We were lucky. The economy was healthy, house prices were booming, and a lot of money was coming in from abroad. Bank managers (as they still were at the time) were not quite throwing money at business-men who wanted to expand or start up new companies but, encouraged by their own banking grandees, were generous towards new ventures that had legs. Oliver and I gave a polished presentation to our friendly city bank manager, as if we were pitching for a new account, with my copywriter doing most of the talking while I showed some of our better award-winning work (yep, we were that good) and the manager bought it all.
We approached an excellent account director we knew from another agency and poached a good fresh junior copywriter and art director from Saatchi’s. Oliver had a girlfriend at that time (foolishly, I’d introduced her to him at the old agency) who was a rep for a high-blown and high-priced photographer whose food and product stills were as good as his people work. She was a clever, beautiful brunette, fashionable, and keen with big brown eyes and a slim, leggy body most women would die for and most men would kill for. Her name was Andrea Dodds and eventually I married her. But now’s not the time to go into that. We hired Andrea to be our office manager and second to Sydney Presswell, our financial manager and third partner, who looked after the business side of things (he was the account director we picked up from another agency). She was presentable, good at handling clients (I used to be one of her clients), and stood no bullshit. Did I say she was beautiful? Well, she was – and still is.
We took on just one secretary, Lynda, to begin with, who also acted as receptionist and telephone operator; a run-around junior, a young kid named Raymond who aspired to be an art director, but who’d had no art school training; a typographer called Peter and the young creative team I mentioned, Paul and Mark. Finding the right premises wasn’t that easy, but after a lot of searching and a lot of rejections, we stumbled upon premises with two vacant floors slap in the middle of Covent Garden. It had just come on the market and it was pricey – actually, too pricey for us – but we knew instantly it was exactly what we were looking for.
We set about the hardest part of the whole venture: acquiring clients. Legally we had contracts with our ex-employers which forbade Oliver and I approaching our existing clients for the next three years. Of course, that did not prevent those clients approaching us once the news got out that we were quitting and branching out on our own. So one or two who trusted our abilities solicited us instead. We gained two quite big accounts that way, but we needed a third large one to make us viable.
We went after new business with a passion, toiling day and night to come up with outstanding presentations and better marketing strategies than the companies already had. Media buying was handled by Sydney for a while, until we were established enough to bring someone in on a full-time basis. We ruthlessly targeted any business that we felt was right for us and whom we considered was receiving less than perfect service – mediocre advertising, poor media choices, etc. – from their existing agency, and we failed to win them over more times than we succeeded. Nevertheless, through sheer nerve, perseverance and, I like to think, talent, we gained three new clients, one medium-sized and two smaller, but easily making up for the third biggie we thought we needed. Heady days, and you know what? I miss them. Yeah, I miss a lot of things . . . We called it gtp in the fashion of the day, the acronym for Guinane, True, Presswell, of course, set in Baskerville lower case, letters touching. It looked pretty cool.
The agency did take off. Around town we became known as a creative hot shop and we began pitching for and acquiring more and more accounts, some blue chip but mainly clients who wanted that little bit of extra creativity in selling their products, clients who were not afraid to take fresh marketing leaps that would not go unnoticed by the public or the trade. You’d be surprised how many big budget spenders could only live with the known, concepts without risk, strategies that dared not stray from formula or jeopardize the marketing manager’s position. Internal politics are always rife in both small corporations and big ones (the bigger the worse, in fact) and they’re third only to advertising, which, as I’ve said, is second only to politics itself.
The companies that came to us were already aware of our reputation for risk taking and they were usually primed for something different. Maybe nothing truly off the wall, but at least something individual. We didn’t win everything we pitched for by any means – easy to say you’re looking for something ‘different’, but not always easy to go with it once it’s presented – but we acquired enough business to expand our offices and staff. We even managed to win a few advertising awards along the way, all voted for by our peers in the industry itself.2
Oliver and I were in our element, working like dogs, our enthusiasm never diminishing. Often we’d book a hotel suite for a weekend and work day and night to produce a fresh and sometimes even original advertising campaign. We used hotel rooms because now and again we needed new surroundings, different venues somehow helping with an objective approach to the brief. Frankly, it’s not unknown in the business for some agencies to lock their creative team away in a five-star hotel for a couple of nights and feed them cocaine for inspiration and to keep them going. It isn’t standard practice, but it does happen sometimes when agencies are desperate, out of time, and the great ideas aren’t coming. We didn’t do that though, because I for one just couldn’t get into drugs of any sort. Sure, I did some hash at art college, and later, when finances started to allow, I tried coke, but it never seemed to work for me, only made me hyper-tense. Same with alcohol to some extent; it took a lot to get me smashed. I don’t know why – something in my metabolism, I suppose – but I was glad. Drugs are bad news, as I later found out. Besides, I didn’t need any chemical substances to stimulate my imagination; that could take care of itself, and anyway, there’s nothing quite like the high you get through creative brainstorms.
