False Advertising (15 page)

He nodded. ‘We'd better get back to work,' he said and sat down at his desk. ‘Please close the door on your way out.'

When Gemma returned to her computer an email had arrived in her inbox. It was from Mel. More of a summons really:

DryDock was one of the team's favourite watering holes, down at east Darling Harbour. When Gemma arrived she spotted Mel straightaway, along with the entire team. Even Charlie was there, and he had never been much of a ‘drinks after work' kind of guy, at least not with this crowd. The creatives and the ad execs were a little like oil and water: they tended not to mix socially.

The group had commandeered a couple of tables and already had a round of drinks in front of them. The mood, however, could hardly be described as jovial. Sombre was more like it, even grim.

Mel saw her coming first and immediately got to her feet. ‘Hey, Gemma. I'll get you a drink – your usual?'

‘No,' Gemma blurted without thinking.

Mel looked at her oddly. Gemma glanced at Charlie and he leaped up from his seat.

‘She has a different usual now,' he said. ‘That is, her usual is not the same as it was before.' He gave up trying to explain himself. ‘I'll get it.'

Gemma threw Charlie a relieved smile, which he returned, before heading for the bar.

‘Pull up a roost, Gemma,' said Justin. He was sprawled in his customary fashion, one leg hooked loosely across the other, arms spread out along the backs of the chairs beside him, regardless of the discomfort or otherwise of their occupants. He seemed to have a need to take up as much space as his lanky limbs afforded him.

Gemma walked around the table to where Charlie had been sitting; she knew he wouldn't mind her taking his chair.

‘So what did you make of the MD's dummy-spit this afternoon?' Justin asked her.

She shrugged. ‘Typical.'

‘So he's said this kind of thing to you before?' asked Mel.

‘Oh no,' Gemma assured her. ‘He doesn't say much of anything to me.'

‘What do you mean? You're his assistant,' said Justin.

‘In name only. He's a one-man show. I just answer the phones.'

‘We were hoping to get some inside information from you,' said Mel. ‘Let us in on what makes him tick, or see if you know something we don't.'

Gemma shook her head. ‘Sorry, he's not an easy person to get to know. He really keeps to himself. That's the first meeting I've been to since I started, and I had to push my way in.'

‘The guy's an arrogant arsehole,' Justin declared, oblivious to the irony of him of all people making that remark.

Charlie returned to the table with Gemma's drink, trailing another chair behind him.

‘I think we should take this straight to the board,' Justin announced.

‘What are you suggesting?' Mel asked, frowning.

‘Mutiny,' Marcus answered.

‘Fuck off, it's not mutiny, Marcus,' Justin scoffed. ‘Don't be so dramatic.'

‘You don't know who he's got in his corner on the board,' Marcus warned. ‘You could end up shooting yourself in the foot, Justin.'

‘Look, they need to know what's going on. The board got us into this, they took a punt. Granted, it was an emergency. The place was on fire, and they called in a top-gun fireman, but he shouldn't be running the joint now. I looked into his HR file: he's a management consultant, a fucking number-cruncher. He doesn't even have any background in advertising. It's like having the leader of the country sending out troops when he's never served in the armed forces.'

‘Jesus, Justin, that is such a load of crap,' said Mel.

‘Why?'

‘I don't have a problem with a leader who hasn't served in the army; I have a problem with him if he won't take advice from those who have. That's the problem here: the MD won't delegate or seek advice or confer with anyone.'

Charlie cleared his throat. ‘He does have a point, though . . . maybe.'

Everyone at the table turned to look at him.

‘The MD, what he said today, it does make sense.'

‘What are you talking about, Charlie?' said Justin, clearly unimpressed.

Charlie took a deep breath and sat forward, leaning his elbows on the table. ‘After I left his office this afternoon, I did a bit of research on the net. The MD was questioning whether concept advertising actually works. Turns out it might not.'

All eyes were still on him. None of them looked the least bit convinced.

