The model-thin advertising executive strolled onto the stage in a gold floor length dress that hugged her curves like a second skin. Her trademark blond locks hung down her back and across her shoulders in such glorious ringlets that even Carter had to sigh. But I didn’t care about any of that. My focus, my heart-pounding attention was fixed on the plain white envelope in Cassie’s bejeweled hand as she fairly glided into place behind the podium.
“Well, well, well, we meet again,” Cassie said around a dazzling smile of bleached teeth. “Only this time, and rather surprisingly I might add, I will remain at the bottom of the staircase”—as if on cue, the red velvet curtain beside the podium parted to reveal the famed spiral staircase, as well as the platform and screen it led to at the top—“while this year’s winner carries his or her Golden Storyboard to the top.”
I looked down at the napkin in my lap and then back up at the stage, my face warm from my tablemates’ renewed and not so subtle attention.
“So, without further ado, I present to you the nominees for this year’s Best Overall Ad Campaign.
“Ben Gibbens of The Beckler and Stanley Agency for the creativity that was this year’s St. Louis and You campaign for the St. Louis Tourism Commission.
“Deidre Ryan, of The Whitestone Agency for the creativity that was this year’s Books Can Take You Places campaign for the St. Louis Public Library System.
“Lexa Smyth of The Callahan Agency for the creativity that was this year’s Get Moving with MetroLink Campaign.”
Andy brought his lips within a few centimeters of my ear. “I didn’t know you were up against someone from the founder’s agency.”
“I am. But it’s okay. Really. It’s an honor to be nominated—”
“Get Moving with MetroLink? I remember that one,” Ms. Rapple whisper-gushed from the other side of my grandfather. “Best commercial I’ve seen in years.”
I started to look at Carter for the commiserating eye roll I knew I’d find, but then Cassie moved on to the fourth and final nominee—me.
“And Tobi Tobias of The Tobias Agency for the creativity that was New Town’s Where Vacation and Life Become One campaign.”
Like a robot, I started to applaud just like I had for the first three names, but stopped when JoAnna’s hand reached out and stilled mine. “This is your moment, Tobi. Savor it.”
And savor it I did. I savored the applause from the tables around me, the smiles from my loved ones, and the sweet kiss on my temple from Andy.
Yes, it was official. I would never, ever forget this moment for as long as I lived.
“And now, I present to you, the winner of this year’s Golden Storyboard for Best Overall Ad Campaign—Deidre Ryan!”
A gasp from the front center of the room was followed, a half second later, by a squeal from the vicinity of Deidre’s table, and, finally, the thunderous applause of the crowd that drowned out all but the sound of my own heart beating inside my chest. I felt Andy’s squeeze on my hand, and JoAnna’s breath on my ear as she said something I assume was sweet and supportive, but all I could do at that moment was stare with utter fascination as Deidre ran onto the stage, accepted her award from Cassie, and made her way up the spiral staircase to the platform at the top, her face a mixture of stunned surprise and little-girl joy.
I knew, on some level, I was supposed to feel bad—disappointed that it wasn’t me standing on that platform, staring down at the Golden Storyboard like it was the Holy Grail. But I didn’t. I was actually happy for the diminutive brunette I’d met a half dozen times over the past few years—a quiet, unassuming woman who’d likely dreamed of this moment as often as I had.
The applause continued as a smaller red curtain, positioned behind the platform, opened to reveal the screen tasked with sharing Deidre’s campaign with the audience. But just as the shot of the man and his little boy—decked out in Cardinals gear—appeared on the screen, I darted my attention back to Deidre, my confusion mingling with hers a split second before the platform she was standing on gave way, and she, and the stage lights above her, fell to the ground with a deafening thud.
~Chapter Three~
I tried to focus on the Yay-Us party JoAnna had graciously orchestrated for Sam and me at the agency immediately following the awards show, but it was hard. I understood her rationale in going ahead with the soirée despite the horror we’d all witnessed, but still, every time I tried to lose myself in conversation with one of my friends, I heard the sound of Deidre’s body hitting the stage and the delayed, yet no less bloodcurdling screams that had followed.
I knew I wasn’t the only one who kept traveling back to that horrific moment, but I also knew everyone—myself, included—was trying really hard to keep things light for Sam. After all, winning an industry award at any age was exciting, but to win one as a newly turned sixteen-year-old was something else entirely. Yet the fact that Grandpa Stu had disengaged himself from Ms. Rapple’s flappy (ewww) arms and was heading in my direction with worried eyes, was a pretty good indication my efforts at being upbeat and cheerful were falling short.
“Have I told you how much you look like your grandmother this evening?” Grandpa Stu pulled me in for a sidearm hug and a kiss on my temple. “With your hair all curled and framing your face the way it is, it’s like I’m thirty all over again, too.”
I captured his hand in mine and held it close to my cheek, the rasp in his voice a tribute to the love he’d shared with my grandmother—a love that had spawned my mom and, eventually, my brother, my sister, and me. “I miss her, too, Grandpa Stu.”
“I know you do.” He gestured toward the table of treats JoAnna had erected against the back wall in the conference room and, at my nod, tugged me over to the plate of Napoleons I was sure he’d already sampled a few times over the past hour or so. “So you doing okay, Sugar Lump?”
