I could feel my excitement mounting as I watched him sell himself on my plan of attack. It was almost a textbook pitch session, and I hadn’t even unveiled the slogan.
“And you remember his name fifteen years later, don’t you?”
“I sure do.” He leaned forward against the table and grinned. “Can you really do that for us?”
“Yes, I can.”
I cleared my throat quickly and reached for a glass of water. Someone had once told me that drinking tepid water before speaking made your voice sound better, clearer. And there was no doubt that the way a slogan was read had a big impact on how it was received.
Pulling the cover sheet upward, I looked from the slogan to Andrew as I spoke, my voice surprisingly calm and self-assured. “Zander Closet Company. When we’re done, even your skeletons will have a place.”
Now, I’m not exactly sure what I expected when I unveiled the slogan, but I know it wasn’t a blank look and utter silence. Apparently, Andrew Zander hadn’t gotten the memo that detailed appropriate responses to a woman’s labor of love.
Men.
As I stood there, studying his face, I could feel the enthusiasm rushing from my body, and hear the self-recriminations beginning to overpower the little voice that had been so certain one slogan was enough.
My voice was quiet when I finally spoke, the wind totally sucked out of my body as I racked my brain for something, anything, that might serve as a backup. But there was nothing. I truly believed in the power of my slogan. I still did.
“Mr. Zander, I’m sorry, I—”
My words were cut short as Andrew’s hand hit the table. “Tobi, it’s perfect!”
I stood there, dumbfounded, as he walked around the table, wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and pulled me in for a hug.
“Then you do like it?”
He stepped back and met my eyes, his cheeks sporting a slight pinkish hue. “Like it? Are you kidding me? It’s spectacular.”
The fear that had gripped my heart just moments earlier released its hold, and I let my smile fly. Not an engaging, professional smile, of course. No siree. My infamous Tobi Tobias face-splitting smile that invariably leads to a laugh. And, you guessed it, a snort.
Today was no exception.
Fortunately, I was saved by the sound of Andrew’s phone, a fairly innocuous melody that drowned out my idiosyncrasy quite nicely, thankyouverymuch.
“It’s official, Gary. We’ve got a winner. Let me put you on speaker so you can hear for yourself.”
He set the phone on the table and nodded at me, his smile threatening to swallow me whole.
“Good morning, Gary,” I said, moving closer to the table.
“Hey darlin’.”
“Would you like me to go through the whole pitch as to why I created the slogan I did?”
“Nah. Just give it to me. And by it, I mean the slogan.... For now, anyway.”
Andrew’s stance tensed, and he shook his head in disgust. When he spoke, his voice carried a mixture of disdain and embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Tobi, my brother thinks he’s being funny.”
I mouthed an It’s okay at Andrew and turned my focus back to the phone. “Gary, I’ve come up with a slogan that will appeal to people across the board, regardless of demographic, as well as one that will bring instant name recollection.”
“Okay . . .”
“Zander Closet Company. When we’re done, even your skeletons will have a place.”
“Come again?”
“Zander Closet Company. When we’re done, even your skeletons will have a place.”
“Oh my God, that’s it!”
I felt my mouth turn upward again, my snort-filled laugh bubbling just below the surface.
Andrew looked at me and grinned. “So you’re good with it, Gary?”
“Good with it? It’s fan—”
“Catch you later, Gary.” Andrew pressed the disconnect button, silenced the ring, and winked. “He needs to install a closet system.”
If it weren’t for my broken heart and the old adage about not mixing business with pleasure, I could so see myself with this guy. He was funny. Cute. Sincere. But my heart had been broken. Badly. To work around that would require trust, and that wasn’t something I was willing to do these days. Besides, Andrew Zander was off-limits, thanks to the new roommate who couldn’t sleep through the night without his attention . . .
I forced my mind back to the campaign. It was a much safer place to dwell. “I took the liberty of creating a script for your radio spot that incorporates the slogan with a few pertinent facts, like your phone number, location, and competitive pricing.”
