Odd Mom Out (25 page)

We’re perfectionists, and we’re taught to strive for perfection.

We’re relentless in our pursuit of happiness, yet no one’s happy.

We have children but work so many hours that we never see them.

Shit. I know how it goes. I know because I work in an industry that sells, sells, sells. It’s my job to find the hook, too—locate the consumer’s tender spot (the jugular, anyone?) and dig in. Hold on.

I can do what I do because I know the rules and ignore the rules, but children don’t understand the big game and what it means and what it does.

But I do.

And Allie should.

“Marta.” Allie’s followed me to the front yard, where I stand facing a small tree of no visible importance. “Marta, I’m sorry. I really am—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupt, unable to bear much more of her apology. Allie is a throwback to Doris Day. She’s looking for her Rock Hudson (the nongay Rock), and she, like my mom, is a great believer in social standing.

“I wasn’t trying to show you disrespect,” Allie fumbles on. “I was trying to do something good, something that would make Eva feel better about herself.”

I hear Allie, but I can also hear the “party tip” in the book: Host the party of the year, it’s all or nothing, and absolutely don’t invite the freaks of your school.

My jaw tightens.

“I love her,” Allie says simply. “I just want her to fit in, feel like she matters. You know?”

I do know. And I want the same thing, but I want it on her terms, not on someone else’s.

“I understand.” I look at Allie and see she’s been crying. I take a deep breath, exhale. “But you do realize the book wasn’t really intended for kids Eva’s age, don’t you? It’s a book with the teen market in mind.”

She nods. “I know, but I wish I’d known some of this stuff before I went to high school, wish I’d had a chance to be popular, too.”

Monday, a week later, I come in from the studio, where I’ve just gone to fax a statement to a client who claimed they never received the September bill, and discover Eva scribbling furiously in a pretty, jewel-toned notebook with a matching jeweled pen.

I’ve got my laptop, as I’m planning on sitting on the couch with Eva and doing some work while she reads, but the moment she sees me, she snaps her book shut and shoves the notebook, book, and pen beneath a cushion.

I pretend I don’t notice that she’s shoved the book and notebook under the pillow and sit next to her. Although I want to talk to her about the book, want very much to discuss the concept of popularity, I don’t want to create tension right now. There’s so much for me to do, so many accounts and proposals and big meetings in the next month, that I don’t need friction, not tonight, and frankly, neither does Eva.

But after she goes to bed, I pull out the book and notebook from their hiding spot. Cautiously I open the notebook, feeling vaguely disloyal, like a Peeping Tom, but I’m curious about what she’s been writing, curious what she’s been recording so diligently.

She’s created a title page, and the heading says, “Project Me.”

I half smile and turn the page and read the notes she’s making.

1. Always Be Neat and Clean

• Practice proper hygiene.

• Feel good about your body.

• Get in shape.

2. Dress Well

• Wear cute clothes that fit your body.

• Keep up with the latest trends.

• If you can afford it, buy designer clothes, with names that people will recognize (i.e., Juicy, Prada, Gucci, etc.).

• Wear black clothing. It makes you feel slimmer.

• No dress-down days allowed. No sweats or hoodies.

• Accessories are a must.

• Makeup is a must. But go light, be natural.

3. Get a Nice Big Bag to Carry Your Essentials

• Be prepared to spend some money.

• A nice bag makes a statement.

• Always carry your MP3 player or iPod. Have great music available. Be knowledgeable about music and trends.

4. Make Conversation with the Popular Girls

• Get involved. Popular girls are well-rounded.

• Give everyone a chance to talk. Don’t just talk about yourself.

• Ask about other people’s day.

5. Host Big Parties or Sleepovers

• Host the party of the year. It’s got to be a blowout. All or nothing. Obviously, don’t invite the unpopular kids at your school.

I stop reading. I have to stop reading.

So that’s where she got the idea for big parties. And that’s why she’s wearing more and more black. And this is the reason she wanted one of my Coach purses.

I feel my heart sink. It’s all part of her popularity plan, along with getting a nice purse, a cell phone, an iPod, and cool clothes.

Shaken, I flip the notebook closed. I have to talk to Eva, and soon, but tomorrow’s the big day, the day we make our presentation to the Freedom Bike Group, and until that’s over, I can’t take on one more thing.

The next day, Chris and I are in downtown Seattle, meeting the Freedom Bike Group in a hotel conference room. We’re halfway through our presentation, having spent the last hour going over the proposal, including the budget and numbers. Now we’re getting to the fun stuff, the part where we show that we’re not only affordable, but brilliant.

Chris has just finished setting up the screen and DVD player and I’m just about to introduce Robert’s commercial when my phone vibrates inside my briefcase. It’s soft enough that I can hear it, but hopefully no one else has.

As the lights darken, my phone begins vibrating again. I reach into my briefcase and attempt to shut it off but can’t quite find the right button. Then I glance at the screen. It’s the school calling. It’s their third call. I must have missed the earlier ones.

I slide the phone into my pocket and stand against the wall to allow the Freedom executives better viewing. I love this short. It’s not as polished as a real commercial would be, but the rawness adds to the 1970s retro feel.

The spot comes to an end. Chris raises the lights. I go to my computer screen, touch a button, and start the PowerPoint presentation of the concept. There will be a total of five or six television ads, advertisements we could also get uploaded onto various Internet sites. And while each ad will feature different genders and ethnicities, it’s actually about being inclusive. Much like the Gap ads that featured diversity, our ads recognize the commonalities. We’re all people, we’re part of this thing called life. And we all have certain needs—truth, opportunity, hope, freedom.

