Dianna is uncomfortable with the question I’ve just asked her.
I know her subtle signals—The double-blink behind the red-tinted, cat-eye Dolce & Gabanas, the slight upturn of the mouth at one corner, the fingers that flit to the hair behind the ear or to the diamond-studded, gold bracelet on her wrist. Sometimes, a dismissive sniffle.
“Allergies?”
“No, why?”
“Never mind,” I say. “I asked you about Harold Barnes because I’ve tried him three times since Monday with no return call. Today, I call for Russ Kleinberg and he’s busy.”
“Oh?” She pushes the Dolce’s tight against the bridge of her nose.
“Russ’s assistant told me you spoke with him yesterday.”
“Maybe. So many calls.”
I haven’t invited her to sit. She stands across the desk from me, right arm resting on the back of the chair, left hand twisting the clasp of the bracelet, ankles crossed below the Fontaine side-slit pencil skirt, well dressed but acting like she feels naked.
“I stopped by Armano’s last night,” I say.
“My favorite.”
“Reggiano mentioned that you were in last week, Wednesday evening, he recalled. Wednesday was the day we made our proposal, wasn’t it? Yeah, Wednesday, right here on my calendar.”
“I go there often, Steven.”
“I thought the pitch had gone well,” I say. “I was surprised not to have heard back.”
Dianna untangles her limbs and twirls herself into the chair. With elbows on desk, she tilts her head forward and eyes me over the Dolce’s.
“Where are we going with this?”
“Reggiano said you had company.”
Dianna will often roll her eyes to let you know when you’re being ridiculous.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Steven, do you still feel the need to keep track of my whereabouts?”
“Two gentlemen, as Reggiano referred to them.”
My left eye twitches at the corner and I casually run my hand across it. “What I’m saying, Dianna, is that this should have been a mere formality. Look at what we’ve done for their sales in the past two years—by their own numbers. A two year renewal should be a no-brainer but I can’t even get a call back.”
She focuses on the twitch. I try to blink it away.
I bottom-line her, “Is there some reason you didn’t invite me to dinner with Barnes and Kleinberg? I mean, I do own the company.”
“I wasn’t doing the inviting.” She sits back in the chair and crosses her arms.
“So, they’re not renewing.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
Dianna places her palms on the desk and leans over them. “Marcy Mishap was my creation, Steven. And Marcy is selling a shit-ton of insurance for Patriot Protective by setting things on fire and backing into parked cars. She gets fan mail, Steven. Fan mail.”
“It’s been a successful campaign.”
“Patriot is bringing me on as VP of Marketing and Marcy is part of the deal, Steven. I was planning to break it to you gently but you had to force the issue, as usual.”
My fault for asking too many questions—forcing the issue—as usual. Just like the last time.
“Like I forced the issue with you and Anthony? Like I’m not supposed to be upset to find out that my wife is cheating on me?”
Apparently not. Dianna looks at the ceiling, exasperated.
“Steven, we’ve been divorced for nearly three years. I had hoped we could maintain our professional relationship but I’ve come to realize…”
“I’ll sue them Dianna.”
“Harold assures me that Marcy Mishap is my intellectual property. You can try but they’ll ruin you.”
“My company, my property.”
Dianna stands and turns toward the door. “I’ll be right back,” she says, heels clicking down the hall until the sound fades.
Dianna always has an ace up her sleeve.
Patrick pokes his head in, looking a little wound-up. “I forwarded an email from my friend Joan at the Times. You need to read it asap.”
Hey Pat, just wanted to give you guys a heads-up. This piece will run next Tuesday. The news sites and cable will likely jump on it. Looks like Marcy Mishap is in for some tough sledding. Please let Steve know that I’ll be calling him for some reaction quotes. P.S. Don’t shoot the messenger! This was assigned to me. Let’s get together soon!
Joan
I click the link.
Ditzy Female Character Raises Ire of Feminist Groups
Even as Marcy Mishap, the wildly popular, accident-prone persona of Patriot Protective Insurance, bashes and blunders her way to record profits for the company, several women’s groups are raising objections to what they consider to be an “outlandish” and “archaic” portrayal of…
Oh Shit.
