Chapter 2
‘Finn Montgomery,’ my boss at Brands to the Rescue says pointing to the name on the screen that takes up most of the wall in his office.
‘Who?’ I ask. I may be wearing my ‘normal’ costume, but my mind is still preoccupied with getting a phone call from my agent. I straighten my spine and try to shift gears.
‘We just closed a deal with a blue-chip gallery,’ Robert says as he fiddles with the monitor. ‘Big players in the art world. They’re looking to get some more buzz for one of their artists. I thought Finn Montgomery would be perfect for you.’
‘What about Surentox?’ My job involves developing media campaigns for individuals or businesses seeking to establish or transform their brand. All summer, I’ve been working with a pain medication that causes hives, intestinal dysfunction, and vomiting in addition to treating migraines. I’m writing profiles of Surentox users who have had their lives changed by the drug despite the scratching and frequent trips to the bathroom. I was hoping Surentox would be my last campaign before the publishing world took a chance on me, writing under my own name for once. I don’t want to start on a new campaign for some pretentious art gallery.
‘Sam, you’ve done great work there. When people hear Surentox, they no longer think of explosive diarrhea. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure,’ I say.
‘But I need you on the Carlos Wong Gallery and Finn Montgomery. He’s an up-and-coming artist.’ Robert begins to click through the deck. ‘His last project was a series of portraits of queer people in New Orleans.’ The first shot is a striking photo of two people embracing. One is bald with full rainbow-glitter painted lips, and the other has a beard, a top hat, and a sign that says, One Month and Ten Days . The next photo has a similar structure but this one is a solo queer-presenting person with a sign that says, Twenty Hours . He shows me a few more, and each time he clicks, I want to stop him and tell him to go back. The photos are mesmerizing. They incorporate text, images, and some colorful abstract elements in a complicated but harmonious collage. I want to spend more time with each one and try to understand what exactly is going on and who these people are. Each photo makes me want to jump inside and understand it. But before I can do that, Robert clicks to the final slide.
Gorgeous hazel eyes and a warm, laughing smile emanate from the image. The guy appears to be in his twenties and he’s holding a 35mm camera with a strap around his neck. He’s outside somewhere in the South with those trees that grow in the water. There isn’t a sign like in the other images. In a brooding artist sort of way, he’s handsome as hell, but he’s precisely the kind of guy I don’t want to be working with at my day job. I’ve met more than my share of self-involved artists and they only lead to trouble.
‘This is Finn,’ Robert says, letting the presentation come to a full stop. ‘His work has a social justice angle. The gallery director thinks he can become the next big thing, but he needs to get out there more. Connect with his audience and not just the art world. Get the right kind of coverage. Take him to the next level. He was just on Art Today ’s “Thirty Under Thirty” list.’ I hate those lists, and not just because I’m past the eligibility age. They make no sense and are just the product of some weird editorial decision or, worse, the influence of people like me. Still, it’s an impressive credential.
‘One issue,’ Robert says. I’m listening, but I can’t help staring at the image of Finn still on the screen behind him. ‘He hates promotion. He’s a little obsessed with work according to the people at the gallery. I thought you’d be the best person to convince him since you’re both, you know…’ Robert struggles for the word. ‘Queer? Is it queer now? I always forget. Are you gay or queer? Both? Maybe?’ I roll my eyes without trying to hide it. Sounds like someone missed the required training on respecting diversity. I don’t answer him and let the awkward silence go on.
‘Sam, this is an important client for us.’ He looks from side to side as if someone might be eavesdropping. ‘Not to put any pressure on you but we’re hiring a new full-time position in January. I could see you going from part-time Brand Associate to full-time Senior Brand Manager.’
Full-time Senior Brand Manager? Why doesn’t Robert just come over and beat me with his laptop and tell me I’m a failure. There is nothing wrong with being a full-time Senior Brand Manager. It would be an amazing job. Thousands of people spend years working toward this very goal. It’s just that it was never my goal. It was just something to do until my writing took off.
‘Isn’t that something you’d be interested in?’ Robert asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. I can’t tell him how I really feel.
‘Think about it and we can chat later.’
The intercom buzzes and a voice says, ‘Robert. I have Mr Montgomery here for his appointment.’
