flits away from the door, his knowing grin only adding to my anxiety.
Stan doesn’t do a lot of meetings. He’s generally busy with older clients and long-standing accounts. So why talk to the whole office?
“Do we know what this is about?” I say to Craig under my breath. I have to stand on my tiptoes so he can hear; I almost trip over a wastebasket.
“I heard a rumor.” He flings his pretty boy hair out of his eyes.
“What’s the rumor?” I ask. Being out of the loop is new for me.
“Stan’s retiring,” Craig whispers back just as we reach the traffic jam to enter the conference room.
Holy shit. A huge pit plops in my stomach.
I signal for Craig to zip it so others don’t hear us talking, especially Kyle in front of me. He doesn’t hold the door open for either of us. Typical.
The room’s walls are filled with framed pictures of past ad campaigns, for cereal and travel agencies and fax machines.
Petty/Marsh has managed to remain relevant for over forty years.
I could’ve tried to get in with a bigger agency in Manhattan, but working my way up at a boutique outfit has let me get more experience.
Managers and above sit around the conference table, with assistants and junior employees taking the seats around the perimeter.
At the head of the table is Stan Beecham, in his navy blue suit, wearing his trademark bow tie.
He liked impressing people at parties by showing them how to tie one because most have no idea how.
His black skin pops against his light blue dress shirt, and the white of his tight curls gives him a regal quality.
“Yes, happy Friday to you all,” Stan says.
“In advertising, brevity is key. We only have six seconds to grab the consumer’s attention.
So I’m going to cut to the chase. I’ve worked here for twenty-five years, been creative director for nine of those, trying to fill the hole left by the great Drake Petty.
” Stan nods at Kyle, who makes a heart with his hands.
Barf.
“It’s been a great ride, but I’ve decided to pack up my spurs and go. I promised my wife I would retire, and I have to keep that promise.”
Nobody gasps out loud, but you can feel a collective shift in the room at the news. It’s the end of an era. I have Craig sit on the opposite wall as me so we can slyly communicate during these meetings. He and I both have the same stunned look. This is real shit.
“Now, you’re probably wondering who will be my successor,” Stan continues.
“Well, I’m not leaving until the end of the year, so I’ll be using these next few months to look at candidates in-house, and also some external candidates, and see who would be the best fit.
Because being creative director—it’s tough.
You’re running a whole agency. You’re interfacing with clients and their needs.
But I know one of you can handle it. There are already a few at the top of my list.”
His eyes find me in a split-second glance.
After bouncing around in my twenties, not knowing what I wanted to do with my life, and getting no guidance from my parents, Petty/Marsh, and Stan in particular, became a home to me.
They were the place where I learned to be a functioning adult.
I love it here. I want to stay here. I know I can lead here. This is what I’ve been working for.
Some people say it’s bad to only care about your job, to be job-obsessed. I disagree. The satisfaction that comes from work is unparalleled. I rub my finger absentmindedly, surprised to find myself looking for a ring to swirl. I left that wedding ring on all weekend by accident. Big mistake.
“Since we’re all here, let’s take a few minutes to go around and give a quick update on your different clients—who you’re working with.
Des, you go first. How’s Brenner’s?” Stan spends some of his time teaching marketing and advertising at a local college, and he’s become fond of calling on us as if we’re his students.
You always have to be prepared in a meeting with Stan Beecham.
“We’re presenting new creative to them today.
In it, we’re playing up the excitement that spicy mustard can bring to a regular sandwich.
We’re transforming the way people think about lunch.
” Sometimes, I hear myself talk and have to laugh.
Am I selling mustard or helping to elect the president of the United States?
Stan tepees his fingers together and nods with utmost seriousness.
“Send me what you have after this meeting. I want to look it over. I wonder if we should be thinking less about transformation and more about a fun moment in the day? Transformation sounds very serious. Adding a little twist to your sandwich won’t change your life, but it’s… ”
“Something different to look forward to.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll work with my team to tweak some of the messaging.
” Stan may be getting up there in years, but he’s still a fountain of wisdom.
He has this innate ability to understand what people want.
I’m grateful for the opportunity to have worked under him all these years, and I feel confident I can take the mantle.
“Well, my team and I have a lot cooking,” Kyle interjects, never one to let a moment exist without him.
He used to see me as an annoyance, until he realized I was the real deal.
“Ardmore Expedition Stores has been so enamored with our work that they’re considering…
” Kyle pauses for effect. Damn it, even I lean forward in my seat, intrigued.
“Advertising in the Super Bowl. And they’d want us to make the commercial. ”
Stan’s mouth falls open, while the rest of his face beams. The conference room lights up with excitement. “We’ve never done a commercial for the Super Bowl. One hundred million people seeing our work.”
“More than that. The right commercial can go viral. We might be looking at billions. Quite a spotlight for Petty/Marsh,” Kyle says.
I grumble while keeping a polite smile on my face, something I’ve mastered through years of listening to scathing client feedback.
“Great work, Kyle,” Stan says.
“Ardmore has been so impressed with our work that they want to expand their advertising, and what better way than the Super Bowl?” Kyle flips a pen in his hand. The joy radiating off him turns up the panic in my chest.
“That’s awesome,” I say, and before I can think it through, the words keep coming out. “I also have some exciting news. I’m going to make Silq Cosmetics a Petty/Marsh client.”
That quiets everyone and pulls focus back to me.
“No you’re not,” Kyle shoots back.
“They’re unhappy with their current creative. They’re about to put their agency into review.” I silently thank Maya. For the great sex and possibly saving my career.
That elicits actual gasps around the room. Stan, a man with a great poker face, can’t help but raise his eyebrows. Even Kyle has a flash of shock.
“Really?” Stan asks. “They just hit the Fortune 500 list. Some people think they could eclipse Revlon soon.”
“If they have the right creative,” I say, keeping cool. “We should be getting their RFP next week.”