by Max Barry
“Oh.”
She dials again but spares the handset by punching for speaker. As it rings she moves over to her personal percolator.
“Julie Stephens.”
“Julie, 6.” She pushes for a coffee. “I’m glad I caught you.”
“Oh, hi, 6.” There’s that note of caution in her voice again, but it’s different this time: there’s something else there, too. 6 straightens and frowns at the speaker.
“Julie, do you recall our last conversation?”
“Of course.”
“You did transcribe my message for Mr. Jamieson, right?”
“I—I wrote it down,” Julie says.
“And you gave it to Mr. Jamieson?”
Julie takes a deep breath, then answers in a voice that’s just a little too high-pitched. “Actually no, 6, I thought about what you said and I ... decided not to.”
6’s eyes narrow. She walks slowly back to the phone and rests her hands on her desk, either side of the phone. I wince in anticipation of the sizzling accusations 6 is about to sling down the line.
“That’s great, Julie. I really appreciate it.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.” Relief gushes from the speaker.
“But that’s not what I was calling about. Did Mr. Jamieson tell you about the meeting we’re having?”
“Yes ... does lunch tomorrow work for you?”
“Fine. Which room?”
“It’s not in the building. I’ll send you the address.”
6 pauses. “It’s not in the building? Why not?”
“That’s just the way it’s been arranged,” Julie says cautiously.
“Oh,” 6 says. “Right. Thanks, Julie.”
“You’re welcome,” Julie says quickly. I get the impression that Julie is particularly looking forward to putting down the phone.
6 says, “Oh, wait.”
Pause. Long, reluctant pause. “Yes?”
“I just need to ask one more thing. If you wrote down my message but didn’t give it to Mr. Jamieson ... who did you give it to?”
The speaker is shocked into silence.
“Thank you,” 6 says, and kills the call.
a surprise
“Wow,” I say. “6, I have to say, I am so impressed.”
“We’re fucked,” 6 says. She pronounces this very clearly. “We are so fucked.” She slumps into her ergonomic chair.
“You really think she gave your message to Sneaky Pete? Why would she do that?”
“Politics. He’s convinced Julie that it’s in her interest to take his side over mine.” She sighs. “He’s probably right.”
“Oh. Shit.”
“Yes,” 6 says. She leans forward and stares at me morosely, as if maybe this is my fault, too.
“Hey, 6,” I say. “It’s not over yet. So Sneaky Pete has found out that you were about to resign. Well, big deal. That’s irrelevant now. We’re just going to go into that meeting and tell Mr. Jamieson why we’re right for the job and Sneaky Pete isn’t.”
“Scat, if Sneaky Pete knows I resigned, he knows why. And in that meeting, he’ll tell Jamieson that we nearly killed the company.”
I open my mouth but there’s nothing to say. In the end I have to settle for: “Ah.”
6 leans back in her chair, watching me expressionlessly.
“So that’s a setback,” I say gamely. I’m so game that I stand up. “But this isn’t over. I mean, in the end, we came up with a campaign. It all worked out. And if Sneaky Pete wants to talk about what might have happened, well, it’s all just perception. We just need to position it in a ... positive light.”
6’s right eyebrow shoots up.
“It’s not impossible. Anyway, what has Sneaky Pete done, really? He’s just stolen ideas. Has he actually produced anything? We have.”
6 slowly leans forward in her chair. The gleam is back in her eyes. I lean toward her, resting my hands on her desk.
“Look, Sneaky Pete might have a knack for pulling the strings in the background. Maybe he’s brilliant at it. But this meeting will be us and him. No seducing secretaries or stealing trademarks ... no tricks. Just us and him. And he’s got to beat you, 6—he’s got to talk you into the ground. I don’t think he can do it. I think you’ll eat him alive.”
6 rises from her chair like she’s in slow motion, rises until she is inches from my face. Her intoxicating scent washes over me, and for a moment the office tips dangerously.
