“I know, it’s terrible. Well, she was in our first CrawDaddy Super Bowl commercial, and I was on the shoot. So sure, I knew her from that, a long time ago.
“I know it’s been a little crazy these days, for us. I didn’t plan on it being this way, either. The advertising business is crazy. And where Marterelli is right now is even crazier. Especially with these murders.”
“To say the least,” she says.
“Plus, we need new clients, big time, and that’s on me. So I have to put in these insane hours to try to help give us a shot. To make shit happen—for myself, and for us, too. Which is what I told Linda Kaplan in our interview the other day.
“It’s a great job at Kaplan-Thaler, by the way, one that I really want. One that…we really need.”
“Define need,” she says.
“Fair enough,” I answer, and take another sip of my wine. “Look, my days at Marterelli are numbered. I’m done there. Paul knows I’m looking. It’s time to move on. And this job offers huge financial upside, which is always a good thing.…”
“Of course it is,” she says.
“Yeah, but there’s more to it than that. Which is what I mean about the need thing. So let’s be honest—we need the money. This house is a huge financial burden. And, well, our credit cards are maxed, too. Property taxes are due just around the corner.”
“So is our income tax.…”
“All of it’s piling up, making me nuts, and it’s about to bury us.”
“Define bury us.”
“Oh, baby. I’m just saying that with our debt, and taxes, if I can’t generate some more income, well, worst-case scenario, we might even have to…move…to a less expensive location. And trust me, I don’t want that to happen any more than you do.”
“My God, Tim. I had some sense of all this, but not to this degree. You’re scaring the hell out of me.”
“All I’m saying is we need the higher income this new job will get us. Then we’ll be fine. I want you to count on me, just like always,” I say, which I know by now is wishful thinking.
I set my glass of wine next to the lamp on the side table, kneel down in front of Jean and look into her eyes. “Listen, my love, I will never, ever, put you in a situation that’s not good for you. Not good for both of us.”
How the hell can she buy any of this?
“From the bottom of my heart, you have my word. My commitment.”
But maybe she is. She’s relaxing a bit. Her eyes soften, and with that I take her head in my hands and lean in and plant a loving kiss on her lips, hoping she’ll accept it. She does.
“Why don’t we take this conversation upstairs, you know?” It’s the moment of closeness we’ve needed.
“Okay,” she says. I click off the table lamp, take her hand in mine, and up the stairs we go, with a peek into the kids’ rooms on the way by. Once we’re in our bedroom she takes off her robe, I shed my clothes, and we climb into our king-size bed.
Lights off. And while I’m still trying to figure out what else I can say to reassure my wife of nearly fifteen years, she pulls her nightgown up over her head and offers herself to me with a lingering, loving kiss. The kind of kiss built on a history of marriage and family that’s lost none of its flame or desire.
It’s not sex we have. It’s pure love. Which instead of being good for me, breaks my heart.
I toss and turn a while, half awake.…
Where is all this shit going?
…And finally drift off into a reluctant sleep.
Chapter 31
Another day, another dollar, thanks to Paul, for now. Back at work.
The day of the pitch, and first a quick run-through before Zimmerman and his colleagues from Weight Watchers come to the office and dare us to amaze them. And we’ve got to. We need this business.
I’ve promised Steve some innovative, top-line insights into their business, and we’ll use some of the agency’s work to demonstrate how we’ve successfully addressed similar challenges for other clients. Weight Watchers has had, like, six agencies in the last ten years. Nobody can get it right, at least that’s what they think. But we can. I’m sure of it—with groundbreaking work that produces results.
That’s what a lot of agencies lose sight of—the work has to work! If it doesn’t sell the brand, or something relevant—it’s a waste of the client’s money.
I’m up in my cubicle, grabbing some stuff I need for the rehearsal, when I get a text from Barb Lundquist:
Congratulations! You’ve got the job! Linda loves you! Call to discuss details.
Yes!!! In the middle of all this chaos, all this horror happening around us, this lights me up!
Will do!! I text back, then head downstairs to the third floor and walk over to the meeting room. I’ve got our heavy hitters set up to participate in this one: Chris Berardo, our top creative guy—overlooking his bullshit from the other day; David Gebben, the copywriter; Bill Kelly, our best art director.
I’m taking the lead, as usual, and Bonnie Jo is set to partner with me on this one. So far everybody’s here except her.
Guess the smile on my face is obvious, because this is what I hear from Chris: “Tim, what the hell you so happy about all of a sudden?”
“Something personal, but thanks for asking. I’ll let Paul know we’re ready for the run-through,” and I head over to his office while they set up.
I rap a knock on my way in and he looks up. “Paul, I know the timing on this totally sucks, but since our talk yesterday…you need to know.…”
“Know what?”
“I got the job.”
“Wow. Who’s it with, if I might ask?”
“It’s with Linda Kaplan, at Kaplan-Thaler. I’m going in as a partner and president!”
“Well, shit, fabulous! I’m actually happy for you. Seriously. Hate to lose you. You’re irreplaceable. But opportunities don’t come along every day, and when they do, you need to grab on to them.”
“Thanks Paul, you’re the best…I…”
“And now for some more reality, Tim, and I know you’ll understand this: We’re going to need you to leave right away. There’s no sense in you leading the Weight Watchers pitch when you’re on your way out the door. And word travels fast; I don’t want the others seeing you still here, knowing you’re leaving—which they’ll find out soon enough. Even worse when the client finds out, and they will, too. I’m still good for the two weeks’ severance pay, but that’s it.”
“Fair enough, Paul. I understand. Can’t say I blame you.”
“Yeah, well, everything else is coming apart at the seams, this just pours a little more gasoline on the freakin’ fire. Like…an inferno…” which he manages to say with a half smile.
“Needless to say I’ll step in on the new business pitch, although you’re a hard man to replace,” he says, generous to the end. “Tell the guys I’m on my way over.”
“Will do,” and I stand up and shake his hand, which is awkward, and he collapses right there in his chair, head in hands, scratching the hair on his head and rubbing his eyes. He’s actually moaning.
Chapter 32
I’m back in the conference room. “Guys, listen up. Got something to tell you. And this ain’t easy.”