Molinaire and Fitz were chatting away like bosom buddies. Clem ignored the agency staffers and made a beeline for the two of them.
“Hello, James.” Clem smiled warmly, though not attempting to shake anyone’s hand.
“Hi, Clem.”
Molinaire’s response was cordial but somewhat aloof. The last time the two had spoken was when he’d chastised Clem over the phone. Fitz stood his ground next to Molinaire saying nothing. He seemed more laid back than usual, probably comfortable in the knowledge that his future was now looking distinctly rosy. Clem knew Molinaire probably felt
dissed
so he knew he had to handle him carefully. After all, Clem was still very much a loyal agency man.
“So you made it to the shoot, Clem. Congratulations.”
Molinaire’s sarcasm was duly noted and ignored by Clem though Fitz had a smile sneak across his face. Clem wanted to tell Molinaire to stop acting like the pious prat he was but thought better of it. He’d missed one meeting and canceled a second with Rebakor and so now Molinaire was acting like a dumped girlfriend, such was the ego of the man.
Clem acted as if all was fine and dandy and left Fitz to kiss up to his new buddy. He did the customary glad-handing with the rest of the Rebakor marketing executives in the studio but to him, Fitz was now invisible. As for Frank his feelings of betrayal towards him were immense.
The agency photographer arranged the assembled executives around a giant Rebakor logo.
“I need Mr. Molinaire in the center with Mr. Bergenson on one side and Mr. Fitzgerald on the other.”
If Clem needed another clue that Fitz was being lined up for the CEO gig that was it. The three men duly obliged the photographer and smiled weakly for the camera.
Click.
“One more, please.”
Click.
“Okay, now I need the rest of you to take positions either side of them. Try to balance each end.”
Clem felt miffed being stuck on the end of the group.
Click. Click. Click.
“Thanks. That’s a wrap,” said the photographer and walked off to load the images into his computer. The group relaxed and started chatting amongst themselves again.
“Clem,” called out Frank Bergenson, walking over wearing a smile that defied its insincerity. “Hope you and Tara will be coming to my retirement party this week.”
“You can count on me,” Clem smirked, aware of the irony.
“Sorry I can’t make your birthday party this afternoon though.” Frank smiled that famous fake smile again.
“What birthday party?”
“Apparently it’s your birthday today.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. I didn’t know there was going to be a party to celebrate it.”
“Maybe it was meant to be a surprise.”
“Well, I don’t like surprises.”
“Life’s full of them, my friend. Meet me in my office in ten minutes.” Frank walked back over to the Rebakor clan.
Maybe the Rebakor guys didn’t know the political landscape at Bergensons. Maybe they did. It really didn’t matter; the dye had been cast. Fitz continued his chumminess with James Molinaire, hogging the man so Clem couldn’t get in on their conversation even if he’d wanted to. Not that Molinaire seemed too interested in conversing with him, so Clem headed for the exit.
He knew damn well what Frank wanted to see him about. He was going to give some bullshit speech about why he appointing Fitz CEO and not him. Maybe he’d get some answers though and some rational
Frank Bergenson
reasons why he was doing this.
“No calls till we’re done, Rosanne,” said Frank Bergenson as he led Clem into his office and closed the door behind them.
“Sit down, Clem.”
Clem sat on the white mohair sofa. Frank sat on the end of his desk. Clem knew what was coming and he was ready for it.
“Molinaire loves the new campaign,” Frank said, making a point that really didn’t need to be made.
“Yeah, I know Frank. Thanks for rubbing it in. I guess it appeals to his God-fearing sensibilities.” Clem rolled his eyes.
“Look, Clem. I know you’re still pissed about the way this whole thing with the presentation went down.”
“You think? You mean the creative strategy that my team spent four months developing, which everybody approved internally, then got mysteriously ignored when it came to executing? That campaign, Frank?”
“Here’s the deal, Clem -- without the Rebakor account, this agency would be in some serious trouble financially. Our other accounts are tightening their budgets and they’ve all cut back on their media spend for the foreseeable future. It’s the same across the nation and I know you know that.”
“Then why are you telling me what I already know?”
“Because….”
“Frank, please spare me the lecture on the world recession. I’m not an idiot, I know what’s going on.”
“Let me finish, Clem.”
“Fine. Knock yourself out.”
