Body Copy - Michael Craven [16]
The door to the balcony outside the reception area swung open and out came Nina Aldeen.
She waved from up on the balcony and said, “Donald!”
Tremaine looked up, waved, walked up the stairs to greet Nina.
“You found it okay?” she said.
Tremaine considered saying something like “hard to miss,” but figured everyone probably said that, so he just said, “Yeah, no problem.”
“Great. Let’s go inside.”
Nina and Tremaine walked into the reception area. Nina thanked the receptionist and guided Tremaine toward the tunnel that led into the hangar, the agency. The tunnel was white on all sides and Tremaine could see activity at the end of it, people walking by, an office in full swing. Tremaine remembered the modern style from the virtual tour, but now he was seeing and feeling it firsthand. It felt interesting, different, impressive.
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Nina said, “Roger helped design the agency, so when you see it for the first time, it’s revealed to you all at once.”
At that, they exited the tunnel and entered the agency proper. It was truly a sight to behold, the virtual tour he’d taken did not do it justice. Wide open spaces, full-sized billboards touting ads that Gale/Parker had created. An enormous cutout poster of the smart-ass hound dog that they’d created for Alpo. Punching bags hanging everywhere, things that must be desks but sure didn’t look like desks . . . And there was the basketball court, right in the middle of it all.
But what struck Tremaine most were the people. Young people everywhere. Some of them were walking, some trotting, some zooming this way and that on roller skates and skateboards, humming across the smooth concrete.
Tremaine stood there and just observed them. Dyed hair, nose rings, tattoos. It was like being at a punk rock show—without the anger.
And the clothes, they definitely ran the gamut. You still had your older people in all black, but you had many more younger people in jeans and ironic Happy Days T-shirts.
Hell, some people barely wore anything at all. Like that beautiful girl over there by the water fountain. What’s that she’s got on, a napkin? And, man, did most of them seem young.
“So you can dress like this and drive one of those Beemers out there?” Tremaine said.
“Scary, isn’t it?”
“Maybe I should go into advertising,” he said. “Except, I’m like twice everybody’s age.”
“Maybe even three times,” Nina added with a sly grin.
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Michael Craven
“Let me show you around a little, then we’ll go meet Laurie.”
Nina led Tremaine around the agency, explaining how each account had its own section. A dog food account got its own chunk of floor space, a running shoe account, a car account. Tremaine looked at the billboards that were up inside the hangar and recognized almost all of them.
Television monitors were all over the place, too. On each of them, a series of commercials ran over and over in a loop.
Commercials created by Gale/Parker.
Nina led Tremaine to the middle of the agency, where there was a room with two big glass walls and two big orange metal walls that didn’t look inhabited. Inside it sat what looked to Tremaine to be awards. Little gold statues and plates.
“This was Roger’s office. Nobody felt right about taking it over, so they use it to house all the awards the agency wins. I guess it’s kind of a tribute because Roger had won so many himself.”
“What do you mean, awards?” Tremaine asked.
Nina laughed. The laugh of someone who just realized that there’s no possible way the other person in a conversation could know anything about the subject at hand.
Nina said, “The advertising industry is very self-congratulatory. They hold awards shows every year to honor things like the best TV commercials or the best magazine ads.”
“Do people from outside the industry have an interest in these awards?”
“Not really. It’s basically just advertising people congratulating each