Adventures of Pebble Beach

by Berger, Barbara

  Then Peter got up and made a big deal out of announcing the launch date for WonderLift. “If anyone breathes a word of this…” he almost hissed, his voice so coarse that it sent chills running up and down Pebble’s spine. But he’s their leader…he’s our leader. Pebble watched those young, glowing faces turn worshipfully towards him. I guess I’m just too old for this stuff…I guess I’m so old that I’m old enough to know that at my age, my presentation would have been a whole lot better if only I had been a whole lot younger…

  Chapter 2

  When Pebble Beach got home from Fem-Ads, there was a message on her desk from Adam, complete with doodles and scribbles, telling her to call Einar Bro immediately. Adam had underlined “immediately” about twenty times – something he never did – so it must be important.

  What could it be? thought Pebble thinking of her dream. Einar couldn’t possibly know what I dreamed last night, now could he? She shook her head at the ridiculous thought. I really am getting paranoid…

  She picked up the phone and called Einar, trying to muster up her brightest voice. All he wanted (or so he said) was to take her out to dinner that evening. Still, after she hung up, she shivered. It was too much of a coincidence. And when he took her, wrapped in elegant ugliness, to dinner at the Hotel D’Angleterre, Pebble Beach muttered under her breath, I don’t care what he offers me, I’m not going to bed with him! As if it was some kind of a threat…

  It was hot inside the restaurant, and Einar was wearing an almost jazzy shirt under his long black leather coat. He checked both his coat and briefcase in the cloakroom and Pebble surrendered her slightly worn three-quarter jacket, too.

  “I just realized,” Einar was saying as the maitre d’ led them towards an intimate corner table, “that I haven’t had a chance to talk to you in several weeks, Pebble, and since my meeting tonight was cancelled…” He was holding her arm tightly. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t busy…”

  The few times they’d been out before, he talked to her like this, quite stiffly. Pebble smiled her most non-committal smile, hoping there would be no serious changes in this arrangement tonight. I hope I look as bored as I feel. But her larger-than-life smile seemed to freeze on her face. Why does the Vice-President of the Republic Group have to be such a God-awful toad? Why couldn’t he be somebody luscious and sexy?

  Pebble ordered the salmon and left the appetizers and wine to Einar. He seemed to take great pleasure in discussing the wine list with the waiter. Finally they agreed on one of the hotel’s exceptional Pouilly Fumes, but Pebble didn’t care, as long as the wine didn’t make her forget what she was saying or get a headache.

  After they ordered, Einar looked at her in an appraising way and said, “So what did you do today?”

  “Oh,” she replied, trying to think of what happened that day that was worth mentioning to the Vice-President of the Republic Group. “Well, if you really want the truth, I spent most of the day at this boring meeting at Fem-Ads.” She was ashamed she didn’t have something more exciting to tell him.

  “Fem-Ads?” Einar didn’t seem at all surprised.

  Pebble wondered how well Einar knew the agency, it was so new.

  “You know about Fem-Ads, don’t you, Einar?”

  “Oh yes, I went to school with Peter Cato.”

  “You did? I didn’t know you knew Peter. Besides owning Fem-Ads, Peter is leading the creative team I’m working with.”

  “What are you doing for Peter, Pebble?”

  “Oh nothing as exciting as a Republic Group assignment.” She thought that was the diplomatic thing to say. After all, the Republic Group was a booming advertising agency – one of the best in Scandinavia. Einar was known in the ad world for his uncanny ability to land prestigious clients and keep them satisfied. People rarely strayed from the fold once they were in his clutches.

  “How’s Peter doing?” Einar asked. Pebble thought his eyes were much too bright.

  “Well I don’t really know much about Fem-Ads. The agency just opened. I mean how long have they been in business now? It can’t be more than six or seven months.”

