Wheels (15 page)

The
management supervisor was standing now; the others followed his example.
He turned to Osch. "Isn't that so, Teddy
.”

The creative chief nodded with a wry smile. "We do our best
.”

As the meeting broke up, Yates-Brown and Underwood preceded the others
to the door.
Underwood asked, "Did somebody get on the ball about theater tickets
.”

Barbara, close behind, had heard the ad manager ask earlier for a block
of six seats to a Neil Simon comedy f or which tickets, even through
scalpers, were almost impossible to get.
The agency supervisor guffawed genially. "Did you ever doubt me
.”

He
draped an arm companionably around the other's shoulders. "Sure we have
them, J.P. You picked the toughest ticket in town, but for you we pulled
every string. They're being sent to our lunch table at the Waldorf, Is
that okay
.”

"That's okay
.”

Yates-Brown lowered his voice. "And let me know where your party would
like dinner. We'll take care of the reservation
.”

And the bill, and all tips, Barbara thought. As for the theater tickets,
she imagined Yates-Brown must have paid fifty dollars a seat, but the
agency would recoup that, along with other expenses, a thousandfold
through Orion advertising.
On some occasions when clients were taken to lunch by agency executives,
people from creative side were invited along. Today, for reasons of his
own, Yates-Brown had decided against this. Barbara was relieved.
While the agency executive-J. P. Underwood group was no doubt heading
for the Waldorf, she walked, with Teddy Osch and Nigel Knox, the other
creative staffer who had been at the client meeting, a few blocks uptown
on Third Avenue. Their destination was Joe & Rose, an obscure but
first-rate bistro, populated at lunchtime by advertising people from big
agencies in the neighborhood. Nigel Knox, who was an effeminate young
man, normally grated on Barbara, but since his work and ideas had been
rejected too, she regarded him more sympathetically than usual.
Teddy Osch led the way, under a faded red awning, into the restaurant's
unpretentious interior. En route, no one had said more than a word or
two. Now, on being shown to a table in a small rear room reserved for
habitu6s, Osch silently raised three fingers. Moments later three
martinis in chilled glasses were placed before them.
"I'm not going to do anything stupid like cry," Barbara said, "and I
won't get drunk because you always feel so awful after. But if you both
don't mind, I intend to get moderately loaded
.”

She downed the martini.
"I'd like another, please
.”

Osch beckoned a waiter. "Make it three
.”

"Teddy," Barbara said, "how the hell do you stand it
.”

Osch passed a hand pensively across his baldness. "ne first twenty years
are hardest. After that, when you've seen a dozen J. P. Underwoods come
and go . .
.”

Nigel Knox exploded as if he had been bottling up a protest. "He's a
beastly person. I tried to like him, but I couldn't possibly
.”

"Oh shut up, Nigel," Barbara said.
Osch continued, "The trick is to remind ypurself that the pay is good,
and most times-except today-I like the work. There isn't a business
more exciting. I'll tell you something else: No matter how well they've
built the Orion, if it's a success, and sells, it'll be because of us
and advertising. They know it; we know it. So what else matters
.”

"Keith Yates-Brown matters," Barbara said. "And he makes me sick
.”

Nigel Knox mimicked in a high-pitched voice, "That's generous of you,
J.P. Damn generous! Now Fm going to lie down, J.P., and I hope you'll
pee all over me
.”

Knox giggled. For the first time since this morning's meeting, Barbara
laughed.
Teddy Osch glared at them both. "Keith Yates-Brown is my meal ticket
and yours, and let's none of us forget it. Sure, I couldn't do what he
does-keep snugged up to Underwood's and other people's anuses and look
like I enjoyed it, but it's a part of this business which somebody has
to take care of, so why fault him for a thorough job? Right now, and
plenty of other times while we're doing the creative bit, which we
like, Yates-Brown is in bed with the client, stroking whatever's
necessary to keep him warm and happy, and telling him about us, how
great we are. And if you'd ever been in an agency which lost an
automotive account, you'd know why I'm glad he is
.”

A waiter bustled up. "Veal Parmigiana's good today
.”

At Joe & Rose no
one bothered with frills like menus.
Barbara and Nigel Knox nodded. "Okay, with noodles," Osch told the
waiter. "And martinis all around
.”

Already, Barbara realized, the liquor had relaxed them. Now, the session was following a familiar pattern-at first
gloomy, then self-consoling; soon, after one more martini probably, it would
become philosophic. In her own few years at the OJL agency she had attended
several post
-
mortems of this kind, in New York at advertising "in" places
like Joe & Rose, in Detroit at the Caucus Club or Jim's Garage, downtown. It
was at the Caucus she had once seen an elderly advertising man break down
and sob because months of his work had been brusquely thrown out an hour
earlier.
"I worked at an agency once," Osch said, "where we lost a car account. It
happened just bef6re the weekend; nobody expected it, except the other
agency which took the account away from us. We called it 'Black Friday
.”

'
He fingered the stem of his glass, looking back across the years. "A
hundred agency people were fired that Friday afternoon. Others didn't wait
to be fired; they knew there was nothing left for them, so they scurried
up and down Madison and Third, trying for jobs at other places before they
closed. Guys were scared. A good many had fancy homes, big mortgages, kids
in college. Trouble is, other agencies don't like the smell of losers;
besides, some of the older guys were just plain burned out. I remember,
two hit the bottle and stayed on it; one committed suicide
.”