Clicking on some recent marketing graphs, I demonstrate the changing market. “We in manufacturing and retailing know that in category after category, premium entries are growing, low-priced goods are stealing shares, and the middle is shrinking. Today’s consumers want premium products that offer tangible and emotional value, which is why each of our ads focuses on the tangible—owning a classic, luxury motorcycle—and the intangible emotional rewards from riding—peace, pleasure, comfort, satisfaction.”

As I talk, I glance around the conference table, assessing the response to the presentation. There’s definitely interest, and more than one man is nodding or leaning forward—in terms of body language, a very good sign.

Frank’s expression is probably the most open. He’s got a half smile, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He’s impressed and proud.

My confidence soars, and I continue to describe how the TV spots will translate into print ads as well as the virtual realm.

Chris explains that more companies are using the virtual realm to reach out to potential customers, including appealing to a younger generation, a generation we at Z Design feel is a perfect consumer fit for Freedom Bikes.

As Chris describes in greater detail some of the approaches we’d use—video game advertising, a development of a virtual world, a free Internet-based game that would allow users to design and build a bike—I slip out the conference room door and check my voice mail.

It’s the school nurse. Eva has the stomach flu, has a fever of 103, and is throwing up.

With a glance at my watch—it’s one-fifteen, the school day won’t end for another hour and a half—I call the school and speak to the nurse. The nurse has Eva lying on the cot, but I hear Eva crying in the background.

“I feel so sorry for her,” the nurse tells me. “She’s thrown up three times in the last hour, and I wish I could give her something for her fever and pain, but we’re not allowed to.”

“I’m in downtown Seattle,” I tell the nurse, “in the middle of a meeting, but I’ve got another half hour here, at least, and that’s not including the drive. I’ve no idea if there will be bridge traffic, either.”

“Oh dear. Who else can we call? Who is on your emergency contact list?”

My emergency contact list has my dad on it, but I can’t have him get Eva and risk exposing my mom to something so virulent.

“Is there no way you can come now?” the nurse presses. “She’s just miserable.”

Glancing at the boardroom, I can see the flickering colors of the PowerPoint presentation through the frosted glass of the conference room window. Chris’s presentation should be nearly over. And then it’ll be back to me again.

I’m to bring the meeting to a close with my concluding speech, which again touches on the necessity for brands to engage their audiences emotionally and how we must introduce and rebuild the Freedom brand with edge and relevancy.

I haven’t written down the whole spiel since I know it so well, but Chris has seen my notes and is familiar with how I wrap my conclusion into an open Q&A period with the executive members.

My talk will last only fifteen minutes or so, but the Q&A could go an hour or more. It just depends on management interest.

I hear the toilet flushing in the nurse’s office, and the nurse is running water, giving Eva a wet towel to wash off her face.

“I’m coming now,” I say to the nurse, steeling myself not to think about the presentation. It’s nearly over. Chris can handle this. He’s smart, talented, together. He can easily wrap up and handle the questions. “Tell Eva to hang tight, someone will be there very soon.”

Hanging up I try the office but my call goes straight to voice mail. Next I try Allie—same thing. Robert is my next call, and he picks up but he’s in the middle of a meeting.

Back in the conference room, I listen as Chris wraps up his talk. I wait until he’s done, and then I thank Chris and ask everyone if we can take a brief recess.

The Freedom management seems happy to have a few minutes to stand and stretch their legs. I use the break to corral Chris and let him know Eva’s sick, everyone at the office is busy, and I must go.

Chris just shakes his head. “Don’t go now.”

“She’s really ill.”

“She can make it another half hour, can’t she?”

She could. She’s got the flu, not consumption. But I know she’s miserable, and I know she could use a bath and some Children’s Tylenol and comfort from me. “Chris, you’ve got my notes. You can do the wrap-up and handle the Q and A.”

“Marta, this is your dream. This is the account of your career.”

He’s right again. It is. But he doesn’t know what it’s like, needing to be in two places at once, torn between responsibilities, needing and wanting to let neither side down. “If we weren’t at the end of the presentation, I wouldn’t do it—”

“Then don’t do it now.” He drops his voice, looks over his shoulder. “Marta, they like us. They like what we’re doing here today. They love Robert’s film. But it’s not a done deal. You’re our closer. You’re the one that gets the ink on the deals. You’re our big gun.”

And I’m also Eva’s mother, the only family Eva has. She doesn’t have a dad. She doesn’t have brothers or sisters. It’s just me. And if I don’t come for her, no one will. “Chris, I don’t have a choice.”

He glares down at me. He doesn’t approve, not at all, but he’s not married, he doesn’t have a kid, and he doesn’t understand how I can be more afraid of failing Eva than of failing professionally.

“Come on, let’s just get this moving,” I say, making eye contact with one of the executives and then nodding at Frank, who has taken a seat again at the table. “I’ll start us again, let them know I’ve got to leave due to a family emergency and that you’ll be wrapping up.”

Chris is stony-faced, but he can’t make me stay. Yes, he’s smart, successful, and the second in command at Z Design, but boss trumps, and I’m the boss.

Fifteen minutes later, as I take the elevator down to the parking garage, I’m hit by the strongest wave of regret. What I’ve done by walking out on the meeting isn’t acceptable, not in the business world. Successful executives have families, but of course those families don’t intrude, and in the workplace, family issues are carefully concealed.

But leaving isn’t easy for me. It tears me up. I’ve worked hard preparing for today, looked forward to it. After starting my truck, I back up and then brake, tempted to park again and run back up. I can nail this account. I can get this.

But what about Eva? What do I do with her? Leave her in the school office until I’ve answered a dozen questions that Chris is just as capable of answering?