Two by Two(26)

London and I followed a few minutes later, dressed in shorts and  T-shirts. We were heading to the club for my daughter's first tennis  lesson, and when I saw men dressed in ties on the road beside me, I felt  like I'd been kicked out of the only club where I'd ever wanted to be a  member. Without work, I felt like I'd lost a major part of my identity,  and if I didn't turn it around, I was going to lose myself entirely.

Time for more cold calls.

As soon as I parked the car, London spotted some girls from the  neighborhood and skipped toward them onto the court. I made my way to  the bleachers with a pad of paper and typed the words plastic surgeons  into the search engine of my phone. Like attorneys, they were an area  that Peters avoided-he considered them prima donnas and cheapskates-but  my thinking was that doctors had money and the intelligence to  understand how advertising could benefit their practice. There were a  number of them in the Charlotte area divided among various offices-a  good sign-and I began experimenting with a few opening lines, hoping to  find just the right combination of words to keep the office manager-or  the doctor, if I got that lucky-on the phone long enough to get  interested enough to set an appointment.

"Can you believe how damn hot it is already?" I heard beside me, in a  sharp New Jersey accent. "I swear to God I'm going to melt."

When I turned, I saw a man maybe a few years older than me, built like a  block, with dark hair and bronzed skin. Above his suit, he wore aviator  sunglasses with mirrored lenses.

"Are you talking to me?"

"Of course I'm talking to you. Aside from you and me, it's like an  estrogen convention out here. We're the only two guys within a hundred  yards of this place. I'm Joey the Bulldog Taglieri, by the way." He  scooted closer and held out his hand.

"Russell Green," I said, shaking it. "Bulldog?"

"University of Georgia mascot, my alma mater, and I've got a big neck.  The nickname stuck. Nice to meet you, Russ. And if I have a heart attack  or stroke out here, do me a favor and call 911. Adrian should have  warned me that there wouldn't be a lick of shade out here."

"Adrian?"

"My ex. Number three, by the way. She dropped this responsibility in my  lap yesterday 'cause she knew it was important to me and God knows,  she's not in the favor-granting business these days. She knows I'm  supposed to be in court at nine thirty, but does she care? Ask me if she  cares? She doesn't care. It's not like she had to see her mother. Who  cares if her mother's in the hospital? She's in the hospital every other  week because she's a hypochondriac. It's not like the doctors ever find  anything wrong with her. That woman's probably going to live to be a  hundred." He gestured at my pad of paper. "You preparing your opening  remarks?"

"Opening remarks?"

"What you say to the jury? You're a lawyer, aren't you? I think I've seen you at the courthouse."

"No," I said. "Wrong guy. I'm not a lawyer. I'm in advertising."

"Yeah? What firm?"

"The Phoenix Agency," I said. "It's my own firm."

"No kidding? The guys I use are a bunch of idiots if you ask me."

My ears perked up. "What firm are you using?"

He mentioned the name and I recognized it as a national firm that  specialized in attorney commercials, which meant that for the most part,  commercials were pretty much cookie-cutter, with the same images and  only slight variations to the script. Before I could dwell on it, he  changed the subject.

"How long have you been a member of the country club?"

"Four years or so?"

"Do you like it? I just joined."

"Considering I don't golf, I do. The food's good and the pool is a  summer hangout. You can meet a lot of interesting people here."

"I'm with you on the golf thing. Tried it for a year, threw out my back,  and ended up giving the clubs to my brother. I joined for the tennis. I  know I don't look like it, but I'm not half bad. College scholarship,  dreams of going pro, but my serve only had so much speed 'cause of my  height. That's the way it goes, I guess. So now, I figured I'd get my  daughter started young so that when she's a teenager, we'd have  something to do together when she starts to hate me. She's the one out  there with the turquoise top, by the way. Dark hair, long legs. Which  one is yours?"         

     



 

I pointed out London, who was standing on the back line with several other girls. "Over there," I said. "Second from the left."

"She's going to be a tall one, too. That's good."

"We'll see whether she even likes it. It's her first day picking up a racket. You said you're an attorney?"

"Yeah. Personal injury, the occasional class-action suit. I know what  you're probably thinking about lawyers like me, and I really don't care.  No one likes personal injury attorneys until they really need one, and  then all of a sudden, I'm their best friend and their savior. And not  just because I almost always get my clients the money they deserve. But  because I listen. Half of this business is about listening. I learned  that when I was in family law, before wife number one ran off with the  neighbor and I figured out that I needed to earn a lot more money.  Family law wasn't cutting it. Word of advice? Always get a prenup."

"Good to know."

He motioned toward my pad. "Plastic surgeons, huh?"

"I was thinking of expanding into that area."

"Yeah? I've made a fortune off a few of them. They may as well have been  using hacksaws on a few of my clients. You want my advice with those  guys? As someone who's dealt with them in the past?"

"Go ahead."

"They have God complexes but are terrible at business, so play to their  egos and then promise them you can make them rich. Trust me. That'll get  their attention."

"I'll keep that in mind."

He waved at the court. "I'm not sold on the tennis pro out there just yet. What do you think?"

"I don't know enough to even venture a guess."

"You can tell he's played, but I don't get the sense he's coached little  kids before. They're a whole different ball of wax. Attention spans  like gnats. The key is to keep things moving along or the kids will get  restless."

"Makes sense. Maybe you should coach."

He laughed. "Now that would be something, huh? Nah, not for me. Never  coach your own kid. That's one of my rules. She'd probably end up hating  me even more than she already will. So what's your interest in this? Do  you play?"

"No," I said. "This was my wife's idea."

"And yet, here you are."

"Here I am," I agreed, and Joey turned his attention back to what was  happening on the court. I continued to jot opening lines but knew I'd  have to do a lot more research before I was ready for a presentation.  Every now and then, Joey would make a comment about foot positions or  the proper arc to take when hitting the ball, and we'd drift back into  small talk for a couple more minutes.

When the session ended, Joey shook my hand a second time.

"Are you going to be out here tomorrow?" When I nodded, he went on. "Me, too. See you then."

I left the bleachers and met London as she was exiting the court. Her face was red from the heat.

"Did you have a good time?" I asked her.

"Mom really thinks I should play. She told me this morning."

"I know she does. I was asking what you thought about it."

"It was hot. Who was that you were talking to?"

"Joey."

"Is he your friend?"

"We just met. Why?"

"Because you were acting like you were friends."

"He's a nice guy," I said, and as I we walked toward the car, I  reflected on what he'd said about his advertising firm being a bunch of  idiots.

And, of course, that I'd see him again tomorrow.





I got London a snack, knowing she needed to cool off before art class.  At the same time, my thoughts drifted to the advertising I'd done for  attorneys, prior to Peters pulling the plug. I remember filming  commercials in wood-shelved offices filled with law books, and  recommending targeted spends on cable channels between the hours of nine  and noon, when injured people might be watching.

These days, with most of the commercials nationwide put together by a  single national firm, there was an opportunity for a niche in the  market, if I wanted to go that route. I suspected I could get better  deals at the cable companies since I had long working relationships with  the key players, something the national firm didn't have. In the long  run, it might not be good for my firm-I might have to go the Peters  route and eventually give them up-but that day was a long way off, and I  didn't want to think about it. Instead, I kept my focus on the fact  that Taglieri might-just might-be open to a possible switch.         

     



 

It took London less time than I thought to be back to normal, and she  talked about Bodhi for most of the drive. As soon as she walked through  the door of the studio, she turned and I lowered myself. She wrapped her  arms around my neck and squeezed.