Fem Dom (3 page)

Strange that Clem hadn’t mentioned it.

CHAPTER 2

Frank Bergenson took off his headphones and stood up from behind his desk. He walked over to the soft white mohair sofa in his corner office on the forty-fourth floor of the Kemp building where a deflated Kurt Fitzgerald was sitting. Fitz was a few years younger and heavier set than Clem. A rugged face with strong features, the biggest of which seemed to be his large mouth and big white teeth. When the moment took him, he’d flash his pearly molars into a smile that bore a closer resemblance to a manic grin. Though Kurt Fitzgerald was in no mood to smile today.

Frank eased himself into an armchair. “Y’know, you and Clem are the two smartest guys I ever hired. A little healthy rivalry is a good thing.”

If Fitz felt flattered he wasn’t showing it. His fat ego had taken a huge hit with Clem winning the Rebakor account. Frank wanted to get his man pumped up again and working with his usual enthusiasm.

“The Rebakor business was totally up for grabs. Everyone knew they wanted to get out of L.A. They’d had it with the east coast agencies, too. Those guys gauged them for years.”

“Oh, cool it, Fitz. You’ll still get a nice employee bonus out of it at Christmas.”

“So why y’wanna see me? We pitching anything else worth $200 million?” Fitz snapped impatiently.

“I know you’re pissed I left you out of the whole Rebakor pitch, Fitz but I had my reasons.” Fitz didn’t respond. Frank glanced at the headlines on his copy of
Adweek
. “I want you to work with Clem on the Rebakor business.”

Fitz gave Frank a quizzical look. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Have you told Clem that?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s cool with it?” Fitz asked with a suspicious glance.

“Who cares whether he’s ‘cool with it’? I’m still running the show here.”

“It’s not gonna work, Frank.”

“Oh, it’ll work. I’ll make sure of it.” Frank Bergenson stood up and opened the pages of
Adweek
as he walked over towards the large floor to ceiling windows.

Fitz stayed seated. He was intrigued by Frank’s instructions. He started to grin. “Oh, I get it. The blue-eyed boy is up to something, isn’t he?”

Frank tossed the magazine onto a coffee table. “Clem has a two hundred million dollar account in his pocket. That’s dangerous. It can give a man ideas.”

“You mean like walking out the door and taking that fat chunk of business with him?” Fitz suggested, quickly seeing where his boss was coming from. He chuckled at the thought that old man Frank Bergenson didn’t trust his favorite son.

“Precisely,” Frank grumbled.

“Then why’d you leave me out of the entire pitch process?”

“Because you and Clem would’ve been so busy beating each other up trying to get control that we would never have gotten the business. Now we have the account, you can move in. Sure, James Molinaire loves Clem. Make him love you, too.”

“And how d’ya know I won’t walk out with the Rebakor account in
my
back pocket?” Fitz said, only half joking.

“Clem wouldn’t let you, just as you won’t let Clem. You could say I’m splitting the risk.” Frank spoke softly but firmly. He wasn’t kidding. Fitz listened but wasn’t sold on the concept.

“So you want me to keep an eye on Golden Balls and make sure he doesn’t get too chummy with James Molinaire.”

“That’s not what I said, Kurt,” Frank frowned. “We’re ad guys, not fucking CIA operatives.” Fitz chuckled but Frank’s expression remained deadly serious.

“But I’ve never even
met
Molinaire.”

“Get your team to come up with the new Rebakor ad campaign. Beat Clem to the punch. Get something brilliant in front of Molinaire before Clem’s guys have even had a chance to write the creative brief. I’ll set up a meeting with you and Molinaire and Clem doesn’t have to know about any of this.”

“Golden Balls will hit the fucking roof!” Fitz smirked but liked the idea of usurping his rival in such an unethical manner, especially as it had his boss’s blessing. “But what about the ad campaign Clem presented to Rebakor at the pitch? I can’t un-sell something that Molinaire’s already bought into.”

“Who said you have to?”

“Well, how the fuck did we win the business? Didn’t Clem’s team present various
brilliant
creative concepts at the pitch?”

“No. Clem sold us on the strength of our previous creative work and how brilliant we
could
be for them if they were smart enough to hire us. It worked.”

“So we landed a $200 million account without even pitching a single idea?”

