"We're still on for today, right? Bodhi's been talking about it since he woke up."
"Yeah, we're on."
"Are you ready for your presentation?"
"I hope so," I said. I shifted the laptop from one hand to the other, thinking it felt strangely heavy. "Actually, I'm more nervous than I thought I would be. Taglieri would be my first client, and I haven't had a chance to even rehearse my pitch yet. When I was at Peters, there was always someone around who'd listen."
"Would it help if you ran through it with me? I know I'm not in advertising, but I'd be happy to lend an ear."
"I can't ask you to do that."
"You didn't. I'm volunteering. I have some free time. And besides, I've never heard an advertising pitch before. It'll be a new experience for me."
Though I knew she was offering to be nice, I felt the need to go over it, if only so I wouldn't continue to replay the argument.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll owe you."
"You already owe me. Playdate, remember? Not that I'm keeping score."
"Of course not."
We strolled to the coffee shop, got our drinks and sat at a table. First, I walked Emily through a few slides on the PowerPoint that spoke to the power of advertising, another few slides showing breakdowns of advertising dollars in the legal world, and still more that profiled a few other legal firms in Charlotte, and their estimated revenues. From there, the presentation emphasized the power of using a broader advertising strategy, across multiple platforms, to increase awareness, and a mockup of the kind of user-friendly and up-to-date website that would be far more effective. I then showed a sampling of various legal commercials, along with Taglieri's, emphasizing the lack of differentiation. Finally I went over the slides that showed how I could not only create an overall advertising campaign--and film three commercials--but also save him money.
She pointed to the computer. "Do you always do this much work beforehand?"
"No," I said. "But I think this is the only shot I'll have with this guy."
"I'd hire you."
"You haven't seen the commercials yet."
"You seem more than competent already. But, okay, show me."
I took a deep breath and showed her the outline for the two commercials I'd be pitching, the first somewhat similar to what he was already doing.
My idea was to open with two photographs of auto accidents, a photo of a construction site, and another of a warehouse. Off screen, Taglieri is speaking: "If you've been injured in an accident or on the job, you need help from an expert." Taglieri appears next, walking slowly in front of the courthouse, wearing a cardigan and addressing the camera.
"My name is Joey Taglieri and my specialty is helping people who are injured. It's what I do best, and I'm on your side. Consultations are free and there's no cost until I get you the money that you deserve. I've won millions of dollars for my clients, and now I want to help you get your life back. Let me fight for you. Call..."
There was a toll-free number followed by I-N-J-U-R-E-D, and Emily furrowed her brow. "I like that he's outside and not in an office," she offered.
"It makes him more approachable, don't you think? I also wanted to make sure the phone number was memorable."
"And you said you have a second commercial?"
I nodded. "This one has a different feel," I offered.
It opened with everyday images of Charlotte--both places and people--while Taglieri spoke off camera in a calm voice.
"Welcome to another day in the Queen City. Tourists come to experience the sights and sounds and smells, but our best attractions aren't our barbecue, or our racetrack, or our sports teams, or our lakes and trails, or our skyline. It's our people. Our community. Our friends and families and coworkers and neighbors who make this place feel like home. And when one of them is injured on the job, a stranger at an insurance company, maybe someone who can't even find Charlotte on the map, will do everything he or she can to deny coverage, even if lives are ruined in the process. To me, that's just plain wrong."
From there, the camera shifts to Taglieri, wearing a shirt and tie, but no jacket.
"I'm Joey Taglieri, and if you've been injured and need some help, give me a call. After all, we're neighbors. I'm on your side and we're in this together."
When it was finished, I tapped the keyboard, shutting down the screen. "What do you think?"
"Very folksy."
"Too folksy?"
"Not at all," she said. "And it's definitely original."
"Is that good or bad?"
"He'll be blown away."
"I just don't want to waste his time. He hates when people waste his time."
"He told you that?"
"Yes."
"At least he's honest. I like that."
As I walked into the law offices of Joey Taglieri, my nerves were still jangling and I had to force my hands not to shake. I'd just finished running through most of the presentation and the first of the commercials--I held the second commercial and financials in reserve--and when I finished, I waited for Joey to say something. Anything. Instead, he continued to stared at the final image.
"Is that phone number available?"
"As of last Friday, yes. And it's the kind of number that people will remember."
Taglieri nodded. "I like the number, so that part's a definite. And I get how the other kinds of advertising will help. But I can't say that the commercial really grabs me."
I nodded, knowing he'd feel that way. "After hearing what you said about Cal Worthington, my concept is less about having one commercial than a series of commercials. At the same time, I didn't want to go too far out on a limb. The reason personal injury attorneys use commercials like these is because they do work."
"A series of commercials? Won't that be expensive?"
I pulled up the slides outlining the estimated costs that I'd put together.
"Upfront, there will certainly be additional costs, but over the course of a year, you'll not only save money but get a lot more in return. Not only more commercials, but more extensive advertising, in a variety of ways."
He zeroed in on the line that showed how much he was spending and pointed toward it. "How did you know how much I was paying?"
