Madison Avenue Shoot (8 page)

“Yes.”

“That’s certainly unusual,” Robin said, dunking a cookie into her tea.

“It is. And there’s another thing. When you’re traveling overseas on business, you need someone who can serve as a travel agent to help you rearrange your plans when something unforeseen comes up. Permezzo does that.”

“I thought you had a travel agent.”

“I do. Susan Shevlin, the mayor’s wife, has been my travel agent for years.”

“Can’t she help you when you’re on the road?”

“She often does,” I said. “It was Susan who suggested I get the Permezzo card. While I would hesitate to call and wake her up in the middle of the night to reticket me if I missed a connection in Tokyo—which happened once—I have no such compunctions when it comes to calling Permezzo. They’re open twenty-four hours a day. And I’m assured of getting someone who will be able to understand my problem, and work with me to fix it.”

“Why don’t you rewrite the commercial to say just that?”

“I don’t think that would make me very popular with Betsy Archibald.”

“Who’s she?”

“The creative director. Besides, I’m not even sure I could say all that in sixty seconds. That’s a special skill, fitting a lot of information into a short period of time. And I hesitate to rewrite someone else’s copy unless I’m asked. It would be disrespectful.”

“Well then, what are you going to do?”

“Learn my lines, and when the time comes, raise my hand to object.”

There was a knock at the back door. I waved in Seth Hazlitt, my old friend and one of Cabot Cove’s preeminent physicians. Seth had chuckled when I’d telephoned from New York to tell him that I was going to appear coast-to-coast in a commercial for Permezzo.

“I hope they’re paying you well,” he’d said.

“More than well,” I’d replied. “I’m going to donate the money to charity.”

“Assuaging your guilt?” Seth had said. “I thought you never wanted to endorse a product. Seems to me I might have heard that over the years.”

“Your memory is too good,” I had said before hanging up.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Seth said as he came through the door, settled in the seat next to Robin’s, and helped himself to a sugar cookie. “Had a feeling I might find one of these here.”

“We were just finishing up,” Robin said. “If you don’t need me anymore, Jessica, I have to check in with the theater group. They’re meeting this afternoon to decide what the spring play should be.”

“Of course, Robin. I hope I haven’t kept you away,” I said, escorting her to the door. “Thank you so much for your help.”

“It was nothing. You’ll do beautifully. You’re a natural actress. Anytime you want to join us, we’ll find a part for you.”

“That’s very kind, but I’m afraid my travel schedule makes it too difficult to make any long-term commitments.”

“You’ve used that excuse for years,” Seth said after Robin had left.

“Now, don’t you start,” I said, going to the sink to wash our mugs.

“Just remarking on the obvious. I’ve managed to find a little extra time in my busy life to contribute to raising the cultural level of my fellow citizens.”

“And I’ve enjoyed watching you onstage. I make a much better audience member than I would an actress.” I dried the mugs and returned them to the cupboard.

“So you say.”

“Have another cookie,” I said. “You can’t criticize me with your mouth full.”

Seth took a second cookie and chewed it thoughtfully.

“Would you like some tea?” I asked, drying my hands on a dish towel. “I’m fresh out of coffee. I’m out of just about everything. That’s why I asked you to give me a lift to the grocery store.”

“Got any milk?”

“I think I can squeeze out half a glass,” I said, taking the bottle from the refrigerator and emptying what little was left into a glass.

“Sit down, woman. You’re making me crazy with your nervousness.”

“What am I doing?” I asked, taking the chair I’d abandoned a few minutes ago.

“If you wring out that dish towel any more, it’ll be nothing but shreds.”

I looked down at the coiled mass of cotton in my lap and carefully spread it on the table, smoothing out the wrinkles I’d twisted into it.

“What’s on your mind?” Seth asked softly. “As if I didn’t know.”

“It’s Grady.”

“Thought as much.”

“He has so much going for him, Seth. He’s smart and personable, and knowledgeable in his field. Donna says he’s the sharpest accountant she knows.”

