The LeBaron Secret by Stephen; Birmingham Page A

LeBaron’s day, only one decorative detail of the office has been changed: the removal of the two brass cuspidors that used to flank the desk. Sari saw to that.
    Now, in Papa’s big swivel chair, she sits behind the walnut partners’ desk. Her wheelchair has been put away in a closet, since none of the Madison Avenue boys is supposed to be reminded of her handicap. Mike Geraghty lays out the proposed ads, one by one, for her to consider, contemplate, study. He places each new glossy page on top of the last in the order in which—if Sari approves—they are to make their appearance to the wine-drinking public. The backs of his well-manicured fingers are downed with a light peach-fuzz of pink hairs.
    â€œNow, let’s go through the whole lot again, Mike,” Sari says at last.
    â€œCertainly, Mrs. LeBaron.”
    The other two young men say nothing, merely sit stiffly in their chairs in attitudes of attention and profound respect. Months of work are at stake here, and everything hangs on Sari’s approval or disapproval. Thus far, she has registered neither emotion, and the brow of Howard Friedman, the copywriter, has begun to glisten slightly. The proposed new slogan is his.
    â€œWell, I see what you’re trying to say here,” she says at last. “‘Baronet—The Wine You Can Trust.’ You can trust the Leaning Tower of Pisa not to fall down. You can trust the Statue of Liberty not to drop her torch. But—”.
    Anxiously: “Yes, Mrs. LeBaron?”
    â€œBut what are we doing with all these pictures of banks? What does a bank have to do with wine?”
    â€œYou see, Mrs. LeBaron,” Howard Friedman interjects quickly, “the idea is that you can trust Baronet wines just the way you can trust your bank to take care of your money. You notice, in the copy, we’ve used the phrase ‘The wine you can bank on.’”
    â€œI see that. But what I can’t see is why anyone would want to bank on a wine. Am I missing some subtle point?”
    â€œBanks,” says Mike Geraghty, “are trusted American financial institutions. The very bedrock, you might say, of our American capitalist system.”
    â€œDon’t forget—I’m pro-Communist!” She says it with a wink.
    â€œHa-ha, yes. Well, Americans feel very strongly about their banks. The dream of every young American man or woman is to be able to walk into a bank and cash a check, his or her own check. That couldn’t happen in Russia or your other Iron Curtain countries. We’ve done some very deep-level psychological research stuff on this, Mrs. LeBaron, on Americans’ deep-seated feelings about their banks, and—”
    â€œI’m sure you’re right, Mike,” Sari says, waving her hand impatiently, “but I still don’t see the connection between people’s feelings about their banks and the wine they drink. That’s what I don’t get about all of this.”
    â€œBanks,” says Mike Geraghty, “are solid. They can be trusted. They’re like an old friend. Who is more trusted in any town or city in this country than the local banker?”
    â€œThe local doctor, perhaps?” Sari suggests.
    â€œBut that raises health issues, doctors,” says Mike Geraghty, “and of course we don’t want to go into anything like that, we really can’t get into an area like that, Mrs. LeBaron, saying that wine is good for you, good for your health, nine out often doctors, that sort of thing. Why, the government would—”
    â€œI’m not suggesting that,” Sari says. “All I’m saying, Mike, is—why banks?”
    â€œWe’re trying to give Baronet a more upscale image, Mrs. LeBaron,” Howard Friedman says. “The bank, the banker—conservative, trustworthy, the person in town everyone loves—”
    â€œWell, I certainly don’t love my banker,” Sari says.