Dry_ A Memoir - Augusten Burroughs [78]
And it’s not just my life that’s crazy. Greer is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “God, I should have been a gynecologist,” she keeps saying, over and over like a crazy person. Sometimes, I actually think Greer is the perfect candidate for complete mental collapse. On Tuesday, I caught her looking into her compact mirror, with both hands pressed against the sides of her head.
“What are you doing, Greer?” I asked.
She didn’t look up, just kind of cocked her head to the side and continued to stare at her reflection in the mirror as she said, “Wouldn’t it be strange if you had no ears?”
Yesterday, we presented our second round of beer ideas to Elenor.
“Whatcha got for me, guys?” she asked as we stood at her doorway.
Greer crossed her legs at the ankles, leaned against the door. “Ready to see some more beer work?”
Elenor mashed her cigarette out in her overflowing ashtray. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Come on in. Sit.” She motioned us over to her couch.
I sat on one end of the sofa, Greer on the other. Then Greer looked at the space between us, rolled her eyes and scooted closer to me. She rested the storyboards facedown on her legs.
Elenor tapped at her Mac. “Hold on a second there, guys. Just finishing up.”
Greer picked a framed picture up off the glass coffee table. “Is this your daughter?” she asked.
Elenor answered without taking her eyes off her computer. “That’s my Heather.”
“She’s adorable. I didn’t know you had two children.”
“I don’t,” Elenor said.
Greer set the picture back down. “I could have sworn that you just had her, like a few months ago.”
Elenor stood and came over to the chair in front of us. “Three and a half years ago,” she said, sitting.
“I cannot believe it’s been that long.” Greer turned to me. “What happened to the past three years?”
“UPS, Burger King, Credit Suisse . . .” I said.
Elenor laughed. “Yup. That’s advertising. All blends together after a while.”
Greer sat motionless, somewhat stunned by this timecompression event.
Elenor reached for her phone. “I’m just gonna pull Rick in here,” she said, holding the phone to her ear. A moment later she said, “Get your ass in here, I’m about to look at Wirksam with Greer and Augusten.” She hung up.
Great. The asshole has to be here too.
“Hi, Greer,” he said as he entered the room.
“Hmmmmm,” Greer said back coldly. Greer is the only other person who sees through Rick’s Nice Mormon act to the black, charred soul underneath.
He smiled at me and took the seat next to Elenor, crossing his legs.
“How are you feeling, Augusten?” he asked.
I smiled and said, “I’m great, Rick. Thank you so much for asking.”
He closed his eyes briefly and smiled tightly. “You’re welcome,” he said, except no words came out. He just sort of mouthed the words.
“Anyway,” Elenor said. “Let’s see some work.”
We took Elenor through the storyboards. “This campaign would take place in real bars in modern Berlin,” Greer began.
“Uh-oh, do I smell a travel bug in this room?” Rick said in his annoying, high-pitched perky voice.
Greer ignored him and continued. “And the bars would be filled with really hip, eccentric characters. Dwarfs, albino waitresses, cross-dressers.”
Before we were able to even take them through the whole storyboard, Elenor interrupted. “I don’t want to get into the whole weird Germany thing. I can just tell you they’re not gonna go for that. I mean, it’s totally true, the Germans are all perverted, but they’ll never go for it. Sorry.”
I looked at Greer. “Let’s show her the next one.”
Greer pulled the next campaign out. “Okay, no weird Germany. How about playing off all the other German imports. Like Claudia Schiffer, BMWs, Albert Einstein.”
“That could be cool,” Elenor said, nodding.
As Greer led her through the visuals, I read the copy out loud.
A look of concern spread across Elenor’s face. “It’s too much like Apple. Got anything else?”
We presented our German perfectionist campaign, which made both Elenor and Rick think of concentration camps.
“What else?” Elenor asked, lighting a cigarette and then chewing on her