“You could argue the one idea he
did
have was not to show Rebakor any ideas at all. Clem Drew’s one helluva salesman,” Frank chuckled. Fitz was impressed Clem had managed to pull that off but wasn’t going to admit to his boss. “They love him to bits, Fitz. That’s what concerns me and that’s why we’re having this conversation.”

“Okay, then I need the creative strategy to give to my guys. He must’ve sold them on some strategic planning going forward.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did. But you’ll have to get that from Clem,” Frank smiled.

“And how do I do that?”

“You can always trying asking Clem for it. Maybe try a charm offensive for once, Fitz.”

“Oh sure. He’s gonna love that.” Fitz was not impressed with Frank’s suggestion.

“I’ll handle Clem’s ego but you’ve got to come up with the goods.” Frank stood up to let Fitz know the meeting was over. “Get your very best guys on this, Fitz. And keep your mouth shut.”

Fitz’s shit-eating grin was still plastered across his face when he walked out of Frank Bergenson’s office. Frank was a sneaky sonofabitch and but then that’s what Fitz liked about him. The chrome nameplate on the granite façade of the Kemp building may have read Bergenson & Adler but this was Frank’s show. No one at the agency ever knew exactly what happened to Frank’s old business partner, Lewis Adler. He’d left the agency under somewhat sudden and mysterious circumstances thirty-seven years earlier and none of the employees had ever heard of him since. He was long gone and no ever talked about it other than whispers that Frank had actually had his business partner secretly bumped off and the body buried under the foundations of the Edina public library.

Kurt Fitzgerald was now a much happier man than when his day had started. In his mind, he’d been given the green light to go to war against Clem Drew. The flag was down, the whistle had been blown. Round one was about to begin and Fitz had old man Bergenson in his corner. Maybe Frank was being a little paranoid in his old age but now Fitz had suddenly jumped up the pecking order from also-ran to serious contender.

Clem Drew stepped out of the elevator on the forty-third floor and walked past the reception desk in the lobby. As usual, he nodded to Dee Dee, the pretty, bubbly receptionist who had an obvious crush on him. Clem looked his usual sharp self though his mood was less jovial than usual. He glanced at the 1962 Bulova Accutron watch adorning his left wrist. It was eighty-thirty precisely. Perfect timing. No flashy gold Rolex for Clem. He was too cool for that. That was gauche and more Fitz’s style. Clem was quiet money.

His trusty assistant, Justine greeted him as she did every morning with her perky smile and equally perky breasts. Slim and sexy as all get out with legs all the way up to her small, tight butt, Justine was the perfect personal assistant; pretty as a picture, sharp as a tack and as loyal as a puppy dog.

“Double-shot cap on its way, boss,” Justine said with a cute, dimpled smile as she passed Clem in the corridor though she could tell her boss was not in the best of moods this morning. Clem’s arrival was always Justine’s cue to head down to the lobby of the Kemp building where a Starbucks was conveniently located. But this morning, Justine rolled her eyes towards Clem’s door as she passed by him. He heeded the warning as he walked into his office.

“Good morning, Clement,” smiled Kurt Fitzgerald as he spun around in Clem’s Aeron chair. “Nice view.”

“I’m so pleased,” Clem answered sarcastically. On any given working day, Fitz never came near Clem’s office. His locale was on the other side of the building and there was no reason why their paths would cross other than Frank’s monthly account exec meetings and company parties. Clem was irritated Fitz was sitting in his chair behind his desk and showing no signs of shifting his derriere.

“You going to a wedding or a funeral today?” Clem asked the black suited intruder. Fitz didn’t get the sarcastic humor of Clem’s quip. Instead, he leaned back in Clem’s chair and put his feet up on Clem’s desk. “Gucci loafers? Are you serious? Get them off my desk and get outta my chair, Fitz.”

Fitz smiled at his irked counterpart and stood up disrespectfully slowly. Clem reclaimed his faithful Herman Miller by taking off his suit jacket and hanging it over the back of it, as he did every morning.

“Technically speaking it isn’t your chair. Company property,” Fitz reminded his agency equal as he wandered over to the windows to get a clearer view of the dramatic downtown skyline.

Clem sat down and ignored him as he booted up his laptop.

“Your office is so bland. It lacks any pizzazz,” Fitz opined, looking at the stark white walls, which Frank had noted earlier.

“Well, feel free to ‘pizz’ off back to your own office unless you’ve something you’d like to discuss. I’ve got work to do.”