“And she would know, being an accountant herself,” Seth said.

“Just so. Grady has a wonderful home, a wonderful marriage, and a wonderful child. I’m so proud of him.”

“Yet he seems to have a knack for picking the wrong company to work for. Has he done it again?”

“I’m not certain, Seth, but I’m worried that might be the case. A producer complained to him about a payroll issue. Grady was concerned and told me he was going to see what he could find out. I called him at the office before I left for the airport, but he was in a meeting. He hasn’t called me back.”

“You’re probably worrying for nothing, Jess. A man with a job and a family doesn’t always have time to chat on the phone with his aunt.”

I looked up, startled, but then I laughed. “You always know what to say to put me in my place.”

“You don’t need to be put in your place,” Seth said, leaning over to pat my arm. “But I do think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Why do you think he didn’t return my call?”

“He probably needs to do a little more investigating, like a certain relative of his, and doesn’t want to draw a conclusion until he’s sure of the facts. I’d say that’s a responsible way to approach the problem.”

“You’re right, of course. Now, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Must be the influence of the city. Fogs the brain. Grady will get back to you in good time. If I know my Fletchers—and I think I do—he’ll wait until he can speak to you in person before he spills out whatever it is he finds.”

“That won’t be until I see him next week.”

“True. So I suggest, madam, that we take your mind off this conundrum by making a visit to the local supermarket, where you can stock up on coffee. That way, the next time I have one of your sugar cookies, it will be accompanied by the proper beverage.”

“Doctor, you always prescribe the best medicine. I’ll get my coat.”

A
bouquet of flowers and a split of champagne in a silver ice bucket greeted me when the Waldorf-Astoria bellman escorted me into my room. I went to the desk and picked up the card leaning against the vase: “Welcome back to New York. I look forward to seeing you on the set.” It was signed “Antonio Tedeschi,” but I was pretty sure it had been sent by Betsy Archibald. She had been a tad less than cordial when I’d called to ask about accommodations for the out-of-town “talent” who were in the commercials.

“No, it’s not a problem,” she’d said on a long sigh. “I have to make a few phone calls, get the producer to issue a new call sheet, alert the car service. Just don’t change your mind again, please. I don’t want to hear tomorrow that you prefer to stay in a more modern place downtown. The director drove me crazy insisting on a hotel in the Meat-packing District. He wanted a hipper neighborhood than Park Avenue. I don’t suppose you need a hip neighborhood, do you?”

“Park Avenue is perfectly fine for me,” I’d rushed to say, having had my fill of the city’s more avant-garde lodging. I’ve never thought of myself as “hip” and knew I’d be more comfortable in what I considered a “grown-up room.”

“Then we’ll have a reservation for you at the Waldorf,” she said before hanging up. “A car service will pick you up in the morning. You have an eight a.m. call. That’s when you have to be at the location. Don’t be late.”

I had sent Grady an e-mail telling him where I would be staying, and thanking him and Donna for their gracious offer to have me room with them. I would be happy to take them up on their hospitality another time, but not when I needed to be rested and clear thinking for the morning’s work.

I took a moment to take in my surroundings. My room was spacious and freshly decorated in a classic style, featuring a queen-sized bed covered in a quilted ecru silk, which matched the paint of the walls and harmonized with the buff carpeting accented with small blue medallions. The soothing color scheme was enlivened with an armchair in a muted red and white floral and, at the large windows, red and blue striped drapes. There was more than enough room for my toiletries in the marble bath, and I was delighted to find a plush terry-cloth robe hanging behind the door.

As I always do, I unpacked my things and put them away in a cherrywood armoire, which also held the television. Even if I’m staying in a hotel for only one night, I prefer to hang up my clothes in a closet or put them in a drawer rather than to live out of a suitcase.

I was meeting Matt Miller later, and had a little time to relax before changing for dinner. I hung up my suit, put on the robe the Waldorf had provided, and curled up in the armchair to look through the materials in the Eye Screen folder once more. On the front cover was the company logo, an ice-cream cone with an eye where the ball of ice cream usually is. On the back cover was their tagline: “We all scream for Eye Screen!” An echo of my days in the school yard when as children we chanted “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream.” I wondered if children still did that.