‘Great. Please ask him to wait in Conference Room A. I’m finishing up with Sam and will send him over.’
‘He’s here? Now?’ I ask. I was hoping I would have some time to come up with reasons why I’m not right for the project but instead I walk with Robert out of his office and down the hall to meet Finn.
‘He was in the area and wanted to do a vibe check,’ Robert says as we walk. ‘Just say hello and tell him about all the good work we do. He’s not expecting any kind of formal presentation.’
We walk into the conference room and Finn is looking out the window with his back to us. Some guys are so sexy you can tell they’re hot from the back and not just because they look great in tight jeans. This guy has a presence that I can sense before he even turns around. I was impressed by the picture of him I saw only a few minutes ago but being in the same room as Finn makes it clear he’s someone with tremendous charisma.
He turns around and as I suspected he’s even more handsome than he was in the photo. Finn is wearing a pair of black denim skinny jeans and a V-neck T-shirt that shows off a curated collection of necklaces that sit on top of the small nest of chest hair seductively peeking out the sides of the collar of his shirt. The thick sunglasses on top of his head keep his dark blond hair with natural streaks of lighter blond off his face and he has the same camera at his side. If you were going to make an emoji for a hip, edgy artist you could use this guy as a model. In sharp contrast I could be a catalog model for the terminally dull in my Brands uniform of khaki pants and boring shirt.
Robert introduces me to Finn and tells us both how excited he is about the project and heads out of the room to what I am sure is a much more important meeting. I’m finding it hard not to stare at Finn’s hazel eyes, but I remind myself this is work, and I need to keep a professional distance.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ I keep my voice level and calm.
‘That’s okay. I was early. I could look at this for hours.’
His gaze is fixed on the view from the over-sized windows. We are about as far south as you can get in Manhattan and on the fifty-second floor. It’s something I try not to think about when I’m in the office. I’m not sure anyone is meant to be emailing press materials at this altitude. ‘I’d forgotten how spectacular the view is. I’ve seen it so often that I’ve just taken it for granted.’
On one side of us, the Brooklyn Bridge feels close enough that you could touch it, and on the other, sunlight reflects off the Hudson River, turning the ripples in the water into shimmering diamonds. Manhattan lies before us like it’s something a person could contain and not the all-encompassing organism it is from the ground. I’d forgotten how it felt to take in this view and be in awe. I take a second to stand next to Finn and soak it up.
‘Is this your first time in New York?’ I ask.
‘Just moved up about a week ago. Everyone up here says I talk funny.’ He has the slightest hint of a Southern accent but it’s not enough to make me think he popped out of an Anne Rice novel. There’s a deep but playful honeyed-whiskey quality to his voice that fills the room.
‘Where’s home?’ I ask.
‘It’s wherever I’m working. I grew up in Texas and Louisiana. Went to art school in California. Had a photo studio in Miami for a few years. Just finished a project in New Orleans and now I’m here. Sort of a Southern Fried Nomad. How ’bout you?’
Instinctively I stretch my arm across my body and point. ‘There.’
‘You grew up in the river?’ he asks. He lays on the accent, making his playful question even more light-hearted.
‘No, the other side. New Jersey.’
‘Wow. As in fuhgeddaboudit ?’ he asks with the worst Tony Soprano impersonation I’ve ever heard.
‘Just on the other side of the GW Bridge.’ I nod.
‘That’s amazing. I loved N’awleans and Miami is a pretty big city but it’s nothing like this place. New York is a lot. Carlos thinks this is the place for me to be right now, and I had an idea for a project, so here I am.’
‘Robert agrees with Carlos. He thinks Brands can really help you get more recognition for your work.’
He turns from the window and shrugs. ‘I don’t really care about recognition. I want to tell people’s stories, and I want to bring them to as many people as possible. To have an audience. That’s all I care about really.’ He looks at me with those penetrating eyes and asks, ‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a Brand Associate. I work with clients to establish a desirable brand. I’m part-time but I work with all the full-time people if you’re worried about that.’
‘I mean, what do you do? Robert said you were a painter.’ He squints, maybe trying to imagine me holding a messy palette of watercolors.
‘I’m not.’ Why would Robert say that? Maybe he was trying to woo the client. I’m not sure I can expect people to think of me as a writer when I struggle to use the description myself.