"I'm good at my job," I said.
I wasn't sure what he thought about my answer. In the silence, he fiddled with a pen on his desk. "What would be your plan, then? How would you begin?"
"I'd get to work on the website and Internet advertising, especially search platforms, so you'll have better exposure there. Simultaneously, we'd schedule filming for the first two commercials. We'll also get the voice-over done. I'm almost certain that I can have the first one airing by October, when the new website is ready. That dovetails perfectly with the timing for Internet advertising and search prioritization. The second commercial will be ready for the holiday season, and I'm confident it'll be something that people remember. But you'll be the judge of that."
"All right. Let's see your idea."
I showed him. Afterward, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his jaw. "I don't know what I think," he said. "I've never seen anything like it."
"That's the point. It forces you to remember it because it makes you think."
"It doesn't have much of a sales pitch."
"No, it doesn't, but it keeps your name out there. I'm thinking we should follow that up with a couple of billboards in January. Two fantastic ones are coming available around then, and I'd like to lock them up if you're in agreement. And then, of course, there are the third and fourth commercials. Like the first commercial, those will air year-round, one starting in October or November depending on filming schedules, and the other in January, rotating after that. They're shorter, single theme, and humorous."
"Let's see what you have."
"I didn't put together any slides for them."
"Why not?"
"You're not my client yet."
He seemed to think about that. "How about you give me a
hint?"
"It would focus on your experience."
I had the sense that the meeting had become more important to him than he'd anticipated, always a good sign.
"I'll need a bit more than that."
"All right," I said. "But only for one of them. Imagine a little girl, around eight years old, sitting at a legal desk surrounded by law books, including one that says 'Personal Injury.' She's scribbling on a yellow legal pad, looking harried, and reaches over to the phone and says into the speaker, Dolores? Can you bring me another chocolate milk? At that point, the screen fades to black, and words appear as if being typewritten onto the screen.
"When you've been injured on the job and need help with your medical bills, you don't want a lawyer who's new on the job. You want a lawyer with experience. You want someone who's won millions of dollars for his clients. You want Joey Taglieri."
When I finished, Joey began to grin. "I like it."
I nodded without responding. I'd learned over the years that saying nothing was often the best thing I could do when it came to a client who was considering pulling the trigger.
No doubt, Joey knew that, too, because he leaned back in his chair again. "You should know that I've checked into your background," he said. "After you talked me into this meeting, I called your old boss."
I felt my chest constrict. "Oh," I said.
"He was vague, as bosses always are, but he said that you went out on your own a couple of months ago. You told me you had your own firm, but you didn't mention that you just started it."
I felt my mouth go dry "My firm might be new, but I've been in advertising for thirteen years."
"He also suggested to me that instead of talking to him, it would probably be better if I called to get recommendations or opinions from your current clients."
"Oh," I said again.
"Do you think I could do that? Contact some of your other clients?"
"Uh... Well..."
"That's what I thought you might say. If I were to guess, my suspicion is that you don't have any other clients as of yet. So after I spoke to your boss, I drove by your office this weekend. Turns out I recognized the place. A former client of mine owns the place. It's not exactly the kind of office that inspires confidence."
I forced myself to keep my voice steady. "For the most part, I meet clients at their place of business. And if you want to talk to previous clients, I can probably get you some names. I've worked with dozens of clients in the Charlotte area."
"I know that, too," he said, raising his hand. "I called a few of them already. Three of them, to be exact. They're still with Peters and they weren't thrilled at the idea of talking to me until I told them I had no intention of telling Peters anything about it."
"How did you...?"
When I trailed off, he finished the question for me. "Know who to contact? You're good at your job and I'm good at mine. But anyway, each of them said you were terrific. Very creative, very hardworking, and very good at what you do."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I want you to know that while I'm not thrilled with the idea of being your first, and only, client, I've been trying to convince myself that it probably means you'll have more time to work on my campaign. Frankly, I'm not sure I've gotten there yet. But after seeing what you've done, I'll admit that I'm impressed with the thought process you put into all this."
He stopped there and I took a deep breath.
"What exactly are you saying?"
With my head spinning after the meeting with Taglieri, I drove to Emily's house. Had it not been for the navigation system on my phone, I never would have been able to find it. Though not far from my home, I'd never detoured through that particular neighborhood, and the main access road wasn't particularly well marked. The lots were heavily wooded and the homes were midcentury modern, with large windows, cedar plank siding, and main levels that rose and fell with the topography.
After pulling up the drive, I followed a curving walkway that passed over a koi pond and led to the front door. When Emily opened the door, I was struck again by the warmth of her smile.
"I didn't expect you so soon," she said. "For some reason, I thought your presentation would take longer. Come on in."
If the argument with Vivian made it hard to concentrate and the meeting with Taglieri left my head spinning, then stepping into the home of a recently divorced woman with whom I'd shared a bed made the day seem even more surreal. It felt wrong somehow, inappropriate, and I reminded myself that I'd simply come by to get my daughter. It was no different than picking her up from my mom's, but even so, the feeling that I was doing something illicit only intensified as Emily motioned toward the stairs.