His warm hand brushed mine as I handed him the script. A look I couldn’t identify flashed across his face.
“That’s awesome, Tobi. I’m going to get this to the station as soon as I leave here. It’ll run several times tomorrow, and again on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, leading up to the Showcase this weekend.”
He reached into the inside pocket of his blazer, pulled out a checkbook, and sat down at the table. I watched the pen move across each line of the check, the numbers too small to read from where I stood (not that I was looking or anything). “I’m giving you a little more than we discussed. Call it a bonus for your great work.”
I wanted to dance around the room, the urge to fist pump the air nearly overpowering. Instead, I smiled. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Tobi. Now, the next thing we need to focus on is a color brochure. I just wish we’d come straight here instead of wasting our time with Beckler and Stanley. If we had, the brochure would have been available for distribution at the Showcase.”
I considered his words as he tore my lifeline out of his checkbook. “What we can do is offer a prize drawing of some kind at the Showcase. The entry forms will allow us to collect names and addresses. When the brochures are ready, we’ve got a mailing list.” I pulled the last board off the table and propped it in front of the slogan. “I came up with a few ideas for the brochure.”
He stood and walked over to the easel. I watched his green eyes move slowly down the board, only to return to the top as a smile spread across his face. “Man, Tobi, this one is awesome.” He pointed to the first idea I’d created with actual photographs of the closet systems rather than sketches.
“I like that one too. Do you think I can get a picture of the system Gary is putting in at the Hohlbrooks?”
“Absolutely. I’ll need to double-check with the Hohlbrooks, but if they say okay, would Saturday morning before the Showcase work for you?” He handed me the check he had written and smiled. “Would eight be too early?”
“Eight is fine. I can be there even earlier if you want.”
“Let’s stick with eight. Mrs. Hohlbrook strikes me as the type who isn’t up at the crack of dawn.”
I looked down at the check in my hand, at the money that would allow me to pay my rent for the month, buy some food, pay JoAnna, and maybe even buy an outfit that hadn’t been worn by someone else first.
I realized Andrew was still talking and forced myself to focus on his words.
“Do you have a photographer on staff? Or do you take the pictures yourself?”
This campaign was a dream come true. I’d created and pitched the slogan completely on my own. It was a feeling I’m not sure I could explain to anyone. Except one person.
By realizing my dream, I could help someone else’s come true too.
I smiled. “I’ve got the perfect photographer for the job. His name is Sam.”
Andrew reached for my hand and shook it firmly, my skin tingling against his. “Well then I’ll see you and Sam at eight o’clock on Saturday morning.”
“Yes. You will.” I pushed a wayward lock of hair away from my eye. “Thank you so much, Mr. Zander.”
“Andrew—actually, I’d like you to call me Andy. And thank you. I think you just saved my company with thirteen words. Thirteen words that are gonna knock ’em dead.”
4
I’m not sure what I was expecting when Mitzi Hohlbrook opened the door on Saturday morning. Nicole Kidman perhaps? Maybe Jennifer Aniston. You know, someone who wore their money well. But that’s not who was standing in front of me now.
Instead of understated elegance, Mrs. Preston Hohlbrook reminded me of a cross between Kim Kardashian and Kate Upton. Packed into a form-fitting, silver-sequined gown, she sported a set of fake breasts that would make Dolly Parton look, well, small-chested.
If I had any doubt as to whether I was gawking, it was put to rest with an elbow to my side, compliments of Sam.
I gulped.
She squealed.
“Tobi Tobias! I’m the talk of the town thanks to you. My phone’s been ringing off the hook. There’s not a day spa for miles that hasn’t heard my name uttered inside its walls in three days. I am the envy of absolutely everyone.”
Before I could respond, Mitzi Hohlbrook grasped my upper arms with her long, slender, perfectly manicured fingers and pulled me forward. My face careened toward skin-covered silicone faster than the speed of light.
But just as I closed my eyes and braced for impact, the forward motion stopped. I peeked out through my right eye.
“Isn’t it just like them?” she said.
