Tall Tail

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Harry, animals in tow, turned left into a big development, Old Trail. The first row of commercial buildings matched the homes not in size but in style. Nice balconies jutted out on top of the two-story buildings. She parked in front of a mint-green clapboard-frame building. The rain intensified.

They sat.

“I can’t leave you until the rain slows a little,” Harry announced to her friends, not that they cared. They were happy to be on a ride with her.

Pewter settled down in the leather seat. “She could leave us. Just keep the air-conditioning on.”

“If she keeps the engine running, someone can steal the Volvo,” Tucker said.

“Who would steal a car or wagon? When is the last time a car was stolen in our county?” Pewter huffed for a moment.

“True, but if someone did steal this, we’d be in the wagon,” Mrs. Murphy explained.

“There is that,” the gray cat agreed. “But tell me this, all these new cars have every screen, knob, push-button whatever. So why can’t they build a car that you can turn off the motor, leave, but keep the air-conditioning running?”

“Too expensive to figure out,” Mrs. Murphy replied.

“It seems like everyone everywhere is mired in debt. Aren’t you glad we don’t have to worry about money?” Tucker breathed relief.

“We don’t have bank accounts.” Mrs. Murphy said the obvious.

“I would never go into debt.” Pewter puffed out her gray chest.

Neither Mrs. Murphy nor Tucker would touch that one. A long silence followed.

“You all were chatty,” Harry remarked. “Now cat got your tongue?”

“Ha.” Pewter stuck out her tongue.

For a split second, it occurred to Harry that her cat had understood her. Then she discounted it.

The rain continued, softly now. Harry cracked the windows a bit.

“Not one drop.” Pewter gave her the evil eye. “Not one drop on my fur.”

“I won’t be long, but if it starts to rain harder, I’ll come out and we’ll go home. I can always come back here later.”

Pewter disbelieved the promise, knowing how Harry could become embroiled in conversation. “That’s what she says now.”

Pushing open the clapboard-frame building’s white-painted wooden door, Harry stepped into a pleasant waiting room, framed posters on the wall: Toulouse-Lautrec, World War I recruiting posters, shipping posters, airline posters from the forties, color stills of the company’s video work, all dramatic, colorful.

An attractive woman, early forties at the most, came out of her office.

“Hello, I’m Mary Minor Haristeen, Harry. I called earlier about revamping my farm website.”

“Yes, of course. Rae Tait. Sit down here. I’ll show you some of our work on the big screen.” She wasted no time pointing to a chair, upholstered in dark beige.

“When I called, I didn’t think you’d work this fast.”

“Well, Mrs. Haristeen, your project intrigued me. Sunflowers. Hay. Organic farming is becoming good business. You need to look at a few sites first. I hope we’re the firm for you, but, well, see for yourself.”

Rae sat down by a long keyboard, much like a director’s board in television, pushed switches, popped in a DVD. “This was for women’s crew at UVA. You see a bit of a practice, the boathouse, then you see everyone traveling to the nationals. Action. Action is always preferable to talking heads.”

“It is, and please call me Harry.”

“If you call me Rae. Okay, this one is for Harkaway Stud. I needed help because I don’t know much about horses. I looked at the websites for the big studs in Lexington, gorgeous work, but they have big bucks to spend. Harkaway, just getting off the ground, did not.”

The DVD played out, horses seen on the tracks are then viewed walking in the paddock once at stud and finally standing still so the viewer can closely examine conformation.

“That’s Justin doing the narration. Good voice,” Harry remarked.

“All you horse people know one another.” Rae smiled. “I learned that. And I learned a person needs to know a great deal to be successful in the equine industry. Huge in our state.”

“And even then, Rae, something like a rise in gasoline prices can really hurt you. Remember, the mares have to be vanned to the stallion, which usually stands in Kentucky, New York, Maryland, West Virginia, even Florida.”

“Never thought of that. Okay, here’s one that called for a lot of thought.”