“Scat,” she says, and her lips are curving into a genuine, authentic smile. It is shocking, stunning. “Sometimes, you—” She stops, licks her lips. I am leaning into them, helpless to stop myself. “You surprise me,” 6 says softly.
the eyebrow maneuver
I’ll tell you exactly what’s required at this precise moment: a raised eyebrow. That’s what I need to do. A sardonically raised eyebrow has a good chance of progressing to a brushing of lips, and that could lead to my hand reaching into that dark hair and pulling her close. And after that, there could be all kinds of acts that presently defy imagination but I’m sure will be nice.
And I’m pretty sure I can execute an eyebrow raise, too, because I used to be able to do it in high school. Hasn’t been much of a calling for it since then, sure, and maybe I’m a little rusty. But some things you never forget, right?
So that’s what I need to do, and I am absolutely clear on this as 6’s face fills my world, the blossoming smile on her lips suggesting that maybe, just maybe, I am worthy of a little admiration.
My left eyebrow is actually beginning its sojourn upward when I can’t help it: I break out in a big, goofy smile.
percolation
Puzzlement flits across 6’s face, and then she is pulling away, her gorgeous hair swinging past my goofy, grinning face. That kills my smile pretty fast, but it’s too late. 6 heads for the percolator, not looking at me.
“So we have until tomorrow,” she says. She frowns at her patient coffee mug. “I want to walk into that meeting with ten reasons why we should manage the campaign and he shouldn’t.”
“Okay,” I say stupidly.
That night, 6 watches Letterman in silence and I can’t sleep for visions of what should have happened instead.
sixteen reasons
The next morning I stay home, working on the list while 6 goes into Coke. By the time I leave for the meeting, I actually have fifteen reasons why we’re going to beat Sneaky Pete today. But even so, I can’t help feeling that the real reason is one I haven’t written down: Sneaky Pete has made 6 mad.
scat considers some hypotheticals
I arrive at the address 6 gave me a good fifteen minutes early, but already I’m in trouble. Because the address is obviously wrong.
It’s a fairly impressive-looking establishment, I’ll give it that. Nice trimming on the doorway and modern signage, even if the overall look is a little gloomy. But I can’t help but feel the CEO of Coca-Cola wouldn’t hold a power meeting in a place that advertises “Hot Live Nude Girls.”
I stand on the sidewalk in front of Ludus, the address in my hand and my mouth hanging open, and I enunciate clearly, “Oh, shit.”
I can picture, so clearly, 6 pacing in front of some expensive restaurant, frowning at her watch and scanning the street for me. Waiting until the last moment, then going in alone. Already on the defensive as she fields questions from Jamieson: Isn’t Scat coming? When do you expect him? Do you even know?
6 is going to kill me. Actually, physically kill me.
I pace the sidewalk in sweaty indecision for ten minutes, and then another scenario occurs to me. In this one, 6 isn’t concerned at all. In this scenario, 6 is serenely sitting down to lunch with Jamieson and Sneaky Pete, making a calm apology for my absence. 6 knows very well that I’m not coming, because it was 6 who told me the meeting was here.
This scenario makes a lot more sense than the first one, and suddenly I’m furious. I can’t believe she’s trying this stunt again. I turn on my heel, ready to storm back to the apa
rtment, maybe even gather my stuff and just leave, and I nearly knock her over. “6!”
She freezes, staring at Ludus.
“Look, we’ve obviously gotten mixed up. How about you call Julie and find out where we’re supposed to be, and we’ll grab a cab over there before ...” I trail off, because 6 is moving toward the building. “6?”
She strides toward the doorway; her eyes narrow. I hurry after her with absolutely no idea what she is doing, and together we enter Ludus.
sim sex
Inside it’s dark and they’re playing Wham!, which is scary already. Scattered around the tables are maybe a dozen Live Girls—although none of them looks particularly Hot or Nude—bouncing and giggling for young guys in suits. I’m surprised by how disengaged the men are; they talk among themselves or dispassionately survey the women as if browsing a used-car lot for something worth a test drive.
One of the dancers catches my eye and deliberately licks her lips, which is so fake I just feel embarrassed. I turn to 6, who is scanning the crowd, but before I can speak she begins to thread her way through the suits. I push after her, get an elbow in the ribs for my trouble, and by the time I catch up she’s forged her way into an adjoining room. “Whoa, 6. What—”
“Scat,” 6 says levelly, “shut up.”
