I laughed. “I mean why?”
She looked at me for a moment. “My roommate invited me. So how was your first week at your new job?”
I recognized that she was changing the subject, but there was no point in pursuing something she didn’t want to talk about.
“My first week was a little surprising.”
“Surprising good or surprising bad?”
“Good. I saved a major account and got promoted.”
“Hello, Superman,” she said. “You’re in advertising?”
I nodded. “I’m a copywriter at the Leo Burnett agency—that building we saw this morning. Have you ever heard of it?”
She shook her head. “Not until this morning. Should I have?”
“No, people outside of advertising never know advertising firms’ names.”
“You would think they would do a better job of advertising themselves.”
“They advertise,” I said. “Just not to you. That would be wasted money. Unless you’re secretly the CEO of a big company.”
“No,” she said. “Just a waitress.”
“Then, the important thing is that you know our clients.”
“And who are your clients?”
“McDonald’s, BankOne, Nintendo, Hallmark, Coca-Cola, Samsung . . . to name a few.”
“Which of those accounts did you save?” she said, sipping her tea.
“BankOne. I came up with their new slogan.”
“Can you tell me what it is? Or is it top secret.”
“It’s top secret, but I think I can trust you with it.” I lowered my voice for emphasis. “BankOne. Bank on it.” I waited for her reaction. She just looked at me. “What do you think?”
She shrugged. “It sounds good.”
“But it doesn’t thrill you?”
“Should a bank slogan thrill me?”
“Hopefully.”
Her brows fell. “Have you ever been thrilled by a bank slogan?”
“No.”
“My point,” she said.
“But it thrilled the client.”
“That’s what matters,” she said. “Is that why you came to Chicago? To work at that advertising agency?”
“Sort of . . .” I hesitated briefly, considering whether it was too soon to tell. I decided I didn’t care. “But there’s more to the story.” I looked her in the eyes. “Do you want to know the real story of why I’m here?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not you’re an outlaw.”
I grinned. “I’m not. At least not yet.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to end up in court testifying against you.” She set down her tea. “So tell me the real story of Joseph Jacobson.”
“I was banished from Denver.”
“That sounds interesting. Go on.”
“Remember I told you that my father had thirteen children? Being the youngest, my younger brother and I got more attention than the others, so resentment has been building up with my stepbrothers for years. Last week my stepbrothers found a way to get rid of me. My little brother stole company money. They threatened to send him to prison if I didn’t leave the state. So I’ve been banished to Chicago.”
“That’s very odd.” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand why your brother stole but you got kicked out. Why didn’t they send your brother away?”
“It’s because he isn’t a threat to them. But they know that I’m close to my little brother, so it was a way to get rid of me.”
“So you took the bullet for your brother.”
“You could say that.”
She thought over my story. “I think it’s beautiful that you would sacrifice yourself for your brother, but I hate that your brothers used your love against you. Love should never be used as a weapon.”
“Love is a weapon,” I said.
“No,” she said. “It’s not. Love is love.”
“I’m just saying that people use others’ love against them all the time,” I said.
She frowned. “I can’t argue with that.” She finally abandoned her chopsticks and speared a piece of spider roll with her fork. When she’d finished eating it, she said, “That must have been hard on your father. What did he say when you told him you were leaving?”
I slowly shook my head. “I didn’t. Part of the deal was that I wouldn’t talk to my parents, so my brothers got to spin the story. I’m sure they’ll make it convincing. That’s what admen are good at.”
“You really were banished.” She thought for a moment, then said in a thoughtful tone, “It’s a hard thing losing your home and the people you’ve loved.”