I had my lines memorized by now, as well as those of the others whose scripts were included in my folder. I reviewed the call sheet, which listed all the crew members. There were at least forty people named, eight of them production assistants. I gathered that the key prop was the person in charge of the prop crew, but what did the key grip do? And the gaffer? In addition to their roles on the set, the sheet listed the names and telephone numbers of everyone associated with the shoot. Sure enough, I found my name and cell phone number under the TALENT section, together with Matt Miller’s phone number under AGENT. We had an eight a.m. call, and the next column said car svc, which I already knew. I was to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and downstairs in the lobby by seven fifteen for the ride to the set.

As far as I could tell, no detail was left off the call sheet. There were the names, addresses, and phone and fax numbers of the hotels where certain important people were staying—the director was at the Gansevoort—and lists of people representing the agency, the client, and the editorial company, even though all of them probably wouldn’t attend the shoot. Betsy Archibald would be there, of course. Her name was under AGENCY, as well as the names of several other Mindbenders staff. The company phone numbers were listed but not Betsy’s cell number. I wondered if she preferred not to be called directly. Antonio Tedeschi’s name stood alone under CLIENT. The commercial was being shot on location at an office building north of the city. At the bottom of the page was the name and address of the local hospital, something I hoped we wouldn’t need.

I sifted through the papers, scripts, driving directions, and storyboards, and sighed. There was no more to learn from these pages. All my questions would be answered in the morning.

 

“Jessica, I’d like you to meet Kevin Prendergast. He’s one of the principals of Mindbenders.”

Matt Miller stood next to a slim man of medium height, not handsome but with pleasant features and arresting light green eyes. His long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he wore a button-down yellow shirt and navy slacks. The sleeves of a blue cashmere sweater were looped around his neck.

“So nice to meet you,” I said, shaking hands.

The waiter pulled out the table and I slid onto the banquette. “You don’t look old enough to run an advertising agency,” I said.

“Looks can be deceiving,” he said, smiling. I had the feeling he had heard that observation before.

“Kevin is my neighbor in Southampton,” Matt said. “Since we’re both in Manhattan tonight, I figured you might like to meet each other.”

Matt’s wife and daughters lived in a charming Victorian house on the East End of Long Island, where many people in the advertising and entertainment industries keep second homes. Matt’s house was his family’s main residence, however, and his children went to school in the village. He maintained an apartment in Manhattan in addition to his office, commuting back and forth on weekends by helicopter when he could hitch a flight from one of his wealthier neighbors, or by train or jitney when he couldn’t.

“And by the way,” Matt said to him, “thanks for the referral of my new client.”

Prendergast shrugged. “You’re the only literary agent I know.”

“Not exactly a ringing endorsement,” Matt said, “but I’ll take it.”

That’s interesting,
I thought.
Was that “new client” Anne Tripper? Did Kevin Prendergast know Anne Tripper before she was hired for the ad campaign?

Kevin turned to me. “I understand you’re going to be in one of our spots tomorrow,” he said, leaning his elbows on the table and playing with string attached to a pair of frameless glasses that dangled in front of him. “How did we get so lucky?”

“I haven’t quite figured that out,” I said, laughing. “My nephew works for the production company’s payroll house. Somehow, my name came up when he was talking with the producer, and before I knew what was happening, I was agreeing to do a commercial for Permezzo.”

“However it came about, we’re delighted to have you on board,” he said. “My creative director has put together a good group, very different types and interests. It should appeal to a wide audience. I think it will serve us well. Perhaps I’ll stop by tomorrow to see how you’re getting on. I know for a fact that Tonio was absolutely tickled when he heard that you’d agreed to be in his spot.”

“That’s very nice,” I said, noting that he referred to Antonio by a nickname. “Have you known each other for a long time?”