Jennifer Government: A Novel (16 page)

In
The Space Merchants
, the world was dominated by two advertising companies, which was closer to the truth. But still, there were so many laws the companies had to follow! If these guys had all the money, John wondered, who could stop them doing whatever they wanted?

“We’re about to commence our descent, sir,” a flight attendant told him. John looked at her cleavage. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Manual relief
, John thought, but didn’t say; this was United Airlines, not American. “No.”

He started to put his novel into his briefcase, then tucked it into the seat pocket instead. It was turning into a sly, anti-free market statement, and irony irritated him. There was no place for irony in marketing: it made people want to look for deeper meaning. There was no place in marketing for that, either.

He was in a cab less than ten minutes after touchdown. He’d visited the States a couple of times before the last barriers to free trade had come down and there had been hassles with taxes, with what you had in your suitcase, with changing money—it was ridiculous. And when you made it through, the culture was so different you didn’t even know how to order a beer properly. Now things were much better: the only sign you were in Los Angeles instead of Sydney was that the air was lousier.

Nike’s L.A. office was a single floor in an anonymous building on Santa Monica Boulevard. Los Angeles was not a big deal for Nike: Nike was born in Portland, Oregon, and had never left home. He wondered why Gregory was meeting him here.

He paid the cabdriver and bounded into the building. The receptionist sent him to the eighth floor, where a woman told him
Gregory would be a few minutes. This was a good sign: “a few minutes” meant Gregory still intended to see him. John had been braced for “unexpectedly called away.”

He wished he’d held on to that novel now. It would have been good to be seen reading it: relevant yet left-field, demonstrating initiative and a creative approach to problem solving. He sifted through the magazines on offer. The best available was
Sports Illustrated
. He sighed.

Twenty minutes later, Gregory appeared from a side door. “John, VP Guerrilla Marketing, Australian Territories?”

John rose. “Gregory, it’s a pleasure to—”

“Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not late at all,” John lied. “I just got here.”

Gregory looked at him in annoyance. Maybe that had been too much. “Come through.”

He followed Gregory past a small, shabby cube farm of what had to be low-level managers—possibly even Merchandising Officers. Maybe Gregory was trying to humiliate him.

“You’ll forgive the surroundings,” Gregory said, holding open the door to his office. “I’m only in town to meet with US Alliance.”

John sat. No coffee was on offer, apparently. “US Alliance is based in L.A.?”

“Yes.” Gregory planted himself behind the desk and leaned forward. It was a cheap desk, but Gregory made up for it, John decided: he was ominous even with bad props. “This is a critical time for us. Which is why your antics aren’t appreciated.”

John wondered if now was a good time to produce his sales report. “I apologize again, sir. I’m looking forward to being brought up to speed on Nike’s vision.”

Gregory folded his hands. “What I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential. It’s covered under trade secrets in your employment contract.”

“I understand.”

“You better. We don’t screw around with breaches of trade secrets.”

John had ruined a few ex-employees in his time. “I understand, sir.”

“All right. You’re aware of Nike’s participation in the US Alliance customer loyalty program. What do you think of it?”

John considered. He thought loyalty programs were useless, especially to an image-centric consumer goods company like Nike. But obviously that wasn’t the answer Gregory was looking for. “I believe they can be very valuable, in the correct application.”

“Loyalty programs aren’t worth dick to us,” Gregory said. John cursed silently. Tricked! “You think anybody buys Nike because they get frequent flier miles? Give me a break.”

John rowed hard. “Sir, I feel the same way. Our brand is weakened by discounting and giveaway promotions. If anything, the higher our price, the more we sell.”

“And yet Nike considers the US Alliance loyalty program to be the most important strategic initiative it has taken in twenty years. Why?”

John kept his mouth shut.

“You know how US Alliance got started, John?”

“Some kind of…airline miles?”