The DVD opened with Edward Holloway Cunningham talking to an African American couple in front of their tidy brick house. The voice-over filled viewers in on rising taxes yet lowered services. There was a shot of Cunningham walking on UVA’s lawn, the Rotunda in the background. Other images showed a dynamic young man shaking hands, talking to all kinds of people, mothers pushing strollers, a garage mechanic, a farmer. Cut to his grandfather sitting at his library at a large desk, poring over law books. The voice tells how he often asks the old man for advice. Finally, there’s a picture of all the Holloways: the ex-governor; his wife, Penny; his two daughters: Eddie’s mother standing to his right, Millicent Grimstead, Sam’s other daughter; Eddie’s wife, Chris, is next to him. In front of the candidate stand two children, a boy of about six and a little girl, maybe four. Adorable, of course. The images, the flow, were good. The script was what one would expect. Eddie wanted an easy-to-access website, the old one now outdated. He attacked his rival as a spendthrift while concentrating on his tightfisted monetary policies. He vowed to shrink government, fight for workforce, not welfare, and to combat the delusional left, as he called them, every step of the way. The website would be constantly updated, too. This was a plum assignment for Crozet Media.

“He certainly has the advantage of name recognition,” said Harry.

“Yes, he does, but with his grandfather’s illness, Edward felt it was imperative to get good footage of the two of them together.” Rae put in another DVD. “Some of these images will fold into Edward’s website. We’re still sifting through them. We don’t want to overdo the family connection.”

A terrific shot of Governor Holloway in his World War II Navy uniform, followed by a photo of him taking the oath of office to be governor, followed by a final picture of the old man walking upright, hair gleaming silver, looking up over the horizon.

“Very dignified.” Harry admired it.

“Good. I’m glad you like it. Crozet Media, us, had access to the old photos when we shot Edward’s footage. I’m being blunt, but Edward—indeed, most men running for office these days—have no military service record. He’s leaning on his grandfather’s heroics pretty hard.” She then changed subject. “As you have seen, we’ve created websites for a variety of clients.”

Harry smiled. “I liked what I saw. Each website is individual, tailored to the task or the company. I guess for me you want shots of the crops. The sunflowers are dramatic.”

“Raindrops on plump grapes,” Rae continued. “I assume you have horses, a shot of them in the field.”

“But I’m not selling them.”

“Harry, this is Virginia. Anything with a horse in it gets attention. We’ll do a storyboard. Easier to make changes. We are very efficient. How does that sound?”

“And when this website is done, you can cross-reference to other sites where there might be an interest? I’m not conversant with all the new technologies.”

“I can. Each of those videos you watched has a presence or an ad on other Web formats. You reach an amazing amount of customers. It’s an inexpensive form of advertising, compared to traditional advertising, which is through the roof.”

“Can I stop anywhere in the process?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Who writes the copy?”

“Usually I do, but you can do it or help me. You know your farm better than anyone. There’s a lot of information and territory to cover.”

“How much will this cost?”

“Tell you what, I’ll ballpark it at two thousand dollars, but I can be much more accurate once we shoot. I’ll break it down by hour. If we go over the time limit, we’ll stop or keep going. Up to you.”

“Want to come by next Wednesday?”

Rae walked into her office, brought out her diary as well as her cellphone containing her schedule on it. “Wednesday I’m shooting at Keswick Club. What about Thursday?”

“That day doesn’t work for me. What about Friday?”

Rae nodded. “Perfect.” She looked up into Harry’s eyes. “Don’t you wonder when you schedule what happens to your time?”

Harry laughed. “We’re all overcommitted.”

“I don’t know how people with children do it.” As Harry stood up, Rae extended her hand. “I look forward to this.”

“I do, too. Before I go, where did you go to college?”

“Savannah School of Art and Design.”

“Ah.” Harry grinned, opened the door to heavier rain. “The best.”

She slid in the driver’s seat, wet on the left side, but it wasn’t terrible.

“I could have drowned.” Pewter wailed, quite dry sprawled out in the back.

“A raindrop fell on the tip of her tail. It’s too terrible for words,” Tucker solemnly intoned.

Whap!

“Ouch.”

“Pewter, let’s go back up front.” Mrs. Murphy hustled the fatty forward before a real fight broke out.

Once in the passenger seat, the tiger next to her, Pewter squinted at Harry, who started the motor, shut the windows. “Nobody has any idea how much I suffer.”