‘There was a big campaign in the US a few years back, to introduce a new airline,' Charlie went on, gathering steam. ‘Television and radio, magazines, billboards, full saturation. But they never showed a plane in any of the commercials. Even the name of the airline was unrelated – it had nothing to do with flying or travelling.'

‘And?' Justin prompted him.

‘It tanked,' Charlie said simply. ‘The airline eventually had to fold.'

‘You can't necessarily blame that on the advertising,' said Mel.

‘Maybe not. But in all the focus groups and market research they conducted, people reportedly loved the ads, but product recognition was poor to nonexistent. The vast majority had no idea what was being advertised. Even if the airline failed for other reasons, they wasted a whole lot of money on a campaign that didn't work.'

There was silence around the table as everyone appeared to be mulling that idea over; drinks were sipped, one or two were drained, a cigarette was lit.

‘So why are you suddenly pissing in the MD's pocket?' Justin said finally, glaring at Charlie.

Charlie cleared his throat. ‘I'm just saying that we're having a
knee-jerk reaction. Maybe we should think about what he actually said.'

‘So what are we supposed to do?' said Justin. ‘“Big Kev”-style ads? Go back to the days of “
Where do you get it?
”.'

‘I don't think it has to be one or the other,' said Charlie plainly. ‘Can't we do tasteful, witty, clever, beautiful even . . . and still make it clear what the ad is selling?'

Mel looked thoughtful. ‘Hard to argue with that.'

‘That's all the MD was asking for,' said Charlie.

‘I'd still rather knock the arrogant son-of-a-bitch off his fucking perch,' Justin grizzled.

‘Let's make that Plan B,' said Marcus. ‘In the meantime, whose round is it?'

Gemma didn't want to stay long; the cigarette smoke was making her feel sick, as was the Coke Charlie had bought for her. She made her move when another round was called, and Charlie grabbed the excuse to go with her.

‘I was surprised you took the MD's side in there with the lions,' said Gemma. ‘After the way he treated you today . . .'

‘He didn't treat me badly,' said Charlie. ‘Besides, he came to see me afterwards, you know.'

‘He did?'

‘He wanted to apologise in case I thought he was criticising my work.'

‘
He did?
No wonder you were so eager to jump to his defence tonight,' she muttered.

Charlie glanced sideways at her. ‘We ended up having a good chat about the whole thing. He struck a chord, to be honest.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I was really proud of the work I'd done on that ad. I was using a new program, trying out some new techniques. The morphing was seamless. From a technical point of view, I leaped a couple of tall buildings.'

‘So why weren't you pissed off when the MD trashed it?'

‘Because sometimes I get so lost in what I'm doing that I forget what it is that I'm actually doing.'

Gemma frowned at him.

‘Sometimes I look at an ad when all the editing is done, and the voiceover is in place, and I realise my amazing achievement is going to sell toilet paper.'

‘Everyone needs toilet paper, Charlie.'

‘Yeah, they do. But maybe they don't need all the hours, the expertise, the money that it takes to create an ad to tell them that.'

‘No,' said Gemma, ‘they need it to convince them to buy a particular brand.'

‘Is it really that important?'

‘It is to the client.'

Charlie sighed a long, drawn-out sigh.

Gemma looked at him. ‘Hold on a minute, I've heard that sigh before.'

‘Oh?'

‘In fact I've heard this whole spiel before. Creative angst mixed with social conscience: a deadly combination. But it always passes.'

‘Maybe,' he shrugged. ‘Or maybe it won't this time. Maybe I don't want it to.'

‘I guess there's a certain amount of comfort in knowing that at least the MD took what I said about Charlie on board,' said Gemma to Phoebe on the phone the following afternoon. ‘Not that he acknowledged it.'

‘Well, hang in there,' said Phoebe. ‘What do I keep telling you?'

‘Yes, I know, “make myself indispensable”. Easier said when the boss isn't a control freak.'

‘Nothing wrong with control freaks.'