‘I didn’t think so.’ Finn shakes his head and his hair falls in front of his face.
‘Oh?’ My voice rises at the end. His assumption annoys me. It’s correct, but still, I find it irritating.
‘I know a lot of painters. You do not give painter vibes.’ He looks me up and down and pushes his bangs back behind his ear. ‘You’re a writer I bet.’ He stares right at me and I quickly move my eyes away from his.
‘I’m a Brand Associate. I write the material that goes along with the branding.’ Two minutes with this guy and he’s sticking a needle in my deepest wound. I’ve written multiple books for Justine Jasmine as her ghostwriter and she’s a best-selling author. Countless words for clients at work. I have a degree in creative writing and graduated with honors but I still don’t think of myself as a writer. My best friend Omar thinks I have imposter syndrome, but every time he brings it up, I point out that you need to have actually had success to think you are an imposter. I’m just your garden variety nobody. I quickly change the subject.
‘I saw a few of your images and they’re extraordinary.’ I’m not just flattering him. They’ve been in my mind since I saw them. ‘Robert showed me a series from New Orleans. The people are holding signs with days or weeks… what do they mean?’
Finn looks off to the side for a second and puts a finger on his chin. ‘Everyone thinks being out is so easy now because you can buy a rainbow flag at a big box store, but the fact is, it’s still hard for people to be who they want to be out in the world. Those signs are how long it’s been since the last time they were harassed or in some cases violently attacked for who they are.’
The images alone were very powerful but hearing Finn’s explanation takes this to a new level. He’s right. We think the world has become so much more tolerant, and maybe it has, but that doesn’t mean that every day people aren’t hurt for being who they are.
My mom is always telling me I don’t do enough social justice work but I tell her she does enough for both of us. I think I do my part but when I hear Finn talk about his work I realize there is more I could do, more I should do. I think about the one image I saw and the length of time was something like twenty hours. It must have been a day after an attack.
‘It’s painful to know how dangerous it is out in the world for queer people,’ I say and turn to look at him. ‘That’s why you need me.’ When Robert first presented this campaign a short while ago I didn’t want to work on it at all, but after seeing his photographs and hearing his incredible explanation, I can’t help wanting to be the person that helps get the message out.
‘I need you, do I?’ He tilts his head to the side. I can tell I’ve gotten his attention.
‘Yes.’ I nod my head. ‘Your work is deeply personal and incredibly important. But I’m sure generating publicity for it feels… wrong.’
‘That’s exactly what I told Carlos. I’m not comfortable selling myself.’ Finn stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor.
‘I’m not going to do that. I wouldn’t.’ I try to make eye contact by turning my head to meet his gaze. ‘I want to amplify your work. We have the same goal – to make people aware of the issues. I want to help you tell the story.’
He doesn’t respond immediately. He turns away from me and looks out the window again, and I give him a moment to think about what I just said to him. He turns back and smiles. ‘You aren’t what I expected,’ he says with a laugh in his voice. ‘I told Carlos I’d have an open mind because he’s been good to me and I want to help the gallery, but I was sure I’d turn down whoever I met. A lot of these corporate types don’t understand how important a story can be. How powerful it is. But I think you do, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I say softly. I can barely squeak out the word. I feel a tug in my heart and a little voice reminds me I want to tell my own stories just the way Finn is through his work. I want to write stories that make people feel the way I felt growing up and getting lost in wonderful old classic Hollywood films with fabulous locations and characters that fell in love despite trying their hardest not to. That’s why this summer has been so painful watching doors close, one after another.
But then I catch Finn looking at me the way he might study a subject through his lens and I snap back to the moment. ‘I thought so,’ he says and a wide grin spreads across his face. He grabs his camera from the table and puts the strap over his shoulder. ‘So how does this work? Do I call you or do you call me?’ He’s made a decision.
I explain some of the logistics and we make a plan to meet next week. We say goodbye and he starts to walk away but turns back before he’s out the door. He looks at me and then gazes out the windows once more to take in the magnificent view before he leaves.
Then I become aware of something happening below my waist. It’s not a stirring in my loins, although that’s not out of the question. My phone buzzes with an alert. This must be it. The call from my agent. I dig my hand into my pocket, but before I look at my phone, I take a few seconds to look out the window and enjoy the view.