  There was the appropriate amount of fanfare in the Danish press when Fem-Ads opened their doors for business. Here was a hot new agency, launched by none other than Peter Cato, former creative director at DDB Needham. Peter’s track record was formidable. People still remembered his Nordkyst success; and now he was the driving force behind an agency with a new angle: Women! Just like Peter to think of something like this. He said a whole lot of preposterous things to the press the day Fem-Ads went live. Pebble remembered reading the following gobbledygook in the paper that morning, “One day Fem-Ads will be the most powerful female-oriented agency in all of Europe. We’ll have offices in every major city on the continent. Why? Because women today have more clout than ever before, and they want to hear the voices of other women.” Pebble remembered thinking it all sounded pretty high and mighty at the time. Just like Peter.

  “I guess Peter’s been in business about six months,” Einar said, after thinking about it for a while. Pebble felt vaguely uncomfortable, but she didn’t know why. Einar was always so well-informed.

  “When did you start working for him?” Einar asked as the appetizers arrived.

  “Well, this is actually my first assignment for Fem-Ads,” Pebble picked at tiny North Sea shrimps, elegantly served. Maybe it was just the wine, but Pebble seemed to have forgotten her dream about Einar and was beginning to relax.

  “You know,” Pebble chirped in her wise-cracking American way, “I’m getting more and more popular every day!” She wanted to lighten up the evening. She didn’t know why, but she felt a strange gloom clutching at her heart. At the same time she was wondering if Einar knew she had been Peter’s ghostwriter on the Nordkyst campaign. The very thought sent chills up and down her spine, but on second thought, why shouldn’t the man know? He seems to know everything else worth knowing in this town. She made a determined effort to push that thought from her mind. It was imperative to act as natural as possible with Einar. He’s the source of some of my best assignments. I’ve got to make it clear to him I’ve got other jobs…that my life doesn’t depend on him…I’ll never get through this dinner if I keep thinking about all the good assignments he funnels my way. Republic Group assignments represented a sizable share of Pebble’s fast-growing income. Again she saw all her shiny credit cards – the ones with PEBBLE BEACH engraved so beautifully upon them – slipping away.

  Oh well, it’s only money. But even if it was only money, Pebble sure liked having her own. Money had a lot more power than Pebble cared to admit. And to think I wandered down all those garden paths to end up at the D’Angleterre with none other than the powerful Einar Bro himself. But even if success was very important to Pebble, she still felt extremely uncomfortable with Einar. If it hadn’t been a question of money, she would have liked nothing better than to leave. Or to never have gone out with Einar in the first place. But she knew that attitude wouldn’t do. You’d have to be crazy to pass up an opportunity like this – dinner at one of Northern Europe’s swankiest hotels with one of the most influential men in the Copenhagen ad world…Pebble wasn’t that dumb. Still it was awkward. You needed “drop dead” money to call the shots in these situations. And drop dead money was something Pebble didn’t have. Not yet anyway. But I’m working on it. Besides, being in Copenhagen complicated matters, too. For a metropolitan city, Copenhagen was basically a small town – almost provincial. Everybody knew everybody in ad land and a disapproving nod or two from Einar Bro could stop Pebble dead in her tracks – especially when she plied a trade with such a limited focus. How many Danish companies had muscle enough to even consider the international market – and thus marketing material in English? Besides, where would Pebble go, if she walked out on an opportunity like Einar? You’re pushing 45 babe, so be realistic. It would be the end no matter where she turned if she didn’t graciously accept whatever Einar offered her. There were hungry copywriters all ov
er town who’d give their right arm for 15 minutes of this man’s time.

  If only I was 25… Pebble sighed. Remember how I looked back then…The flashing green eyes, the slim body, and not a wrinkle anywhere. If only I was 25 and knew as much as I know now…But it never works like that, does it? To know what you know, you have to age to get there.

  Today was another era, an era with limits. She couldn’t go blowing in the wind like she did when she was 25. She had kids to support and besides, the world had changed since then. Who knows? Maybe I could be a little more of the woman I once was and still be the woman I am today. Life in the fast lane sometimes confused Pebble. Why does operating in the world of business mean I can’t be me? Why should making money exclude the world I once inhabited? My creativity is the very quality that makes me valuable to people like Einar Bro – and it springs from the fact that I was who I was, that I lived the life I’ve lived, and that today I am who I am. There are undertones of funkiness about me which I don’t want to give up…

  “What are you working on?” Pebble was amazed at Einar’s persistence, considering what a boring topic of conversation Fem-Ads was. He must have other things to talk about…or maybe not…You almost have to feel sorry for the guy. So much power, and still so ugly. Sometimes she wondered if men like Einar needed power to compensate for not being attractive. How else could they get women?

