Zane was standing near me, and coughed uncomfortably. “How's your internship?” he managed to ask after the hallway thinned out.
“It's a little unusual,” I admitted.
“Where did you get placed?”
“Promise not to tell?”
“Sure, if that's important to you.”
“They're an ad agency.”
“Why is that so embarrassing?”
“I just don't want to hear from Vaughan how I sold out.”
“You care that much about what Vaughan thinks?”
“Well, it's a little more extreme than just an ad agency.”
“What, they hype guns?”
“They sell fast-food toys. They're a premium agency.”
“You mean like Happy Boxes?”
“Yes.”
“That's where you're interning? I thought you had to have a science internship.”
“There's an odd connection to Dr. D.”
“Which is?”
“One of my bosses is her brother.”
“How many bosses do you have?”
“Three. All wacky but nice. I'm a little embarrassed that I'm not saving lives—”
“Well, at least what you experience should be interesting.”
I smiled at him. “That it is.” Then I remembered to ask, “How's yours?”
“Amazing.”
“Yeah, my sister loved it there too.”
“Your sister,” Zane said dramatically.
“My sister what?”
“Sari Popkin is all I hear about in the department. It's kind of tough there. I hope I can live up to her standards.”
The bell rang for the next class, and Zane had to go. He had a ninth period class.
I, however, was done for the day, and headed toward the subway. School was three stops from my apartment. (My parents let me take the subway by myself. Subways are speedy.)
I was thinking about Moskowitz singing and for some reason started to think of my internship and how some premiums could come with singing voices.
Which characters?
How about presidents? What would be funny for presidents to sing?
Too dopey, I told myself. They'd have to license the music too, so it would probably be too expensive to be worth making.
I tried to think of the Burger Man Happy Box toys I liked as a kid: my favorite cartoon characters on skateboards.
Why not put those newly announced cute mascots in Olympic poses? You wouldn't have to pay any music rights. And why wouldn't the Olympics marketing people love to get invaluable exposure with American youth?
Even though I was excited by this idea, I decided to keep it to myself. I was a sixteen-year-old who had been in the room with marketing geniuses for exactly four hours.
“There she is!” genius Marcus called out when I walked in.
“Day two!” genius Joel said.
“This is actually a very important day for us,” genius Paulette said.
“How's that?” I asked.
“We're having a little visit from the Burger Man man at noon,” Marcus said.
“Burger Man woman,” Paulette corrected.
Marcus looked at Paulette. “Woman? Do you think John would like to know you're calling him a woman?”
“John was fired,” Joel said.
Marcus seriously whitened at the news. “What? Was anyone going to tell me this?”
“I forgot. I just got a call from her.”
“Her?”
“The new woman.”
“Well, that's just great. It took me a year to figure out John's peccadilloes, and now there's some lady—”
“I don't think she has the same position as John. I think John's boss is now handling the decisions, and she's just giving him a report. That's what I picked up from what she said.”
“John's boss? John's boss is Victor Cohen. Humorless.”
They soon forgot all about me again. I hung up my coat. No, no way would I bring up my big Olympics mascot brainstorm. Marcus angrily sifted through the contents of his in-box. Then, out of the blue, he sniffed the air. “Do you smell something bad?”
Paulette kept working on her computer. There was so much tension in the air that I could not imagine how everyone was going to get through this morning.
“Listen, I showered,” Joel said finally. “Maybe there's a bit of my liverwurst sandwich from yesterday left over?”
“You eat liverwurst voluntarily?” I asked.
“Not just any liverwurst sandwiches, my friend,” Joel said. “These are Linus Loves Liverwurst sandwiches from The Charlie Brown Cookbook. So extra special.”
Marcus's tone was back to jokey. “Joel's a soft touch for anything to do with Linus. Hence the blankie.”
I looked where he was pointing. There was a holey baby blue blanket on top of the filing cabinet that somehow I'd missed seeing before.
