A Winter Dream

Chapter


Twelve


Time exposes all secrets.

Joseph Jacobson’s Diary





The team worked until a little after eleven preparing different treatments for the various media. It was a long day, but still about seven hours less than everyone had planned on.

As I walked home from the ‘L’ station I passed by Mr. G’s Diner. The sign was off and the place dark. I pressed my forehead against the glass and cupped my hands around my eyes to look inside. There was a blond woman standing behind the counter. It wasn’t April and I think I scared her. I was really hoping that April would be there. I wanted to tell someone about my coup. The truth is, I really wanted to tell my dad. He would have been proud. The thought of him filled me with loneliness. I walked home to my cold apartment and went to bed.



When I arrived at work the next morning, Timothy was already in his office, looking at his computer screen. His door was open and I rapped on his doorframe.

“J.J.,” he said, looking over. “Come in. I was just about to call you.”

I stepped inside. “What’s up?”

“I want you to pitch your idea to Potts with me.”

“Be happy to.”

“Good. I think they’re going to like it.” He looked up at his clock, a giant Swatch mounted to the wall. “Let’s check on Potts.”

He lifted the receiver to his ear. “Kim, would you tell Peter we’re ready? Sure.” He held nearly a minute before saying, “Thank you.” He set the phone back in its cradle. “He’s ready.” Timothy gathered up the papers we’d prepared the night before, slipping them into a paper file. “Let’s ‘wow’ him.”

Kim looked up as we neared Potts’s office. “Just go on in.”

“Thanks, Kim,” Timothy said.

Potts looked angry and tired, like he hadn’t slept. I think he was also surprised to see me. As we sat down, he said, “What have you got?”

Timothy said, “You wanted something colloquial, but credible, catchy—”

“Just show me,” he said irritably.

“All right.” Timothy stood, lifting a sheet. “Only one bank understands all your financial needs. BankOne. Friendly clerks? You can bank on it. Low fees? You can bank on it. Federally insured? Bank on it. BankOne. Bank on it.”

Potts sat motionless as he digested the concept, then he held out his hand, gesturing for the pages. “Let me see,” he said.

Timothy handed him the layouts and Potts shuffled through them.

“Bank on it,” he said. He looked up. “Who came up with this?”

“J.J.”

He looked at me without expression. “Okay, let’s see if they salute.”

We walked out of the office. “I can’t read him,” I said.

“You could have if he didn’t like it,” Timothy said.



A little after noon Timothy took me to lunch at a pizza restaurant a half mile from the agency, called Uno.

“You always walk this far for lunch?” I asked.

“No. I usually eat at my desk. But since you’re new, and we’re almost celebrating, you had to try Uno. This is where the first deep-dish pizza was baked. The guy who invented it was named Ike Sewell. That’s his name there,” he said, pointing out the window to a street sign. We were at the corner of Ohio and Wabash, but the city had put up a sign that said IKE SEWELL BLVD.

“He never even called it Chicago-style pizza—people called it that after they copied him and took it outside the city. Another testament to the power of a good idea.”

After we’d been served, I asked Timothy, “How well do you know my brother?”

“Not too well,” he said. “But he obviously made an impression. He was one of the few sane ones on that Sears account.” He looked at me. “You flinched when I mentioned his name yesterday. Bad blood?”

“He forced me out of the agency.”

Timothy pursed his lips. “That would explain why he was so eager for me to bring you on.” He took a bite of his pizza. “I can see why.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a rising star. He’s got to feel threatened. Self-preservation and ego are a powerful combination.”

I took a drink of my Pepsi. “Unfortunately, my father didn’t make the situation any easier. I was his favorite and he didn’t care who knew.”

“I know that pain from the other side. My younger brother was a high school football star. State quarterback no less. Made my life hell. I was the guy who won the school spelling bee.

“When I told my father I wanted to go into advertising, he told me to get a real job. Today, I’ve won more than a dozen national awards, my work is seen by millions, and I’m moving billions of dollars of products each year while my quarterback brother does magic shows for kid parties and works as the night manager of a 7-Eleven.