‘And you would say that. Oh, that's someone at the door,' said Gemma, hearing a series of sharp knocks.

‘I have to go anyway,' said Phoebe. ‘Talk to you later.'

Gemma hung up and hurried up the hall as the knocking
persisted. ‘Coming, coming.' She opened the door to an older couple; the woman looked apprehensive, the man looked unapproachable.

‘Who are you?' he demanded.

Gemma blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?' she said calmly.

Now he looked suspicious. ‘I, uh, I don't know you, do I?'

‘I don't think so. But then again, I don't know you either.'

‘Then what are you doing here?'

This man had the manners of . . . someone without any manners. ‘I live here,' Gemma returned coolly.

‘But that can't be. My son . . . his family . . . our grandson, Noah Chapman, lives here, with his mother.'

Aah. ‘That would be Helen Chapman you're referring to?'

His eyes narrowed. ‘You're a friend of Helen's?'

‘She's my landlady,' said Gemma.

They both looked as though they'd just been dealt a synchronised slap in the face.

‘Are Helen and Noah Chapman still living here?' the man asked, his patience obviously wearing as thin as his questionable manners.

‘Of course they are. In fact I'm sure they'll be back any minute. It's nearly Noah's bath time, and you know how Helen is about routine. Would you like to come in and wait?'

They both checked their watches, glanced at each other and exchanged a telepathic message, the way long-married couples do.

‘All right,' he relented, as though Gemma had begged them.

As they stepped through the door, she thrust her hand towards him. ‘I'm Gemma, Gemma Atkinson.'

He shook her hand stiffly. ‘Jim Chapman. My wife, Noreen.'

Noreen obviously had some difficulty speaking for herself, so it was lucky she had Jim to do it for her.

‘Well, come on through,' said Gemma, walking ahead into the front room. ‘Take a seat.'

They sat side by side on the couch, and Gemma dropped into an armchair opposite. They looked awkward, to put it mildly. Excruciated would be closer to the truth, if you could say excruciated. Gemma wasn't sure.

‘She's probably out visiting her mother,' said Jim Chapman after a while.

‘I guess,' Gemma nodded, although she had no idea. Helen didn't report her whereabouts to her. She hadn't even known Helen had a mother. Well, she'd assumed she had a mother at some stage of her life, but Helen had not been inclined to offer up a lot of information thus far.

‘So, when did you move in?' Jim Chapman asked.

‘Just a few weeks ago.'

‘Have you known Helen long?'

Gemma frowned. ‘Um, no, just the few weeks. I answered an ad in the paper.'

‘She advertised? Never mentioned a word,' he muttered, glancing at his wife and shaking his head. She shook her head along with him.

Gemma didn't think she could stand much more of this. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?' she asked.

‘Yes, thank you,' said Jim Chapman. He glanced at his wife and she took the cue.

‘Jim takes his tea strong, with a splash of milk and one and a half sugars. I have it weaker, medium really, so you might want to pour mine first, and I have more milk but only the one sugar.'

Bugger. People who gave such specific directions for their caffeinated beverages took the whole thing a little too seriously for Gemma's liking. She preferred people who said ‘however it comes'. They were more her type. But at least it gave her an excuse to get out of there.

‘Coming right up,' she said brightly, jumping to her feet and heading for the kitchen. But she wouldn't rush it. She was going to take her time.

Helen pushed the front door open and held it back for Noah to go through ahead of her. He jumped up the step and then ran into the hall. A second later she heard his delighted cry.

‘Nanna! Pop-peee!'

Helen's heart plummeted into her stomach. What could this be about? Because it was always
about
something. They were forever giving her stern lectures, ‘advising', generally butting their noses in where they weren't wanted. David had always
known how to deal with them; he'd had so many years of disregarding and generally disappointing his parents that he had become quite adept at handling them. Helen was not so practised at it. She'd never been good with conflict. With her erratic outbursts and flares of temper, her mother had railroaded right over her her whole life, and Helen had tended to follow her father's lead, which wasn't to lead at all, but to cower, generally.

