A Winter Dream(22)

“He would know,” I said. “The man’s a boiler.”





CHAPTER


Twelve


Time exposes all secrets.

Joseph Jacobson’s Diary





The team worked until a little after eleven preparing different treatments for the various media. It was a long day, but still about seven hours less than everyone had planned on.

As I walked home from the ‘L’ station I passed by Mr. G’s Diner. The sign was off and the place dark. I pressed my forehead against the glass and cupped my hands around my eyes to look inside. There was a blond woman standing behind the counter. It wasn’t April and I think I scared her. I was really hoping that April would be there. I wanted to tell someone about my coup. The truth is, I really wanted to tell my dad. He would have been proud. The thought of him filled me with loneliness. I walked home to my cold apartment and went to bed.



When I arrived at work the next morning, Timothy was already in his office, looking at his computer screen. His door was open and I rapped on his doorframe.

“J.J.,” he said, looking over. “Come in. I was just about to call you.”

I stepped inside. “What’s up?”

“I want you to pitch your idea to Potts with me.”

“Be happy to.”

“Good. I think they’re going to like it.” He looked up at his clock, a giant Swatch mounted to the wall. “Let’s check on Potts.”

He lifted the receiver to his ear. “Kim, would you tell Peter we’re ready? Sure.” He held nearly a minute before saying, “Thank you.” He set the phone back in its cradle. “He’s ready.” Timothy gathered up the papers we’d prepared the night before, slipping them into a paper file. “Let’s ‘wow’ him.”

Kim looked up as we neared Potts’s office. “Just go on in.”

“Thanks, Kim,” Timothy said.

Potts looked angry and tired, like he hadn’t slept. I think he was also surprised to see me. As we sat down, he said, “What have you got?”

Timothy said, “You wanted something colloquial, but credible, catchy—”

“Just show me,” he said irritably.

“All right.” Timothy stood, lifting a sheet. “Only one bank understands all your financial needs. BankOne. Friendly clerks? You can bank on it. Low fees? You can bank on it. Federally insured? Bank on it. BankOne. Bank on it.”

Potts sat motionless as he digested the concept, then he held out his hand, gesturing for the pages. “Let me see,” he said.

Timothy handed him the layouts and Potts shuffled through them.

“Bank on it,” he said. He looked up. “Who came up with this?”

“J.J.”

He looked at me without expression. “Okay, let’s see if they salute.”

We walked out of the office. “I can’t read him,” I said.

“You could have if he didn’t like it,” Timothy said.



A little after noon Timothy took me to lunch at a pizza restaurant a half mile from the agency, called Uno.

“You always walk this far for lunch?” I asked.

“No. I usually eat at my desk. But since you’re new, and we’re almost celebrating, you had to try Uno. This is where the first deep-dish pizza was baked. The guy who invented it was named Ike Sewell. That’s his name there,” he said, pointing out the window to a street sign. We were at the corner of Ohio and Wabash, but the city had put up a sign that said IKE SEWELL BLVD.

“He never even called it Chicago-style pizza—people called it that after they copied him and took it outside the city. Another testament to the power of a good idea.”

After we’d been served, I asked Timothy, “How well do you know my brother?”

“Not too well,” he said. “But he obviously made an impression. He was one of the few sane ones on that Sears account.” He looked at me. “You flinched when I mentioned his name yesterday. Bad blood?”

“He forced me out of the agency.”

Timothy pursed his lips. “That would explain why he was so eager for me to bring you on.” He took a bite of his pizza. “I can see why.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a rising star. He’s got to feel threatened. Self-preservation and ego are a powerful combination.”

I took a drink of my Pepsi. “Unfortunately, my father didn’t make the situation any easier. I was his favorite and he didn’t care who knew.”

“I know that pain from the other side. My younger brother was a high school football star. State quarterback no less. Made my life hell. I was the guy who won the school spelling bee.

“When I told my father I wanted to go into advertising, he told me to get a real job. Today, I’ve won more than a dozen national awards, my work is seen by millions, and I’m moving billions of dollars of products each year while my quarterback brother does magic shows for kid parties and works as the night manager of a 7-Eleven.