Joe’s story continues, with a nice payoff, for a change.
“If it hadn’t been for Bill I would have taken a terrible loss on those English fossils. If anything that’s a good argument for me getting some real work with people that know what they’re doing. I realize this isn’t pocket money we’re talking about. We’ve been trying for years to find some way I can learn this stuff.”
Al gathered there was a long lineage of problems that weren’t monetary. Bill had been quite certain that the idea would get a hearing from Ian, however skeptical. This must be why. It was a greatly understated family row. Joe and Ian had been at loggerheads. Ian insisted that Joe worked in management, because he was going to find himself owner of a major financial consultancy. There were few things Joe found less interesting, and he said so, often, and very clearly. The oddity was that both of them tacitly accepted each other’s arguments. They also obviously cared about each other’s feelings.
Joe’s version of the story was interesting. The English Curios fiasco was the result of Joe using his own money. Hoping to show that he was able to handle basic business, Joe had listened to Nigel on the subject of “The Great Market For Little Bits Of England” in Australia. A very jumpy Joe, having acquired this shipload of swill, had arrived at the agency one day and found Bill, Nigel being busy growing a barstool. Nigel had brought in some samples of Joe’s work, and left them in the office, so despite Nigel’s normal practices, Bill knew what was supposed to be happening. Apparently Joe also thought he was going to get some free advertising from a “mate”. Advertising where, to whom, neither Bill nor Joe ever discovered. Bill had explained succinctly that free advertising is a contradiction in terms, and “mates” don’t generally cause “mates” to have any such delusions.
It had taken Bill the best part of an afternoon to explain to Joe where he stood, and how to deal with it. In the course of this epic, Bill had been shown some more of Joe’s work for the non-existent advertising, which was remarkably good. Bill had made a phone call and eventually got his friendly wholesaler to take the load off Joe for most of what he paid for it. A friendship had started, and Al had gathered that Bill quite genuinely liked Joe. He’d also gathered that Carla had been a factor in Joe’s seemingly random earlier visits looking for Nigel.
Ian had made up his mind.
“OK Al, we go ahead. I will have the agreement drafted, and we can get going from there. Now, I didn’t want to interrupt you before. How’s Saul? I’ve known him for years.”
He had, too. Al by now wasn’t in the least bit surprised. It followed natural logic that Al had been checked out thoroughly prior to getting the invitation. Bill was already known, by reputation. So apparently was Carla, who Joe treated as though she were made of finest glass. Ann grinned at Al as Joe tried a very tongue-tied story about Carla’s affinity for plaster ducks.
“Have to like a girl who can turn a plaster duck into a weapon,” she commented.
Al recounted the sight of the duck missiles on his arrival at the office.
“I knew then that this was no mere mortal,” he explained.
“She killed one of my cuckoo clocks,” said Joe, who had eventually realized that the conversation had really had nothing to do with his failings or his feelings, and livened up. Carla tended to remove him from reality.
“How?” asked Al.
“Waited for it to chime, and got it right in the hole with a small pot of jam.”
It became a very pleasant evening. Ian took Al aside while dessert was being invoked in some strange Australian ritual, it seemed, by Ann and the chef.
“Al, I’m sorry to have been quite so curt earlier. But Joe really must get his mind on the ball. He is a very good graphic artist, as you can see…….”
Al realized he hadn’t seen. “Those are his?” he asked, gesturing at the room full of rather daringly unique paintings, montages, even a sculpture, a picture in burnt wood, and other things that Al wasn’t sure he could put a name to any time soon.
“All of them except the Monet. You hadn’t seen any of his stuff?” A new doubt was obvious, and the sarcasm obviously liked to practice.
“Only for the Great Useless Curios. They were good, too. He even made the plaster ducks look good. Bill said he was great, which was good enough. You could waste a crowbar trying to get compliments out of Bill if he doesn’t feel like making them. Carla agreed about his work, which is interesting because those two really know how to disagree when they want. I’ve developed a very high opinion of them, and their opinions matter to me. We absolutely must have good visual product. It really is indispensable. I must say I wasn’t expecting anything near to this standard, and I worked with David Goldstein, who is arguably the closest thing to Houdini I’ve ever seen in graphics; he can make anything look good.”
“Saul said you brought your standards with you, Al. I see he meant it. I’ve seen some of David’s stuff, and your copy, too.”
“I figured you weren’t about to go spraying one and a half million around the place on the basis of guesswork. How long did it take you to check me out?”
“The call to Saul would really have been enough. I did make another, though, to Harvey White.”
“That must have been interesting.”
“It was. White was more than equivocal. He was downright evasive. I got to know White from a meeting I went to with Saul some years ago, and he struck me then as a total liar and general jerk, then. He said you were a very experienced, long term, quote, “employee”. I know enough about advertising to recognize that he said nothing meaningful. Generally you admen can rattle off a string of campaigns and related kudos. I took this lack of information to mean that you were one of Saul’s people in the agency, which helped. If you were anything to do with White, you wouldn’t be here. Keith filled in the rest.”
“I must ask; who is White, really, apart from the guy we try to avoid at meetings?”
“He’s a high-flying, high-smelling, expensive, stooge. He uses money from his patrons to intrude into other businesses on their behalf. Market share by stealth. Until recently….like two days ago…. nobody knew that, and it even took Saul some time to find out. He’s potentially pretty deadly. Apparently he didn’t realize that Saul was the wrong man to try to bully, and neither did his sponsors, who are some rather unlovable pigs indeed. How much would you say Harvey White is worth?”
“Not too sure; it cost about fifty million to buy into Stone Gold, though, and he lives well.”
“White is personally worth about two million, total, according to Saul.”
“Someone likes their pet frog.”
“Yes. Should be interesting to see how Saul deals with him.”
“Understatement suits you, Ian………Bill, these are Joe’s?”
“Yeah, pretty good, eh?”
“They’re extraordinary. If I’d seen these, you wouldn’t have had to say anything else. Ian, tell me, do all you Aussies just fail to mention it when you do something good? I’ve been here nearly a month, and I keep tripping over people that have real class in their work. Dorothy, for example, our pet food person, has a whole range that I swear you could sell direct to the animals. Carla’s just shown me some stuff from a friend of hers………I’m raving.”
Joe wandered in and was grabbed by Al, who asked to be taken on a tour of the room. Bill and Ian hovered about with them.
“…………This is a resin, very good for solids, very consistent for graphics and photography, because it’s homogenous material and reacts reliably to light and heat. Like an acrylic……”
“You know your materials well. You’re completely destroying any residual image I had of you as a wafting artist lost in visions.”
“You can waste a lot of time and really wreck a job if you don’t understand your materials. As for wafting, you can’t get anything done if you’re blowing about in the breeze like a shopping bag in a hurricane. The creative process won’t tolerate it. You can’t pretend to paint, or write, or play music, if you don’t actually get down and do it. Getting melodramatic, or all “artsy” has nothing to do with art, real or imagined.”
Al saw Bill look at Ian. Ian grinned.
“I’ll fly David out here, Bill, I mean it. I want him to see this stuff. David spoiled me a lot, Joe, I’m so used to great visual material from him. I had no idea I was addicted to it.”
Ian meandered into the dining room to find Ann.
“I think Joe’s turned the corner.”
“By being himself.”
“You never thought otherwise, did you?”
“No. Neither did you.” Theirs was a stunningly successful marriage. Strange how people who are prepared to listen to each other achieve that.