Paulette said, “I don't smell anything. Ever since your sinus infection your senses are going crazy with phantom odor.”
“Crazy? I actually think my olfactory nerves are more sensitive,” Marcus said. As he stood, he pretended to be a bloodhound sniffing around the room, picking up the scent. “I'm hot on the trail.”
Joel pulled a face. “That's the best you can do as a dog? We're teaching the next generation here.”
He crouched to the floor, and Marcus and Joel circled each other, woofing and yipping.
“Come on, Paulette, show us what a dog you are.”
Paulette was not moving. She reached into a drawer full of unraveled Slinkys and other playthings and grabbed an open tube of kids' Pick Up Sticks. She fished out a yellow one and pushed some of her cuticles back. She looked up, acted surprised that we were all waiting for her answer, and finally said, simply, “Bark.”
“We're trying to relax here after the bad news. So of course Her Highness is not taking part in this. …” I was growing weary of the rapid-fire mood swings all around me; now Marcus's voice sounded annoyed again.
“I'm a pampered pooch.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Enough,” she said to him. “I am bored witless with your tantrums, but even more so with the daily playacting. It was cute when I started here, but not after the five millionth time.”
“And you, Miss Intern?” Marcus said to me. “Are you also too highfalutin to be a dog?”
“Are you going to snap a leash on me if I bend down?”
Paulette snorted at my crack.
“No,” Marcus promised after his own grin.
I dropped to the floor. I'm glad none of my friends could see me as I coughed and barked. Rather than be embarrassed for me, as Jeremy and Clara would surely be, Marcus and Joel reacted like crouching and barking was the only thing I should do.
Marcus pawed a filing cabinet. “I think I found the culprit.”
He stood up and grabbed a vase of wilted, molding yellow roses.
“Since you are our intern, you must smell for us.”
Joel and Paulette laughed together this time. I stood up a bit angrily.
“It's true,” Joel said. “Your first days here are intern initiation days. When I started at my first ad agency, I had to scrub three baked lasagna pans in my first week.”
Again, I didn't want to be a spoilsport, so I obeyed. “Gross—rotten flower water,” I said, sickened by the stench and more than annoyed about this just-revealed hierarchy.
“Who's in charge of flowers here?” Joel asked. “The scent of old flower water is the worst smell in the world, is it not?”
“RIP, little roses,” Paulette said. “They were beautiful once. I got those at the Union Square farmers' market.”
“When?” Joel said sarcastically.
“Sorry, guys—last month.”
“Righto,” Joel said. “Second task, Jordie. Clean up the manky flower water.”
The fake lingering smile on my face disappeared. If this was what I was going to do here, I wanted out. When I returned from the lobby,
my hands stank so badly that I went directly to the bathroom sink.
I washed my hands with cherry soap, angry as anything.
Back in the premium section, nobody was a dog anymore.
There was a flip chart out, and there were three terms already up on the board: Bubble Gum. Peppermint. Chocolate Brownies.
“We're having a big groupthink about scents,” Marcus informed me. No one even thanked me for cleaning out the vase. “We've decided that with a new person on the scene, we better come up with backup ideas. Can you add one?”
“Cherry soap,” I said sharply.
“Think premiums, kid.”
“I don't know….” This was my second day! I'd confidently walked in with what was, in my mind, the premium idea of the century, and now I'd been given my proper place, and my hands stank of gross flower water! I was not a happy camper.
“Try another fruit.”
“Strawberries,” I said quietly. “Strawberry Shortcake.”
“Excellent idea,” Joel said. “Girls love her.”
“That's true,” Paulette said. “That was a good idea.”
Marcus was not as impressed. “Nice, but didn't McDonald's do that for Happy Meals in 2001 ?”
“Not sure.” Joel looked at me and commanded, “Write that down and look into it for us when we're done here.”
“Write what down?”
