Sellevision - Augusten Burroughs [50]
The conversation had lifted his spirits. And she was right, he had only been on two interviews. Why not do some advertising voice-over work until he could get back on television?
A tall, handsome man that Max pegged at about forty-five walked toward him across the expansive lobby. As the man walked, he gave Max a smile. Then he stuck his hand down the front of his pants, tucking in his shirt and, Max noticed, adjusting himself. He then took that same hand out of his pants and extended it for Max to shake.
“Max Andrews? I’m Buzz Davidson, nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” Max found the man attractive, for an older man. He had all his hair, and a really good body for someone his age. The man was wearing tan slacks and a pink-and-white striped shirt. He looked like somebody who grew up sailing and might have gone to school with one of the older Kennedys.
Buzz led Max back to the elevator banks.
“My agent told me you’re auditioning for some art gallery or something?” Max said.
The elevator arrived with a pleasant bling and the men stepped inside. Buzz pressed fifteen. “That’s right, we just won a new account. It’s small but there’s a chance to do some really good work, maybe win some awards.”
“Great, that’s great. Congratulations.”
As he followed Buzz through a maze of hallways, Max looked at all the framed print advertisements on the wall, many of them familiar. It must be cool to be in advertising, he thought. Just sitting around all day thinking up fun ideas. “Wow, you guys did that?” Max asked, pointing to one of the ads. The photograph featured a tree with melting pats of butter instead of leaves.
Buzz paused. “We sure did. TreeOla’s a great product. Ever try it?”
Max nodded. “Yeah, it’s the best.” He leaned forward and read the copy beneath the butter tree. “Only TreeOla is made from the natural goodness of trees. Cholesterol-free TreeOla tastes remarkably like your favorite margarine but without the aftertaste of guilt. Plus, it may help prevent cold sores. TreeOla. Another breakthrough from the maker of America’s favorite retrovirus inhibitor.”
“Clients these days believe in diversification,” Buzz commented as they walked down the hall.
Max thought, that’s all voice-over work is. Diversification. He smiled, pleased with his evolution as a professional.
Then Buzz gave Max a look. The look. And Max smiled back at him, giving him The Look in return. Hey, he was dealing with ad people now, and business is business.
Buzz led Max into a professional recording studio. The main room had all sorts of technical equipment, huge speakers and padded walls. A long table divided the room. On one side of the table was all the recording equipment and a place for the audio engineer to sit, on the other a row of ergonomically designed chairs for the ad people. On the table itself, telephones in front of each chair, pads of paper, each with a pen rested on top. On the far wall was a window, through which was another room, also padded, but furnished with only a microphone and a music stand.
Buzz handed Max a script and motioned for him to walk through a set of double doors into the soundproof recording booth. Max stepped into the room, approached the microphone and grabbed the earphones, which were slung over the music stand. He looked out the window at Buzz.
Buzz nodded and Max put the earphones on. He rested the script on the music stand in front of him. A technician entered the main room, settled into his chair, and pressed a button. Max then heard the man’s voice in his headphones.
This is just like recording a voice-over at Sellevision, he thought.
“Hi, Max, I’m Donny. Listen, I need to adjust the sound levels, so just speak into the microphone for me.”
“What should I say?”
“It doesn’t matter, anything. Tell us about the last person you fucked,” he laughed.
“Okay, um, testing, testing, one, two, three . . . testing, one, two . . .”
“That’s fine,” the engineer cut him off. “We’re all set, ready whenever you are.”
Then