Better Than This (10 page)

“Success is a relative concept,” I said while I mentally did the maths and figured I’d paid more than three times what I should have for the picture I’d bought.

It was clear that Alice had already drunk a few glasses of wine at the show, and there was a belligerent glitter in her eye. “Oh come on, Nick, don’t be coy. Success isn’t relative to you, it’s measured in dollars and cents.”

“Why don’t we order some food?” Marcus said.

Alice lit a cigarette. “Not yet. I want to hear what Nick has to say. Be honest, you think eleven hundred dollars is nothing.”

“Actually I don’t think that at all.”

She made a face to show she didn’t believe me. The rest of us studied the menu and Marcus asked Alice what she was going to have.

“Just order me anything.” She poured herself another glass of wine as Marcus looked on with faint concern. “It’s all right, you don’t have to worry, I’m not going to get drunk.” She smiled crookedly at me and raised her glass. “Truce.”

“Truce.”

“I’m getting used to the idea that art isn’t painting any more. People buy prints to colour coordinate a room. It’s all billboards and pictures of girls in shampoo ads. Nobody wants to pay for real art. The truth is the money I made tonight is nothing. I could make a lot more doing something else with my life.” She took another drink. “How much does a graphic artist in an advertising agency make, Nick?”

“I don’t know, maybe fifty or sixty thousand,” I said.

“There you go. I made a lousy eleven hundred tonight. I might make ten thousand in a year if I’m lucky, when I could be making five times that. But at least I get paid for doing what I want to do, right? For expressing what I feel.”

“Money isn’t everything,” I said in agreement.

Alice snorted her derision. “Oh please. Spare me the cliche’s. Money shows how we value things and nobody values real art any more. Take that picture you bought tonight. You didn’t really want to pay seven hundred dollars. You didn’t think it was worth it. Admit it. I could see it in your face.”

“I was surprised that’s all.”

“Exactly! And why? How much did you expect to pay for something that I created from nothing? For an original piece of art that took days and weeks of work?”

“I was happy to pay the seven hundred.”

“You paid it. I don’t know if you were happy about it. What I want to know is what you really thought it was worth?”

I spread my hands. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I answered helplessly.

“The truth, or is that asking too much?”

Marcus flashed her a warning look and as Alice reached for the wine bottle again he said, “Maybe you shouldn’t have any more.”

She ignored him. “We’re waiting, Nick.”

“All right. Maybe I was surprised at how much you wanted for the picture. But I paid it didn’t I?”

“Right,” she said triumphantly. “But I wonder why?”

“Because, as I keep telling you all, I like it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine. Whatever you say. I think it’s great that you sold some pictures, and I think we should all have a nice dinner. Nobody ever bought anything from me that I created myself. You should be proud of yourself.”

She looked at me as if I’d told her she was a hypocritical cunt. “The great Nick Weston says I can feel proud of myself, how about that? You’re such an asshole.”

I’d had enough. I knew she was drunk, but I was sick and tired of this. “You know I’d like to know what your problem is, Alice. I bought the picture, I gave you what you asked for it and still that isn’t good enough. What is it? Do you think it’s my fault you don’t make as much money as you think you should? Are you blaming me because the world doesn’t value what you do?”

“Oh, you’d like to think that wouldn’t you, because you have all the answers. But you’re wrong.”

“Am I? I think you’re just bitter. I think you hate it that some people go out into the real world and do what they have to do to make a living and you think you’re somehow better than everyone else and you resent the hell out of the fact the rest of the world doesn’t recognize your talent.”

“Perhaps money doesn’t mean as much to me as it does to you. I don’t deny I think I’m worth more than I get, but that isn’t what’s important to me. Deep down it isn’t what I’m all about. I’d prefer to make the little I do and still be painting the pictures I want to, expressing how I feel, rather than living a life that doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Oh please, don’t give me that suffering for your art crap. It doesn’t suit you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Alice demanded.

We had both raised our voices. Sally and Marcus were watching us with a kind of fascinated horror and I saw all my good intentions going out of the window.

“Forget it,” I said.

Marcus put a tentative hand on Alice’s arm. “Maybe we should g -‘

She shook him off and glared at me. “I want to know what you meant by that remark.”