“I'll write it down for you,” Joel said as he reached for a four-by-six index card. He added out loud, “Strawberry Shortcake. McDonald's. 2001?”
“Skunks,” Joel said to Marcus as he handed me the index card.
“Pepée Le Pew,” Marcus rallied. “Little wind-up Pepe Le Pew skunks that stink when you scratch their bellies.”
“You'd have to be a kid born in 1945,” Joel scoffed. “Our target market doesn't even remember the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”
“Most of them weren't even born,” Paulette agreed, and then added, “Roses. Gardenias.”
“Pinecones,” I said loudly, surprising myself.
After that I'm not sure who was calling out what. It sounded like we were in a frantic auction.
“Lime Jell-O.”
“Coca-Cola.”
“Eucalyptus.”
“Coppertone suntan oil.”
“Aftershave? Nothing stinks more than my father's after shave.”
“Always popular with the under-four set desiring Happy Boxes.”
“Tacos.”
“Apple pectin.”
“Ooh, I love apple shampoo,” Paulette said. “The best shampoo, though, was Body on Tap. A beer shampoo in the seventies.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. A beer shampoo?
“Coffee.”
“That's not a scent for a three-year-old—”
“Lemon.”
“Good for your dishwashing liquid, not for a premium.”
“Vinegar.”
“Who wants to smell vinegar?”
“I don't know. Kids like disgusting things.”
“How about fish, then?”
“Mowed grass.”
“Marijuana,” Joel said.
“Shut up, wiseass,” Marcus said back.
“No censoring, remember?” Joel barked.
“Bad breath.”
“Gasoline.”
“Pickle.”
“Garlic.”
“Horse manure.”
“You know what?” Joel said. “I used to have those scratch and sniff stickers when I was a kid. Why don't we bring that back? Do foul smells. Kids love foul smells.”
Paulette clapped her hands. “People. People. Foul smells don't sell hamburgers. The people who buy hamburgers the most are churchgoing folk.”
And then, just as quickly as the mayhem started, it stopped.
“Okay, that was good,” Marcus said. “Time for lunch.”
I looked at the clock. It wasn't even ten-thirty in the morning, but he opened up a Three Stooges lunch box and out came an overstuffed New York deli corned beef sandwich, a pickle, and a diet root beer.
“So, what's the premium going to be?” I said, having calmed down internally.
“What?” Marcus said after he'd swallowed his first chew of meat.
“All that work for nothing?”
“That? That was nothing.”
“So.” Joel broke into our conversation. “What will you do when you leave us at one o'clock?”
“I have classes.”
“What classes? I've blotted out everything from my high school years.”
“I don't have a full load because of my internship. But I have French and precalculus.”
“Boyfriend?” Paulette asked.
“No, not at the moment.”
“Is there a guy you like?” Paulette followed up.
“Maybe.” I was a little uncomfortable with this sudden attention.
“What's his name?”
“His name is Vaughan.” I lingered a little too long over his name and reddened slightly.
Marcus made a knowing face. “Did you hear the way she said his name? She fancies the pants off him.”
“Is Vaughan in your French class?” Joel said.
“Actually, he's in my precalculus class. The God of Room 207.”
“I'll tell you how to get Vaughan,” Marcus said.
“I'd love to hear it,” I said. Glad to see my life was a joke to these people.
“Feed him milk.”
Excuse me? Was I the butt of somebody's joke here?
Joel laughed out loud, but Paulette rolled her eyes.
“What did you do over the weekend, have a lobotomy?” she said. “I have to pee badly. When I get back, hopefully you'll have moved on, stupid man.”
“Don't be such a sourpuss, dollface,” Marcus said to her.
“I read in this book once that man always unconsciously thinks back to his original love, his mother. Mommy and milk; what could be better than bathing a man in nostalgic emotions? You've got to trigger that emotion subliminally, though. Did you ever hear about the liquor ad where they spelled out 'sex' in the ice cubes?”
