Syrup (12 page)

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Authors: Maxx Barry

Tags: #Humorous, #Topic, #Business & Professional, #Humor, #Fiction

BOOK: Syrup
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Jim opens his mouth, then wisely closes it. There is no good answer to this question.
“And you don’t do that with last year’s campaign. Beaches and bikinis don’t work anymore. We need something different. Something radical.” Her gaze sweeps the room, and, amazingly, Jim wilts back into his chair under it. “Something that people will see and remember, tell their friends about. Memorable and identifiable.”
This is the battle of the advertising copywriter: to be both memorable, so the market recognizes your product, and identifiable, so they like it. It’s pretty easy to be one or the other: for example, you could make a very memorable ad by saying, “This product sucks bad. Only losers buy it.” But you have to wonder how many customers would identify with that.
“We want to be hip. We want to be controversial. We want to be cynical.” 6 tilts her head. “Basically, we want to be just like our customers. Don’t we?”
Silence, but I catch two slow, thoughtful nods.
6 says, “Gentlemen, welcome to fifteen percent growth.”
On cue, I whip off the cover sheet, and my ad springs on to the wall.
the new classic coke summer campaign
Last year, 12 Americans lost their lives while attempting to steal from a Coke machine.
[Picture of a railway station at night, with a Coke machine fallen on its side. There’s a guy’s arm sticking out from underneath it.]
 
Wouldn’t you die for a Coke?
moving on up
There is quite a heated debate, led by the stalwart Jim, who advances the theory that the ad will turn off the significant proportion of Coke customers who aren’t young, hip and cynical. In response, 6 accuses Jim of losing touch with what Coke is all about, and Jim comes, I think, very close to punching her.
So it’s a pretty interesting meeting.
We break at five, when one of the catering staff wheels in a huge tray of drinks. Jim looks grateful for the respite.
While I’m popping myself a beer, a tall, tanned man hands me his business card. “Great concept,” he tells me. “Very special. I can find a lot of work for you. Stay in touch, all right?”
“Okay,” I say. I look at the card and see that this guy is GARY BRENNAN, VICE PRESIDENT, MARKETING. After a brief moment when everything goes white, I look up, but Gary is already gone. Three or four other men are moving toward me, broad smiles on their faces.
I think:
This is where it starts.
Measurement
mktg case study #8: mktg groceries [2]
 