“Not that any of that matters to my father. When we’re together at holidays, my father still wants to relive my brother’s glory days. It’s pathetic, really. He can’t even comprehend what I do. All he knows about advertising is what he learned from Darrin Stephens and Larry Tate on Bewitched.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” he replied. “My life is golden. Stressed, but golden. I feel sorry for my brother. That’s quiet desperation for you, knowing your best days are behind you. Imagine, peaking in high school.” He looked down at my plate. “Good stuff, isn’t it? Real deep-dish pizza. Nothing better.”

I nodded. “We had a Chicago-style pizza place in Denver.”

He shook his head. “There’s something wrong about that.”

We both went back to eating. After a few minutes Timothy said, “I think you’re going to do well here. Who knows? Maybe your brother did you a favor.”

“Time will tell.”

Timothy nodded. “Time is a snitch.” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a napkin, then put them back on. “Do you know anyone in Chicago?”

“Other than you and Leonard? No.”

“If you need anything, just call. What’s your cell number.”

“I don’t have a phone,” I said. “I had to leave it behind. I was going to pick one up yesterday after work, but that didn’t happen.”

Timothy said, “There’s a Verizon store just over on Michigan Avenue. I could write down directions if you want.”

“Thanks.” I suddenly smiled. “Actually, I do know someone. I met a woman over at a diner near my apartment. She offered to show me around town.”

“That sounds promising,” he said.

“She was really . . . kind. And beautiful.”

“Where do you live?”

“In the Polish area, near Jefferson Park.”

“I’ve been there. Those Polish women. They say that the Polish women are the most beautiful in Europe, and, even better, they don’t know it.”

“I don’t think she’s Polish,” I said.

“Well, good luck anyway.” Timothy glanced down at his watch. “It’s almost one-thirty. The jury should be through deliberating. Let’s go check the verdict.”

“Nervous?” I asked.

He nodded. “I was born nervous.”

A brisk wind blew down Wabash as we made the hike back to the agency.

“Is it always this cold?” I asked.

“Lake effect,” Timothy said. “Cuts to the bone.”

It took us fifteen minutes to make it back to the Leo Burnett Building. Kate approached us as we stepped out of the elevator. She looked frantic. “Any word?”

“I don’t know. We just got back from lunch,” Timothy said.

“Where’d you go?” she asked.

“Uno.”

She nodded, then turned to me. “Did you love it?”

“What’s not to love?” I said.

“You said it.” She turned back to Timothy. “Potts has been on the phone since he got back.”

“Are you spying on him?” Timothy asked.

“Of course I am.”

Timothy leaned forward and whispered to her, “I’ll let you know.”

We walked back to our desks. I was just settling into my cubicle when my phone rang. “Potts wants to see us,” Timothy said.



Timothy tilted his head at Kim and she nodded. Timothy smiled. I took this as a good omen, though seeing Potts’s face put doubts back in my mind. He still looked angry. He was leaning back in his chair, glaring at us. We sat down before he asked us to.

“They liked it, didn’t they?” Timothy said.

Without smiling, Potts said, “They loved it.”

“I knew they would,” Timothy said.

“They still need to focus-test,” he said.

“Bring it on.”

“What were their comments?” I asked.

Potts’s gaze focused on Timothy. “They said, ‘Next time bring us the good stuff first.’ ” He looked us over. “Now get out of here. You’ve got work to do.”

We both got up to leave.

“Jacobson, you stay.”

I glanced at Timothy. He raised his eyebrows then walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Potts gazed at me for a moment. “Sit.”

“Yes, sir.” I sat back down.

“So that was your concept.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You pulled that off pretty fast.”

“I come from a small firm. We rarely had the luxury of time.”

“As it should be. Some of our people have lost that mentality. Production takes time, but a great idea can come in a millisecond. Where are you from?”

“A small Denver agency. Jacobson.”

“Jacobson. That’s your last name.”

“My father was the founder.”

“Family business,” he said. “Why did you leave?”

I thought over how much I wanted to tell him. “The pond was too small.”

“I understand,” he said. “Big fish need room to swim. Did you have any management experience at Jacobson?”

“Some. It was a small firm, but I was over two other copywriters.”

“Good. Because I’m putting you over the BankOne creative team. I want you to inspire them. Right after I fire Leonard.”