by Dan Ames
The computer screen goes to black as the frame of a QuickTime movie appears. Two sailors inside a submarine are talking.
The scene is, we see the inside of a submarine. Two sailors are talking.
“So this is where you’ll be sleeping. You got the bottom bunk I got the top. You don’t mind being on the bottom.”
“Not at all,” the second sailor says with a shy smile.
“Well, I like being on top.”
“I kind of like the idea of you being on top.”
Porno music begins as the men get down to business.
Just outside Dylan’s office, a secretary walks past the open doorway.
She stops and steps back to the doorway, lured by the unmistakable sound of pornography.
In the kitchen, Dylan pours himself a fresh cup of coffee, debates for a moment, then goes into the men’s room. He grabs a Sports Illustrated magazine that’s been wedged between the stall doors. He drops his pants, sits down on the throne and starts reading the magazine.
Back in his office, the secretary who initially heard the porn on Dylan’s computer has now been joined by four or five other office workers.
They have gone into Dylan’s office and are watching the action on his computer screen.
“On your knees, sailor!” one of the characters says.
“Yes sir!” a second replies.
Dylan’s office is filled with sounds of various grunts and groans and bedspring squeaks accompany the on-screen action.
“Loading torpedo tube!” one of the sailors in the video says.
“Oh mother of God! Oh, oh, oh!”
An older woman arrives at Dylan’s door. Immediately, the group of people surrounding Dylan’s computer disperse.
The older woman takes a look at the screen and immediately writes something down. She leaves and a beat later, Dylan arrives.
He walks behind his desk.
“Fire in the hole!” a sailor calls out.
“Thank you, sir...oh!...may I have another?” a character replies.
“Fire!”
“Oh! Mmmmm! Oh, oh, oh!”
Dylan stares at his screen, aghast. He hits various keys on his computer, but the scene continues. He totally panics and begins pounding on his keyboard but the video continues. He starts pulling cords and wires out of the wall in hopes of turning the computer off.
21
A large sign, carved out of granite, reading American Oil sits at the driveway entrance to the oil company’s dramatic headquarters.
The office of the President of American Oil Company is impressive. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A giant walnut desk. Along one wall of the office are the presentation boards from Straun & Partners advertising.
The door opens and the FedEx guy walks in.
He takes a package to the President’s desk.
The FedEx guy is actually Rocky.
“Just sign on the dotted line, sir,” Rocky says.
The President, a rotund man with a florid face and an expensive suit, glances up at Rocky. “Where is Robin, my secretary? She signs this stuff.”
“Ah, I didn’t see her out there, sir.”
Rocky notices the storyboards along the wall.
“Hey, is this the new ad campaign I read about in the Journal?
“Yes it is. You read the Journal?” he asks Rocky.
“Where else would I get my investing information?”
For the first time, the President actually seems to notice Rocky. He leans back in his chair, surprised and somewhat pleased to have found out this information.
“Really. Well, that’s interesting. Our new ad campaign is targeting the average investor.”
“Well, hold on there, I’d say I’m slightly above average,” Rocky says.
“What’d your portfolio return last year?”
“Twenty-one percent.”
“Respectable. Very respectable.”
The president gets up and walks over to the storyboards.
“I’d be curious to see what you think of this.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Rocky answers.
“No, go ahead. You’ll be a one-man focus group.”
“Well, okay.”
He reads through the boards.
“I hate it. Sorry, just being honest.”
“Why?”
“It’s dull. It’s condescending. And it’s not very informative. And it’s a classic example of an ad agency screwing over its client. Pardon my lapse into naughty language.”
“How are they screwing us?”
“Well, I’m no expert, but I see it this way. An ad agency makes its money on media spending. If they can get you to spend a hundred million dollars on running television commercials, they get what, twenty million of that?”
“And then some.”
“So, if they sell you a boring campaign that they think you want to hear, it’s perfect, right?”
“Why?”
“Because for one thing, you’ll spend the money to run the commercials. But even better, they’re so fucking dull that no one will talk about them. You get no free publicity, and consequently have to spend more money on...
“...advertising,” the President says.
“Bingo, baby.”
They both look at the storyboards. Suddenly, the President of American Oil Company is clearly not happy.
“May I be so bold as to offer another suggestion?”
“Please do.”
“What you need is something edgy. Some kind of recurring device that creates conflict - because what is conflict?”
The Prez shrugs.
“Conflict is the foundation of all good drama,” Rocky says.
“Yes!” the President is beaming at Rocky.
“You need each commercial to be some classic example of conflict that will get noticed and talked about. And hopefully, will get people talking so much about American Oil, that you’ll be able to spend less money on...” Rocky smiles at the President, letting him finish the thought.
“Advertising!”
Rocky gives him the thumbs-up.
22
Tom is at his computer. He fires up his SNIPER computer game. He leans back and pounds on the wall.
“Hey Dylan! You want some of this?”