“I’m appointing Kurt Fitzgerald CEO and I’ll announce it at my retirement party next week.”
Clem stared back at Frank and let his words hang in the air. Hearing it straight from the horse’s mouth meant for sure that he was officially the big loser in all this. But now it was Clem’s turn.
“Why, Frank? What fucked up thinking brought you to chose Fitz and not me?” Clem shot back. “Just give me one reason why you think that’s a smart move for this agency?”
“It’s business, Clem. Just business,” Frank answered without a hint of emotion.
“Well, it’s bad fucking business. He has totally schmoozed you, Frank. Good and proper. He’s successfully bullshitted the bullshitter. I don’t know what kinda crap he had on you but it’s fucked up your thinking.” Clem was incensed.
“Here’s why, Clem. Kurt Fitzgerald pretty much ran this agency for the four months you were embroiled in the Rebakor pitch.”
“It ran itself, Frank. No one was spending any ad dollars,” Clem pointed out.
“You wanna spend the next five years kissing Molinaire’s butt cheeks?”
“If it’s for the good of the agency, Hell yeah.”
“You’re better than that, Clem. Let Fitz run Rebakor and you can run everything else.”
“What are you smoking, Frank? The second you appoint Fitz CEO, he’ll fire my sorry ass.”
“No he won’t. I won’t let him,” Frank scowled.
Clem stood up angrily. “How, Frank? How you gonna stop him? You won’t be here. You’re retiring, remember? And no one’s gonna give a damn about you or what you want anymore. The second you vacate this office, you’re ancient history!”
Frank looked at Clem as if his protégé had just stabbed him in the gut and not the other way around. But Clem wasn’t finished.
“You should’ve retired years ago.”
“Then you’ll be pleased to know I’ll be gone next week.”
“And not a moment too soon as far as I’m concerned you egotistical, manipulative old fuck!”
Clem stormed out, smashing the door behind him. He thought about turning back around and kicking it down and giving Frank Bergenson a real piece of his mind. But what he really wanted to do was punch Fitz all the way back to New York City.
“Happy birthday, handsome!” said Rosanne as Clem walked past her desk but he was too angry to hear her. As he walked down the corridor towards the elevators, the agency photographer passed him carrying photographs from the Rebakor PR shoot.
“Here ya go, Clem.”
The photographer handed him an 8” x 10” of one of the newly printed pictures. Clem took it and ripped it up without even glancing at it.
Justine had decorated Clem’s office with more colorful balloons and a good gathering of Clem’s favorite employees were waiting with party poppers and Champagne on ice to greet him. Tara arrived early much to Justine’s delight.
“So glad you’re here, Tara! I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I know. You’ve probably seen more of Clem than I have these past months.”
“So you know about everything?” Justine winced.
“Yup. Clem told me. Unbelievable.”
“Oh – don’t get me started. Clem has done so much for this company. It makes me so mad, I can’t tell you.”
“You’re preaching to the converted, Justine. Our marriage has been a distant second.”
Justine felt bad for Clem but hadn’t realized how much it had affected Tara. “He needs this little party to lift his spirits. Thanks for doing this for him, Justine.”
Clem walked into his office to much applause as the room broke into a rendition of Happy Birthday. Timing-wise it couldn’t have been worse but he had to put on a brave face. He took a big breath, huffed it out and managed to force a weak smile as he looked at all the happy faces singing to him. Justine popped a bottle of Moet.
“Speech!” a voice from the back of the room shouted. Everyone applauded. Clem sucked it up and took another breath.
“Hey, guys. Thanks for coming to my 90th birthday.”
“I thought you were only eighty-nine,” someone quipped.
“Very funny. Thanks for coming, guys.”
“Here’s to our next CEO!” a young, un-informed trainee from the media department shouted. He was obviously out of the loop. Everyone clapped their hands supportively though more out of respect to Clem knowing the toast was redundant. Tara walked over and hugged her husband.
“Yes, here’s to our next CEO,” Clem muttered into Tara’s ear as they embraced. “Shame he couldn’t be here,” said Clem sarcastically. “Guess he’s busy upstairs blowing the old man.”
As the gathering broke into smaller groups, Clem wandered over to his desk. Tara approached him with a sympathetic smile.
