Asking him to sell a perfume was like asking Joe Namath to sell diapers. Not a good idea.
Lita poured herself a black coffee and shook cinnamon on it. Then she went to her desk, a cheap black table from a Tribeca flea market, and laid out her notes, and the last two months’ issues of Vogue and Elle.
She pictured the Lucy mock-up in her mind. What were they trying to say with that image? A bog-standard cosmetics message … attract boys. It put the girl in the supplicant position. ‘Get him interested with Lucy.’ Blerch, Lita thought. What did that copy say? That he wasn’t interested in the first place, and that the girl’s whole aim in life was to attract a mate, if she could. And their visuals were lame. How many women-on-restaurant-terrace ads had she seen? Hundreds. What did either the copy or the visual say about Lucy? Nothing. Why not, ‘Get him interested with Chanel No. 5-‘? Why should women buy this perfume instead of a different one? There was nothing special about it.
All in all, what the ad said to her was, ‘Ordinary scent for the ordinary woman.’
And that sucked.
Lita turned to her magazines. She pored over every single ad, whether it was for eyeshadow, powder or lingerie. She didn’t read the articles, but she flipped through the headlines. She had a copy of last Sunday’s New York Times lying on her couch, and she skimmed that, too.
It was a new decade. It was an exciting time for women. Girls at universities were burning their bras, reading Simone de Beauvoir, asking for more pay, better jobs. The League of Women Voters was energizing women at the ballot box. There were definitely some man-haters out there, and when she thought about Mark and Bud she didn’t really blame them. But if most women weren’t quite so strident, they were still pissed off. They were listening to Karen Carpenter and Janis. TV shows were starting to feature them as more than wives and moms. But too much advertising still showed the early-sixties girl; the homecoming queen smiling pleasantly behind her football-playing boyfriend, as though the summer of love had never happened, as though young women weren’t marching on Washington to demand an end to Vietnam.
I25
‘Get him interested.’ The way that women were feeling in I97o, it was more like, ‘Get him out.’
Lita grinned. She had a vision of a girl in a black leather catsuit booting a hapless chump with sideburns and a chest medallion on to the pavement. ‘Get him out. Lucy.’ Maybe not, but …
The idea sparked something, and she started to scribble fresh notes to herself.
The perfume was named Lucy. And what was that? A girl’s name. A short, low-brow girl’s name. Not Alexandra or Hortense or Elizabeth, but Lucy. So in order to link the perfume to something that young girls wanted, you had to provide something that they wanted to be. Someone, in fact. A ‘Lucy’ to match the name of the perfume. Something sufficiently different from all the skinny, white, gorgeous babes romping through flower-laden meadows in white chiffon dresses that all the big houses used to advertise their perfumes.
Kitten only sold Lucy in the NorthEast. Their ad-spend was targeted entirely in those areas. Lita thought about getting a ‘Lucy’ girl. She didn’t really want to go that way, because once you picked one model to represent your line; the chick had you over a barrel. Lita had used it to her own advantage often enough. Kitten were a small outfit - they couldn’t afford to be held to ransom. No, what if the Lucy girl wasn’t just one girl, but several? All appealing to different markets, but all with the same outlook in common … ambitious, fashionable, socially conscious, spirited, independent. Her Lucy would never have a man in the picture with her. She might even play ‘sports.
Lita went back through the magazines with a pair of scissors. She cut out figures and backgrounds and played around with them. She used the office paper, and stuck them to it with flour and water made into a paste, because she had no glue. Her coffee grew cold; Lita didn’t even notice it.
By the time she was done it was three a.m. Lita packed up her mocks into her briefcase, the one she hadn’t brought back to Doheny since she was hired, in case Mark thought she was getting ‘uppity’ again. Then she took a fast shower and laid her clothes for tomorrow out at the foot of the bed. She poured herself into the sheets, and barely had enough energy to set her alarm before she fell asleep.
‘This is great.’ Mark flopped into his chair, and regarded his gleaming office. ‘You should do it more often, Lita.’
‘Yeah. I wish my wife kept our place like this,’ Bud added, oblivious
to the look of hatred Lita couldn’t help shooting him. ‘You look awful
this morning, Lita.’
I26
‘Oh, dear.’ Lita wanted to say, And you don’t, you greasy-haired luck? But she bit it back. ‘I think it’s because I’m a little tired.’