Maybe we worked too hard in those early years, took too much on, but Oliver and I, and to some extent Sydney, were overly ambitious and we ran on adrenaline. We seemed to have unlimited energy – although when we crashed we really crashed – which is great to begin with, but too much of it could easily have led to early burn-out. As well as producing the creative work, we had the responsibility – the burden – of running our own company even though Sydney took much of the administration side of things onto his own shoulders. We still had to attend too many meetings, many with clients – oh God, those bloody long lunches – but we always made important decisions as a threesome.
So, we worked hard and we played hard, and possibly it was the pressure of both that instigated the first cracks in the partnership. The fact that I stole Oliver’s live-in lover didn’t help either.
9
I’d known Andrea Dodds for several months before I introduced her to Oliver, because I’d worked with two of her lensmen on a couple of jobs. She was tallish, slim and, as I told you earlier, had fantastic legs. At that time she wore her dark-brown hair long and straight so that it fell over her narrow shoulders (these days she has it cut short, urchin-style, the sides flicked away from her face). I’d learned that she was single, had no current man in her life, lived in a tiny flat near Dolphin Square, Pimlico, and I was just priming myself to make a move on her. It wouldn’t usually have taken me so long to ask her out – it certainly didn’t with other girls – but Andrea was an exception. Why? Because I’d already half-fallen in love with her and I was terrified of rejection. Funny how easily you can lose your confidence when something matters too much. Of course, Oliver’s charm antenna was at full alert the moment he spotted her talking to our art buyer in the corridor of our old agency. He asked me who she was and, stupidly, I hauled her in to our office to make introductions.
I groaned inwardly as soon as I saw his eyes light up and he held onto her hand for much too long. I knew I was whipped before I’d even started, but I bore no grudges. It served me right for being so boneless.
Soon she had moved in with him. So soon,
in fact, that I was stunned. I hadn’t quite given up hope for myself as far as she was concerned, because there still seemed to be something going on whenever she and I made eye contact. Andrea was no flirt, but she made me feel special when we spoke together or arranged times and dates for photography. She could have merely been doing her job, massaging the ego of an important client, but I didn’t think so; there was something incredibly sincere about her, and something very, very sweet.
Still, I had to accept the situation and I couldn’t be mad at Oliver for having the boldness to jump in first whereas, like some lame fool, I’d hung back, too cautious to make my move.
Ollie and Andrea. They made a hot couple. I couldn’t begrudge him, even though secretly I continued to pine for her. Get over it, I eventually told myself. Oliver was more her league. Besides, there were plenty of other fish, so go fish. And I did for a while, but I never quite got over my original crush. It was when Oliver and I were in the first exciting but anxious throes of setting up our own agency that he suggested bringing Andrea on board as an account manager and assistant to Sydney.
It took me all of two seconds to agree: from experience I knew she was more than just competent and I had no doubt she’d be an asset to our fledgling company; she might have been soft in the looks and attitude department, but believe me, she was shrewd as far as business was concerned and had always driven a hard bargain for the photographers she represented (and I was no pushover – I always treated my clients’ money as if it were my own).
So, initially on a lowish salary but with the promise it would grow as quickly as the agency itself – we were all working on spec those days – she joined gtp. And took to it like a duck might take to Evian, charming both prospective and existing clients, selling our talents as passionately as she’d previously sold the skills of her photographers.
Our team expanded as the client list grew and all seemed well but, like I said, maybe we worked and played a little too hard, because eventually the cracks began to appear. And most of the problems were to do with Oliver.
We’d both stretched ourselves to the limit, Ollie and I, but the relentless grind took a greater toll on my friend and colleague than me. After a while he seemed to be running on empty, becoming irritable with staff members (especially Sydney, who did his best to keep us all sane), going to the edge with clients (most of whom were good and intelligent people – although even those who were not had to be treated with a modicum of respect). Sydney Presswell came into his own on such occasions, smoothing things over, turning any acid observations Oliver might have made into nothing more than humorous banter.
Nevertheless, the work was always good; Oliver never let the agency down on that score. He usually managed to pull some little creative gem out of the bag at the last possible moment, when timing was crucial and we had to present an ad or campaign that the client could run with. And if he didn’t, then I did. We were still a great team, but I was beginning to grow anxious about my buddy. Couple of times I took Oliver aside and told him of my concerns – you’re cracking, pal, you’ve got to ease up on the playtime, grab a break, somewhere warm and sunny, pay Andrea a bit more attention maybe . . . He just shrugged it off, gave me the Ollie-grin that said everything was cool. He wasn’t sleeping too well lately, he would indeed cut out extra-curricular activities, and anyway, mood swings were part of his nature. Often on these occasions, he would also remind me that it was his creative input that had won us many clients, a fact I couldn’t deny. Sure, I told him, but we’re more worried about your health nowadays, not your input. You don’t look good, sport, and those mood swings are affecting Andrea in a bad way.
Shouldn’t have said it. Oliver exploded, told me to keep my nose out of his personal business, then stormed out of the office we shared. We didn’t see him for the rest of the day and I regretted having spoken out. Still, it seemed to do the trick – for a while, at least. Ollie arrived back at the agency early the next day, bright and shiny and with a box of expensive cigars as a gift for me. Andrea, who had looked a little flaky for some time now, was with him and she seemed almost as chirpy as he was. I assumed they’d had a heart-to-heart and a new leaf had been turned by Oliver. Both looked refreshed, as if they’d had a good night’s sleep, hopefully in each other’s arms.
