The Numbers Game

by Frances Vidakovic

  “Maybe I should do something about that,” Serena decided.

  She opened the drawer and pulled out a blue spiral notebook and half-chewed pen. It was about time those editors stopped printing dribble and started tackling real dilemmas for today’s generation. Real problems like hers.

  Let me see, how should she begin? Serena figured it was best that she start at the beginning, that way the editor would know exactly what she was going on about.

  What do you do when two people are perfectly suited to you? When both are equally capable of making you happy?

  Serena paused there, and her first proofread almost gave her a mini heart attack. Damn, damn, damn. What was wrong with her? She was in love with two men. Until she saw it written there on paper - probably much like marriage and divorce - she never quite believed it was true.

  Markie and Jasper, she continued, eager to ramble on. Both are wonderful guys who I deeply love but I cannot choose between them because choosing would mean having one and not the other. I’ve toyed with the idea of the impossible – having them both. In an ideal world, the boys and I would live together in a two-storey house, with Markie on the ground floor and Jasper on the top so I could flitter up and down, as my heart desires.

  Sometimes I wouldn’t even mind if both Markie and Jasper jumped into bed with me. That way we could lie together like a spoon sandwich and I could take turns kissing, hugging and sleeping with them both. In an ideal world these men would be at my disposal, because the thought of either one being with someone else, another woman, is horrifying. Never, ever! They are mine; they belong to me!

  I know I have to let go of one but how do you do that when the other spark is still ignited? How do you put it out? When I look at Jasper, the new boy, I see that life with him is just as attractive as the one with Markie, the old, the comfortable and familiar. No better, no worse. I don’t know. Having these feelings is scary because it tears me in two directions, one leading to heaven while the other to paradise.

  The worst thing is both are as beautiful and horrible as the other. I wish I could simply close my eyes and reopen them with the answer in my hands, from you, or whoever. So can you help me please Miss Agony Aunt?

  Living at Ricks was nothing like living in Casablanca.

  For starters, his bed was a couch and that was Markie’s total personal space – equating to about ten square feet. When Markie initially complained about this lack of legroom for ‘entertaining’, Rick had rolled his eyes and said:

  “Don’t you know anything? Doing it in bed is so eighties. Women nowadays want outdoor action: on the car bonnet, in public restrooms, movie theatres, that sort of thing.”

  Maybe the sort of girls Rick was dating – they were eighteen, wide-eyed and definitely didn’t know better. Only last week Rick had nudged him when his latest doe arrived at the C-Lounge with another friend in tow.

  “What do you think?” Rick had asked, referring to the stick-like insect friend. “Think you could jump her guns?”

  Markie had tried to hide his disgust. The kid looked like she needed not only a generous dose of chocolate but also a healthy layering of fat. Her eyes had popped out like bumble bees on her skeletal face.

  “She’s a model you know,” Rick whispered next. “The magazines are calling her the next big thing. Move aside Kate and Gisele ‘cause here comes Sady.”

  “Who the feck are Kate and Gisele?” Markie begged to know. Actually maybe it was better not to ask. If they looked anything like the poor kid here he preferred to keep away from first name basis. “More importantly is it even legal to be with these two girls? How the hell did they get inside? I feel as if a cop is gonna come and arrest me any second.”

  “Sadie’s on the cover of the latest Style magazine,” Rick informed him, “That’s a one way ticket to anywhere man, but definitely not jail. Be nice to her and she might give you her autograph.”

  Markie looked back at this Sady character and tried not to laugh. A model, huh! He could hardly believe how little it took to make it these days. Maybe he should call Aunt Suze and suggest that his cousin Erma dabble in modeling for a little extra pocket money, once the braces come off.

  “So are you gonna go for it?” Rick nudged again. “Sady’s checking you out again.”

  Blimey she was. Markie caught Sady stealing seductive glances and flashing a white as bleach set of teeth.

  “I don’t know man,” Markie cringed, “she must be like fourteen or something.”

  “She’s seventeen actually. In a few weeks time…but that’s soon enough.”

  Guess that made Markie only what…almost double her age? Wonderful, just wonderful.

  “Err…no offence but I think I’ll pass,” Markie had decided ultimately. Just for the night he didn’t want to think about sex, notching numbers and crap like that.

  Surprisingly since that night at C-Lounge Rick had gone through a similar personality change.

  “So are you going hunting out at some club tonight?” Markie had asked him a few days later at work. He had asked it more as a formality rather than out of pure curiosity, because he knew what the answer would be:

  “Yes, of course I’m frigging going and if you’re a real man you’d come with me too.” To which Markie would duly reply “actually screw you, I’m staying home tonight.”

  More and more Markie enjoyed having Rick’s dodgy place to himself, even if it meant having to put up with the ghastly grunts later in the night.

  “Actually I’m off the circuit, if you must know,” Rick informed him, casually sorting through papers. “No more C-Lounge, no more womanizing, I’m now a one-woman man.”

  “Excuse me?” Markie tapped his ear to make sure it’s wasn’t waterlogged. “Did I hear what I just thought I heard? You, the pussy chaser, studly king of riders, no more partying?”