USE LARGE SPECIAL! TAGS ON GOODS WITHOUT REDUCING THEIR PRICE. PRACTICE THE LINE: “OUR COMPANY FEELS THAT THE WORD SPECIAL IN NO WAY IMPLIES A CONNECTION WITH PRICE.”
scat and 6 retire to a local bar
“This is unbelievable,” I say. I take a sip at my scotch and Coke, then decide I should just throw it back and order another one, so I do. After all, whatever debt I rack up on my credit card today is sure to be covered by my impending financial rewards from Coke. “I can’t believe it’s happening.”
6 rests her elbows on the bar beside me, expressionlessly nursing a tall Serial Killer.
“What, aren’t you excited? Isn’t this what we’ve been working for?”
6 sighs. “Scat, you really don’t understand how business works. It’s not over yet.”
“What do you mean? You blew them away in that meeting. They’re going to run our campaign. You’re a
hero.
What more is there?” My all-new scotch conveniently arrives on the scene and I chug that one, too.
6 sniffs. “If I was a man, I’d be a hero. If I was a man, half the SMT would be taking me out for drinks tonight, instead of just you.” She drains the rest of her cocktail.
“Uh,” I say, not sure if I want to be getting into this, “so why aren’t they?”
“Because I’m a woman in a dick-measuring contest,” 6 says. “Business is a man’s game, and they don’t like me playing. Opening my mouth is a challenge to their masculinity.”
I’m starting to feel a little challenged myself, so I say, “6, you can’t tell me that every man in business can’t handle working with a woman.”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” 6 says, gesturing for another drink.
I take a moment to think about this. “That’s paranoid.”
6 shrugs. “You can afford to believe that. I’ve seen every woman who showed a glimpse of femininity fall out of the dick-measuring contest.”
“So, what—you’re still in there?”
“Yes,” 6 says. “Like everyone else, I go around trying to convince everyone that my dick is the biggest.”
I stare at her. “But—”
“Perception is reality,” 6 says.
scat proposes a hypothesis
“So you’re telling me that they’ll try to take the campaign away from us?”
“Of course.”
I take a deep breath, and the additional oxygen on top of a great many scotches gives me a brief rush. “Look, I know I’m new to business and all, but I was at that meeting, too. We were a
huge
hit. Gary
Brennan
gave me his card.”
6 shrugs. “That doesn’t matter.”
I say carefully, “Could it be—and this is just a guess—that you’re so sure everyone is out to get you that you make it true?” 6’s eyes narrow, but I plow ahead. “I mean, you think they’re going to be aggressive, so you get aggressive, so you make
them
aggressive.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s called a self-fulfilling prophesy,” I say helpfully. Then I spoil it by being unable to resist adding, “Although you’d know that, having done some psych units.”
“You’re naive,” 6 says shortly.
“Maybe I am,” I say, and suddenly I’m in
Days of Our Lives.
“But maybe you shouldn’t wait your whole life to find out.”
6 rolls her latest cocktail, a Horny Virgin, between her hands.
“Look, how about this: just once, don’t assume every person you meet has a personal vendetta against you.”
6 frowns at her drink. “That’s not a sound strategy.”
I reach out and take one of 6’s hands. They are warm and smooth and suddenly I have to fight a strong and very stupid urge to lick one. “Please, just don’t go after anyone. At least wait until someone comes after us.”
6 sighs heavily, then nods. “Fine,” she says. “We’ll try it your way.”
I’m a little taken aback: I have come up with a business strategy, proposed it to 6, and she has accepted it. 6, who is immensely better in business than me, has carefully weighed the merits of my idea and found it worthy of approval. “Gee, thanks.”
6 hiccups.
scat opens his eyes
We stagger into the street and I look around for a cab. In response, the street sags dangerously, dipping to the left. “Whoa boy,” I say, clutching at what I hope is a lamppost. “I shouldn’t have had those last shooters.”
6 steps forward and raises her hand at a distant yellow blob, which drifts toward us and begins to look more like a cab. 6 is carrying her drunkenness with immaculate grace; if it wasn’t for the overcareful way she is planting each foot, I could take her for sober.
We fall into the backseat of the cab, my face dipping deliciously close to her bare left shoulder. I’m forced back in the seat as the driver accelerates, and when I recover 6 is regarding me with relatively steady eyes.
“You know,” she says, “you shouldn’t be staying with me tonight. The arrangement is over.”
I struggle upward in the seat. “What, you’re going to kick me out? Now?”
6 tilts her head, as if she’s considering it.
“Oh, come on,” I tell her. “You’re not kicking me out.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” I say, pointing at her for no sensible reason, “you don’t really want me to go.”