The clacking stilettos announce Dianna’s return. She places a thin stack of papers on the desk before smoothing her skirt and taking her seat. With manicured hand, pinky extended, she removes a sheet from the top, and places it in front of me. A check.
Two hundred fifty thousand dollars and 00 cents, from Patriot Protective Holdings, made out to me.
Oh boy.
“And this is for what?” My wheels are turning, the twitch subsiding.
Dianna slides a legal document across the desk. “The rights to Marcy Mishap. Initial here, sign there.”
Dianna always gets right to the point.
“As a percentage of the contract, this is an insult” I slide the check back to her, not wanting to let it go but not wanting to seem eager.
“You don’t have a contract, Steven. This is a goodwill gesture.”
“Maybe I should re-brand Marcy,” I say, “Make her the new mascot for Scherkner Motor Oil, have her bump into the display of stacked-up cans, or have the cute guy at the store show her how to check her oil. “Friggin’ Sharky never caught-on. Wasn’t he your idea? What does a shark have to do with motor oil, anyway?”
Dianna folds her hands on the desk and tilts her head to the side. “Please don’t stand in my way, Steven. This is a huge opportunity for me.” A black mascara tear runs from under the Dolce’s.
Dianna doesn’t understand irony. It’s not worth trying to explain it to her. And don’t ask her a lot of questions—she gets annoyed. And for heavens sake, don’t ever try to give her advice.
With a flourish, I initial here and sign there. Now Dianna and her new pals are buckled-in and Marcy Mishap is at the wheel. What could go wrong?
“Thank you, Steven.”
When Dianna says “thank you” it can sound like: “I have no further use for you.”
Likewise.
“Patrick will help you pack your personal items. Give him your key card on the way out.”
Patrick looks stunned as I tell him: “Watch her like a hawk. No paperwork, no thumb drives. Once she’s out, she’s out. Lock her email account and delete her passwords.” He nods with his mouth open. “I’ve got to run to the bank,” I tell him. “Won’t be back, see you Monday.”
Dianna, is, no doubt, enjoying a relaxing weekend at the club. Poolside Mimosas with the ladies, brunch in the Pine Pavilion (tasteful beachwear permitted) telling the girls about her exciting new position and how Steven begged her not to leave, while, fat Anthony is out on the course, shanking and slicing, cussing and bully-bumbling his way through eighteen holes with the boys. A kicked ball or two, a mulligan or three, a beer or four and there you go— scratch golfer.
Dianna doesn’t play golf but she certainly understands these rules.
I still go to Armano’s but I gave up the club. Dianna always liked it more than I did.
Two screens glow in the darkness of my den.
One hour (two Seinfelds) before I check again. That Kramer is a nut job.
PENDING
Marcy Mishap jumps the curb on the way into the driveway, bouncing the car violently and dislodging the tree limb that’s been dragging behind her. Whoopsie! A familiar thud as the car stops not-quite-short of the garage door. Nuts! She gathers her grocery bags and stumbles over a rake, dropping a bag and sending cans of soup and mixed vegetables rolling in all directions. Darn! A wisp of smoke escapes as she opens the house door. Did I leave the tea kettle on again?… Marcy smiles up at the hunky fireman. And here I thought I was having a bad day!
Deadliest Catch
PENDING
Shark Tank
PENDING
Hogans Heros
Damn, now it’s Sunday.
I know Patrick wants to talk about Dianna but it’s not on my agenda.
“How was your weekend?” I ask him.
“Great, I proposed to Michael.”
“Super,” I say. “I’ll be in my office.”
Wells Fargo Online Banking
PENDING
Drudge Report: More Charges Likely In Leaker Probe
PENDING
Patrick drops an envelope on my desk. Certified Mail, Return Receipt. Women’s Watchtower.Org.
I skim it. Basically, they’re offended by Marcy Mishap and they want to know what I have against women. Where do I start.
PENDING
CNN: Invasive Species Threaten Everglades Ecosystem.
PENDING
MSNBC: Trump Hosted Secret Sex-Picnic Weekends For High-Dollar Russian Donors (Or something like that)
POSTED
“So,” I ask Patrick, “did he say yes?”
“Who?”
Late lunch and drinks all-around at Armano’s. Gosh, look at the time—No sense going back now—Another round for my friends. Tomorrow’s another day.