  “I’m working on a campaign and media kit for this new product they’re launching.”

  “Oh really?” Einar wiped his mouth and pushed his empty dish aside. Pebble was sure that the heat in the restaurant had made his nose swell. “Now I wonder…whatever could that be?” His words spilled out teasingly, like he was telling a dumb joke to a bunch of schoolboys.

  The waiter appeared with the main course. The salmon was surrounded tastefully by green bouquets of broccoli on a gold-rimmed dish. The startling pinkness of the fish made Pebble smile with pleasure. They ate for a while in silence. Glasses clinked around them and elegantly dressed people spoke in hushed voices.

  That was when Einar said, “This WonderLift campaign that Peter is launching…” he let his words sink in slowly. If Pebble thought WonderLift was a secret…well Einar knew all about it. “…when exactly is the launch date, do you know?”

  So that was it. Pebble was furious. How could I be so dumb? She felt like kicking herself. Here she was worrying about Einar trying to get her to go to bed with him while all he wanted was information about Fem-Ads. Peter had made such a big deal about keeping the launch day secret. She felt like throwing up, or at least throwing her gold-rimmed plate at Einar. It wasn’t nice, it wasn’t ethical. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone and Einar knew damn well she wasn’t. That was part of her job, the pact she made as a freelancer. Freelancers are like doctors, they have to keep the secrets of the people they work for, or else they’d be out of work very fast.

  He really is an ugly toad, she thought, disliking him more than ever. I wonder what else the Worm’s got up his sleeve…Probably the Republic Group is going to market something similar and wants to jump the gun on Fem-Ads.

  “How well do you know Peter?” she asked, trying to change the subject tactfully and hide the fact that she was furious at him.

  “Well actually, we were best friends at school.”

  “Oh really,” said Pebble, “well, what happened, aren’t you friends anymore?” She was thinking that Worm, as she now called him, could have just as well picked up the phone and called Peter himself, if they really were such good friends.

  “We had a falling out, some years ago.” Einar’s voice was flat.

  “Oh,” said Pebble, sipping her wine and trying not to show too much interest. Tiny beads of sweat clung to Einar’s forehead as he poured more wine into her glass. Wine, wine, the way to loosen the tongues of women. She knew that was what he was thinking and hated him for it. It was all so obvious. She promised herself she’d be on guard. Ugh, I hate being dependent on the goodwill of men like Einar.

  “Peter used to work for me.”

  That was a bomb. “Oh I didn’t know.”

  “No,” replied Einar, “how could you? That was way before you started working for us. Peter’s a very intelligent guy – but ruthless.”

  Pebble made no comment. Who wasn’t in this business?

  “He had an affair with my wife.” Another bomb. The Worm looked her straight in the eye.

  Dear God, what am I supposed to say? Pebble was still furious. As if Peter’s having an affair with your wife makes everything you’re doing alright. Then she remembered the dream she had the night before and blushed. If Einar only knew.

  Maybe he saw her blushing, because he reached across the small table and took her hand. His gesture was so sweet and impulsive, so out of character, that she wasn’t prepared for it. There was no time to react, and once his paw covered hers she didn’t know how to extricate herself.

  “You’re so marvelously naive, Pebble,” Einar said, and there was real warmth in his voice.

  Suddenly she didn’t think he was toying with her. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed genuine. She didn’t know exactly why, but she didn’t especially like feeling sympathetic towards him.

  “I don’t think I was a particularly good husband,” he continued, “and I guess Birgitte needed a man who was more caring than I was. I was always so ambitious. All I ever wanted to do was be the best and make a lot of money.”