“First you offer her coffee,” Joel said as he paused to laugh, “and now—don't drag in the subliminal sex ice cube spiel. Let her hear all about that in her college marketing classes.”
Paulette stood by to hear the idea burst. “So she should feed him ice cream?” she prodded.
“Yes,” Marcus said sheepishly. “Or she could 'inadvertently' brush the God's elbow and use that as an opportunity to chat him up and offer him a milk shake.”
Needless to say, there was a big fat zero chance of my following his tip.
“File it away,” Paulette said, seconding my thoughts, “under moronic suggestions.”
She then raced for the ladies' room a few feet away.
With his teeth Joel ripped open a vacuum-packed foil pouch of no-drain tuna fish. “See this?” he said to me. “This is true innovation. I rank this just behind the guy who came up with the idea of launching the space shuttle on a piggyback ride with a Boeing 747. Who wants to cart around a can opener?”
“Not me,” I agreed.
“Ruffled her feathers,” Marcus said out of the blue. “You've probably already noticed that everything is wrong to Paulette.” He coughed suddenly as Paulette walked back into the room.
“Are you going to wire me up next, tell me what to say that in your opinion is right?”
“Not a bad idea.”
“God! You're still such a control freak—”
Marcus stood up and caught her elbow. “Lower your foghorn, will you, Paulette?”
Paulette twisted away and sat in her chair.
Suddenly this workday was getting pretty hairy. My friends at school got worked up over minor stuff, but I wasn't used to dealing with this kind of emotion from adults. So what happened here? Had they had a thing?
“Your daily pokes at me are about as entertaining as a bassoon solo,” she said. Which was a strange thing to say.
Apparently, I was not the only one who thought this.
“Did you know that Paulette is newly enrolled in a comedy improv class?” Marcus asked Joel.
“I didn't know that,” Joel said.
“Marcus, that was a private fact!” Paulette replied.
Marcus didn't apologize. “If you are working on your comedy, may I suggest that a handbell solo is a much funnier choice of words?”
“Not only are you a chronic gossiper, but you always have to have the last word. Ugly.”
“He's right, you know,” Joel said after a few tension-filled seconds. “Handbells are much funnier than bassoons.”
“Quick, neutral party,” Marcus said to me. “Which is funnier, bassoon solo or handbell solo?”
“Handbell solo,” I answered guiltily. I just had to. It was a funnier word choice.
There was a teeny smile on Paulette's face.
Marcus abruptly stopped his warring, took a penny out of his pocket, and slammed it in front of Joel and his tuna-chunk sandwich. “A penny for your thoughts.”
Joel took the penny, and another forkful of tuna went into his mouth. He looked at Marcus and said, “In a world in which the human mind can be programmed like a computer, where does the human soul end and the cybernetic machinery begin?”
“Here,” Marcus said drily, extending his arm, “give the freaking penny back.”
After his tuna was done, Joel beckoned me with a finger. “Come. Follow me.”
He led me down a carpeted hallway to a room full of dozens of hobby books with memorable names like Pictorial Price Guide to Vinyl&Plastic Lunch Boxes&Thermoses, The Big Bible of Peanut Butter and Jam Glasses, Hot Wheels: The Recent Years, and Toys That Shoot.
He pulled a fat paperback book off the shelf. “This is the most valuable book in our library. Anyone who removes it from here gets shot by Brad the receptionist.”
“What is it?”
“Kovels. The bible for anyone who makes premiums for a living. If you read carefully, you'll be able to track down the last time Strawberry Shortcake was used as a premium, if ever. When you're finished I have some filing for you.”
It looked like Marcus was right about the premium. A Strawberry Shortcake premium was done within the last two years.
While I had the Kovels' collectibles guidebook out, I snuck a look at the value of my old Cinderella Timex watch I had when I was around six years old. Worth about thirty bucks. And Mom wanted me to toss it!
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