EENIE, MEANIE, MINEY...OH! Guest post David Greene
LONDON
They're spread out on my desk, a bunch of slick, mixed media, silent screams for my attention.
I don't like clutter.
I let my fingers trip over them, as if I can pick something up as a blind man reads Braille, because my gaze is fixed on the Thames River thirty stories below. This skyscraper is known as the Swiss Re, but the common people refer to it as "the Gherkin" because of it's unique shape. I prefer to think of it as either an elegant Fabrege egg, or a fine cuban cigar, depending on my mood. Whatever it is, it's prime London real estate and I rate offices here as I'm in charge of advertising for the British Commonwealth and North American divisions of Birken Motors. These brochures and discs and slavering braggadocio have been assembled from those established and up and coming advertising firms who want our business.
I've done business with most. Boring, banal, predictable and oh... what's this, then? I segregate one slick brochure from the others. Not for the interesting name, Kinnetik, a play on the entrepreneur's surname. Not for the rather impressive listing of accounts he's managed to amass in a short period of time, or the prize winning campaigns he lists. No, what draws my attention is the photograph of a tall, slim, handsome young man who is featured on the cover. He stands with his arms crossed across his chest, his slight smile one-tenth confidence and nine-tenths arrogance. I like it. I also like his Prada. He wears it well. I lean back in my chair and swivel towards my city view, as I flip through his credentials.
Educated at a school in --god only knows where--Philadelphia, perhaps? Single, 34, one son. What about that? Divorced? Living with a woman without benefit of wedlock? Most of the charitable ventures he's championed are gay themed. Mr. Brian Kinney is a puzzle. A very handsome puzzle. I pull out the schedule of firms I'm to meet with in New York and locate his on the second page. Pulling a limited edition Mont Blanc from my pocket, I circle Kinnetik and draw an arrow to move it to the top of the list. I then summon my assistant, a sliver of a woman in Dolce that she can ill afford. Her wealthy lover, I presume. I hand her the changes to my schedule and say,
"Call this Brian Kinney and tell him I'd like him to meet me at Daniel's the evening before our meeting. Then call Daniel's and request my usual table." She stares at me in that wide-eyed terrified deer look of hers and I raise a brow and indicate she should do exactly as I say. Now. When she turns to go, I call after her. "When does the car fetch me for City Airport?" My private jet awaits. The only way to travel internationally.
"In an hour, sir."
"Very well. All is planned on board? My usual meal? The wine? My luggage has been sent on?"
"Yes sir."
"Then perhaps you should get on with your task."
Off she goes and I swivel back to the river. "Goodbye, London, hello New York," I think to myself. Suddenly this very tedious assignment just became far more interesting.