Turn Back the Dawn (4 page)

But she was
confident nevertheless. She hadn't gotten to be director
of
advertising and promotion by being weak,
and she had faced
more difficult challenges in the past.

An hour after
lunch, however, as she sat once more at the
head of the
table, with Dick Dayton to her left and
Andrew Smithfield
to her right, she felt her confidence rush a
way with the
swiftness of an ocean tide as Mr. Smithfield
said, not to her but to his colleague across the

table, "Well, Dick, it seems obvious to me that the Blake-
Canfield plan is the least workable of the three."

Kate couldn't believe it. She had just finished her opening statement; she had just given five reasons why the
Blake-Canfield campaign was her choice; she couldn't
possibly have made her position any clearer. And Andrew
Smithfield had spoken not only as if he hadn't heard her,
but as if she weren't even there.

Dick Dayton frowned and shook his head. "Couldn't
agree with you more." He picked up the sheaf of papers
that represented the Blake-Canfield campaign and held
them away to read at a distance. Kate knew he was far-
sighted, and needed to hold the papers that way; yet the
gesture, with Dayton's perpetual slight grimace, looked
like one of mild distaste, and Kate was incensed.

"Gentlemen," she said, holding her voice in check,
"perhaps it would help if you explained exactly what you
find unworkable. Then I can respond to specific questions
and points."

Dick Dayton grimaced some more and then nodded at
Andrew Smithfield. "Drew, it's the old problem, isn't it?"

Smithfield shrugged as if there were no question about
its being "the old problem"—whatever that was. "Of
course," Smithfield said. Finally, he looked at Kate. "You
see, Miss Churchill, over the years we've had advertising
directors come and advertising directors go." There was
a glimmer of a smile as he spoke, but then it disappeared.
"And over the years, young men—and young women like
yourself—have from time to time suggested campaigns
along the line of Blake-Canfield's proposed campaign."
He smiled and narrowed his eyes. "Almost a matter of
reinventing the wheel, you might say. And in each case,

Miss
Churchill, we've had to suggest other courses of
action.
An Ivorsen and Shaw spokesman—whether a man
or a woman
or both—simply isn't practical, workable, or

feasible."

Kate
looked at him without emotion. "You used the
word '
unworkable' before, Mr. Smithfield, but aside from
us
ing the
word, you haven't let me know why."

Smithfield
glanced at Dayton as if they were both in the
presence of
a less-than-intelligent outsider. He sighed,
steeple
d his
fingers, and looked back at Kate. 'Troubles.
Pure
and
simple, Miss Churchill. This young man and
woman you
propose: they'll be actors, will they not? And
when he gets
summoned to Hollywood and she gets her
pretty little
self pregnant, what then?"

"Oh. You're
right," she said. "Of course. But if you're
goi
ng to worry
about maternity leave, why not paternity?
And while we're
worrying, what about illness, war, floods,
famine
, all
those things that can cut so drastically into
one's
production
schedule?" She sighed. "Mr. Smithfield,
I
don't mean
to be sarcastic, but really—I don't understand
what you're
worried about. Plays and movies and
TV series
and
commercials are shot all the time. Some go
over sc
hedule
and over budget, others don't. Some actors and actr
esses drop
out or are fired for one reason or another, others are
fine. But surely—if that's your only objection, I think you
might reexamine it in light of other
project
s in many
different kinds of media. Remember—
we're ta
lking about
the survival of Ivorsen and Shaw—not
some
abstract plan.
And nothing that any of the previous directors
ever instituted came close to turning the red ink
black."

Neither one of the men was pleased with her response.

Perhaps, she felt, they had expected immediate acquies
cence in the face of their objections; she neither knew nor
cared. For the next forty minutes, though, she answer
each one of their objections. And finally they gave in,
when she pointed out the deficiencies of the other presen
tations and the fact that they would have to start the
agency search all over again if they didn't agree on Blake-
Canfield. With their agreement came the very clear im
plication that if the campaign didn't produce the excellent
results Kate had forecast, she would go out with the campaign. But she wasn't going to worry about that now
Now, she would concentrate on making the campaign
work as well as she possibly could, without thought of
failure. Because, despite the skepticism shown by Dayton
and Smithfield, the Blake-Canfield campaign was the best
anyone could have come up with.

