the
most effective advertising is created when rules are broken."
"Not as long as I run the AVC account."
"You may run the account, but I've been hired
to create the advertising. I can’t do it if you tie my hands."
I bit my tongue as the waiter arrived with
our meals. He might as well have left the food in the kitchen; my
appetite had vanished. The argument hadn't put a dent in Higgins’
appetite. Fork in one hand, knife in the other, the jerk made like
a dust-hungry Hoover.
I decided to try one more time. "Why not let
the client decide, instead of dictating what you’ll show him?"
Higgins took another bite. "I don't want you
wasting time on ads that never see the light of day."
"I'm more than happy to take the risk."
"Easy for you. You don't have to account for
expenses. Your little creative group gets paid whether they spend
time on solid ideas or mental masturbation."
Little creative group? Mental
masturbation?
"Look, Higgins, you run the business part of
the account." Now on my feet, I threw the napkin on the table. "But
Ken Cunningham hired me to run the creative. Let's leave it to him.
If he thinks I'm not cutting it, he can damn well assign me
somewhere else. Is that clear?"
I stormed from the restaurant knowing that if
Higgins had his way, that reassignment would have me sorting mail
the rest of my career.
23
12:31 p.m.
Back at the agency, I found the lobby
deserted except for Marlene, the friendly brunette at the
receptionist's desk. Even the second and third floor offices
overlooking the huge arena were vacant.
My security key opened the elevator door on
the sixth floor. Stepping into the hallway I nearly got bowled over
by a large man in a business suit carrying a briefcase and doing a
hell of an impression of a run-away water buffalo.
"Hey, watch it!” I peppered him with a few
epithets questioning his ancestry, but stopped when I realized my
words bounced off him like I had. He just kept speed walking toward
the VanBuhler side of the floor. I realized then he had had a
strong odor of alcohol about him, whiskey probably.
As I watched him disappear around the curve
of the hallway, my anger changed to suspicion. What the hell was a
stranger doing on the sixth floor?
***
My suspicions leaped a giant step forward
when Matt Carter called.
"Darcy, the Avion submaster is missing."
"You're kidding."
"I had the DVD hidden in my credenza under a
couple of Ampere layouts. I've asked everyone. No one's seen
it."
I told Carter about my encounter with the
heavyset man. Since the floor was off limits to anyone without a
key, he had to be a prime suspect.
"Let's pay the VanBuhler team a visit,"
Carter said.
I considered the idea, but thought better of
it. "We’ll sure look stupid if we're wrong.”
Then I got an idea myself. I called Paul
Chapman, describing the buffalo who nearly ran me over in the
hallway.
Chapman recognized him. "J. R. Roland.
Started yesterday. He's another of those VanBuhler guys from D.
C."
"Why would he be on our side of the sixth
floor?"
"Maybe he got lost."
Maybe. But what about the disappearing DVD? I
decided it might be wise to visit VanBuhler headquarters after
all.
24
5:55 p.m.
My Ampere creative team would be working well
into the night, but the VanBuhler people were a different story. By
five-thirty you could fire a cannon through their side of the
building without hitting anyone.
If I were going to explore enemy territory,
now was the time. I walked out into the corridor, moving slowly
toward the elevators that divided the two sides of the floor. I
paused there, facing the doors as if waiting for the next car. I
glanced to my right, down the carpeted corridor toward the offices
of the VanBuhler staff.
The hallway proved deserted, so I made my
move, walking quickly to the right. A couple of butterflies were
playing chicken in my stomach; I was entering an area off-limits to
everyone but VanBuhler staffers. What would happen if I were
caught? Would I be fired?
most effective advertising is created when rules are broken."
"Not as long as I run the AVC account."
"You may run the account, but I've been hired
to create the advertising. I can’t do it if you tie my hands."
I bit my tongue as the waiter arrived with
our meals. He might as well have left the food in the kitchen; my
appetite had vanished. The argument hadn't put a dent in Higgins’
appetite. Fork in one hand, knife in the other, the jerk made like
a dust-hungry Hoover.
I decided to try one more time. "Why not let
the client decide, instead of dictating what you’ll show him?"
Higgins took another bite. "I don't want you
wasting time on ads that never see the light of day."
"I'm more than happy to take the risk."
"Easy for you. You don't have to account for
expenses. Your little creative group gets paid whether they spend
time on solid ideas or mental masturbation."
Little creative group? Mental
masturbation?
"Look, Higgins, you run the business part of
the account." Now on my feet, I threw the napkin on the table. "But
Ken Cunningham hired me to run the creative. Let's leave it to him.
If he thinks I'm not cutting it, he can damn well assign me
somewhere else. Is that clear?"
I stormed from the restaurant knowing that if
Higgins had his way, that reassignment would have me sorting mail
the rest of my career.
23
12:31 p.m.
Back at the agency, I found the lobby
deserted except for Marlene, the friendly brunette at the
receptionist's desk. Even the second and third floor offices
overlooking the huge arena were vacant.
My security key opened the elevator door on
the sixth floor. Stepping into the hallway I nearly got bowled over
by a large man in a business suit carrying a briefcase and doing a
hell of an impression of a run-away water buffalo.
"Hey, watch it!” I peppered him with a few
epithets questioning his ancestry, but stopped when I realized my
words bounced off him like I had. He just kept speed walking toward
the VanBuhler side of the floor. I realized then he had had a
strong odor of alcohol about him, whiskey probably.
As I watched him disappear around the curve
of the hallway, my anger changed to suspicion. What the hell was a
stranger doing on the sixth floor?
***
My suspicions leaped a giant step forward
when Matt Carter called.
"Darcy, the Avion submaster is missing."
"You're kidding."
"I had the DVD hidden in my credenza under a
couple of Ampere layouts. I've asked everyone. No one's seen
it."
I told Carter about my encounter with the
heavyset man. Since the floor was off limits to anyone without a
key, he had to be a prime suspect.
"Let's pay the VanBuhler team a visit,"
Carter said.
I considered the idea, but thought better of
it. "We’ll sure look stupid if we're wrong.”
Then I got an idea myself. I called Paul
Chapman, describing the buffalo who nearly ran me over in the
hallway.
Chapman recognized him. "J. R. Roland.
Started yesterday. He's another of those VanBuhler guys from D.
C."
"Why would he be on our side of the sixth
floor?"
"Maybe he got lost."
Maybe. But what about the disappearing DVD? I
decided it might be wise to visit VanBuhler headquarters after
all.
24
5:55 p.m.
My Ampere creative team would be working well
into the night, but the VanBuhler people were a different story. By
five-thirty you could fire a cannon through their side of the
building without hitting anyone.
If I were going to explore enemy territory,
now was the time. I walked out into the corridor, moving slowly
toward the elevators that divided the two sides of the floor. I
paused there, facing the doors as if waiting for the next car. I
glanced to my right, down the carpeted corridor toward the offices
of the VanBuhler staff.
The hallway proved deserted, so I made my
move, walking quickly to the right. A couple of butterflies were
playing chicken in my stomach; I was entering an area off-limits to
everyone but VanBuhler staffers. What would happen if I were
caught? Would I be fired?
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