I shook my head. “I think we should drop it.” “Alice…” Marcus began but she cut him off. “Don’t try to shut me up as if this was my fault. You know the only reason he bought that picture was because he thinks he can wave his goddamn cheque book around and you’ll suddenly forget what kind of a terrific friend he’s been to you,” she said with deep sarcasm.

“Oh shit, I’ve had enough of this,” I said. “I’ll tell you what your problem is, Alice. You like to come on with this holy self-righteous fucking attitude and you look down on all us mere mortals trying to make a living while you stay pure to your faith, but I don’t see you starving in a garret, I don’t see your friends dressed in the kind of clothes you wear. But I guess it’s okay to spend the money isn’t it? So long as you don’t have to actually soil your hands making it. Isn’t that the way it goes?”

She sneered at me. “You have the nerve to criticize me. Better whatever I am than somebody like you. Somebody who lies and does whatever it takes to get what you want even if it means walking all over somebody who is supposed to be your friend.”

There was a brief uncomfortable silence, and after a moment Alice laughed.

“What’s the matter? We’re all friends here aren’t we? Surely we can speak the truth amongst ourselves.”

“Let it go, Alice,” Marcus said wearily.

But she was beyond the point of letting anything go. She went on in a quiet but cutting tone. “That’s your trouble, Marcus, you don’t say what you feel. You knew after the last time he almost ruined you it would happen again. You should have told him what you told me then. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this position now.”

“That’s enough!” Marcus warned.

“You see?” She looked at me. “He couldn’t do it in the end. Because you were friends.” She laughed.

“What is she talking about?” I said bewildered. Marcus appeared deeply uncomfortable.

“I’m talking about when Marcus was thinking about getting out. Selling his share of the agency and starting again. On his own, Nick.”

She could see that I was surprised and a little shocked. At first I didn’t believe her, but when I looked at Marcus his expression was riddled with guilt.

“It was after Office Line went broke. Remember that, Nick?” Alice said.

I ignored her. “Is that true, Marcus? Is that still what you want?”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Alice answered for him. “There’s nothing to sell, is there?”

Abruptly she stubbed out her cigarette and got up to leave and a second later Marcus said he should go after her and Sally and I were left alone. After a moment or two I said, “Well, that worked out pretty well I thought.”

She tried to respond with a smile, but she only looked sorry for me.

I had a meeting scheduled with some of the marketing team at Spectrum Software, during which we talked about their positioning and overall strategy. Bev Jones, the head of marketing, ran the discussion, and her product managers came and went throughout the morning as we covered their individual areas. It went well. I had prepared for it as I had for every discussion I’d had with them, which is to say exhaustively. Sam Mendez appeared for the last half-hour, and took a chair against the wall, listening without comment as I ran through a summation of my thoughts. When I was done everyone drifted back to their offices until I was left with only Sam and Bev.

“That was a well thought out presentation, Nick,” Mendez said, getting up from his chair. He was a big guy, grizzled features, white hair, an ex college football player who’d started this company twenty-five years earlier.

“Glad you thought so, Sam.” I sensed he was there for a reason, and hadn’t stopped by to pass the time. He glanced at Bev, and they seemed to share a knowing look.

“In fact,” Sam went on, ‘everything we’ve seen of you and your firm has been pretty impressive. We like your ideas.” He gestured towards the screen where a few moments ago I’d been running through some creative concepts Marcus and his team had come up with.

“I can’t take credit for that part,” I said. “I’m just the mouthpiece.”

“I don’t know about that,” he chuckled, as if between us it was understood that really I was being overly modest.

“Your creative people only get a fair shot at it if you give them the tools to work with,” Bev said. “That means you have to get the brief right.”

“Which means you have to understand our business,” Sam said. “And I don’t think there’s any doubt about that.”

“I like to think I do,” I said. Privately I thought it was the understatement of the year. I had spent countless hours over the months researching Spectrum from top to bottom. I’d spent a lot of time talking to their people, not just the marketing team, but people in design, sales, distribution, and then others outside these four walls, the stores who distributed the products Spectrum sold, and ultimately put into the hands of consumers. I’d known right from the start that because I was up against a big outfit like KCM I couldn’t leave anything to chance, because I knew they wouldn’t.