“So
this
is where you spend all those long hours,” she said, clinking her Champagne glass with his. He noticed another copy of the same Rebakor PR photograph he’d torn up earlier with Fitz’s dumb grin looking at him alongside Molinaire and Frank Bergenson. Clem was in the shot but way off to the side.
“Jesus,” Clem huffed. “How many times do I have to rip up that damn photo?”
Tara picked up the glossy picture. “Not a great shot of you, honey.” Tara took a closer look. “Holy shit!” she blurted out.
“Come on, it’s not that bad. I just didn’t feel like smiling.” Tara stared intensely, engrossed in the photograph.
“Who’s that?” Tara asked, pointing to the grinning Fitz.
“Who d’you think?” Clem sneered. “That’s the company asshole -- Kurt Fitzgerald.”
“That’s Fitz?”
“Yeah, ugly bastard, isn’t he?” Justine added, looking over Tara’s shoulder at the picture. Tara stared hard again at the photo and put it back down on Clem’s desk.
“More Champagne anyone?” asked Justine, topping up Clem and Tara’s glasses. “So great you could come today, Tara. I know we talk on the phone every now and then but you need to come up here more often!” Justine gushed, though all three knew that the likelihood of that ever happening was now highly unlikely.
As Tara and Clem spent the next hour socializing, Tara had a moment of clarity. The tables had now turned. Clem didn’t have any secrets that he was hiding from her. She was the one with the secret and maybe she should level with him.
That night, Clem and Tara dined downtown at Manny’s Grill just up the street from the Kemp building. It was an old company hang out for Clem as he’d had many a business lunch and dinner there, so they’d snagged a quiet booth away from the throng of noisy diners.
Clem told Tara about the awkwardness of the photo shoot and the flat reception he’d gotten from Molinaire. He also told her about his come-to-Jesus conversation with the old man and that the out-of-the-blue phone call from Daniel Ellerby probably hadn’t been quite so random after all. Clem was reflective and subdued.
“Anyway, Bergenson is going to make the big announcement at his retirement party.”
“Can I go?” Tara asked. Clem was surprised.
“Why would you want to? I don’t want to go myself but I made a promise I would to my team. Don’t know why you’d want to suffer through wearing some stupid costume.”
“Costume?” Tara frowned.
“Well, just to show what a wonderfully, fabulously creative guy he’s been all his professional life, the crazy old bastard wants to make it a costume party. Jesus.”
A wry smile crossed Tara’s face. “How fun! A costume party! Well, that’s perfect.”
Clem shot Tara a look. “No. It’s not fun. It’s not fun at all, Tara. I hate dressing up. Now I’m going to look an even bigger loser when Fitz gets the nod over me in front of everyone and I’m standing there dressed up like some friggin’ pirate or someone equally ridiculous.”
Clem couldn’t understand why Tara seemed so enthused by the thought of wearing fancy dress.
“Clem, it’s perfect. Everyone will be in disguise. No one will know who’s who.”
“Big deal.”
“It’s a license to behave badly. Yes, you can be a pirate and I’ll be….oh, I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”
Next day, after Clem had left for work, Tara had unfinished business with Mistress Krystal. She called her on the phone and got her voicemail. She started to leave a message.
“Hi, it’s Angelina. I want to apologize for running off the other night…” Tara was in mid-sentence when Mistress Krystal picked up the call.
“Apologize for what?”
If Mistress Krystal wasn’t offended there wasn’t much point in apologizing.
“Can I come over? I think I left something at your place,” Tara asked.
Mistress Krystal was cleaning up after a session when Tara arrived at her apartment.
“Mr. Winkle, I presume?” Tara said, knowingly.
“I should charge him extra for all the cleaning costs,” Mistress Krystal complained. “What did you forget?”
“Sissy Boy’s tooth. I decided I want to have it as a memento,” Tara smiled. Mistress Krystal pointed over towards the kitchen.
“Second draw on the right. I always keep any body parts that fall off or fall out just in case the original owners want them back,” Mistress Krystal chuckled. “Sissy Boy has been asking about you. Wants to know when his next session with ‘Mistress Angel’ is going to be.”
Tara found the shiny white molar wrapped in tissue paper. She pulled a face, and then tucked the tooth away in her purse.
“Why? Does he want me to knock out more of his teeth?” Tara snarked. Anyway, thanks.”