Now David's parents thought they had some God-given right to tell her what to do, particularly with regards to Noah. Maybe it was about time Helen stood up to them, even just a little. She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath before she walked the few steps down the hall to the front room.

‘Helen, here you are,' Jim said, with less enthusiasm than the words suggested. They both stood, and there proceeded a perfunctory exchange of pecks on the cheek and stilted embraces.

‘Have you been visiting your mother?' said Jim, taking his seat again.

Helen nodded. She really didn't want to talk about it though. Today had not been a good day. Usually the sight of Noah was enough to cheer up Marion, but she hadn't wanted either of them there today. She had become agitated at first, and then plain belligerent. Helen hated Noah seeing her like that; it frightened him and, she had to admit, it frightened her as well. If it was the start of further decline, it could be a signal that the end was getting closer. Helen knew she should be relieved, or at least accepting. Marion had no quality of life; she spent most of her time vacillating between bafflement, distress and depression. Sometimes Helen felt on a day like today that the woman in her mother's room, on her mother's bed, was not her mother at all any more. But whoever she was, Helen wasn't ready to let go of her right now. Surely there was only so much loss she could be expected to bear at one time.

‘How's the old girl getting along?' asked Jim, as though she were a horse out to pasture.

‘The same,' said Helen as she sat in the armchair opposite. Noah was wedged between his grandparents, and she noticed he was sucking on a Chupa Chup. This close to dinner. They hadn't asked Helen if that was all right; they never asked. And they
wondered why she didn't want Noah to stay on his own with them for any length of time.

Jim crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked squarely at Helen. ‘We met your boarder,' he announced.

Bam. ‘Oh?' Of course, how else could they have got inside the house?

‘You didn't mention that you were getting in a boarder,' Jim persisted.

Helen took a breath. ‘Well, I didn't see any need to, um, to worry you with it.'

‘So you admit that a stranger coming to live with our grandson is something of a concern,' he said, as though he'd made a particularly astute move in a game of chess.

‘Gemma's not a stranger any more,' said Helen, shrugging innocently.

‘Still, do you think it's wise –'

‘Look, Jim,' Helen interrupted as politely as she could manage, ‘I discussed it with Tony and this was the best option we could come up with to alleviate some of the financial burden I'm carrying at the present time.'

She was being purposely garrulous so Noah couldn't follow what she was saying. Though in truth his attention appeared to be pretty well fixed on the Chupa Chup.

‘Why don't you just go back to work?' said Jim flatly.

Not again. Helen didn't think she could stand another round of this.

‘Well, that can't be what you came here to talk about, because you didn't even know I'd taken a boarder till you got here,' said Helen, playing her own chess move. ‘So, what are you doing here?'

Jim looked a bit affronted, but just then Gemma came through the door carrying a tray. Helen jumped to her feet and crossed the room to meet her.

‘Thanks so much, Gemma.' Helen took the tray from her. It was set with a teapot, the good china, a sugar bowl and milk jug, even a small plate of shortbread. Gemma had read Helen's in-laws like a book. Helen looked her in the eye across the tray. ‘This is lovely, I appreciate it, really.'

‘My pleasure,' said Gemma, smiling with relief, Helen
noticed. ‘Nice to meet you, Jim, Noreen,' she said from where she stood. ‘Well, I'll leave you to it.'

And before anyone could protest or invite her to join them, she'd disappeared. It hadn't taken her long to get their measure, Helen realised.

She set the tray down on the coffee table and proceeded to make the tea to their precise and exacting standards. She finally poured herself a cup and sat back down on the armchair, just as Noreen was passing the plate of shortbread to Noah.

‘No, please Noreen, he's still sucking on that Chupa Chup you gave him.'

Noreen recoiled like a child who had been scolded, replacing the plate back on the table.

