Madison Avenue Shoot (7 page)

“Good for her,” I said. “You can’t argue with someone when they’re being rude or calling names like that. The best thing to do is not to give them the satisfaction of a response.”

“That’s what I tell Frank, too, Aunt Jess,” Grady said. “Sometimes some kid will tease him at school. I tell him, ‘Don’t get into a fight. Just walk away.’ ”

“Well, Lena did just that, didn’t give Betsy the satisfaction of a response. ’Course, that wouldn’t have been the reaction of Miss Nasty Mouth, you can bet on that. She would have made it a knock-down, drag-out fight. I kinda cotton to that idea. Wouldn’t you just love to see them two go at it?”

“Who do you mean?” Grady asked.

“Now, don’t look at me like that, Jessica,” Stella said, ignoring Grady. “You can’t tell me you ever heard a nice word from Anne Tripper.”

“Hoo boy, she’s a tough one, all right,” Grady said.

“I didn’t have much of a conversation with her,” I said.

“Well, consider yourself lucky,” she said. “Doesn’t even open her gift. Can you imagine? I worked too hard in my life to turn up my nose at twenty-five thousand dollars. Right, Jimbo?”

Jimbo nodded as he snapped closed the latches on his briefcase.

Stella turned to me. “Get Betsy Archibald to put you up at the Waldorf, Jessica. That way we can go to the set together in the morning.”

“I’ll certainly ask about it,” I said.

 

“Station one to station two, do you hear me? Come in.”

There was a crackle of static and then a reply. “Station one, I hear you.”

“Where are you now, station two? Come in.”

“I’m in the bedroom.”

“It works!” Frank said into the two-way radio as he ran down the hall of the apartment into his parents’ bedroom. “Now we have to go up to your house,” I heard him say.

“What’s he up to?” I asked Grady as I slipped off my jacket. We were going out to dinner together—my treat—and I’d come over to the apartment while we waited for Donna to arrive home.

“They’re trying out a set of walkie-talkies that Michele got for his birthday,” Grady said, hanging my jacket on a hook in the hall closet.

“Sounds like they’re working just fine.”

“They should. They’re supposed to be long-range. I thought all the metal in the building would have an effect, but it doesn’t seem to be interfering.”

Frank bounced down the hall and jumped in front of me. “Aunt Jessica, look what Michele got.” He held up the two-way radio receiver. “We’re testing how far away it can work.”

“I see,” I said.

Frank waved the receiver in front of me. “Want to talk to Michele?”

“Where is Michele?” I asked.

“He’s right here,” Frank said, skipping back down the hall yelling his friend’s name.

“Take it easy, sport. He’s not deaf.” Grady shook his head. “Lucky we live on the first floor. I’d pity anyone who had an apartment beneath ours.”

“Come on,” Frank said, gesturing to a boy behind him. “She’s nice. I told you about her.”

Michele, who was half a foot taller than Frank, shyly followed him to meet me. Dressed in jeans and an Aerosmith T-shirt, with his iPod wire dangling from a pocket, he moved slowly, brown eyes watching me warily.

“Hello, Michele,” I said, smiling. “Frank has told me so much about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

As if I’d made a joke, Michele threw back his head and laughed.

“See? I told you,” Frank said to him, holding up his hand for a high five.

The boys slapped their palms together. Then Michele stepped forward and gave me a hug.

“My goodness!” I said, hugging him back. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Michele always knows when people are good,” Frank said. “He can tell just by looking at them. He’s got a fifth sense.”

“Sixth sense,” Grady corrected. He clapped his hands. “Okay, boys, on your way. Aunt Jess needs some quiet time.” He turned to me and waggled his eyebrows. “I’m going to fix you my special concoction.”

“What concoction is that?” I asked as the boys whooped and thundered back to the bedroom.

“I call it the Fletcherita,” he said dramatically, going into the kitchen, opening a cabinet door, and taking down three glasses.

“Is that related to the margarita?”

“Fourth cousin, once removed.”

“Well, this should be interesting,” I said, shaking my head.

By the time Donna returned home, the boys were upstairs in Michele’s apartment, and Grady and I were deep in conversation about the afternoon’s proceedings, our Fletcheritas half-consumed.

“You would not believe the lines at Whole Foods,” she said, handing off two shopping bags to Grady. “You’d think they were giving away the food instead of charging top price for it.”

While Grady emptied the contents of the bags into the refrigerator and the cupboards, Donna hung up her coat and greeted me. “How did the meeting go?” she asked, sinking down on the sofa.

“Good, I think. They’re a bit of an odd group, but I’m sure it will go well.”

“Tell me about Anne Tripper. She says the most awful things on television. Is she that mean in person?”

“We didn’t speak for long,” I said, reluctant to criticize a colleague, although in truth I hadn’t found her the most pleasant person. “Stella Bedford was very friendly. In fact, she insisted we take a photograph together. She’s going to send a print to me, and her manager promised Grady a copy, too. I’ll ask her to autograph it for you.”

“That would be great,” Donna said. She raised her voice to be heard in the kitchen. “Speaking of Grady, I see Mr. Fletcher has been making his special concoction.”

“And I didn’t forget you,” Grady said, bringing a glass for Donna into the living room.

I waited until he was seated next to his wife to ask, “Grady, did you ever speak with Daniel Howerstein?” I turned to Donna. “The producer asked him to call.”