There’s no answer.
He pounds on the wall again.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you hide from me!”
Tom gets up and walks out of his office to Dylan’s. Tom is surprised to see a woman sitting at Dylan’s desk.
“Were you yelling at me?” she says.
“No, I–“
She stands up and offers her hand.
“Hi, I’m Nancy.”
Tom takes her hand.
“I’m Tom. Ah...this used to be someone else’s office. I wonder if he got moved.”
“That’s not what I heard,” she says.
She sits back down and gets back to work.
“What did you hear?”
“Look, I just started here. I don’t want to be spreading rumors.”
Tom steps inside and closes the door.
“I promise, I didn’t hear anything from you.”
The woman studies Tom for a second.
“All I heard, from the guys who moved me into the office, and I’m just repeating what they said, I have no idea if it’s true...is that the guy got fired for watching porn all day. On his computer. On company time.”
Tom digests this. “No way,” he finally says.
“Like I said, I have no way of knowing whether or not it’s true. It’s just what I heard.”
“Wow,” Tom says.
“The guys were saying that this Dylan dude was seriously into the man-on-man action. Like, really into it. “All the
President’s Semen.” That kinda thing.”
Tom gets a weird look on his face.
Behind him, a secretary appears.
“Tom. Morgan wants to see you in the conference room. Right now.”
23
Tom sits at the conference table along with a few other people. Morgan is up front.
“We are fucked! Fucked! Fucked!”
Morgan looks around.
“Where in the goddamn hell is Kelly?”
Morgan presses the intercom at the center of the table.
“Goddamnit, Vicki, I said I wanted everyone! Where the fuck is Kelly?”
He presses the disconnect button, not waiting for a reply.
“Morgan. What happened?” Tom says.
“The President of American Oil called. Everything’s dead. He killed the entire campaign!”
“Why?” one of the other creative asks. “I thought he loved it. That’s what he said in the last meeting.”
“He’s lost his fucking mind, that’s why!” Wolcott explodes. “He gave me some insane lecture on the foundation of good drama. Conflict. What an asshole!”
“What type of conflict?” another creative asks.
“Some bullshit about a recurring theme. Or a character or something.”
Suddenly the door opens and Kelly walks in. She’s got a piece of paper in her hand.
“Kelly,” Morgan says, his face awash with relief. “Thank God.”
Kelly ignores him. Tom notices that there is something different about her. She’s flushed. Her eyes look a little wild. She pulls out a chair, but instead of sitting down, she steps onto it, then steps onto the conference table. She raises her hands over her head and starts doing a bump-and-grind.
“Kelly? What are you doing?” Wolcott asks.
Kelly keeps dancing.
“Kelly, goddamnit! Get off the fucking table, we’ve got work to do!” Wolcott barks at her.
Kelly dances down toward the end of the table where Morgan is. As she gets closer, she turns around so she’s going backwards toward him. As she gets close, she bends over slightly so her ass is in front of Morgan’s face.
“Kiss it, kiss it kiss it. Kiss the ass!”
She holds the paper in front of Morgan’s face. He snatches it out of her hand and reads it.
“One point two million for...”
Tom realizes what’s happening.
“Your novel! You sold your novel!” he exclaims.
He jumps up and hugs Kelly.
Kelly hops off the table, grabs the paper back from Morgan and runs out of the room, whooping.
“Buh-bye! Buh-bye! Buh-bye!”
Tom, Morgan and the rest of the group are stunned for a moment. Tom is still standing. Morgan snaps out of it.
“Sit down, Goddard.” Wolcott snaps at Tom.
“What in the hell is going on today?” He shakes his head. “Look, we need a new campaign. One that has conflict, some kind of recurring character or theme.”
“I’ve got it,” Tom says quietly.
Morgan rolls his eyes.
“Why don’t you take a few minutes before you solve it, Tom. You might actually want to work through a few stupid ideas, before you hit the gold mine, okay?”
“No, I’ve got it. Or, I mean, I had it.”
“Had what?”
“The perfect idea.”
Morgan waits, skeptical.
“Dr. Slick.”
The room goes silent. Tom folds his arms across his chest, beaming.
Morgan starts to say something caustic, but then stops himself. He looks at Tom in a whole new light.
24
Rocky is in his phony telephone repair van. There is a bank of monitors all covering different aspects of Straun & Partners advertising. One monitor is covering Tom’s office. Another one is on Morgan’s office. There’s movement on the monitor showing Morgan’s office. Rocky hits a button and the image is transferred to the biggest monitor.
25
Morgan is sitting behind his desk as a man walks in.
“Sit down, Conrad,” Wolcott says.
The man sits across from Morgan. The man looks like the classic advertising agency account guy: he appears ten years younger than he is, he’s handsome, and he’s smooth to the point of being smarmy.
“I hope you’ve got good news,” Conrad Straun, founding partner of the firm, says to Morgan.
