STRESSING
I hate it. I hate the whole campaign that I worked so hard to develop. I hate seeing it up there on the screen. It's not going to work. A deep, gnawing, painful panic starts clawing at my gut. Cynthia, who just got in town, and Ted, are both squeeing about how good it is and how clever and how unique. I glare at them.
"Shut up," I finally growl and they do. "It sucks."
They stare at me. I throw a green apple from the Steuben glass bowl at the wall and it lands with a sploosh and a thud, sliming it's way down to the carpet. "That's mature," Theodore complains and I cut him a glare that shrivels his nuts. Off goes my jacket as I start to pace. In 24-hours, I meet Greene for dinner. He will ask me about my ideas. I will tell him I have none. Well, there goes the millions.
"I can't pitch this drivel," I walk over to my Powerbook and start trolling the Birken files. Where is that little germ of an idea before I went all corporate on myself? Not that I have time to film it or even board it or even conceptualize it. No way. No time. But when I thought of it, it cracked me up. That's more than I can say about this piece of shit I wasted so much time and money on.
"Brian, there's no time," Theodore uselessly advises me. Cynthia gives him the finger across the throat signal. That means back off. She knows me too well. I chuckle as I read through my script points. That says something. If I can chuckle now while my whole career is in jeopardy, it must have some punch. I call in my front office queen and Adam is instantly by my side.
"Print this file in script format and clean it up. Label the speaker 'lecturer'. Bring it in. Oh, and get me the video camera and an easel and a couple boards showing the Birken car."
"What are you up to?" Cynthia asks and I stare at her.
"Take off your jacket."
She doesn't even ask as she peels off the jacket to her suit. Beneath it is a pale blue silk sleeveless shell. "Now take your hair down."
She does so, shaking out blonde waves. I look at her feet. Stilletos. Good. Now Ted. "Stand up."
He shuffles to his feet, looking nervous. "You're perfect."
He doesn't smile after my compliment. He suspects it's not as it appears and he's right. "You're a perfect nerd, an everyman, completely unthreatening and uninteresting, but not hideous."
"And you're a handsome man and powerful too," he deadpans, but I don't smile.
"I'm going to do a hand held, digital video camera rough tape of my original idea. You two are going to star in it. I want to see if it works in real time. It doesn't matter how rough it is, I'll smooth the final take out with a real crew."
"We're not actors, Brian," Ted reminds me. I grin at him.
"Really? I can finesse all that. All you need to do is speak the lines I'm going to give you, and all you need to do, Cyn, is look hot and indicate the car when you get cued. Are you with me?"
"What lines?" Theodore is so literal.
"They're being printed for chrissakes! And we'll edit them as we go. When you were kids, did anyone have that kind of game where you took these slick plastic shapes and things that would stick to a board and you could move them around and make pictures? I think the board was black."
"Colorforms?" Ted asked. "Weren't they called Colorforms? Something like that?"
"Okay, I need someone to find out what that material is. And whether it can be photoprinted and cut. And the board, too. I want it cheesey but it also has to work."
"Brian, what are you thinking?" Cynthia asks. I shrug.
"I'm thinking I need to do what I do best. Baffle them with bullshit. Think outside the box. Or the boxy car as the case may be. Shock and awe, as the fascists put it."
"We're going to invade Iraq?" Ted asks. I laugh.
"The advertising equivalent of."
Adam comes in. I tell him to make three copies of that rough script and bring us pens to edit as we go. I tell him to check out that colorform thing. To get with creative. Ted and Cynthia exchange a nervous look. "You aren't going to make us kiss, are you?" Ted asks, drawing a wince from Cynthia.
"I don't pay her enough for that," I respond. She giggles.
"Word!"
"Gee thanks," Ted gets all droopy, but I can't deal with his ego. When Adam hands me the copies and the camera, I get them to read through the script as Adam sets up the easel against the blank wall.
"Put in a casting call for a middle aged professorial type, white, maybe a Brit, but very Harvard. And also for a hot chick, young, legs, tits, race and the rest don't matter, but hot does. Need them right away. Like later today or at the latest tomorrow morning. Get the studio set up with our usual film crew." I jot some ideas onto a blank sheet of paper along with some rudimentary drawings. "Give this to creative. This is the colorform thing. They'll know what to do. Tell them white cars, or silver. No red, no black."
Adam leaves with his tasks. He's very reliable. Good choice. Cynthia is giggling at the script. Ted looks confused. "Brian, this is insane," she says and I take that as a compliment.
"I don't get it," Theodore says, compliment number two. Thinking outside the box is alien to Ted.
"Are you sure?" She asks me. "The other approach is far closer to what Birken usually does. It's in their comfort zone. This may win a Cleo, but will it sell a car?"
"We don't have to sell cars, Cynthia. That's their thing. All we have to do is sell them."
"I don't get it," Ted repeats as Cynthia and I meet eyes and reach an understanding.
"It's fucking brilliant," she says, and I smile. It is. I should always trust my first instinct.
"Okay, team, let's shoot a quick take, you can hold the paper and read the lines, Ted, I just want to get a feel for it. The final cut with actors will still be rushed and poor production, but better than this. Come on, Brando, give it to me."
Ted looks like a deer in the headlights, caught in my lens. I start to laugh. This is going to be so good/bad that I may just can the professional actors and go with this absolute parody. I have to stop laughing long enough to film, but when Ted starts to speak, I lose it and then Cynthia starts to giggle. It takes an hour to get this minute and a half bit on tape. I play it back on the flat screen. We all laugh. Even Adam comes in and laughs. Part of it is laughing at Ted. But part of it is....it's brilliant. If there's one thing I can do, it's flog a product. "Can the actors," I say to Adam. "I still want the crew and the studio and the creative, but I'm going with these two for the tape. Ted's complete lack of acting talent is part of the charm, and Cynthia can wear that big fake smile and fumble with the board, perfect."
"Isn't that an equity issue?" Adam rightly points out.
"Not for an internal promo," I explain. "The final ad would require equity actors." The unions take care of their own. I come from a Union family. I know how it goes. As Adam leaves with his new instructions, I clap an arm over Ted's shoulders and exclaim, "I'm going to make you a star!"
"Do we at least get a casting couch episode?" He asks weakly and new laughter explodes all around.