Grady laughed. “He didn’t actually ask,” he said. “He passed me a note, like we were in high school, telling me to call him this afternoon. He’s a tough man to reach, but I finally got through on my way home.”

“What did he want?” Donna asked.

“Strange. He just got back from working on a shoot in California, and he said his crew didn’t get paid on time. California has a law requiring that the production company pay the crew at the same time they pay their office staff. If not, the production company, in this case Eye Screen, can get fined.”

“Who’s supposed to pay them?” I asked.

“We are,” Grady said. “That’s why companies use payroll services. Big production companies like Howerstein’s shoot all over the world. That’s complicated enough. They don’t want to have to contend with all the different regulations in every state or country. With us, they don’t have to. They just give us the time cards for the crew. We do all the processing, make sure to account for pension and welfare, and whatever other requirements there are, and write the checks. Of course, we don’t send them out until Eye Screen sends us the money to cover the payroll.”

“Did they forget to do that?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Grady said, downing the last of his Fletcherita, “but I’ll look into it tomorrow. Are you ladies ready to go to dinner?”

Grady had made a show of seeming unconcerned, but there was something in his expression that told me the news was worrisome to him.

“I’m ready,” Donna said, putting down her drink. “Where’s Frank?”

“The boys are upstairs,” Grady said. “Mary invited Frank to stay for dinner, and I said all right. Hope you don’t mind.”

“As long as Aunt Jessica is okay with it.” She cocked her head at me.

“He was so excited to have dinner there, I didn’t want to spoil his fun. I’ll be back next week and we can spend a little time together then. Grady’s going to bring him to the set.”

“I know. Frank’s been telling everyone,” she said. “He can’t wait.”

“I hope he won’t be bored,” I said.

“I don’t care if he is,” said Grady. “I like the idea that he’ll get to see how a commercial is made.”

“Why is that important?” I asked.

Grady looked at Donna. It was clear that they had discussed this before.

“Kids are bombarded with ads and commercials,” Donna said, “not only on television, but on every computer site they visit. Even outside. Wherever we go, there are ads—in the stores, on talking billboards at the subway station. The buses are covered in ads, inside and out.”

“As adults, we can tune them out,” Grady put in, “but kids are attracted to them. They can’t always make the distinction between what’s the truth and what’s simply a sales pitch. Sometimes I can’t either.”

“So you’re hoping that if Frank sees how commercials are made, he won’t find them so intriguing,” I said.

“Or at least he’ll understand that the purpose of a spot is not just to entertain him,” Grady said, “but to try to sell him something.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m not doing an ad for a product that appeals to children,” I said.

“We are, too.”

 

“I don’t like that line about Permezzo being the ‘best in the business,’ ” I said.

“Why not?”

“Well, I don’t really know if that’s the case. Is it the best? I don’t want to say anything that’s not truthful.”

Robin Stockdale, a drama teacher at the high school and a frequent director for Cabot Cove’s regional theater group, had agreed to go over my lines with me so I would be able to return to New York prepared for the filming. For the last half hour, we’d been sitting at my kitchen table in Cabot Cove, dissecting the script, analyzing the lines, and discussing how best to say them.

“Jessica, this is a commercial,” she said, circling the problem copy. “No one expects you to have done comparative research on the veracity of the client’s claims.”

“I understand that,” I said, “but the agency must believe that people will trust what I say—or else why would they want me to make their commercial?”

“Exactly! I’ll bet they were thrilled when Grady suggested you. I doubt he could have talked them into it if they’d been resistant. Not that Grady isn’t persuasive, but these are advertising professionals, Jessica. Mindbenders is an established agency. You have to assume they know their business. You have to trust them.”

“I do. But still . . .” I trailed off.

“Is there another problem with the script?”

“Well, Permezzo is not the only card I carry when I travel. I would rather not say that it is.”

Robin laughed. “Jessica, I have never seen you so unsure of yourself.”

“It’s not that I’m unsure of myself,” I said, getting up to turn off the stove when the whistle on the kettle began to sing. “But my name is going to be out there. I don’t want to make a statement about a product if I don’t believe in it.” I opened a cupboard and took down two mugs and the box of tea bags.

“If you don’t believe in Permezzo, why did you agree to do the commercial in the first place?”

I sighed and gave Robin a sideways look.

“Okay, don’t tell me. Grady, right?”

“I couldn’t let him down,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s doing well in this job and I wanted to help him. And it’s not that I don’t believe in Permezzo. I’ve been using the card for years, before I ever heard about the commercial.”

“Well, let’s talk about that. That can help you with your motivation. If you don’t know why you’re saying something, you’ll never be able to pull off the line. A good actress believes what she says. When the camera zooms in on you, we’ll know by looking in your eyes if you’re speaking from the heart. So, tell me in your own words: What do you like about Permezzo?”

“They have a very attentive and efficient concierge service,” I said, smiling at a thought.

“Why are you smiling?” Robin asked.

“You’ll probably think I’m old-fashioned,” I said, setting our mugs on the table next to a plate of sugar cookies I’d baked that morning. “What I like best is that their telephones are always answered by real live people. I prefer to talk to a person without having to wade through multiple voice prompts and menu choices delivered electronically.”

“You mean a person actually picks up the phone when you call Permezzo?”