Freeze Frame - Chapter 20 & 21

Darcy James and her creative team continue in their efforts to win the American Vehicle Corporation business for their advertising agency, Adams & Benson. AVC has challenged each of its three agencies to come up with an advertising campaign for its new, top-secret vehicle, the electric-powered Ampere. The agency with the best campaign will win all AVC business, the two others will lose thousands of jobs. The story continues in Darcy’s own words as she and Sean Higgins, account executive on the AVC business have lunch at a nearby restaurant …

Chapter 20

Wednesday, Oct. 13 -- Noon

No one needed a watch to pinpoint high noon at Big Norm’s. The crowded dining area and the line at Willis’ maitre’d stand were as telling as any timepiece.

Ken Cunningham had suggested the lunch. When he heard of our mild disagreement over the Avion ad, he called Higgins and me into his office like a couple of quarreling school kids. He explained we had to work together now more than ever; he would be out of town frequently during the coming weeks. The agency’s major accounts needed assurance that the Adams & Benson Advertising Agency was solid enough to withstand the loss of the American Vehicle Corporation business, if it came. He recommended a peace-making lunch, on him.

Ken was right, of course. I decided to try my best to convince Higgins I didn’t consider him a tasteless bore. With a smile as wide as it was phony, I made small talk while we waited for a table.

"Until I was here the other day, I'd forgotten how much I missed Detroit's restaurants," I said as we finally got to our table.

"What convinced you to come back?" Higgins asked. "The challenge...money?" He seemed to be trying, too.

"Neither, really. It was just time to face the fact that my marriage has been over nearly five years."

Finding the topic uncomfortable, I shifted gears. "What about you? What brought you to the Motor City?"

"I was born here. Grew up twenty miles from downtown Detroit, in Royal Oak. Went to Brother Rice High School."

"And played football?"

"It put me through college. But I studied too." He added the last almost defensively. "My parents made sure both my sister and I hit the books hard."

"You have a sister?"

"Patricia." Higgins paused, then: "She and Darren Cato were engaged."

"Darren Cato?"

Higgins must have noticed the surprise in my voice. He hesitated, but knew he had gone too far to stop. "Turned out Cato wasn’t really serious. He broke the engagement and it took Pat months to get over him. I could hear her cry every night."

"I can empathize. My marriage wasn’t exactly a walk in the park."

"Yeah, well, the hell of it is, I introduced them. Pat’s married now, with a couple of nice kids. But I never forgave Cato for the pain he caused."

"That’s where that remark about Cato’s sunglasses and a certain orifice of his body came from," Higgins said. The hint of a smile curled the corners of his mouth. "I just want you to know that I’m not entirely insensitive." With that, he picked up one of the two menus in front of him and handed it to me.

"I can recommend the seafood. The catch of the day is always fresh."

A waiter appeared, reeled in two orders of broiled pickerel, the catch du jour, and headed for the kitchen. As our conversation continued, I actually found myself enjoying Higgins' company. For a moment I thought, maybe just maybe, I had misjudged him. But then, like a jaguar lurking in the brush, he steered the conversation back to the AVC account.

"Okay, let's talk shop for a minute," he said. "It's important we reach an understanding on a couple of points."

"Shoot." Shoot? I felt like shooting him. I could feel this conversation taking on the tone of a one-sided lecture.

"As you noticed on your 'pedal mettle' ad, our client John Murphy is pretty conservative."

Conservative? How about chicken-shit? "But what if a concept that seems out of the ordinary sells cars?" I asked.

"Murphy's not about to take chances because some off-beat approach might win your group an award for so-called creativity."

That did it. The suggestion that I’d choose personal glory over selling a client's product was pure BS. "I'm not talking about awards," I shot back. "You know damn well the most effective advertising is created when rules are broken."

"Not as long as I run the AVC account."

"You may run the account, but I've been hired to create the advertising. I can’t do it if you tie my hands."

I bit my tongue as the waiter arrived with our meals. He might as well have left the food in the kitchen; my appetite had vanished. The argument hadn't put a dent in Higgins’ appetite. Fork in one hand, knife in the other, the jerk made like a dust-hungry Hoover.

I decided to try one more time. "Why not let the client decide, instead of dictating what you’ll show him?"

Higgins took another bite. "I don't want you wasting time on ads that never see the light of day."

"I'm more than happy to take the risk."

"Easy for you. You don't have to account for expenses. Your little creative group gets paid whether they spend time on solid ideas or mental masturbation."

Little creative group? Mental masturbation?

"Look, Higgins, you run the business part of the account." Now on my feet, I threw the napkin on the table. "But Ken Cunningham hired me to run the creative. Let's leave it to him. If he thinks I'm not cutting it, he can damn well assign me somewhere else. Is that clear?"

I stormed from the restaurant knowing that if Higgins had his way, that reassignment would have me sorting mail the rest of my career.

12:31 p.m.

Back at the agency, I found the lobby deserted except for Marlene, the friendly brunette at the receptionist's desk. Even the second and third floor offices overlooking the huge arena were vacant.

My security key opened the elevator door on the sixth floor. Stepping into the hallway I nearly got bowled over by a large man in a business suit carrying a briefcase and doing a hell of an impression of a run-away water buffalo.

"Hey, watch it!" I peppered him with a few epithets questioning his ancestry, but stopped when I realized my words bounced off him like I had. He just kept speed walking toward the VanBuhler side of the floor. I realized then he had had a strong odor of alcohol about him, whiskey probably.

As I watched him disappear around the curve of the hallway, my anger changed to suspicion. What the hell was a stranger doing on the sixth floor?

My suspicions leaped a giant step forward when Matt Carter called.

"Adrienne, the Avion submaster is missing."

"You're kidding."

"I had the DVD hidden in my credenza under a couple of Ampere layouts. I've asked everyone. No one's seen it."

I told Carter about my encounter with the heavyset man. Since the floor was off limits to anyone without a key, he had to be a prime suspect.

"Let's pay the VanBuhler team a visit," Carter said.

I considered the idea, but thought better of it. "We’ll sure look stupid if we're wrong."

Then I got an idea myself. I called Paul Chapman, describing the buffalo who nearly ran me over in the hallway. Chapman recognized him. "J. R. Roland. Started yesterday. He's another of those VanBuhler guys from D. C."

"Why would he be on our side of the sixth floor?"

"Maybe he got lost."

Maybe. But what about the disappearing DVD? I decided it might be wise to visit VanBuhler headquarters after all.

Next month: Darcy invades the VanBuhler side of the agency, off limits to anyone not directly involved with the business of trying to elect the third party candidate for the office of President of the United States. If she’s caught, it could mean her job.

You can purchase Freeze Frame at our bookstore. And be sure to visit Dave’s web site: www.bdavidwarner.com