I took the dessert plate he held out to me and tried to focus on the plethora of options JoAnna had obviously been slaving over in the hours leading up to the award show—cookies, brownies, individual tarts, cupcakes, and the aforementioned Napoleons. My eyes knew everything looked amazing. Heck, even my hands were itching to start piling one of everything onto my plate. But my stomach was a different story. Instead of the feed-me rumbles that usually accompanied any and all sugar-related visuals, there were warning gurgles. And considering the fact my agency’s bathroom was a one-staller, I didn’t want to chance a line should I ignore the warning and end up paying the price.
“Actually, as good as everything looks, I’m not terribly hungry. I-I guess I’m still full from dinner.”
“Full?” Grandpa Stu eyed me closely. “I saw your plate when that fella from the hotel took it away. You ate no more than half your steak and no more than a quarter of your potatoes.”
“I ate my chocolate cake!”
“You ate some of your chocolate cake—not all of it.”
“I was excited for Sam.” I looked from my grandfather, to my empty plate, and back again before returning it to the pile. “And… I was busy talking to Andy.”
“He ate his food,” Grandpa Stu pointed out.
“I don’t know, Grandpa, I can’t explain it.” I fussed with the container of plastic forks and when they were neat and orderly, I dropped my hand to my side. “It was a big night, you know? I guess I was just busy soaking everything up.”
He polished off his umpteenth Napoleon of the night, tossed the plate into the trash can in the far corner, and then motioned for me to follow him down the hallway and into my office. Once inside, he flipped on the overhead light and pushed the door closed enough to give us privacy but not enough to be rude to my guests. “Talk to me, Sugar Lump.”
“Grandpa, I can’t be in here. JoAnna went to a lot of trouble to put this shindig together for me and Sam. In fact, that’s the only reason we’re even still doing this—because of Sam.”
“And Sam is lovi
ng every minute of it.” Grandpa Stu made his way around my desk and dropped into my chair with an audible oomph. “I’m mighty proud of that young man, Sugar Lump.”
It felt good to smile if even for just a few moments, so I gave into it as I wandered over to my draft table, my eyes barely registering the pitch it housed for yet another client I was trying to woo over to Tobias Advertising Agency. “I have no doubt it will be the first in a long line of awards for our Sam. He’s incredibly talented. Tonight just proved I’m not the only one who sees it.”
I turned at the sound of my desk drawer opening and then closing. “Do you need something, Grandpa?”
“Nope. Just fiddling with things the way you’ve been fiddling with things all night.”
I made my way back to my desk and sat down on the chair normally reserved for clients. “I haven’t been fiddling with things.”
My grandfather’s left eyebrow rose halfway up his forehead. “Oh? You tellin’ me JoAnna didn’t have to shoo you away from the candy jar on her desk within just a few minutes of you getting here?”
“She’s always shooing me from that jar.”
“Because you’re getting into it, not playing with it.”
I started to deny the accusation but when I realized I was obsessively running my finger across a faint scratch on the top of my desk, I pulled my hand back, shoved it under my thigh, and said nothing.
“And when Carter was using his finger to re-curl that one strand of hair next to your ear”—he pointed to the left side of my face—“you kept messing with that folding chair out in the reception area so much Sam actually wedged a coaster under it so you’d quit making that sound.”
“The legs were uneven.”
“It’s a folding chair, Sugar Lump. No one expects it to be premium seating.”
To argue would be futile. My grandfather was right. I’d been fidgeting pretty much non-stop since I got in the car with Andy for the ten-plus mile drive from the award show venue. “I still can’t believe what happened to Deidre.”
“I know. I’ve thought about it a time or two myself since we’ve been here. And I’ve said a few prayers for that young woman and her family. But playing with jars and chairs isn’t going to change anything. And this was a very big night for Sam and for you. Don’t let things that are out of your control taint that. Although, truth be told, I think it’s your name that shoulda been called for that fancy gold storyboard thingy.”
“Thank God it wasn’t.” Andy peeked around my office door. “Mind if I crash?”
My chair (or what was normally my chair) squeaked under the decreasing weight of my grandfather’s body as he pushed back from the desk and stood, the smile I’d loved my whole life on full display. “Not at all, young man. Especially since the sight of you in that doorway managed to get this one”—he pointed at me—“to smile for the first time since this party started.”
“I’ve smiled!”
“Not like that, you haven’t.” Grandpa Stu came out from behind my desk, stopped beside my chair just long enough to kiss the top of my head, and then smacked Andy on the back as they passed one another in the doorway. “If you can get her to keep that smile longer than a minute or two, I’ll buy you a beer before I head back to Kansas City.”
“I’ll do my best, Stu.” Andy waited until my grandfather closed the door completely, and then made his way over to me. “I meant what I said, you know. I’m glad you didn’t win that award tonight.”
When he perched on the edge of the desk and reached for my hand, I gave it willingly. “I’m sorry I was such lousy company on the way here. I guess I was still in shock.”
He squeezed my hand ever so gently until I really looked at him. “If you remember, I didn’t say anything during the drive, either.”