  Pebble Beach felt sick. I don’t want to know, Einar. Please spare me the details. Of course he knew that sharing his secrets wouldn’t make things any easier for Pebble. Maybe this was just another form of crafty manipulation. I don’t know whether to like him or hate him, but given the choice, Pebble was the type who preferred when in doubt to like people. In Einar’s case it was mighty hard giving him the benefit of the doubt. But she had her career to consider, so she did her level best. How else could a woman like Pebble manage to deal with a situation like this if she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of really believing there was a warm, kind person inside this Worm?

  The heat of her dream came flooding back.

  “Will you pour me some more wine, Einar?” she asked quietly. Lascivious thoughts flashed through her mind. So I’m lonely…so what? So what if I do go to bed with him? She ached for male companionship. What good is Albert anyway? So far away when I need him…The untouchable man on that ice island when the heat of real life is burning me up…here and now?

  “Einar, I’d like a drop more wine,” she repeated softly. Apparently he didn’t hear her the first time or else he knew he’d have to let go of her hand to pour the wine. I’ve got to get out of here. Somehow, tactfully. Before I make a mistake I will live to regret. When he let go of her hand to pour the wine, she quickly put her hands in her lap. If I get drunk enough I know I’ll either open my mouth or spread my legs…

  Well aware of the shark-filled waters surrounding her, she drank anyway. She drank because it was the only escape from this web of business, intrigue, and sex. This is all too much for me… Pebble felt the heat of more liquor hit her. It was hard to focus. Too much. What do I care about careers anyway? Right now I’m out of my league. Her head swam.

  Einar was watching her.

  “Shouldn’t we have coffee and brandy in the lounge?” he suggested, his voice too honeyed.

  “Yes,” she smiled weakly, not able to read his signals right.

  Of course he noticed how wobbly she was when she got up.

  In the lounge, lingering over a second brandy, Einar suddenly said, “I really think you have potential, Pebble, you know that.”

  She smiled weakly. Potential, now there’s a word.

  “I keep thinking you’d be a great assistant…I really do need an assistant you know…the way business is picking up…Actually, I’m planning on hiring someone soon.” There was a faraway, romantic look in his eyes and Pebble knew he was holding out warm bait. And what bait! A chance to be Einar’s assistant…What a job opportun
ity! Wow! The shock cut sharply through the booze-haze in her brain. She couldn’t help but consider all the golden occasions that would be connected to working for Einar. She knew there were hoards of people out there who would happily grovel in the dirt to work for Einar. And he’s talking about me – me becoming his assistant! Besides the money, there was the prestige. Pebble saw all those tightly shut doors open magically.

  Hey, kiddo, wake up in there. She tried to rouse herself from brandy on top of too much wine. You’re a freelancer, kiddo, remember? Freelancers have their own code. Like the Wild West. We’re the free people. Remember? We don’t like getting tied down. Pebble had seen a lot in her life, but this was quite unexpected.

  And besides, I’m an American. She didn’t know why, but sometimes the thought helped.

  So what if I never get another gig from the Republic Group? She drank a drop more brandy and coffee. I’m so drunk another drop won’t hurt…There have to be other powerful men out there in little Denmark, besides this ugly toad and his very big company. Worm, I need this, like I need a hole in my head.

  Pebble wished desperately that her brain was clear or that at least one of her really good friends was there. Somebody like Clare, somebody who’d seen her tired, without her make-up. Somebody she could laugh with while trying to sort all this confusion out. But she was all alone in this very tricky situation with Worm Bro in the Hotel D’Angleterre which didn’t seem so ritzy anymore, just cold and glitzy and not at all like home.

  Outside, Denmark was cold too, she knew, and very Nordic. Pebble found herself longing for the superficial wonderfulness of good fast friends. Why couldn’t I be at a noisy cafe down the street in my faded jeans, laughing and enjoying life? Without giving the idea of scoring a fast buck the slightest thought. Because I’m not. That’s why. Because I’m here. That’s why. Just goes to show you what happens when you’re too ambitious, Pebble. Too smart and too fast. You find yourself all twisted up in knots, and end up seeing a complete stranger in the mirror in the morning.