I snap my mouth shut, wounded, and peer into the room.
And there they are.
laughing with the boys
Three members of the SMT, including Gary Brennan and Jim, are seated around a huge table, drowning in high-back wooden chairs. They are laughing uproariously, empty beer bottles littering the table. Attending each of them is a topless girl.
Gary’s girl has fake blond pigtails and fake breasts, and she’s sitting quietly on his lap as if vaguely bored. Jim’s is short and pale-skinned, grimly massaging his shoulders. As I watch, Jim reaches back and tries to pat the girl’s behind, and she scoots away from his hands.
Having left 6’s apartment expecting to spend an hour in a classy restaurant exchanging polite, barbed conversation with Sneaky Pete, I now feel just a touch spun out. I feel like I’ve walked into Hugh Hefner’s version of The Twilight Zone.
Only one thing makes sense, and I latch on to it: Jamieson’s not here. Maybe a couple of boys from the SMT are out for a little lunchtime stress relief, but Jamieson surely wouldn’t be so crass as to hold a meeting with 6 here. I scan the table quickly, just to make sure he’s not lounging back in one of the chairs. And I’m right: he’s not.
But Sneaky Pete is.
welcome back scat
He’s wearing shades: deep silver mirrors. I haven’t seen them before, so I guess they’re a new pair; I guess he splurged with a little of my three million. And some petty cash was obviously invested in his suit, too, because it’s immaculate. It’s so immaculate I almost expect to see tailors skulking around his feet, straightening a crease here, shooting a cuff there. Sneaky Pete was cool before, but now he’s cool and rich. He looks like an advertisement.
As I stare, his head slowly turns to me. I’m momentarily unsure what to do: Wave? Flip him the bird? It’s a tough call.
He doesn’t let me make it. As I stand in the doorway with 6, seeing myself reflected in his mirrored shades, Sneaky Pete makes a greeting of his own: his lips stretch into a wide, feral grin.
ye who enter here
Jim notices our entrance first. His eyes widen and he almost leaps out of his chair, his eyes fixed on 6. “What—what are you doing here?”
I look around the table and see Gary and the other man looking decidedly wary, shooting glances at Sneaky Pete. And suddenly I’m sure that they have no idea what this is about.
Sneaky Pete rises slowly from the table, and for some reason I’m abruptly reminded of Dracula. “Scat ... 6 ... thank you for coming.” His voice is even softer than I remember, and I have to lean forward to hear him properly. “Please, have a seat.”
I’m already starting forward, a little mesmerized by that voice, but 6 stops me. She hasn’t moved an inch.
“No.” She cocks her head. “I have a meeting with Mr. Jamieson. It obviously isn’t here.”
Sneaky Pete nods fractionally. “Mr. Jamieson cannot attend in person.” He gestures vaguely toward the middle of the table, and I notice a speakerphone nestling quietly among the beer bottles. “But he will be joining us by phone.”
6 considers this for a long moment; so long I’m sure that someone else will have to jump in, or at least clear his throat to break the awkwardness. No one does.
Finally, I have to speak. “Look, there’s no way Mr. Jamieson would agree to this.” I start to heat up, a little of that post-Fukk rage creeping up my collar. “Whatever scam you’re pulling this time—”
“Of course Mr. Jamieson doesn’t know about it,” 6 says. “It’s a stunt. To throw us off-balance. With an audience to see if I can’t handle it.”
Sneaky Pete’s expression doesn’t change at all.
“Fine,” 6 says. “Watch me.”
She steps forward.
As she does, two strippers emerge from the gloom, carrying chairs. They set them down at the table, precisely opposite Sneaky Pete. And they just stand there.
I realize that not just the chairs are for me and 6.
6 is stripped
6 stares at Sneaky Pete, her jaw a hard line, and I actually tense in case I need to prevent her from leaping across the table at him. Then she stalks forward and drops into a chair. I slide in beside her.