It couldn’t last though; Oliver’s jittery moods soon swung back and forth like a personality pendulum and I began to suspect it was more than just overwork and booze that was the problem. But it was Sydney who finally put me wise by pointing out the symptoms.
Insiders call it either the curse or the crutch of the trade, but I subscribe to neither view; sure, coke and cannabis are popular in the business – speed, too – but they’re more of an occupational hazard than a prevalence, recreational rather than obligatory. Creativity can often extend itself to taking mind-expanding substances, and advertising must be one of the most pressurizing careers one could choose. There’s always the exhaustion factor too, when both your brain and body become so fatigued they require a little charge now and again. I’m not advocating drugs as a prop – far from it – I’m merely explaining how the trap is set. I’ve known good people who have succumbed to its lure, and now I was concerned that my best friend and business partner had become yet another victim.
To cut it short, Ollie’s condition grew steadily worse, the pendulum becoming caught on the downswing. One evening I was pigged out on a sofa in my apartment – only a slim triangle of pizza left in its shallow box, bare feet resting over one arm of the sofa, my head propped up by a couple of cushions at the other end, half-empty can of Stella resting on my stomach, cigarette butt smoking in a crowded ashtray on the floor – when the annoying chime of the doorbell roused me from my mindless vigil over a docu-soap on the TV. With a groan, I dropped the lager can beside the ashtray and swung my feet to the carpet. Hitching up my jeans beneath the loose sweatshirt I wore, I grumbled my way to the door.
Andrea was outside, her face wet with tears, mascara staining her fair skin. She threw herself into my arms, blurting out her woes as she did so: she’d had enough, Oliver was out of control, he’d lashed out at her, hurt her, sworn at her; she had fled and this time it was for good. I hadn’t even known there’d been other occasions and I felt a rising anger as she told me her sad tale.
Apparently, Oliver’s coke habit had reached critical mass, one of the results being his physical abuse of Andrea, and she had left him and had no intention of ever going back. I hadn’t realized that their relationship was anywhere near this sorry state, so good was their cover-up at the agency. I was stunned.
To cut the story even shorter, she stayed with me.
I’m not proud of it, but I was incredibly angry with Oliver at the time, because not only had he stolen my girl (okay, she hadn’t actually been my girl at the time) but he was now physically – and mentally, I soon learned – abusing her. Just having her there in my own home, distressed and desperate, revived all those feelings towards her that I’d suppressed since I’d lost out to my sidekick. I admit, I’m a sucker as far as women or girls are concerned. I offered to ring him, or to go and see him personally, tell him face-to-face what a jerk he was being, but Andrea wouldn’t allow it. We collapsed onto the sofa together and she begged me to let her stay, if only for the night.
She never went back to Oliver. Again, I’m not proud of it, but we made love that very first evening. All those emotions, those frustrated desires, burst out of me like floodwater from a breached dam.
Oliver didn’t show up at the office for two days, but when he did, he was perfectly calm and reasonable. In truth, he was almost arrogant as far as Andrea’s departure was concerned and I think that hurt her more than anything else. His indifference was a shock for us both, but it helped us overcome the guilt Andrea and I were feeling. He’d had space to think, he told us, and realized he was screwing up Andrea’s life, not to mention his own. He might also be screwing up the business we had all worked so hard for. And he was definitely screwing up h
is long friendship with me. All that had to change and he knew this might be his last chance.
From now on the drugs and the booze were out, hard work and sobriety were in. He wasn’t going to ask Andrea to come back to him until she felt she wanted to (to be honest, he didn’t seem to care too much on this point; it was as if the ball was entirely in her court) and I felt it wasn’t the appropriate time to explain how she had already moved in with me. That could come later.
Things were awkward between us for a few weeks, but Oliver made the effort. I don’t know how he fought – and conquered – his demons, but he managed to. He came off the drugs and the difference in him was quickly apparent. He became my old, true friend once more and although it took a while to get his creative juices flowing again, eventually the magic returned. We became like the team of old, a regular Lennon and McCartney of the advertising game. I don’t know how it came out that Andrea had moved in with me, but it seemed to happen naturally and there was certainly no overt resentment on Ollie’s part. Maybe he had already begun to tire of their relationship before the big upset – never in the past had Oliver been one for long-term relationships – and so he accepted the new situation without apparent rancour. Perverse though it might sound, I thought he was genuinely pleased for me, because I’d never been able to disguise my attraction to Andrea in the past; now, at last, I’d found someone with whom I could settle down. Oh, now and again, I caught him giving me an odd, reflective stare, but I thought it was remorse.
Everything soon got back to normal and we became frantically busy, pitching for new accounts as well as maintaining those we already had. We employed more staff, creating two new art director/copywriter teams, hiring a couple more secretaries and another account executive, and eventually took over the whole building to allow for our expansion. We were a terrific, young creative hot shop and more than a few advertising awards came our way, either for press and poster campaigns or television commercials.