Chapter Twenty-Two Los Angeles
In Century City, the conference room was glass on three sides, and had top floor views of the sprawling city below.
Vivienne took the center seat in a low-cut, black Gucci pantsuit, showcasing her doctor’s stellar work on her third pair of tits that cost more than the assistant’s annual salary. Carmen slid in beside her a second later.
“Bitch, you look like a rich fucking widow,” Carmen said under her breath.
“I am a widow. I married my career.”
“Tragic. At least I tried three times at the last count.”
“My career bought me this Cartier panther ring, Carmen. You keep losing half your net worth marrying those losers.”
“Bitch, I respect the ring. Also, I have no regrets. I loved them all for at least the first year.”
“Mm-hm.”
Vivienne set her Birkin bag on the conference table. Carmen placed her Chanel snakeskin clutch on the table and smiled at the team across from them the way one smiles at a dog who has shit all over her carpet.
Derek Molina, the brand’s CMO, sat his hands flat on the table, poker face was on full display.
Next to him sat Taylor Love, the creative director who had signed off on the unauthorized edit of the commercial. He was much younger than the rest of the room and seemed agitated. His foot moved up and down under the table.
Two attorneys were beyond them. The senior one was Meredith Goss, silver suit, YSL, a partner who was now regretting that she had taken the red eye from JFK to experience this. The junior attorney next to her looked like he might pass out.
Vivienne and Carmen were both practicing lawyers in California so no counsel was needed on their end.
Carmen leaned forward.
“Before we start,” she slid her phone onto the table, “I want to understand what you thought was happening here.”
“The campaign has exceeded projections and we are very happy with the results,” Derek said.
“Mm-hm. Derek. Honey. I didn’t ask about projections. Save your corporate fucking sound bite for your interview with Ad Age that will never happen.”
Meredith Goss stepped in. “Our understanding is that all footage captured during the contracted shoot falls within standard contract verbiage.”
“Meredith.” Carmen didn’t raise her voice.
“I’m going to stop you right there because I like you, and we got drunk together that one time at a legal conference in Vegas.
You remember that night at the Wynn, don’t you?
I don’t want the record to reflect how much of a fucking idiot you’re about to make of yourself for money that is not yours. ”
The junior attorney’s head turned slowly toward Meredith Goss. Meredith held still, reflecting on that day at the Wynn six years ago when Carmen and her sloppily made out after too many Aperol Spritzes at the Encore Beach Club.
Carmen hit play on the screen behind her in the conference room, the last twenty seconds of the commercial played.
Noah and Piper gave each other a look of pure yearning as the bathroom door opened. Carmen paused the clip as silence filled the room.
“You had footage your talent didn’t know was being used,” Carmen said. “You cut it without approval. Then you spent forty fucking eight million dollars on ad buys ensuring everyone in the world saw it. The intent was obviously to extend the narrative.”
“The intent,” Vivienne said, and it was the first time she had spoken, “was to manufacture something you didn’t have access to.”
Her voice was quieter than Carmen’s, which made the room lean forward without knowing it.
Vivienne had grown up on a cattle ranch in Montana and had trained the cattle so this was nothing to her.
The room, full of people who had probably attended some Manhattan prep academy, would not understand any of the things Vivienne had grown up on, and did not know the edge she had on them.
Nobody ever knew she held the cards until they did.
“You built a media buy,” Carmen said, “around something you didn’t control.”
“We believed it fell within usage rights on the original contract,” Derek said.
“No, baby. You hoped it did and it did not. Hope is not a legal framework. Hope is what people do when they have already made the mistake and are waiting to see if anyone catches them,” Vivienne answered.
Silence filled the room as Meredith Goss nervously tapped the heel of her pump. Vivienne watched her tap and smirked, “this bitch in her DSW heels,” she whispered into Carmen’s ear.
“What was the upside?” Carmen said.
Derek hesitated.
“Derek, please answer the question.”
“We create cultural moments that drive purchase, and we felt that the engagement would be strong,” Derek said.