  Rick nodded.

  “I’ve got to take a seat.” Markie let the shock settle in.

  “So who is she?”

  “Why do you need to know?” Rick asked, cheeks noticeably reddening. Oh so it was serious, why else would he be blushing?

  “No need,” Markie shrugged, “I simply figured friends confide to friends that sort of thing. I know I would, but be that way if you must.” Stubborn asshole, he added in his head.

  “When the time is right,” Rick smiled.

  Markie smiled back though deep inside, he felt like punching Rick in the head. No way, he was not gonna grovel. Rick could keep his sixth grade little secrets; he’d rather die than try to worm them out of him.

  Bastard.

  Markie sort of liked it better when Rick was confused and wandering aimlessly around the World of Women. Watching Rick on the dance floor was much like seeing him play pool; given that he had no idea, his tactics were hit and hope and often miss.

  But present him with a girlfriend, a love interest of some sort and what do you know, Rick was a new man all of the sudden!

  Make that double bastard, why don’t we?

  Over the next few days, the new Rick was careful to cover his tracks – not that Markie was spying or anything. Previous rowdy calls were now taken privately and quieter; new emails were erased rather than left open for show and no more leaving behind Mr. Credit Card Statement with five figure debts out on the kitchen table. It seemed Rick was intent for Markie not to discover who his mystery woman was.

  “She must be a dog,” Markie chucked to himself.

  Why else would he keep it to himself? Knowing Rick it was probably because he thought some other guy would snatch her right from under his nose given half a chance. Dream on Ricky Martin. Anyway, Markie concluded, even if she was a dog, it was about time that idiot settled down. Rick had started to remind him of that excruciatingly frustrating friend of Serena’s, Tabitha. Now that was one person he was happy not to have seen for a while. Maybe in the interim Serena had also seen Tabitha for what she truly was: shallow, phony and thick as a brick.

  Except it wasn’t likely; when girls were friends fr
om kindergarten, it took more than a bulldozer to tear them apart.

  Yet what about their ties with boys, or more specifically, their ties with boyfriends whom they’ve lived with and loved and known for almost five years? Markie frowned. He didn’t know anymore. At the moment it felt like their bond could be run over by a toy Tonka Truck.

  Chapter 25

  As if his life wasn’t complicated enough, Markie then received a call with the potential to change his forever.

  “There’s a Harry T. Sangster on the phone for you,” Guerrilla Zoo’s receptionist buzzed through in the morning. For the time being Berry, as in short for Raspberry, was managing both reception and his personal assistant duties. Markie wasn’t keen to risk another Lola situation for a while.

  “He says it’s important. Shall I put him through?”

  Markie didn’t know whether Berry was pulling his leg or not. It seemed too early for April Fools pranks.

  “I’m assuming you mean Harry B. Sangster, as in legendary head of Adland Palace, mega superstar. You say you have him on the line?”

  “I think so.” Berry sounded confused. “He doesn’t sound like a superstar.”

  Of course, not when you have Eminem and Britney pasted up on your bloody wall.

  “Put him through,” Markie responded, then carefully took his seat.

  It sounded big. Harry wasn’t eager to give much away but he did say it was an offer Markie would be unable to refuse.

  “Can you meet me for lunch today?” Harry asked, husky voice booming. “About twelve, I’ll give you the details of the deal then we can discuss it further.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t,” Markie stuttered.

  He thought of the amazing Adland Palace, the dazzling photograph which appeared regularly in the trade magazines, and wondered how the hell he was supposed to get to something situated hundreds of miles away pronto. “Given that I’m based in San Francisco; the earliest I could fly out to L.A. is early evening, if I’m lucky.”

  For a moment there was a pause then came Harry’s deep hearty laugh. Or maybe it wasn’t Harry at all.

  “What is it?” Markie asked half embarrassed.

  “Sorry,” the tinny voice said, once it calmed itself down. “I find it rather amusing that you expect to fly out and see me, when I in fact have requested the meeting. For your information I’m already in Frisco; flew in this morning.”

  “Oh.” Markie was tempted to add an awestruck: for me? But he held this tongue; no need to let on Harry was his idol just yet. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’m staying at the Hilton; there’s a private meeting room here which provides lunch etcetera, just ask the concierge. Can you make it for twelve?”

  “I’ll make sure I’m there,” Markie promised.

  “Good. I look forward to finally meeting the boy wonder.”

  During the entire drive to the Hilton and even the first five minutes of their meeting, all Markie could hear in his head were the words: boy wonder.

  No one had ever called him a boy wonder before. Sure he’d been acknowledged for his savvy business acumen and strategic marketing ploys but it’d always come from wankers in the business who kissed everybody’s butt. That was the nature of advertising, one day you’re the flavor of the month, the next another genius was. No hard feelings there.

  But to hear a compliment coming from the top gun himself: Harry B. Sangster, well that was almost as good as Shakespeare saying you’re a good playwright. Harry’s portrait was probably secretly hung up on a lot of aspiring ad men’s walls. With what they called ‘his magic finger’ he’d taken about a hundred unknown poorly performing brands and turned them into household names. We’re talking billions of dollars of revenue here.

