The men suspended their conversation for the eight minutes it took to answer all the questions for Round 4. Camden turned in their answer sheet while Reece pigged out on the plate of cheese fries the waitress recently delivered. He didn’t mean to. It’s just that the more he thought about his past relationships, the more nervous he became at the prospect of spending the rest of his life alone because he didn’t know how to pick them. He shoved a cheese fry in his mouth. Perhaps Camden was right: he went after fixer-up women. (Gulp of beer.) Why? Why did he go after the ones with great big issues? (A clump of cheese fries stuck together by a mass of coagulated cheddar. He opened wide.) God. What the fuck is wrong with me? he thought. (Another long swig of beer. Two more cheese fries.) Can men get cellulite? he wondered as he licked his finger and dabbed it all around the plate, picking up stray bacon bits. Oh, Jesus, I’m gonna get cellulite, he thought, sucking the bacon from his forefinger.
“Dude,” Camden said. “You’re, like, desperate eating over here. That’s what chicks do.”
“This is my dinner!” Reece barked. “Leave me alone!”
Camden’s eyes went wide. He sank into his chair slowly. “Okay, man. It’s cool. You can eat as fast as you want.”
Reece buried his face in his hands.
“Aren’t your fingers greasy?” Camden noted.
Reece snapped his head up. “Oh, shit. Oh, that’s gross.” He picked up his napkin.
“Don’t do that,” Camden chuckled.
Reece held up the napkin, grease-stained circles dotting the paper square. He looked at his friend.
“I was about to wipe my face with this,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“I was about to put this shit on my face.”
Camden bit his lip to suppress the grin. “You’re tired, Reece. You think we oughta call it a night?”
“There’s something wrong with me,” Reece went on. “You’re right. I go after freaks. What am I thinking entertaining the idea of pursuing this girl? I know she’s OCD. No one looks that put together all the time. No one’s desk at work stays in a state of orderliness. All. Day. Long. You hear what I’m sayin’ to you? I’m talking all day. It’s not right. It’s not human. There’s something wrong with her.”
Camden nodded. It was a sympathetic nod mixed with “I told you so.”
Reece threw up his hands. “I’m done! Interest? Killed. Obsession? Over.”
“What about this game?” Camden asked.
“Not over,” Reece replied, and he tried his hardest to concentrate on the remaining rounds. The problem was that he saw a swinging ponytail in the distance and was distracted all over again.
***
“Did you see it?!” Christopher cried.
Reece grinned. “Yeah. I saw it.”
“What do you think about the final product?”
“I thought it couldn’t have been better. I think the commercial is awesome.”
“What did you think about how they dressed the mom model?” Christopher asked.
Reece chuckled. It wasn’t exactly his vision, but it worked. She was still in the business suit he wanted, but Haute Digital thought a high-fashion business suit would translate better—sharp angles and ruffles in weird places. Not your average everyday woman’s suit.
“Dude! Check this out.” Christopher slid Technology Now, the most popular tech magazine, across the table. “Read that.”
Reece held up the magazine and cleared his throat. “‘Haute Digital—a leading innovator in the phone/computer hybrid—tried a “fashionable” approach to marketing its newest phablet. Merging runway, couture, supermom, and a clever tagline (it’s “phablous,” people), the company left the competition in the creative dust thanks to the vision of Reece Powell at Beach Elite Marketing Firm in Wilmington, NC. A boutique firm specializing in both small and mid-level accounts hit the jackpot when it partnered with the multi-billion dollar phone company. And it looks to be a business relationship that will continue.
‘The vision for a phone that has, up until recently, fared poorly with female businesswomen on account of its size has seen a surge in sales among working women. The sales for businessmen are through the roof, and that makes Haute Digital very happy’ . . .”
Reece’s voice faded as he read the rest of the article silently. When he finished, he looked at his friend. “They said my name,” he breathed.
Christopher nodded and did a little shoulder-pump dance. “Yeah, they did.”
“This magazine is read by, like, every techy and tech company in the world,” Reece went on.
“Reece, man, you don’t get it. This magazine never highlights marketing campaigns. That’s what a marketing magazine does. But they featured us—you! That’s freaking huge!”
Reece processed this. It was true. Technology Now focused on technology, not marketing. Why would they feature an article about marketing? Was the campaign that good?
“Yous about to be a superstar,” Christopher went on playfully.
“I just put her on the runway and made her say ‘fablous.’ That’s it,” Reece said. He felt the numbing shock creep through his fingers. They tingled, and then each digit seemed to dissolve. He smacked his hands on the table, trying to bring his hands back to life.
“Man, don’t downplay. Never downplay. People like this commercial. People like what you did. Haute Digital loves what you did. Be proud of yourself,” Christopher replied.
Reece nodded. “Well, don’t discount yourself. You storyboarded the entire commercial.”
“Oh, I’m not discounting what I did,” Christopher said. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll eat up every compliment and freebie that comes my way.”
Reece laughed. “Freebie?”
“Yeah, like if someone wanna take me to lunch.”
“Is that usually how it works in marketing? You storyboard a popular commercial and then get free lunch?”
“Lunch, booty, whatever.”
Reece howled with laughter.
“We are celebrating tonight!” Christopher shouted.
“Where?”
“I’m gonna take you downtown, my friend. Show you all the bars Wilmington has to offer. We’ll start off low key at The Blue Post, right? Maybe shoot some pool. Then we’ll mosey on over to The Reel Café and get our dance on—”
“I like that place,” Reece interjected, thinking of Bailey dancing.
Christopher continued, “Then maybe we take it up a notch and hit up Level 5.”
“What’s that?”
“Another rooftop bar.”
“Sounds like a plan. Sounds like I’ll be hurting the next day,” Reece said.
“And we’re gonna find us some honeys to hang with. Now that you’re a small celebrity—”
“In the tech world, Chris. No one cares about that. And anyway, what am I saying? I’m not a small celebrity.”
“You are!” Christopher argued. “And all you gotta say is ‘commercial,’ and they be like, ‘Oooo, what commercial? You worked on a commercial?’ and wanna sit in your lap.”