“Could be.”
“Spill it.”
“So he wants conflict and a recurring character,” Wolcott says.
“Yes, we’ve been over this Morgan. Do you have some concepts yet or not?”
“It’s a very rough thought at this point, really just a first idea that just sort of...came to me.”
“Come on Morgan. If you wait any longer American Oil will just pick up their hundred million in billings and say see ya’!”
Morgan taps a pencil against a pad of paper.
“Dr. Slick,” he says.
“Excuse me?” Straun says.
“Dr. Slick. He’s a classic villain,” Morgan continues. “Threatens the environment. Screws the consumer. He represents everything bad about the oil industry.”
“Dr. Slick. As in...oil slick?”
Morgan nods.
“Like every great villain, he’s got an arch enemy. Someone who foils his plans in every thirty second commercial.
Conrad Straun smiles. “American Oil.”
Morgan Wolcott grins right back. “You catch on quick. It’s classic drama. Conflict. A recurring character. And it will take only a few hours for me to write up the scripts.”
Straun takes a moment to think about it.
“You just came up with this?”
Wolcott nods. “Just now. Just before you walked in here.”
Straun reaches across Morgan’s desk and shakes his hand.
“You did it. You totally nailed it. Dr. Slick is genius!”
26
Inside the camouflaged van, Rocky explodes. “You prick! You bastard!”
He keeps watching the monitor which shows Morgan in his office basking in the accolades from Conrad Straun.
“Okay, Morgan,” Rocky says to the monitor. “You wanna go up against me and Tom, huh? You wanna roll the dice, get in our way, and see who comes out on top, huh?”
He snaps off the monitor.
“Prepare for the ass kicking of a lifetime, my friend.”
27
Tom is working out an elliptical trainer. He’s going at it hard, working up a good sweat. A guy climbs up onto the elliptical trainer next to Tom and starts working out. Tom glances over. It’s Jack, the account guy in charge of the American Oil business.
“Hey Jack. How’s it goin’?” Tom says between breaths.
“Couldn’t be better.”
He glances over and sees an attractive young woman doing some free weights.
“How’d you like to knock the bottom out of that?” the account guy says.
Tom glances over, and then concentrates on working out.
“You creative guys must need to exercise a lot. Pretty stressful, isn’t it?”
“It can be, yeah,” Tom admits.
“Coming up with last minute solutions, every day of the week? I’d burn out in a week.”
“I hear ya.”
The woman doing the free weights starts a different exercise, this time bending over. Jack lets his eyes run all over her body.
“How’d you like to punish that for an hour? Get her by the ankles and bring her down.”
Tom looks at him.
“You make it sound like you’re roping her at a rodeo or something.”
Jack looks at Tom.
“Whatever. Speaking of stress, Morgan must be pretty wired. Even when he’s on a roll like now.”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Tom starts to say, then stops. “What do you mean on a roll?”
The account guy spots another woman entering the workout area. She too is very good-looking.
“Oh, man. I’d love to-“
“Yeah, I know,” Tom says, cutting him off. So what did you mean about Morgan being on a roll?”
“Haven’t you heard about his killer idea? Dr. Slick? Genius! He came up with that in
like, ten minutes. Amazing.”
Tom rips the emergency stop cord from the elliptical and stares at the account guy.
“What did you say?”
“Dr. Slick. Morgan just solved the American Oil problem.”
Tom feels the anger flow over him.
“That’s complete bullshit! I presented that idea last week!”
The account guy raises an eyebrow at Tom, preparing to humor him.
“Yeah, sure you did,” he says.
28
Morgan Wolcott is in his office talking on the phone.
“Ah, tell him to have another martini and blow it out his ass.”
Morgan laughs at the response from the other end of the line as Tom barges into the office.
“I need to talk to you, Morgan.”
Morgan holds up a finger.
“Ah, he’s nothin’ but a tubby bitch,” he says into the phone, then laughs again. “All right, talk to you later.”
He hangs up and looks at Tom.
“I heard that you came up with Dr. Slick.”
“Who said that? It was a team effort. And we’re all on the same team. You’re really not doing yourself any favors acting like this, Tom. You’re doing yourself a huge disservice.”
“I’m not being selfish you ass. Give me credit for my idea.”
Morgan stands up behind his desk, starts putting on his sportcoat, getting ready to leave for the day.
“Well, listen to you. When did you grow some balls? Granted, they’re little ones, sort of like peashooters, but they finally dropped, didn’t they?” he says, a big smirk on his face.
“I’m serious Morgan. You can’t steal my idea.”
“Sure I can, Tom. Because here’s the problem. If I told people you came up with this idea, no one would have believed me. They all think you’re a hack. And I can’t blame them.”
29
Morgan Wolcott arrives at his home, a mansion along the Gold Coast of Chicago. He is in his kitchen, fixing himself a cocktail when the doorbell rings.
