Contagion

7

“Do you honestly think that Robert Barker deliberately sabotaged our ad campaign?” Colleen asked Terese as they descended the stairs. They were on their way to the studio where Colleen wanted to show Terese what the creative team had put together for a new National Health campaign.

“There’s not a doubt in my mind,” Terese said. “Of course, he didn’t do it himself. He had Helen do it by talking National Health out of buying adequate exposure time.”

“But he’d be shooting himself in the foot. If we lose the National Health account and we can’t restructure, then his employee participation units are worth the same as ours: zilch.”

“Screw his employee participation units,” Terese said. “He wants the presidency, and he’ll do anything to get it.”

“God, bureaucratic infighting disgusts me,” Colleen said. “Are you sure you want the presidency?”

Terese stopped dead on the stairs and looked at Colleen as if she’d just blasphemed. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“But you’ve complained yourself that the more administrative duties you have, the less time you can spend on creativity.”

“If Barker gets the presidency he’ll screw up the whole company,” Terese said indignantly. “We’ll start kowtowing to clients, and there goes creativity and quality in one fell swoop. Besides, I want to be president. It’s been my goal for five years. This is my chance, and if I don’t get it now, I’ll never get it.”

“I don’t know why you’re not happy with what you’ve already accomplished,” Colleen said. “You’re only thirty-one and you’re already creative director. You should be content and do what you are good at: doing great ads.”

“Oh, come on!” Terese said. “You know we advertising people are never satisfied. Even if I make president I’ll probably start eyeing CEO.”

“I think you should cool it,” Colleen said. “You’re going to burn out before you’re thirty-five.”

“I’ll cool it when I’m president,” Terese said.

“Yeah, sure!” Colleen said.

Once in the studio Colleen directed her friend into the small separate room that was affectionately called the “arena.” This was where pitches were rehearsed. The name came from the arenas of ancient Rome where Christians were thrown to the lions. At Willow and Heath the Christians were the low-level creatives.

“You got a film?” Terese questioned. In the front of the room a screen had been pulled down over the chalkboards. At best she thought she’d be looking at sketchy storyboards.

“We threw together a ‘ripomatic,’ ” Colleen explained. A ripomatic was a roughly spliced together amalgam of previously shot video that had been “stolen” from other projects to give a sense of a commercial.

Terese was encouraged. She’d not expected video.

“Now I’m warning you, this is all very preliminary,” Colleen added.

“Save the disclaimers,” Terese said. “Run what you have.”

Colleen waved to one of her underlings. The lights dimmed and the video started. It ran for a hundred seconds. It depicted a darling four-year-old girl with a broken doll. Terese recognized the footage immediately. It was part of a spot they’d done the year before for a national toy chain to promote the company’s generous return policy. Colleen had cleverly made it appear as if the child were bringing the doll to the new National Health hospital. The tag line was “We cure anything anytime.”

As soon as the video stopped, the lights came on. For a few moments no one spoke. Finally Colleen broke the silence. “You don’t like it,” she said.

“It’s cute,” Terese admitted.

“The idea is to make the doll reflect different illnesses and injuries in different commercials,” Colleen said. “Of course, we’d have the child speak and extol the virtues of National Health in the video versions. In print we’d make sure the picture told the story.”

“The problem is it’s too cute,” Terese said. “Even if I think it has some merit, I’m sure the client won’t like it, since Helen via Robert would certainly trivialize it.”

“It’s the best that we’ve come up with so far,” Colleen said. “You’ll have to give us some direction. We need a creative brief from you; otherwise we’ll just keep wandering all over the conceptual landscape. Then there will be no chance to put anything together for next week.”

“We have to come up with something that sets National Health apart from AmeriCare even though we know they are equivalent. The challenge is finding that one idea,” Terese said.

Colleen motioned for her assistant to leave. Once she had, Colleen took a chair and put it in front of Terese’s. “We need more of your direct involvement,” she said.

Terese nodded. She knew Colleen was right, but Terese felt mentally paralyzed. “The problem is that it’s hard to think with this presidency situation hanging over me like the sword of Damocles.”

“I think you’ve got yourself in overdrive,” Colleen said. “You’re a ball of nerves.”

“So what else is new?” Terese said.

“When was the last time you went out for dinner and a few drinks?” Colleen said.

Terese laughed. “I haven’t had time for anything like that for months.”

“That’s my point,” Colleen said. “No wonder your creative juices aren’t flowing. You need to relax. Even if it’s just for a few hours.”

“You really think so?” Terese asked.

“Absolutely,” Colleen said. “In fact we’re going out tonight. We’ll go to dinner and we’ll have a few drinks. We’ll even try not to talk about advertising for one night.”

“I don’t know,” Terese voiced. “We’ve got this dead-line…”

“That’s exactly my point,” Colleen said. “We need to blow the tubes and clear out the cobwebs. Maybe then we’ll come up with that big idea. So don’t argue. I’m not taking no for an answer.”