I’m not sure how many rounds that makes but it’s at least one for every call I’ve ignored from Dianna. She and her new pals must have gotten a certified letter too.
Whoopsie.
“I wasn’t made aware that you’d be late this morning,” says Patrick, looking a little miffed.
“I wasn’t made aware either. Happy Tuesday,” I say, not happily.
“The Times article dropped this morning. There’s a hard copy in your in-box.”
“Right.”
“The phone has been very busy. Kleinberg has called twice.
“Ha!”
“Dianna left a message overnight. Said it’s urgent.”
“She left a couple on my cell,” I say.
“And?”
“I didn’t listen to them.”
Patrick comes in with a manilla envelope from copywriting. He drops it on my desk and takes a seat, like he wants to talk.
Sharky says, Don’t let costly engine repairs take a bite out of your wallet! Protect your investment with Scherkner Motor Oil!
Sharky says, Engine repair bills can be a real bite in the crankshaft…
“Did you read this shit, Pat?”
“It’s a little weak.”
“Are we trying to lose this account?”
“Steve,” he says, “would you please explain to me what happened with Dianna? I really think I’m entitled to understand the situation…”
The phone rings and Patrick answers from my desk, “Yes, uh huh, Yes, One moment, I’ll see if he’s available.”
“A producer from ABC 4—she wants to talk to you about Marcy Mishap for the Sunday show.”
“Great!,” I say.
“Great?” He gets up to leave, shaking his head.
“No, stay here, listen to this,” I say as I pick up the phone.
“Yes… Yes this is he… Yes, I have a few minutes… Yes, I saw the article.”
“No ma’am, my company no longer has any connection to Marcy Mishap.”
“No, I signed-over the rights to Patriot Protective. I want no further role in such a degrading portrayal of women.”
“Yes ma’am, I was uncomfortable with the character from the beginning and it’s only gotten more ludicrous.” I wink at Patrick. “The woman who portrays Marcy studied at Juliard for goodness sake—She’s a very accomplished actress. It’s a shame that people only know her for driving poorly and saying whoopsie.”
Patrick is staring at me, mouth agape.
“No, I put my foot down after the last round of ads. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, had I let this go on. I regret having let it happen in the first place.”
“What did I do? Well, I terminated the account rep and signed Marcy over to Patriot.”
“No ma’am, there will be no contract renewal.”
“No, I didn’t create the character, it was the account rep…His name? Well actually it’s her, Dianna. Dianna Martini… Yes, like the cocktail, Dianna with two n’s.
Patrick has his head down, a hand on his forehead.
“I know, right? Who would’ve guessed a woman?
Patrick looks up and shakes his head.
“Dianna? Well, I’ve been told that she’s accepted a position at Patriot.”
“That’s right, we’ve parted ways with Patriot. Yes… you’re very welcome… and thank you for calling.”
I hang up and ask Patrick, “Any further questions?”
“So many questions. I hope they paid dearly for Marcy.”
“Let’s just say it’s already set aside as a wedding present for you and Michael and you can start looking for a place. He did say yes, didn’t he?”
“Yes… Steve. Yes, he said yes.” A tear runs down his cheek, an honest tear, sans mascara.
“I’ll tell you, Patrick, there’s pay and then there’s payback. You just got a nice chunk of the former and I just doled-out a shitload of the latter. You’ve put up with a lot of drama for the last several years and I’m sorry about that. It’s over now.”
Patrick nods, agape again.
“I’ll take the win,” I say, “but I don’t want their money. Think of it as a signing bonus if it makes you feel better. You’ve been promoted to Creative Director.”
“Thank you, Steven. I’m speechless.”
“Yeah, I noticed that. Now, move your stuff into Dianna’s old office and get those shitty writers up here. You’re going to help me revamp the Scherkner campaign. The shark is dead, Patrick. It’s a bad time to be a shark around here.”
END
Shark eats shark. Love it. Very well done, Jim!
I couldn't wait any longer and went looking for a good story from the past. I have Jim Cummings withdrawal. I found it. This is a dandy, Jim. I second all of the comments, especially Sharron's. You did a masterful job of constructing this tale from mere dialog in the beginning. Without explanation, the details and background fell into place until we had the complete picture. All very plausible given our current culture.