"You survived," Barbara said.
"I was young. If it happened now, I'd go the way the others did
.”

He
raised his glass. "To Keith Yates-Brown
.”

Nigel Knox placed his partially drunk martini on the table. "Oh no,
really. I couldn't possibly
.”

Barbara shook her head. "Sorry, Teddy
.”

"Then I'll drink the toast alone," Osch said. And did.
"The trouble with our kind of advertising,"
Barbara said, "is that we offer a nonexistent car to an unreal person
.”

The
three of them had almost finished their latest martinis; she was aware of
her own speech slurring. "We all know you couldn't possibly buy the car
that's in the ads, even if you wanted to, because the photographs are lies.
When we take pictures of the real cars we use a wide-angle lens to balloon
the front, a stretch lens to make the side view longer. We even make the
color look better than it is with spray and powder puffs and camera
filters
.”

Osch waved a hand airily. "Tricks of the trade
.”

A waiter saw the hand wave. "Another round, Mr. Osch? Your food will be
here soon
.”

The creative chief nodded.
Barbara insisted, "It's still a nonexistent car
.”

"That's jolly good
.”

Nigel Knox clapped vigorously, knocking over his
empty glass and causing occupants of other tables to glance their way
amusedly. "Now tell us who's the unreal person we advertise it to
.”

Barbara spoke slowly, her thoughts fitting together less readily than
usual. "Detroit executives who have the final word on advertising don't
understand people. They work too hard; there isn't time. Therefore most
car advertising consists of a Detroit executive advertising to another De
troit executive
.”

"I have it
.”

Nigel Knox bobbed up and down exuberantly. "Everybody knows
a Detroit panjandrum is an unreal person. Clever! Clever
.”

"So are you," Barbara said. "I don
’
t think, at this point, I could even
think panjan . . . wotsit, let alone say it
.”

She put a hand to her face,
wishing she had drunk more slowly.
"Don't touch the plates," their waiter warned, "they're hot
.”

The Veal
Parmigiana, with savoury steaming noodles was put before them, plus
another three martinis. "Complimentsa the next table," the waiter said.
Osch acknowledged the drinks, then sprinkled red peppers liberally on his
noodles.
"My goodness," Nigel Knox warned, "those are terribly hot
.”

The creative chief told him, "I need a new fire in me.
There was a silence while they began eating, then Teddy Osch looked across
at Barbara. "Considering the way you feel, I guess it's all to the good
youre coming off the Orion program
.”

"What
.”

Startled, she put down her knife and fork.
"I was supposed to tell you. I hadn't got around to it
.”

"You rnean I'm fired
.”

He shook his head. "New assignment. You'll hear tomorrow
.”

"Teddy," she pleaded, "you have to tell me now
.”

He said firmly, "No. You'll get it from Keith Yates-Brown. He's the one
who recommended you. Remember?-the guy you wouldn't drink a toast to
.”

Barbara had an empty feeling.
"All I can tell you," Osch said, "is I wish it were me instead of you
.”

He sipped his fresh martini; of the three of them, he was the only one
still drinking. "If I was younger I think it might have been me. But I
guess I'll go on doing what I always have: advertising that nonexistent
car to the unreal person
.”

"Teddy," Barbara said, "I'm sorry
.”

"No need to be. The sad thing is, I think you're right
.”

The creative
chief blinked. "Christ!
Those peppers are hotter than I thought
.”

He
produced a handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

Chapter S
even

Some thir
ty miles outside Detroit, occupying a half thousand acres of superb
Michigan countryside, the auto company's proving ground lay like a Balkan
state bristling with defended borders. Only one entrance to the proving
ground existed -through a security-policed double barrier, remarkably
similar to East-West Berlin's Checkpoint Charlie. Here, visitors were halted
to have credentials examined; no one, without prearranged authority, got in.
Apart from this entry point, the entire area was enclosed by a high,
chain-link fence, patrolled by guards. Inside the fence, trees and other
protective planting formed a visual shield against watchers from outside.
What the company was guarding were some of its more critical secrets.
Among them: experiments with new cars, trucks, and their components, as
well as drive-to-destruction performance tests on current models.
The testing was carried out on some hundred and fifty miles of
roads-routes to nowhere
ranging from specimens of the very best to the
absolute worst or most precipitous in the world. Among the latter was a
duplicate of San Francisco's horrendously steep Filbert Street, appropriately named (so San Franciscans say) since only nuts drive down it. A
Belgian block road jolted every screw, weld, and rivet in a car, and set
drivers' teeth chattering. Even rougher, and used for truck trials, was
a replica of an African game trail, with tree roots, rocks, and mud holes.
One road section, built on level ground, was known as Serpentine Alley.
This was a series of sharp S-bends, closely spaced and absolutely flat,
so that absence of any banking in the turns strained a car to its limits
when cornering at high speed.
At the moment, Adam Trenton was hurling an Orion around Serpentine Alley
at 60 mph.
Tires screamed savagely, and smoked, as the car flung hard left, then
right, then left again. Each time, centrifugal force strained urgently,
protestingly, against the direction of the turn. To the three occupants
it seemed as if the car might roll over at any moment, even though
knowledge told them that it shouldn't.
Adam glanced behind him. Brett DeLosanto, sitting centrally in the rear
seat, was belted in, as weU as bracing himself by his arms on either side.
The designer called over the seatback, "My liver and spleen just switched
sides. I'm counting on the next bend to get them back
.”