She had dark shadows under her eyes big enough to make her look like a giant panda. Two layers of concealer hadn’t done anything for her
today. ‘It took me a bit longer than I thought to get the place tidy.’ ‘You did good, toots.’
‘Sir…’ Lita put on her most submissive voice, the little-girl act that Mark liked. ‘Do you think I could take an extra hour at lunch today? I
need to meet someone. Only if it’s OK with you, of course.’
‘If all your work’s done. But don’t make a habit of it.’
‘I won’t. Thank you, sir. Would you and Mr 1Koberts like some coffee?’
She called Harry Weiss’s office as soon as she got back from the kitchen. ‘I’d like to see him. It’s rather important.’
Susan’s voice on the phone sighed. ‘He only has one free half-hour, and that’s right—’
‘Before lunch, I know.’ Lita had asked around and memorized Harry’s schedule. ‘I happen to have some free time then. Mr Smith said it was OK.’
The other woman hesitated. ‘Well, if Mr Smith gave you permission,
I guess I can fit you in. But you can only have ten minutes.’
‘I thought you said he had half an hour.’
‘Not for secretaries’ requests,’ Susie said coldly. ‘Do you want this
time slot or not?’
‘I want it.’
‘Then be here at one.’
Lita turned up at Susie’s desk at two minutes to one. Her suit was neat, and her face was free of make-up, even though she had removed the fake glasses. She wore clumpy, ugly brown shoes. She watched as Susan nodded with approval.
‘Ten minutes, 1Kosalita.’
‘You got it,’ Lita said sweetly.
Why, Susie thought, as she opened the door to Harry’s office and showed Lita in, do I have such a bad feeling about this?
Lita turned around and politely but firmly shut the door in Susie’s face.
Harry glanced up from his desk. ‘This is about Mark Smith, huh?’ ‘Kind of. Yes,’ Lira admitted.
Tm surprised it took you this long to come to me. His last two girls
I27
only lasted a week each. They wouldn’t stay even when I offered them a raise.’ Harry sighed. ‘Mark swore to me he’d keep his hands offthe girls.
I’m sorry if he’s back to his old ways again …’
Lita coughed. ‘That’s not it.’
‘You want more than an apology, huh? What do you want, money? You’re at the basic typist’s rate. I think I can squeeze in some more
dollars for you, but not much—’
Lita held up one hand.
‘Harry - you did say I could call you that - I gotta interrupt you. I
only have ten minutes, and I don’t give a shit about Mark putting his hand on my ass.’ She withdrew her Coke-bottle glasses from her top
pocket and put them on. ‘See? I had no trouble since I got these babies.’ Harry blinked, then burst out laughing. ‘That’s initiative.’ ‘You like initiative?’ ‘Of course.’
‘Good.’ Lita drew out her mockups. ‘Then you’ll like what I’ve
done for the Lucy campaign. If you show the client the shitty mockup they have now, they’re going to dump Doheny. Mark Smith and Bud Roberts never did any good work for fashion or beauty because they don’t understand girls … and in the modelling scene, I know what’s hip …’
Harry took off his Lennon glasses and rubbed them, then held out his
hand.
‘OK,’ he said flatly, ‘show me what you got.’
Lita laid her bits of paper down carefully’ over his desk. They were rough and ready, but they caught the spirit she’d been aiming for. There was a black girl with an Afro standing in front of the Sears tower, a redhead in a miniskirt and fitted jacket striding through Manhattan and a blonde girl fishing on a New England lake, laughing. She had written the copy underneath in magic marker. ‘Lucy - when you make your own rules.’
Weiss examined the collages expressionlessly.
‘See,’ Lita said anxiously, ‘Kitten only advertises in the NorthEast.
So this makes it feel personal to the girls. And anyone buying a small fragrance when she could buy one from the major houses instead has to be looking for something different—’
Weiss cut her off. ‘Now it’s my turn to interrupt.’
‘But if you’d let me explain my .thinking—’
He looked at her like she was stupid. ‘I don’t need you to explain
your thinking. The work says everything I need to know.’
‘But—’
‘It’s brilliant,’ Harry Weiss said, not listening to her. ‘I love it. You’re
speaking to the urban chicks with jobs and the suburban chicks who want to be hip. You’re branding it as rebel chic. But the girls are still pretty. I think it works on a lot of levels.’
Lira felt her thumping heart gradually slow down.