“Ever thought of putting some artwork on these lonely walls?”

“Jesus Christ, everyone wants to hang shit in my office. No, I don’t want anything on the damn walls,” Clem snapped. “What do you want, Fitz? I’ve got a tight schedule.”

“I could lend you a Damien Hirst. He’s highly collectible. Very contemporary British artist, y’know.” Clem stared at his laptop screen as Fitz strolled around Clem’s office.

“Slicing embalmed animals in half is not ‘art.’ The man’s a
wanker.
” Clem flipped open his laptop and booted it up.

“Well, you know the art world. Talent isn’t a prerequisite,” Fitz jabbed back. Clem was getting impatient.

“Rather like the ad world. Okay, enough with the foreplay, Fitz. Get to your point then please leave. I’ve got a $200 million account to take care of in case you’ve had your head up your ass and haven’t read Ad Age, Adweek and The New York Times and the Wall Street Journal. I assume you can read.”

“I have a question.” Fitz sat down on the black leather sofa. Clem was already typing on his laptop and not even looking at Fitz anymore. “That must’ve been one helluva creative strategy you sold to Molinaire.”

“And your question is?” Clem kept typing.

“That was ballsy, not showing any agency creative.”

“So, I have balls. Next?”

“And they are golden,” mumbled Fitz. Clem stopped typing and looked up over his laptop.

“Yes, they are.”

Kurt Fitzgerald was getting nowhere fast trying to finesse the mystical creative strategy out of Clem.

“So, what was the angle you took? I mean, their previous ad campaigns have been spectacular. I don’t know what you could’ve pitched them that was so persuasive.”

Clem stopped typing and glanced up at the outwardly smiling but inwardly frustrated Fitz sitting on his sofa.

“You want a lesson in pitching, now?”

“Hey, I’ve gotta hand it to you, dude. You really brought home the bacon for the agency.” Fitz continued with the ego stroking, sensing Clem was about to open up.

“Okay, Fitz. I’ll let you in on a little secret. There was no creative strategy. I promised them a lot of things while giving them nothing. And in return they gave me everything.”

“Impressive. I’d be curious to see what you come up when you do actually write it then.”

“
When
I’ve written it, Fitz I’ll be sure to come running over to your office to personally hand you a copy.”

Fitz headed for the door as Clem smirked and got on with his work. If he was going to be forced to work with a man he didn’t trust or respect, he wasn’t going to make life easy for him. And when he made CEO, Fitz would be the first firing on his watch.

“Why don’t I write it?” Fitz suggested cheekily, poking his head back around Clem’s door.

“Very funny. I didn’t know you could spell.”

“You’re a busy guy. The agency doesn’t want its star ad man all tuckered out.”

“Y’know, Fitz. I’m sure the old man has his reasons for putting you on this account but I’m sure he didn’t expect it to be particularly harmonious. But I will be compliant so there’s no need to get your panties in a wad. After I’ve met with the planning department I’ll write the creative strategy and yes, you’ll be in that meeting too, Fitz. Justine has penciled it for next Friday.”

Fitz smiled. “Actually, Clem the meeting’s this afternoon if you wanna attend. Two o’clock in the main conference room.”

“The meeting happens when I say it happens, Fitz,” Clem glared. Fitz pulled out a document from his inside jacket pocket.

“Here are my bullet points. Might wanna read them before we meet.” Fitz tossed the stapled white papers down on Clem’s desk as Justine walked in carrying Clem’s morning cappuccino.

“Thanks, babe,” Fitz smiled, taking the frothy paper cup out of Justine’s hand and walking off. Justine looked back in stunned silence at the departing Fitz.

“I’ll go get you another one, Clem. Sorry about that.” Clem’s expression said it all. He didn’t need a caffeine fix to get his heart rate up now. He knew the game Fitz was playing and he wasn’t going to take the bait quite so easily.

“Don’t worry about it, Justine.”

“Everything cool? I mean --”

“Sure. Can you call David in down in planning and tell them we have to postpone today’s Rebakor meeting?”

“What Rebakor meeting?” Justine asked innocently.

“Fitz scheduled a meeting for two o’clock this afternoon. Don’t call David until one forty-five. I don’t want Fitz finding out. He can show up and sit in the conference room on his lonesome wondering where everyone is. That should teach him to call a meeting without my damn permission.”

Justine liked Clem’s thinking. “Oooo, sneaky. You got it.”