I thought back, and he was right. “I keep hearing that sound, and seeing her face just before it all happened. And when I’m not seeing her, I’m seeing the faces of her husband and parents as—” I tugged my hand free of Andy’s grasp and used it to try and push away the image in my head. But all it did was advance forward to the moment Deidre’s husband backed away from the huddle of people around his wife to let loose the kind of tortured scream I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to forget.
Andy raked his hand through his hair. “And I’m hearing and seeing all that same stuff and thanking God you didn’t win that damn award. Because if you had, that would have been…”
His words disappeared behind his fist as he turned and looked out my office window to the small side alley that separated my building from the drycleaner next door. But it didn’t matter. His anguish and the reason behind it were crystal clear.
But before I could gather my own emotions enough to string together a coherent response, his focus and his hands were back on me. “That woman is dead because of a wrong place/wrong time moment. And it could have been you, Tobi.”
I looked down at his hands on mine and worked to steady my breath. “So you saw it, too?”
He drew back but his gaze never left mine. “Her fall? Yeah. Her family’s anguish? Yeah. That look on her face as I imagine she felt the platform starting to give way? Yeah. I saw it all just like you did—like everyone in that entire ballroom did.”
“I’m talking about the look just before the platform gave way,” I whispered, though why I felt the need to whisper in a closed office was beyond me.
“I think she felt something we couldn’t see.”
Again, I took my hand back, and this time I used it to push off the chair. “I don’t think that’s what it was at all.”
“I’m not following, Tobi.”
I wandered over to the window and gazed out over the moonlit alley. “It’s like you said before…about the wrong time/wrong place...only it was more than that. Her being there was wrong and I think she knew that.”
Andy’s footsteps drew near until he was standing right behind me. “Meaning?”
I took a deep breath, let it out through my lips, and then turned so I was looking at Andy rather than a dumpster. “I think Cassie said the wrong name.”
“The wrong—”
A quick knock thwarted the rest of his sentence and sent our focus toward the door and JoAnna. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Carter is all geared up to give a toast and he’s insisting that you come out and stand beside Sam. And Tobi? This toast fills up both sides of a standard piece of paper.”
Despite the seriousness of the conversation she’d interrupted, I still managed a smile. Carter was aces. Always. And the fact that he had a two-sided toast meant he’d spent a good deal of time preparing for this moment. To decline it would be cruel.
“Okay, I’ll be out in one minute.”
“We’ll give you three.” JoAnna studied me for a few seconds and then hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have pushed to still have this. But I just felt so bad seeing Sam’s night end like that and—”
“It’s okay, JoAnna, really. Sam earned this. And I’ll be out in three, I promise.”
“I’ll let Carter know.” JoAnna gave me an encouraging smile and then quietly closed the door in her wake.
Hooking his finger beneath my chin, Andy guided my attention back to him. “You were saying?”
I took another, deeper breath. “I don’t think that award was meant for Deidre. I think it was Lexa’s.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because in the split second before Deidre fell…when she looked over her shoulder at the screen…she realized it wasn’t her ad they were showing.”
Andy stared at me, his confusion palpable.
“Deidre’s ad…the one she was nominated for…was the Books Can Take You Places campaign. You saw it, right? The one where people open a book inside the library and, suddenly, you see them reading that same book in a completely different place—like inside a castle o
r on a ship or deep in the woods…”
“Yeah, I saw it. It was clever, for sure. But not as good as your New Town ad, in my opinion.”
I waved off his sweet bias and reclaimed the conversation. “Okay, but you know the ad I’m talking about, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s not the ad that was starting to run on the screen just as everything came crashing down on top of Deidre. It was actually Lexa’s ad for the Get Moving with MetroLink campaign.”
“Are you sure?”
“It was really fast, and I’m guessing everyone else was still looking at her more than the screen, but yeah… I saw the father and son in their Cardinals gear and that’s how Lexa’s ad starts…with the pair parking their car in a lot alongside a congested I-70 and then stepping onto the MetroLink for a stress-free and traffic-free ride downtown. Only it was literally the first two seconds of the ad—where you see the father’s ball cap and the little boy’s glove and then—wham!—the platform gave way, pulling the screen and the spotlight down, too.”
Andy’s eyes closed briefly at the memory just as mine had done many times since it happened. But this time, I kept mine open, so I could see his reaction when he fully grasped what I was saying.
It didn’t take long.
“And you think she knew it?” he asked.
“She was looking at the same screen I was. And I saw it register for her, but then she went down and all hell broke loose.”
He raked a hand through his hair, his accompanying exhalation moving a few of my curls away from my face. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say. I mean, maybe the tech guysjust played the wrong video. But if they didn’t, and she wasn’t even the one who was supposed to be on that platform, can you imagine how much harder this is all going to be for her family?”
It was the same question that had gone through my head a time or two since it happened. Although, in the grand scheme of things, it was probably silly. Because really, in the end, it didn’t matter who was standing on the platform when it malfunctioned. The end result would have been the same. And no matter how much any of us might have wanted that golden storyboard, no award was worth losing one’s life in such a horrific way.
And Death Goes to . . . Page 3