‘I’m going to make you a copywriter,’ he said. ‘These images aren’t put together well enough for you to be an art director, but I’ll assign an art director to work with you. You’ll start with the Lucy account. Let’s see how that does, then maybe I’ll let you go and pitch for more business.’ He pressed a button on his desk. ‘Susie - I’m promoting P, osalita Morales to copywriter. Better see if you can find her a spare office somewhere.’
‘Yes, Mr Weiss,’ Susie said, annoyed.
‘What should I tell Mark?’
‘Tell him and Bud to come and see me.’
Lita thought about taking this opportunity to complain about all the ass-patting and ‘toots’ and foul language, but she thought better of it. One battle at a time. That was the way to win wars.
‘Thank you for this opportunity, Harry,’ she said, pushing back her chair.
‘Opportunity, my ass,’ Harry said. ‘If you lose me the client you’re fired. What I’m doing here is allowing you to make me some money.
Got it? That’s your job. To make me money.’
‘Got it,’ Lita said happily.
He looked fierce. She got out of the door before he could somehow find a way to fire her instead.
‘This is a joke, right?’ Mark Srrlith roared.
Lira continued to pack her personal stuff in her cardboard box. ‘No, it’s not. I discussed some of my ideas with Harry Weiss and he seemed to like them.’
‘Your ideas. You’re my fucking secretary,’ Mark yelled.
Lira noted the other girls were all listening keenly, though they had their heads down and were pretending to type.
‘Actually, I’m not your secretary. Fucking or otherwise,’ Lita said sweetly.
‘Get me Harry Weiss on the phone!’
‘Get him yourself. I don’t work for you; Mark.’
Smith couldn’t believe the wetback chick was talkirrg to him like this. He went purple between the ears and jumped on the phone. ‘Yeah, hi, Susie. It’s Mark Smith. Is Harry in? Oh, good.’ He shot a triumphant look at Lita. ‘Sure, I’ll hold. Oh, hey, Harry, Mark Smith here… My secretary is talking a lot of smack down here, man. losalita, yes.’
I29
There was a pause.
‘You did what?’ Mark shouted, then got a grip. ‘The Lucy campaign? That’s my campaign, Harry, my client… No, I didn’t know she was a model, but so what? You’re a piece of ass, what does that make you, Ogilvy and Mather? I know she’s a woman … OK, OK.’
He calmed down. His eyes now bore into Lita’s with murderous hatred.
‘If you want to give it a shot. But don’t blame me if the client fires us, OK? Bud and I got you good work here. Oh, you didn’t.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Well, we can’t win ‘em all, I guess. You got it. OK, bye.’
Lita watched him as he slammed the phone back into its cradle, obviously aware that the whole floor had seen him get shot down. He looked as though he’d love to reach those big paws across her desk and wring her neck like a chicken.
‘Harry Weiss said that he didn’t like the work we’d done. Except that I hadn’t shown it to anyone yet. You went through my stuff.’
‘I had to tidy your office, remember? I noticed a few things,’ Lita said
lightly. ‘I thought the product might benefit from going another way.’ ‘You spied on me.’
‘I got myself promoted,’ Lita said coldly. ‘If you don’t like it, I really don’t care.’
Smith spluttered. ‘Where the hell are your glasses?’
‘I don’t wear glasses. I put them on so that you’d get off me.’ ‘You think you’re smart,’ Smith hissed, leaning across so close to Lira she could smell the reek of his aftershave. ‘But you just made yourself an enemy. You better watch out, missy. You’re playing with the big boys
now.’
‘Big boys?’ Lira said loudly. ‘That’s not what your last girlfriend told
me.’
Then, to muffled sniggers from the other girls, she turned on her heel and walked away.
3o
Dawn broke, and Becky was awake to watch it.
She propped herself up on one elbow and gazed through the lead panelled panes of her bedroom window at the streaks of gold and pale pink coming up over the lake. It felt strange to be back at Fairfield. A month in London with Rupert, strike-ridden, cold, grumbling London, and she had started to long for the countryside. It was March, and still chilly, but Becky thought she felt spring trembling in the air. Masses of daffodils were everywhere in the orchard, and the kitchen garden was starting to bud again, and there was a soft green mist of baby leaves over the woods. Becky enjoyed the parties, the dinners, the nightclubs - Annabel’s, and Tramp - and taking in a ballet at Covent Garden … Society was fun. But she was ready for a break. She was ready to take on Lancaster now.