“That’s it. You bought a tank of gas on American Express, you got flier miles for American Airlines. If you didn’t have an AmEx, well, you thought about getting yourself one pretty quick. And right there, the competitive environment changed forever. Because suddenly credit card companies were in competition with airlines.”

“Right.”

“So Visa goes out and gets itself a frequent flier miles deal. They think, ‘Hey, what can we do to make our program more attractive?’ And they realize—”

“More ways to earn points. More services. More companies.”

“And ten years later we have US Alliance and Team Advantage, and there aren’t more than five major companies in the world that haven’t signed up with one of them. The more companies joined in, the more customers signed up, and so the more companies want in. At the end of last month, US Alliance had five hundred million subscribers. T.A. has two-ninety million.”

“Five hundred million…I didn’t realize.”

“Believe it. US Alliance only accepts one company from each industry, but we’ve got the biggest and best. General Motors, IBM, AT&T, Boeing—they’re all here.”

John hesitated. “But Boeing only has industrial customers. What does it gain?”

“The battle lines have been drawn. Every Alliance company is in competition with every Team Advantage company. Every customer who flies on a T.A. airline will buy a computer from Compaq instead of IBM. Boeing is with us because otherwise United Airlines won’t buy from it.”

“And the Police is…”

“Not with us,” Gregory said. “It’s in Team Advantage.”

“Ah,” John said. “You know, I want to stress that that situation is now resolved—”

“Good. Because we have bigger concerns. A week ago, the US Alliance member companies, including us, began offering rewards for customers who throw away their Team Advantage cards. We’re forcing everyone who signed up with both programs to make a choice.”

John sat back. “This is very impressive. I had no idea that initiatives of such…scope…were in motion.”

“It’s a war,” Gregory said. “I’m not exaggerating when I say that. We’ve only seen skirmishes so far, but the war has started. And you don’t want to be doing business with the enemy. You understand me?”

“Completely.”

“I’m glad we had this talk,” Gregory said. “I’m impressed by your quick grasp of the situation.”

“Tell me what to do,” John said.

“Exactly,” Gregory said. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

A bunch of college students got it into their heads to protest at a downtown Starbucks, so Calvin got no backup for Nike. Starbucks was a big Government client: when they had trouble, agents scrambled. “You can wait, if you want,” Elise said. “We’ll free up Johan and Emma by three—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, knowing Jen would blow an artery if she found out. He drove to Nike and parked in a visitor’s bay. The front doors parted, enveloping him in air-conditioning. The receptionist was attractive and looked like she ran track in her spare time.

“Welcome to Nike. How may I help you?”

“I have an appointment with John, Vice-President, Guerrilla Marketing.”

“Your name, sir?”

“Calvin McDonald’s.” He smiled. Trespass was an assault against property and therefore a crime, but fraud was fine: fraud was practically a constitutional right, like free speech.

“Just a moment, sir.” She murmured into a microphone. “I’m sorry, John’s P.A. has no record of your appointment. Are you sure you have the right time?”

“I’m very sure. Goddammit, what’s going on here?”

“I don’t know, sir, you’ll have to ask her.”

“I think I will.” He grabbed the visitors’ book. “I sign in here? What floor is she on?”

“Ah—the fourteenth.”

“What’s her name?”

“Georgia.”

He took an ID tag from the box. The elevator boomed pop music at him. Calvin hummed along with it. On the fourteenth floor, he pushed through glass doors to enter a large, tasteful reception lined with wall-sized pictures of sportspeople Calvin recognized from soda commercials. A woman in her late twenties rose. “Calvin McDonald’s?”

“Where the hell is John Nike? I’ve got an appointment.”

“Vice-President John is on an overseas business trip. He has no appointments.”

“Overseas!” Calvin said. Jennifer was not going to be happy. “Where?”

“Sir, I don’t believe you ever made an appointment for John to see you.”

“Maybe I’m getting confused. Is there another John in Guerilla Marketing?”

“There is Operative John, but he’s in a hospital. If you had an appointment with him, we would have called you.”