"The kids are up in the playroom with Noodle. They finished lunch about half an hour ago so they haven't been up there that long."
I nodded, making sure to maintain distance between us. "Did they have a good time?"
"They've had a great time," she said. "They've been laughing a lot. I think your daughter is in love with the dog."
"That doesn't shock me in the slightest," I said. "How did Noodle do with the hamsters?"
"He sniffed the cage for a few seconds and that was about it."
"Good." I put my hands in my pockets, the voice inside my head continuing to whisper that I shouldn't be here, that my presence in Emily's home was inappropriate. Turning away from Emily, I surveyed the room. With an open floor plan and shaded sunlight streaming through large windows along the rear of the house, it was comfortable and eclectic, with odds and ends scattered throughout the room, the home of an artist. On the walls, I spotted a handful of large paintings that I assumed she'd done.
"You have a beautiful home," I said, trying to keep the conversation innocuous.
"Thank you," she said, sounding far more at ease than I was feeling. "I've actually been thinking about selling the place. There's too much maintenance, and a couple of the rooms are in serious need of renovation. Of course, I've been saying that ever since David moved out. I'm sorry it's such a mess."
"I didn't notice," I said. "Are those some of your paintings?"
She moved closer to me, not too close, but close enough that I was able to catch a whiff of the honeysuckle shampoo she used. "Some of my older work. I've been wanting to trade a few of them out for some more recent paintings, but that's been on the back burner, too."
"I can understand why the gallery owner loves your work."
"They remind me of when I was pregnant with Bodhi. They're darker and less textured than a lot of what I do now. Moodier, too. Of course, I was sick as a dog for months when I was pregnant, so maybe that has something to do with it. Hold on a second." She walked toward the staircase. "Bodhi? London?" she called out. "Are you still okay?"
In chorus, I heard their answer. "Yes!"
"Your dad's here, London."
Footsteps pounded overhead and I caught sight of my daughter peeking through the railings. "Daddy? Can I stay longer? Bodhi has an extra light saber and it's red! And we're playing with Noodle!"
I looked toward Emily. "It's fine with me," she said with a shrug. "She's keeping Bodhi busy and happy, which makes my life easy."
"Maybe a few more minutes," I called up. "But we can't stay long. Remember that you have dance tonight."
"With Ms. Hamshaw?" Emily asked. When I nodded, Emily went on. "I've heard some pretty interesting things about her. And by 'interesting,' I mean not particularly good."
"I'm not sure London enjoys it all that much," I admitted.
"So pull her out."
With Vivian, such things aren't always that easy, I thought to myself. In the silence, Emily hooked a thumb toward the kitchen. "Would you like some sweet tea while you wait? I just made a pitcher."
I heard the voice in my head again, this time telling me to politely decline, but instead, I found myself saying, "Sounds good."
I followed her toward the breakfast table in the kitchen; the hamster cage was on the floor in
front of French doors that led to the backyard. Off to the side, I saw another room, obviously her studio. There were paintings stacked along the walls and another on an easel; there was an apron draped over the battered desk, along with hundreds of containers of paint.
"This is where you work?"
"My studio," she said, pulling out the pitcher of tea. "It used to be a screened porch, but we glassed it in when we bought the house. It's got perfect light in the morning."
"Is it hard to work at home?"
"Not really. But I've always painted at home so I don't know any different."
"How does that work with Bodhi?"
She poured the tea into the glasses, added ice to both, and brought them to the table. "I work in the mornings before we really get going for the day, but even after that, it's not too bad. If I get the urge to paint, he'll head upstairs and play or watch TV. He's gotten used to it. "
She took a seat and I followed her lead, still feeling far too self-conscious. If Emily felt the same, she didn't show it.
"How did it go with Taglieri?"
"It went well," I said. "He hired me. For the entire campaign I proposed."
"That's great!" she cried. "Congratulations! I knew you'd nail it. You've got to be thrilled."
"I don't think I've had time to really process it yet."
"It'll sink in soon enough, I'm sure. Are you going to celebrate tonight?"
I remembered Vivian's behavior that morning. "We'll see."
"He's your first client. You have to celebrate. But before that, I want to hear how it went. Walk me through it."
Recapping the events distracted me from my discomfort, and when I recounted how Taglieri had called Peters and the things he'd said, she put her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide.
"Oh, that's terrible! Did you just shrivel up?"
"It wasn't pleasant, that's for sure."
"I think I would have died."
"That's pretty much exactly how I felt. I think he just wanted to see me squirm."
"Lawyers will do that," she agreed. "But still, that's great. I couldn't be any happier for you."
"I appreciate that. It feels like I got the monkey off my back, you know?"
"I know exactly how you feel. I can remember the first time I found out that one of my paintings had sold in the gallery. At the time, I was certain I'd never be able to make a living with my art, and I kept expecting the owner to call me and tell me that a mistake had been made and when he finally did call with good news, I was so afraid to hear what he might say that I let my voicemail pick it up."