“We know how much effort you’ve put into this,” Mendez said. “It hasn’t gone unnoticed, I wanted to tell you that personally.”

“I appreciate it, Sam.” I smiled, wondering again what this was leading up to.

“I’m going to put you out of your misery, Nick. The reason I came by today is to tell you we’re just about ready to make our decision, and appoint the firm who’ll be our advertising agency for the next five years.”

“Five years?” I echoed.

“Thought that would surprise you. That’s why we’ve taken so long over this whole process. We want a five-year contract with the firm that wins.” He all but winked at me then before he went on. “We have our reasons for that. Very good ones I’m sure you’ll agree when you hear what they are.” Again the almost wink. “What we’d like to do now is set a date for your final presentation. Are you in a position to do that?”

“Anytime,” I said without hesitation. We’d been working on it for months, putting together all we knew about Spectrum and what we thought we could offer them in a final package, constantly tweaking it as the weeks went by.

“I think Bev has explained how it will work,” Sam said, to which she nodded. “Both you and the KCM people will present on the same day, then we’ll talk it over amongst ourselves and come up with a decision about who gets the contract. Sound fair to you?”

“Sounds fine, Sam.”

“Good. Then let’s set a date. How about the twenty-third?”

It was less than two weeks away, but again I didn’t hesitate. “The twenty third it is.”

He held out his hand which engulfed mine. “I’ll look forward to seeing you then, Nick.” He pumped my hand vigorously. “You’ve worked hard for this. I know that, and I respect it. Everybody here likes you and we like your work. See you on the twenty-third.”

With that he left us. When he was gone Bev smiled at me.

“You’ve won him over. If it was up to him you’d have the contract.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it. But Morgan Industries really wanted to use KCM. They didn’t see any reason to change. There will be someone from Morgan at the presentation, so make sure you’re prepared.”

“You don’t have to worry on that score.”

Bev held out her hand and smiled. “I never thought I did.”

It didn’t really hit me until I was in the car. Before that meeting our financial position with the bank had hung over me like an ever threatening cloud. Everything depended on winning the Spectrum account. And I mean everything. Not just my livelihood and my house, but also any hope of getting my marriage back on track, and of building bridges with Marcus. I didn’t doubt that going after Spectrum was the right thing to do, but it would be hard to argue that position if it all blew up in my face. Suddenly it seemed everything had turned around. The world was turning the way it was meant to again. The constant churning in my stomach that I’d become accustomed to these last months abated some.

On the way back to the office I decided I needed a drink to celebrate, so I dropped in at a restaurant in North Beach which was the current hot spot for people in the advertising business. I like this district. It has a few sophisticated eating places, like Jo Jo’s where I was going, back from Columbus and Broadway, but there are also a lot of mid-range restaurants where the food is great, but the atmosphere is better. It’s the lively bustle of the pizza joints and the bars that attracts people. It’s primarily Italian, and the Italians have always known how to have a good time with food and are less pretentious about it than the French, but the neighbouring Chinatown has leaked noodle houses in amongst the pasta places, and where Columbus and Broadway meet there are a few strip clubs that help give the area its flavour. They aren’t too sleazy because they’re mixed in with everything else, unlike say South Market Street and the Tenderloin where the bums and the hustlers make people uneasy walking the streets.

I parked, and walked a couple of blocks up from Washington Square, where in fact the bums were snoozing on the grass after a hard morning panhandling and waltzed into Jo Jo’s. The place was full of people taking late lunches who weren’t planning to go back to the office. The constant background of ringing cell phones was like the chirruping of electronic cicadas. I ordered a drink at the bar and cast my eye around the room to see if there was anyone there I wanted to talk to. A couple having lunch caught my attention. The woman was a very made-up blonde and her companion had a deep tan. I noticed something odd about their conversation. They appeared to be out of synch, nodding or gesticulating at inappropriate moments and sometimes speaking at the same time apparently oblivious to one another. It was only when I saw the wires leading from the phones on the table to the discreet ear pieces they wore that I realized that they weren’t in fact talking to each other at all. I was fascinated, and kept looking over now and then and throughout the entire meal I don’t think they exchanged a single word. It used to be when you saw somebody talking to themselves as they wandered the streets it was a sure thing they were schizophrenic or something. These days you never know.