“Hi, I’m Candy,” one of the girls tells me, and the other says to 6, “Hi, I’m Sugar.” I look up at Candy and see that she is smiling brightly, displaying a good set of chompers. I try to avoid looking at her breasts, but they’re pretty much in my face and I fail within seconds. They are pointed with large relaxed nipples, and when Candy sees me looking, she gives them a happy little jiggle. “Can I sit on your lap?” she asks politely.
“Uh,” I say, but Candy interprets this as an affirmative and swings her legs over mine. It’s a fairly confrontational position, and I look across to 6 for support. But 6 is also being accosted, Sugar pushing her rear end into her lap.
Sugar hugs 6 tightly. “I like girls, too,” Sugar confides.
“Sneaky Pete,” 6 says slowly, dangerously, “I don’t want this girl on me.”
He regards her coolly from behind his mirrored shades. “Why not? As you have made perfectly clear to your colleagues at Coca-Cola ... you like girls, do you not?”
6’s jaw tightens. And I abruptly realize that there is nothing she can say.
mktg case study #9: mktg lies
OCCASIONALLY, JUST OCCASIONALLY, YOUR COMPANY WILL BE CAUGHT IN A LIE. THIS IS NOT GOOD. IF POSSIBLE, IMMEDIATELY FIRE SOMEONE EXPENDABLE AND PUBLICLY APOLOGIZE. IF NOT, YOU MUST STICK TO THE LIE. PERCEPTION IS REALITY.
go
At this moment, the phone rings.
the meeting
Sneaky Pete taps a button. “Mr. Jamieson.”
“Hello?” His voice is distant and there’s muffled traffic in the background, so I guess he’s in his car. “Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” Sneaky Pete says, and I actually see him smirk.
“Great. 6?”
“I’m here, Mr. Jamieson.”
“Me too,” I pipe up, because it would be embarrassing if Jamieson forgot about me.
“Good,” Jamieson says. “All right, let’s kick this thing off. I don’t have much time.”
Sneaky Pete folds his hands and rests them on the table.
The speaker says, “We’ve got a hell of a campaign here, guys. I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten that. It’s great work.”
I can’t help myself. “Thanks,” I say, and I actually grin at Sneaky Pete. “You can count on us for ideas, Mr. Jamieson.”
“Yes, Scat. I think I can.”
Sneaky Pete says quietly, “But this isn’t about ideas.”
“That’s right,” Jamieson says. “This is about execution.”
> I open my mouth to say Oh, right, then realize how stupid that will sound and just frown at the speaker. Candy toys annoyingly with my hair.
“I want this campaign to be driven by whoever will execute it best. It’s that simple. This isn’t about territory, or who came up with the idea. Do you understand that, Scat?”
“Yes,” I say thickly. “But I think—”
“Mr. Jamieson, I see where this is going,” 6 interrupts. Her voice is strong and steady, and it startles Sugar into a little jump. “I’m from New Products. I was moved from Fukk before I got involved in implementation. And Scat has no experience, either.”
Sugar reaches out to play with 6’s hair, and 6 slaps her hand away. The movement is so quick and controlled that my heart leaps: it means that while 6 may be shaken, she is far from beaten.
“But it would be a mistake, Mr. Jamieson, to get caught on that. If you wanted, we could spend all afternoon counting the days I spent in execution and the days he did.” She doesn’t need to say Sneaky Pete. “Maybe he has more—but that’s not the point. If you really wanted experience, you wouldn’t be talking to either of us. What you’re really after is energy. And a determination to get things done. And if I may say so, Mr. Jamieson, this is about ideas. You want someone who has enough creativity to find new ways to deliver an extraordinary campaign.”
A truck crackles past Jamieson, and he waits until it passes. “Yes, that’s partly true. I do want all that.”
Sneaky Pete says, “6, you are a very good speaker.” He pauses to grin at her, then continues. “May I say so? You present yourself very well. Better than me.” Again, he stops to grin, and this is really starting to irritate me. I grit my teeth and push Candy away, who is trying to blow into my ear. “In fact, if you will excuse me, I would suggest that you are ... more style than substance.”