Suddenly free of Mitzi’s hands, I tugged my sweater down and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Them?”
“Larry and Linda.”
She had names for her breasts?
I peered at Sam to see if he was having more success in tracking the staccato conversation, but his attention was solely on Larry and Linda. Judging by the look on his teenage face, it was doubtful he was hearing anything. I returned the elbow jab and looked back at Mitzi, her raccoon-rimmed eyes narrowed to near slits as she stared at something behind me.
Curiosity, of course, won. I turned.
A couple, probably in their mid- to late-forties, stood in the street, their heads bent close to each other, their mouths moving a mile a minute as they engaged in a conversation we could not hear. A conversation that was no doubt about us (the finger pointing was kind of a giveaway). Or, more likely, the Hohlbrooks.
“They were so sure their house was going to be the star of the Showcase this weekend. But we showed them, didn’t we, Tobi?”
“We did?”
“Of course. I didn’t see any of their contractors on the five o’clock news last night.” Mitzi giggled. “That little saying you came up with has the whole city abuzz. Even Preston started salivating over the possibility of a fresh start for the dealerships. In fact, he’s been kicking around the idea so much, he hasn’t had time to get too upset about—oh, forget it.”
I knew my mouth was hanging open, but I was powerless to stop it. Mitzi Hohlbrook was the fastest talker I’d ever met. When, exactly, the woman took a breath was a complete mystery.
“And, frankly, I couldn’t be more thrilled with the attention I’m”—she stopped for a moment and smiled—“I mean Zander Closet Company is getting from all of this.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Of course. That’s what this Showcase is all about. Helping the business community thrive. It’s just more satisfying when it’s one of the little guys, don’t you think?”
I looked back at the couple on the street. “And they’re jealous?”
“Jealous doesn’t begin to cover it. Their housekeeper, Glenda, told our housekeeper Deserey that the two of them were practically throwing the china last night after that news clip.”
“You mean the one about Zander’s slogan?”
“Uh-huh.” Mitzi bent her fingers inward and moved her thumb across her pinky. “I swear, it is hell to find a decent manicurist these days, you know?” She looked up at me, at my colorless nails and scratched-up hands, and tsked. “Well, maybe you don’t know. Okay, so what were we saying? Oh, that’s right, the slogan. You saw the clip didn’t you?”
Saw it? How about taped it in forty different languages? (A slight exaggeration, of course, but I’d be willing to bet every member of my extended family had already received a copy of last night’s news, compliments of my mother?)
To Mitzi, I said, “Yes, I saw it. They interviewed me.”
Mitzi stopped looking at her fingers for a moment, and turned her nearly inch-long eyelashes in my direction. “They did?”
I looked at Sam. He was still gawking.
“Yes. The story focused on the slogan. That I created.”
“Oh, that’s right. Silly me. That’s how I recognized you this morning.” Mitzi raised a polished hand to her mouth in feigned embarrassment, but her attention was no longer on me. The finger-pointing neighbors had that honor once again. “Let’s go inside, it’s a little stuffy out here.”
When Mitzi turned, I quietly snapped my fingers in Sam’s face then pointed at his camera bag on the walkway beside his feet. Like an obedient puppy, he grabbed the bag and followed his teenage fantasy into the marble foyer of the Hohlbrook mansion. I glanced back at the green-eyed neighbors one last time then followed Sam inside. As I passed Glitzy, I mean, Mitzi, she touched my arm and lowered her voice to a near-whisper.
“I can give you the name of a good plastic surgeon. He can make mountains out of those molehills.”
I didn’t need a mirror to know my cheeks were a perfect match for Ronald McDonald’s nose, but a crowbar would have been nice to pry my jaw off the floor when I looked up and saw Andrew Zander standing in front of me. Good Lord, had he just heard what Mitzi said? I looked down at my newly purchased plum-colored V-neck top and back up at my client. It didn’t matter if he’d heard or not. Those emerald-green eyes could see reality all on their own.