A few moments after Dayton and Smithfield left, Kate
dialed Ben's office. Though she had imagined at least a
half a dozen times making the call, she hadn't known how
jumpy she'd feel. Now that her adversaries were gone and
she had won, it was as if she was finally allowing herself
to feel all the tension that had been there during the meeting. Her adrenaline was flowing, her heart was pounding,
and the moment she heard the words "Blake-Canfield
Advertising," her knees were like jelly.

She had won. And now there was no turning back.
Whether Ben was Mr. Right or Mr. Wrong or destined to
be merely a friend, Ben Austin was going to be part of her
life over the coming weeks. And suddenly she was uncomfortably nervous.

"Ben Austin," came his voice, interrupting her
thoughts with that low caress that made her tremble.

"Hi.
It's Kate Churchill."

There
was a silence. Then: "Tell me you have good
news, Kate."

She
smiled and sank into her chair. "I do," she said.

"Fantastic.
That is the best news I've had in I don't
know
how long!" he cried. "That's wonderful. So. Next
step next.
To get together. How does your schedule look
tomorrow?
How about meeting from ten or so on through
lunch?
This is wonderful, you know—getting a jump on
the
schedule like this. So how about it?"

She
smiled. It was the first time she had ever heard him
sound
"Madison Avenue," talking a mile a minute. "Well,
let's see,"
she said, looking at her calendar and crossing
ofT
"facial at Georgette Klinger" scheduled for twelve
o'clock.
"Sure, Ben—that'll work out."

"Wonderful."
He paused for a moment. "And really,
Kate,
I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to
working
with you."

"Yes,
well, I feel the same way," she said vaguely, her
mind
not at all on what she was saying. For hearing the
slight
huskiness of his voice, remembering the dark-lashed
amber of
his eyes and the warmth of his strong hands, she
was
pulled in two directions
—
swept up in a sensual mem
ory she
wanted more of, and also wary of the ways he
could affect
her so easily.

"I'm
glad," he said softly. "Until tomorrow, then.
Good-bye,
Kate."

"Good-bye,"
she said, trying to ignore the small inner
voice that
was saying,
Watch out, he's turning very tempt-
ing again.
And he's too good to be true.

The next day,
a bit after ten, Kate was sitting at her desk
trying to relax.
She had tried on four different outfits that
morning, angrily telling herself that
h
er complete
in
decisiveness had nothing to do with Ben. But it was one of
those days when absolutely nothing looked right or even
half-decent. Finally she had settled on a forest-green silk
button-down dress with short sleeves, something she knew
looked good even though she didn't feel that way. Now,
as she sat at her desk, she resisted the impulse to take out
her compact to see how she looked. For she knew that in
her current mood, she would think she looked terrible no
matter what the reality was. She would feel her hair was
too straight, her lips were too full, that her skin looked too
pale next to green silk. And she didn't need to be any more
ill at ease than she already was.

When the intercom on her desk buzzed, she jumped,
and a few moments later Linda was ushering Ben into the
office. He looked handsomer than Kate remembered, with
his warm, smiling eyes and wonderfully relaxed and
rugged air.

He glanced at Kate, then thanked Linda and shut the
door. When he turned to Kate, he smiled. She thought he
looked magnificent. "Good to see you," he said. "And so
soon."

"Listen. It wasn't an easy fight. If I hadn't been almost
obnoxiously persistent, the account would have gone to
someone else."

He pursed his lips and looked at her thoughtfully. "I'm
sure you were persistent. Obnoxious I doubt. But I'm
sorry to hear you had trouble," he said as he put his
briefcase and a paper bag down on the conference table.
"What was the problem?"

"Oh, everything," she said, coming over to where he
stood.
"I'd say that the objections were more politically
based
than anything
else."
¹

"That's
right," he said. "I forgot you've just been pro
moted.
Well. I promise," he said, stepping forward and
putting
his hands at her waist. "I promise that you'll never
be sorry
you decided on Blake-Canfield." «

Fighting
with herself, she reached down and took his
hands
from her waist. "Please," she said quietly, looking
into his
eyes and resisting their liquid softness. "Just—
let's back
up a little bit
—
for the moment."

He
looked at her questioningly and she turned away,
sitting
down before she began to speak again. "I know,"
she began
slowly, as he pulled out a chair and sat down
beside
her, "that I wasn't exactly cold to you the other
day."
She glanced at him then: He looked very serious,
and she
went on. "I don't like to give double messages. It's
a habit
of mine, I'm afraid. But in the end, it doesn't get
anyone
anywhere. So I want to be straightforward with
you, Ben.
Let's just agree
—
for now—that we'll slow
down,
and back off a bit."