“A hospital! I hope he’s all right. What happened?”

“Sir, I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”

Fraud, Calvin thought, will only get you so far. He flipped open his Government ID. “Okay, I’m not really from McDonald’s.”

She gasped. Calvin blinked. The plastic didn’t usually have such an effect. “You’re not meant to come here! You’re not meant to—put that away!”

“Oh, crap,” he said, realizing. “You’re Jen’s source.”

“I—” She froze as someone passed in the corridor. She hissed, “This is not the deal!”

He made the ID disappear. “I’m Jennifer Government’s partner. Where’s John Nike?”

“Los Angeles. He left this morning.”

“Where’s he staying?”

She lowered her voice even further, so he could hardly hear her. “I can’t talk here. Call me later, from a pay phone.”

“Okay. I will.” Calvin turned to leave, then stopped. “By the way, where do you know Jennifer from?”

“I worked for her at Maher. Please, you have to go.”

“Maher?”

Georgia stared at him. “The advertising firm. She’s Jennifer Maher. Didn’t you know that?”

“Jennifer Maher…”It sounded vaguely familiar.

“She was one of the best at the biggest ad company in the world. She ran campaigns for Coke, Apple, Mattel… she could sell anything. Why do you think she got the tattoo?”

“Well,” he said, “I’ve wondered about that.”

“If you’d been part of corporate America ten years ago, you’d already know. People still talk about her.”

“So what happened? Why’d she quit?”

“John Nike happened,” Georgia said. “Look, you have to go. If anyone knows you’re here—”

“What do you mean, John happened?”

“Please. You have to leave.
Please.”

“Okay. Thanks for your help, Georgia Nike.”

“Saints-Nike,” she said. “I work part-time for the Church of Latter Day Saints.”

“What do you do?”

“Whatever’s needed.”

“And they pay you?”

“No. But it’s still Saints-Nike.”

“Okay,” Calvin said. “Then thank you, Georgia Saints-Nike.”

Hack was sure of it: Violet was dead. She hadn’t come home after her business meeting, and there was only one plausible explanation: some NRA heavies had found her and taken her out. Maybe John Nike had tracked her down himself. Either way, Hack had made one big mistake too many, and it had killed Violet.

He still had the ring. How poignant! His eyes watered every time he thought of it. He had tucked it in his bedroom drawer, but now he got it out and turned it over in his hands. That was how Claire found him: sitting on the bed, a blubbering mess. She hesitated in the doorway, wearing her Sears uniform. “You okay?”

Hack held out the ring. “She’s
gone.”

“Violet?”

“I killed her!”
That made fifteen
, Hack realized. He had murdered fifteen people. He was a serial killer.

“Did you hear something?” He shook his head.

Claire sat beside him on the bed. “Hack… until we know for sure, you should try not to worry so much. Violet is…Violet doesn’t always think of other people. She might just be busy.”

“No, no!” He didn’t want to hear of Violet’s faults. Violet had been kind and thoughtful.

“Hey, come on…” Claire put her arms around him. She hugged him tightly. For a second Hack was lost in the scent of her hair—but that, no doubt, was because Claire reminded him of
her. “
I’m sure she’ll be okay. You’re a sweet guy, Hack. You care too much.”

He accepted this silently. His nose touched her nametag. It said: CLAIRE SEARS. She began stroking his hair. Hack closed his eyes. He might have drifted off, because then she was saying, “I have to go,” and he realized time had passed. He sat up. “I’m
sorry,” Claire said. “If I’m thirty minutes late for work, I drop a pay grade.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’d stay if I could.” She took her arm back. “I know.”

“Stay cool,” she said, and poked his nose. He watched her leave. Claire was so good to him. He didn’t know why she didn’t have a boyfriend.
Any guy in their right mind would grab on to Claire and not let go
, Hack thought.

He looked down. He was still holding the ring. He felt himself tearing up again. “Oh, Violet,” he said to the empty room, and no one answered.