“Hey there, Tobi. How’re you doing this morning?”
I looped my thumb under the strap of my backpack and tugged it higher on my shoulder. The movement gave me time to find a steady voice—one that wasn’t shaky from embarrassment. It also gave me time to note that his sandy blond hair and tanned skin looked pretty spectacular in conjunction with the hunter-green sweater and black slacks he was wearing (not that I was looking or anything).
“Andrew . . . I didn’t realize you were here already. I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”
“Not long at all. The housekeeper just let me in through the back door.” He nodded a hello at Mitzi and then extended his hand to Sam. “I see your camera bag so you must be Tobi’s photographer. I’m Andy Zander.”
Any reservations I may have had about hiring a teenager for this job were whisked away as I watched Sam return Andrew’s handshake with a firm squeeze and spot-on eye contact. Mary Fran would be so proud.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Zander.”
“Andy, please. And if you can get your boss here to start saying Andy instead of Andrew, I’ll buy you lunch sometime.”
Sam looked at me, grinned, and nodded at Andrew—Andy. “You’re on.”
Great, now I was getting ganged up on by—
“Ba-boo.”
I sucked in my breath and stared at Sam.
“Ba-boo. Dad-ee.”
“Rudder?” I didn’t realize I’d uttered his name aloud until I heard Andy’s voice.
“Rudder? You mean Rudder—”
Mitzi clapped her hands together. “Oh, it’s just Preston’s damn bird. I’ve tried to find a muzzle for it, but no such luck. He talks nonstop most days, and he’s so loud we can hear him all the way down here.”
She beckoned to us with her finger as she sashayed across the entry foyer and into the living room. We followed.
“What kind of bird is it, ma’am?”
Until now, I’m not sure Mitzi had even noticed Sam’s presence. But when he closed his mouth around the word ma’am her head snapped to the side and he was the only one she saw.
“Manners and good looks. Aren’t you just a dreamboat?”
Now, I can’t be certain, but I’m fairly sure I saw Sam gulp. I definitely saw his cheeks turn the same shade of crimson as the wallpaper. But before I
could get him back on track, Andy spoke.
“I asked Mr. Hohlbrook that same question earlier this week. It’s an African grey parrot, and his name is Baboo.”
“Really? That’s cool. My mom’s got one at—” Sam looked at me and stopped. “I’m sorry. We’re not here to talk about pets.”
Andy clapped a hand on Sam’s right shoulder. “It’s okay. I like animals too. But you’re right, we probably should get the show on the road. So, what kind of shots do you want to get today?”
Sam looked at me. “Tobi?”
“What we’d like to get is a few interiors of the closet. Some with nothing in it so we can feature the materials and craftsmanship, and some with clothes and accessories in place so we can demonstrate the organization your system brings.” I looked at Mitzi, her attention back on her fingernails. “Mrs. Hohlbrook, will it be okay for us to move things out for a few minutes? We’ll get everything back just the way you had it.”
Mitzi Hohlbrook waggled her fingers in the air. “That’s fine. Just so long as everything is picture-perfect when the Showcase opens at ten.”
“That won’t be a problem at all.” I started for the foyer, Sam in tow. Mitzi’s voice brought us to a stop.
“Of course I’ll need a few minutes to freshen my makeup for the pictures.”
It was my turn to gulp.
“Pictures?” I asked.
“Of course. You are planning on having me in these shots, aren’t you?”
Sam looked at me. I looked at Andrew. I mean, Andy. We all looked at Mitzi.
She couldn’t be serious. Could she?
“Why don’t you all sit down for a few minutes. I’ll send Deserey in with a plate of muffins. I won’t be long. Toodles.” In a blur of silver sequins, she was gone.
“Oh man, what do we do now?” Andy dropped onto one of the floral couches and dug his elbows into his thighs. “I don’t want her in my brochure, but I can’t come out and say that.”
“You don’t have to,” Sam said. “They just don’t come out.”
Leave it to the teenager to come up with an answer. God, I love that boy.
Death in Advertising Page 4
