"Daddy?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can we go bike riding again?"
I stifled a groan. I was tired and wanted nothing more than to stay glued to the couch.
"Of course we can," I said instead, and as I stood, I suddenly remembered that Vivian had said that she'd wanted to watch London ride her bike the night before, but she must have forgotten.
Right?
London made three turns on her own. Wobbly, but she was able to regain her balance, and even during the other turns, I had to help less than I'd had to before. On the straightaways, I'd barely touched her bicycle at all. Because she was growing more confident, she rode faster, and by the end of our session, I was panting and sweating, my shirt soaked through.
"How about you take a bath upstairs while I take a shower downstairs?" I suggested. I wasn't sure what to expect. The last time Vivian was out of town hadn't gone so well.
Tonight she simply nodded. "Okay, Daddy."
I cleaned up and by the time I reached her room, London was sitting on the bed in her pajamas, the brush and bottle of detangling spray beside her. After the detangler worked its magic and I was finished with her hair, I propped myself against the headboard.
I read Two by Two along with a few other books. I kissed London goodnight, and as I was about to turn out the light, I heard her voice again.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"What's day care? I heard you and Mommy talking about it."
"Day care is place where kids go when their moms and dads work, so that grown-ups can make sure you stay safe."
"Like a house?"
"Sometimes. But other times, it's in a building. They have toys and games and activities, and a lot of kids really like it because there's always something fun to do."
"But I like being with you and Mommy."
"I know you do. And we like being with you, too."
"Mommy doesn't. Not anymore."
"Of course she does. She loves you very much. She just has to work."
"Why does she have to work?"
"Because we need money to live. Without money, we couldn't buy food or clothes or toys or even Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles."
She seemed to think about that. "If I give them back to the pet store, can Mommy stop working?"
"No, sweetheart. It doesn't work that way." I hesitated. "Are you okay, sweetie? You seem kinda sad."
"Mommy's gone again. I don't like it when she's gone."
"I know you don't, and I know she'd rather be here with you, too."
"When you were working, you always came home."
"Our jobs are different. She sometimes has to work in different cities."
"I don't like it."
I don't either, I thought. But there wasn't much I could do about it. Changing the subject, I put my arm around her. "You were so great riding your bike today."
"I was going super fast."
"Yes you were."
"You could barely keep up."
"Daddy could use more regular exercise. But I'm glad you enjoy it."
"It's fun going fast."
"Is it more fun than … piano lessons?" I asked, wiggling her slightly as I said the final two words.
She giggled. "Yes."
"Is it more fun than … tennis?"
"Yes."
"Is it more fun than … dance?"
"Yes."
"Is it more fun than … art?"
"Yes," she giggled. "But it's not more fun than Bodhi."
"Bodhi! Biking is WAYYYY more fun than Bodhi."
"No it isn't. Bodhi's WAYYYYY MORE fun."
"No, no, no."
"Yes, yes, yes." She giggled. "And I want to go to his house!"
By then, I was giggling, too. "Oh, no," I said. "I think you're WAYYYY too little to go over to BODHI'S house."
"No, I'm not. I'm BIG!"
"I don't know … "
"Yes, yes, yes. I'm big enough to go to Bodhi's house."
"Okaaaay," I said, "I guess I can ask his mom about that."
She beamed before putting her arms around my neck.
"I love you, Daddy."
"I love you, too, baby girl."
"I'm not a baby."
I squeezed her tight. "You'll always be my baby."
After turning out her lights and thinking I'd reached the point where I couldn't keep up with London any longer, I went to the garage and rolled my bicycle out of the garage. I'd had it for years and like London's had been, it was more neglected than damaged. I cleaned and oiled it, added WD-40 to the sprockets, and filled the tires before giving it a test ride.
Good enough, I thought, and heading inside, I perched my computer on the kitchen table. Pulling up YouTube, I watched a dozen different Cal Worthington commercials, thinking Taglieri had been right; the jingle was snappy and old Cal always had his dog Spot, which was always an exotic animal. The spots were memorable, but the whole thing came across as hucksterism at its finest. It's no wonder a kid would want to meet the car dealer, but I wasn't so sure that it would inspire the confidence necessary to land clients as an attorney.
I watched Taglieri's commercials again. Afterward, I jotted the number on a pad of paper, and matched the numbers to the letters, wondering if I could come up with a word or two to make the phone number more memorable. Nothing leapt immediately to mind with the number he had, but if he added a second toll-free number, there might be something I could do. I thought first of simply spelling his last name, but there were eight letters and seven numbers, so that wouldn't work, even if people could remember how to spell Taglieri, which was doubtful. I might be able to do something like W-I-N-4-Y-O-U or T-A-G-I-S-I-T or maybe even B-U-L-L-D-O-G, but none of those seemed exactly right. I hoped something better would come to me.
While I knew Taglieri's business would benefit from other forms of advertising, I focused first on the commercials because I knew it was a language he'd understand. How, then, to make them better-and different enough-to entice him to make the switch? I spent the next couple of hours jotting down various ideas until they began to solidify: Ditch the office and the suit; instead, let's show Taglieri outside the courthouse, in a sweater, looking neighborly, like someone who really cares. Similar script, but more … familiar and casual in mood and tone.
Definitely different, but then again, I wasn't sure it was quite up to the level of Cal Worthington either. Maybe it was because I was tired, but even as I continued to tinker with various slogans and ideas for images, my mind kept wandering to the ludicrous. You wanted raw hucksterism? How about you dress up in a superhero outfit and crash through doors to take on the evil insurance executives? Or how about I drape you in an American flag with images of bald eagles to show how trustworthy you are? Or maybe I'll have you do cool things, like break through blocks of wood like a karate expert, to show how you're ready to do whatever it takes to win?
As the images rolled through my mind, I found myself occasionally laughing, even if I couldn't imagine ever using them. Creativity and originality were fine, but people who were injured didn't want slapstick. They wanted experience and tenacity and trust, and I was struck by the notion that instead of trying to do all of that in a single commercial, it might be possible to capture those ideas individually in a series of commercials …
To me, it seemed right, and I felt my heart thump in my chest. I wondered if Taglieri would be interested in something like that. And if I could persuade him to sit down for a pitch, I knew I'd need to lay out the idea for at least two or three commercials. The first would be reminiscent of what he was doing now, but the second and third ones?
They had to be different and while one would be short, the other should feel like a special event, the kind of commercial that would only run every now and then, the kind that almost tells a story …
I could feel the gears turning, the beginning of an idea, and I continued to develop it over the next couple of hours, bits and pieces coming together.
As to the third commercial-a short one, using humor and focusing on a single theme-the idea leapt to mind just as I was shutting down the computer. Like magic, I was struck with yet another idea a few minutes after that, the creativity beginning to flow.
Feeling good about myself, I turned out the lights an hour later and though it took a while for me to fall asleep, once I was out, I slept better than I had in weeks.
"So you're saying that you want to take your pitch on a test drive, and I'm the sucker you've chosen?"
It was Thursday morning; Joey had dressed down today, in shorts and a T-shirt, just like me. And still, he was sweating through his shirt.
"I wouldn't phrase it that way."
"You know I'm a busy man, right? I don't know if I can handle any more business."