“So by implying a sexual relationship between two men whose private lives you do not have fucking rights to,” Vivienne said, “for the purpose of moving underwear. Is that correct Derek?”
“That isn’t what…”
“Is. That. Correct?”
“Ladies, that’s not how we see it.”
Carmen and Vivienne looked at each other.
“Mm,” Carmen said.
“Mm-hm,” Vivienne said.
“Well these ladies are here for blood.”
Carmen shook her head slightly. “You exposed two franchise quarterbacks to reputational and contractual risk and therefore have invited litigation. You create a public record that suggests an intimate relationship you have no right to suggest. You also, and this is the fun part, fuck up your reputation and lose the ability to shoot anywhere near an athlete, because every agent in this town is watching this situation and all of them talk to me, because everyone loves Vivienne Cross.”
Carmen could barely contain herself after that line.
Derek’s hands slid off the table into his lap.
“If this becomes a consent issue,” Carmen said, “you’re not dealing with the press. You’re dealing with discovery, and discovery, Derek, sugar, is when men like you learn what your own problematic emails sound like when an associate reads them out loud to a jury.”
Meredith Goss said, very quietly, “That’s not how we see it.”
“It doesn’t matter how you see it, Meredith, are you even working today, girl, you are giving us nothing,” Vivienne cut in.
Vivienne’s voice was still in the same register. “You came here in person and I know how much you hate L.A., which means you know your clients really fucked up.”
The room fell silent. Carmen took a sip of her coffee and set it down. “You didn’t lose control,” Carmen said. “You never had it.”
Carmen glanced at Vivienne. Vivienne avoided eye contact with Carmen. Which was a thing they did, and had done for fourteen years across six law firms and two agencies. Carmen was the opener, Vivienne the closer.
Vivienne knew when Carmen was opening because Carmen was always opening. Carmen knew when Vivienne was closing because she would uncross and then recross her legs, like a machete.
Carmen started. “Don’t.”
Vivienne finished it without looking up. “Fuck with us boys.”
Vivienne slid a single sheet of paper across the table. She did not explain it. She did not name the number at the top of it. Derek Molina picked it up and read it. His face drained of color.
He set the sheet down very carefully and cleared his throat.
“We’ll need to take this back.”
“You’ll need to sign it by Friday,” Vivienne said.
“Friday.”
“Friday is what we’re offering. Monday, it becomes public and the number doubles.”
Carmen smiled. It was not exactly a smile, but the look you give when you have destroyed someone. A silent victory.
Vivienne turned toward Meredith.
“Meredith. Your firm is going to bill these gentlemen approximately five million each for what you just failed to do in this room.”
Meredith closed her folder.
“We’re not here to debate intent,” Vivienne said. “We’re here to price the mistake.”
Carmen looked at Derek across the table.
“And you have made it very expensive,” she said.
“One more thing, to the young mute that created this mess, Taylor, is it, if you didn't know already, they’re going to fire you, girlfriend?” Vivienne said with a wink.
They got up from the board room table. “Bye for now,” they said at the same time as they approached the elevator.
***
“Bitch,” Carmen said as they exited the building, “you were THAT bitch today.”
“I had my espresso on an empty stomach.”
“Remind me never to cross you before breakfast.”
“You cross me before breakfast every time you open your mouth.”
“That’s when I bring the croissants. But I keep forgetting you don’t eat.”
Vivienne allowed herself a small smile, which on Vivienne’s face was the equivalent of a stadium laugh. “You killed today, Carmen, but you already know that, and that's the last compliment I’m ever giving you.”
“Well I guess that deserves a thanks,” they both cackled. “So, you know they’re going to try to negotiate it down by Thursday,” Carmen continued. “His CEO will settle at that amount. Want to go to dinner? I’m in an eating mood,” Vivienne said.
“Abso-fucking-lutely. Also, I need a fucking cigarette after that,” Carmen sighed.
“I have a pack of Virginia Slims in my car for moments like this,” Vivienne replied with a laugh.
“Bitch, let’s go smoke. I think we earned lung cancer after today's performance,” Carmen replied.