6 raises an eyebrow. In contrast to her usual smooth eyebrow moves, this one is a little wobbly, as if it’s had a few cocktails itself. “No?”
“No,” I say, warming up. Right now everything I do feels suave, so I go with it. “Fact is, you’ve gotten used to having me around. And as much as you don’t want to admit it”—I actually lean closer—“you
like
me.”
6 turns away, as if she’s disappointed, or maybe hiding a smile. I elect to believe the latter. Then she turns back. Her dark eyes are huge. “Well, let me ask you something, Scat,” she says, and her voice is very soft. “Why don’t you want to go?”
scat confesses [2]
The answer is so obvious that it’s halfway up my throat before I can stop it.
Because I’m in love with you.
It trembles there, caught. And I can’t believe I didn’t get this before. I can’t believe I am only realizing this now, with 6 regarding me with eyes so dark they are like night.
“Well?” she says.
I open my mouth.
almost
“Because I’ve got nowhere else to go,” I say.
6 holds my gaze for a moment longer, then turns away. “Oh,” she says.
a new day
I am in love with 6.
“Then
Rod
tells me, ‘No way, bitch, you’re outa your mind,’ ” Tina says. “
Un
-believable. Unbelievable.” She shakes her head to emphasize, tossing bacon around in the pan. Tina burned another relationship last night, and this morning I’m glad I’m not a bacon rind.
I am in love with 6.
“The problem,” she says, “is that men won’t admit to their
feelings.
They think they’ve got to act so fucking
tough
all the time.” She throws the pan onto the stovetop and turns to me, hands on hips, her spatula jutting aggressively. “Is it so hard?” she demands. “Is it so hard to just say what you’re
feeling?”
“Men,” 6 says, not looking up from the
LA Times.
She is wearing a fluffy white dressing gown, her smooth calves peeking through its cotton embrace. She sips coffee between full, pouting lips.
I am in serious, serious trouble.
a chance encounter with
6 spends the bus ride to Coke looking quietly out the window. I spend it trying to hide my sweat patches. Occasionally I break the monotony by mentally reiterating:
I am in serious, serious trouble.
It calms me down a little.
In the elevator I ask, “So, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?”
“Watching my back,” 6 says shortly, frowning at the floor numbers.
“Hey, 6, remember, we’re not looking for trouble. We’re running the campaign we want. So we’re taking it easy, right?”
6 opens her mouth, and I’m fairly sure she’s preparing something like,
Actually Scat, I’ve kind of reconsidered that particular idea and found it to be full of shit.
But then the elevator doors spring open and there’s
jamieson
“Mr. Jamieson,” 6 says. Her voice is genuinely surprised, which is very unsettling.
“Ah, 6,” he says. “I’m glad I caught you. I need to talk to you about the campaign.”
6 takes a slow, controlled breath but says nothing. This is a good start.
“The thing is,” Jamieson says, punching 12, “it’s a damn good campaign. Risky, too. I have to make sure I’ve got the right people on the job. People I can trust. You understand that, right?”
In case 6 interprets this remark as aggressive and responds in kind, I jump in first. “Of course, Mr. Jamieson. It’s critical to get the execution right. We’re very concerned about that.” I slip in a friendly smile to show Jamieson how we can all be good buddies, and make sure 6 catches it.
Jamieson smiles back. “Excellent! That’s just what I wanted to hear.”
I can’t resist: I throw 6 a smug look. When this is all over, I’m going to sit her down and use the phrase
You see
a lot, and she is going to nod and say,
Well, Scat, I guess you were right.
Which will be a welcome change from right now, with her eyes burning into me as if she can barely contain her fury.
Jamieson says, “As you know, we’ve been very privileged at Coke to have a new man onboard recently: Sneaky Pete. He’s brought a number of very good ideas to the company, including a product we’ve got great hopes for this summer: Fukk.” He nods toward me. “Have Sneaky Pete tell you about it some time, Scat: it’s going to be huge.”
I say something like:
urk.
It feels a lot like swallowing my own heart.
“The thing is, he’s put a case to me to take over the summer campaign,” Jamieson says, scratching his ear, “and you know, I’m tempted. I have to match the right people to the job. Right?” He looks at me, and, incredibly, I actually nod. 6 shoots me a gaze so hot I can feel it in my toes.
“Mr. Jamieson,” 6 says, stepping forward, “if we can just back up a second here, I think it’s too late to talk about bringing someone else in
now.
This is
my
campaign and I’m in the middle of it.”
“I appreciate that, 6. I’m not pulling you off it. I just want to meet and discuss how we’re going to handle it. Just the three of us—four if you’d like to be involved, Scat.”

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