‘Actually, Helen, there is something we came to discuss,' said Jim, sitting his cup back in its saucer. ‘But I think it's best if . . .' he paused, clearing his throat meaningfully and cocking his head towards Noah. ‘It might be best if N-O-A-H –'

‘That's my name!' exclaimed Noah, jumping up, almost knocking Noreen's cup from her hand.

‘What a clever boy you are,' said Jim, ruffling his grandson's hair. ‘I bet you have to get up early in the morning to fool you, Noah Chapman!'

‘Huh?' he frowned.

‘Noah, why don't you go find Gemma?' said Helen.

‘She's just being in her room,' he said simply.

‘Noah,' Helen said, a little more firmly.

He got to his feet and sighed dramatically. ‘Oh-kay.'

‘Thank you, sweetheart.'

Gemma was lying back on her bed, staring at the ceiling, when Noah poked his head around the door.

‘Hello there,' she said.

He didn't move.

‘Do you want to come in?'

Noah pushed the door open a little and sidled into the room. He stood looking at her, sucking doggedly on a lollipop.

‘Is there something you wanted, Noah?'

He shook his head, before extracting the Chupa Chup from his mouth with a loud pop. ‘Mummy said I hadda come find you.'

‘Oh, does she want me for something?' Gemma hoisted herself up on her elbows.

He shook his head again. ‘They just want me to go away.'

‘No,' Gemma scoffed.

‘Yes,' he nodded emphatically. ‘They're gunna talk 'bout Daddy and they always make me go away when they talk 'bout Daddy.'

Gemma looked at him. ‘Well, you can hang out here with me, if you want.'

He screwed up his nose, considering her invitation. ‘What are you doing?'

She smiled. ‘Come up here and I'll show you.' She patted the bed beside her.

‘What is it?'

‘It's up there, on the ceiling,' she said, cocking her head.

Noah looked up. ‘I can't see nuffink.'

‘You have to look from here.'

He lodged the Chupa Chup in his mouth and clambered up onto the bed, settling himself on his back beside Gemma.

‘What is it?' he garbled with his mouth full.

‘Can't you see it?'

‘What?'

‘I can't believe you can't see it,' Gemma said, pointing her finger. ‘It's right there.'

‘Where?'

‘There.' She kept pointing at a distinct brownish splodge on the ceiling.

Noah removed the Chupa Chup with a slurp. ‘What is it?'

‘It's a hippo, of course.'

Noah screwed up his face. ‘It's not a hippo.'

‘Sure it is. It's wading through the water, see, that's that wiggly line. And there's a little bird resting on its nose. Look, it's so cute.'

She glanced across at Noah and she couldn't work out from his expression whether he pitied her or thought she was crazy. Probably both.

‘My mummy said you gotta baby in your tummy,' he remarked, obviously deciding a topic change was warranted.

‘Your mummy's right.'

‘It must be very very little 'cause you haven't gotta fat tummy.'

‘Give it time,' sighed Gemma.

‘Mummy said your tummy's gunna get really really big –' Noah spread his arms wide to show he meant business ‘– blown up like a balloon, and then the baby will come out your bagina.'

Gemma turned her head sharply to look at him.

‘Mummy said it hurts really bad.'

‘Thanks for reminding me.'

Gemma watched Noah take a contemplative suck of his lollipop.

‘Why doesn't the baby come out now while it's small and tiny, then it won't hurt?' he asked.

‘Because God's obviously a man,' said Gemma.

‘My mummy said there isn't any God.' Noah shook his head.

‘She's probably right.' At least Gemma hoped so. If there was a God, He certainly didn't think much of her, so Gemma was not looking forward to meeting Him. She'd never had much luck with authority figures anyway.

‘So why doesn't your baby get bornded right now?' Noah asked, returning to his original question.

‘Well, the baby can't even breathe properly yet. Its lungs have to develop.'

‘You breave wif your lungs,' Noah said authoritatively.

‘That's right,' said Gemma. ‘So the baby needs to stay inside till its lungs are ready to breathe for themselves, and till all its body parts are ready, till it's fully cooked.'