  “So you’re probably wondering why I invited you here today.”

  Harry smiled, revealed a mouth full of shiny new teeth. To be honest, for a man of about sixty-five Markie thought he was holding himself together pretty well. The body looked solid underneath the Armani suit with its shiny silver cufflinks. Face golden brown but not in the George Hamilton way and only slightly creased. If Markie was a betting man, he’d put his money on the fact that Harry was still married to his high-school sweetheart, rather than long disposing her for the token blond trophy wife. Actually come to think of it, he was married to sweetheart – Markie had read about in last Sunday’s paper centre spread.

  “This meeting has come suddenly so naturally I’m curious. I’m sure however I’ll find out soon enough.”

  “A patient man,” Harry nodded, “I like that quality. I won’t be testing it today though. I prefer to cut straight to the chase. ”

  Markie nodded in agreement, and then shook his head when Harry offered him a cigar.

  After lighting up, Harry leant forward and dropped the bombshell.

  “I’ve been watching your company for a while. The clients you have, your billings, general creative product…I must say I’m impressed and so too are my investors.”

  “Investors?” Markie frowned. In the wake of the latest Rick fiasco, his reflexes were at bit slow. Didn’t the term investors usually involve money and buying out? Any owner’s dual dream and nightmare come true.

  Harry grinned even deeper.

  “We, at Adland Palace, are interested in making you an offer. It’s generous enough I believe, in exchange for seventy per cent ownership of your company.”

  He slid Markie a small piece of paper across the table and Markie took it in his hands. Holy hell, scrawled across it was a six along with plenty of zeroes. Six million, they were offering him six bloody million dollars!

  “You’d be retained as Managing Director on your current salary, of course,” Harry clarified. “And all your staff if you so desire.”

  “But what about Rick?”

  “Rick, the creative director?”

  “And partner I’m afraid. He really should be sitting in on this meeting.”

  Harry frowned, taking in this information, new information from the looks of it.

  “I was under the impression he was only a silent partner, and not controlling either,” Harry replied, still frowning.

  “Yes that’s correct but…” Markie paused, thinking ‘but he’s my best friend’ didn’t sound too professional.

  Harry was right however, Rick was silent, held only forty per cent, and wielded no real power in the top-level decision-making process. If Markie wanted to sell, then he had every right to sell - the ball was in his court. But suddenly six million didn’t look so appealing; pay Rick out and that left him only $3.6 million.

  “Is the figure negotiable?” he asked, deciding he’d much prefer to have at least five.

  “Within reason,” Harry said, all smiling again because he knew the ball was rolling. “There’s only one possible problem I must point out.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Your company, if it’s successfully bought out, will operate out of the offices of Adland Palace.”

  “But they’re in L.A!” Markie exclaimed.

  “Exactly my point,” Harry replied.

  And with that the meeting was over.

  That night Markie lay in bed dazed, unable to sleep.

  A million emotions ran through his veins but first and foremost was excitement. To live in LA, to have his business running up and successfully out of Taj Mahal of advertising; that was a place he’d never allowed his dreams to wander off to. Why dream things that crazy when the chances of them happening were a billion to one? He’d be better off buying a lottery ticket every week for the rest of his life.

  No, Markie had been happy to restrict his goals to within San Francisco, to that of being number one in this town- anything else was just an extra cherry on top. In terms of work, he’d always kept things in perspective. Being successful in business was great but he had no illusions that this was the be all and end all of everything. After all, there was way more to life than money. When the time came that Serena wanted kids, Markie would happ
ily kick off his shiny work shoes and spend his weekends rough and tumbling down at the park instead of at the office.

  Now he had to ask himself though: had he settled for too little? While other people were venturing off to new cities on other continents or at least in other states, Markie found himself still living in San Francisco, ten minutes from his childhood home. It wasn’t that he was terribly attached to Frisco; his regard for it stemmed mainly from the fact it was the only place Markie had ever known. And in comparison to other foreign gems: Saudi Arabia, India, China, and Japan, Frisco always seemed warm and buzzing and very appealing.

  Taking off to Europe at twenty three had really opened his eyes however. So many people living so far away from home! Before then, Markie had had no idea. He didn’t know that people lived that kind of lifestyle - flitting from one country to another with only a backpack and self-reliance – he didn’t even know they existed. With every hobo that passed, Markie had felt like playing twenty questions: but what about stability? What about your career and investments? What in the world do your parents say?

  Markie had held one such interview, with a hippy bisexual pair and it was a disaster from the start.

  “We don’t care”, was their retort to Question one. “We don’t care” was their retort to Question two, and just when Markie was expecting a ditto for number three he saw their faces grow ever wild and frenzied.

  “Our parents?” they had ranted and raved. “Don’t you understand anything? It doesn’t matter what other people think or say or expect from you, especially your parents. You’ve got to live your own life and not anyone else’s because everyone dies their own death. If you let yourself get influenced by others instead of listening to your own heart, you will lose in life. You will be a loser in the end with a bag full of regrets.”