My first thought was that my daughter was far too young to be shown any boy's light saber; the next thought, which came an instant later, was that it was likely one of the playdates that Marge had suggested I set up, and that the light saber wasn't a metaphor but an actual play sword inspired by the Star Wars movies.
When we got home, London ran up the stairs to see Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles and though I expected her to stay up there for a while, she appeared in the living room a few minutes later.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can we go bike riding again?"
I stifled a groan. I was tired and wanted nothing more than to stay glued to the couch.
"Of course we can," I said instead, and as I stood, I suddenly remembered that Vivian had said that she'd wanted to watch London ride her bike the night before, but she must have forgotten.
Right?
London made three turns on her own. Wobbly, but she was able to regain her balance, and even during the other turns, I had to help less than I'd had to before. On the straightaways, I'd barely touched her bicycle at all. Because she was growing more confident, she rode faster, and by the end of our session, I was panting and sweating, my shirt soaked through.
"How about you take a bath upstairs while I take a shower downstairs?" I suggested. I wasn't sure what to expect. The last time Vivian was out of town hadn't gone so well.
Tonight she simply nodded. "Okay, Daddy."
I cleaned up and by the time I reached her room, London was sitting on the bed in her pajamas, the brush and bottle of detangling spray beside her. After the detangler worked its magic and I was finished with her hair, I propped myself against the headboard.
I read Two by Two along with a few other books. I kissed London goodnight, and as I was about to turn out the light, I heard her voice again.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"What's day care? I heard you and Mommy talking about it."
"Day care is place where kids go when their moms and dads work, so that grown-ups can make sure you stay safe."
"Like a house?"
"Sometimes. But other times, it's in a building. They have toys and games and activities, and a lot of kids really like it because there's always something fun to do."
"But I like being with you and Mommy."
"I know you do. And we like being with you, too."
"Mommy doesn't. Not anymore."
"Of course she does. She loves you very much. She just has to work."
"Why does she have to work?"
"Because we need money to live. Without money, we couldn't buy food or clothes or toys or even Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles."
She seemed to think about that. "If I give them back to the pet store, can Mommy stop working?"
"No, sweetheart. It doesn't work that way." I hesitated. "Are you okay, sweetie? You seem kinda sad."
"Mommy's gone again. I don't like it when she's gone."
"I know you don't, and I know she'd rather be here with you, too."
"When you were working, you always came home."
"Our jobs are different. She sometimes has to work in different cities."
"I don't like it."
I don't either, I thought. But there wasn't much I could do about it. Changing the subject, I put my arm around her. "You were so great riding your bike today."
"I was going super fast."
"Yes you were."
"You could barely keep up."
"Daddy could use more regular exercise. But I'm glad you enjoy it."
"It's fun going fast."
"Is it more fun than... piano lessons?" I asked, wiggling her slightly as I said the final two words.
She giggled. "Yes."
"Is it more fun than... tennis?"
"Yes."
"Is it more fun than... dance?"
"Yes."
"Is it more fun than... art?"
"Yes," she giggled. "But it's not more fun than Bodhi."
"Bodhi! Biking is WAYYYY more fun than Bodhi."
"No it isn't. Bodhi's WAYYYYY MORE fun."
"No, no, no."
"Yes, yes, yes." She giggled. "And I want to go to his house!"
By then, I was giggling, too. "Oh, no," I said. "I think you're WAYYYY too little to go over to BODHI'S house."
"No, I'm not. I'm BIG!"
"I don't know..."
"Yes, yes, yes. I'm big enough to go to Bodhi's house."
"Okaaaay," I said, "I guess I can ask his mom about that."
She beamed before putting her arms around my neck.
"I love you, Daddy."
"I love you, too, baby girl."
"I'm not a baby."
I squeezed her tight. "You'll always be my baby."
After turning out her lights and thinking I'd reached the point where I couldn't keep up with London any longer, I went to the garage and rolled my bicycle out of the garage. I'd had it for years and like London's had been, it was more neglected than damaged. I cleaned and oiled it, added WD-40 to the sprockets, and filled the tires before giving it a test ride.
Good enough, I thought, and heading inside, I perched my computer on the kitchen table. Pulling up YouTube, I watched a dozen different Cal Worthington commercials, thinking Taglieri had been right; the jingle was snappy and old Cal always had his dog Spot, which was always an exotic animal. The spots were memorable, but the whole thing came across as hucksterism at its finest. It's no wonder a kid would want to meet the car dealer, but I wasn't so sure that it would inspire the confidence necessary to land clients as an attorney.
I watched Taglieri's commercials again. Afterward, I jotted the number on a pad of paper, and matched the numbers to the letters, wondering if I could come up with a word or two to make the phone number more memorable. Nothing leapt immediately to mind with the number he had, but if he added a second toll-free number, there might be something I could do. I thought first of simply spelling his last name, but there were eight letters and seven numbers, so that wouldn't work, even if people could remember how to spell Taglieri, which was doubtful. I might be able to do something like W-I-N-4-Y-O-U or T-A-G-I-S-I-T or maybe even B-U-L-L-D-O-G, but none of those seemed exactly right. I hoped something better would come to me.
While I knew Taglieri's business would benefit from other forms of advertising, I focused first on the commercials because I knew it was a language he'd understand. How, then, to make them better--and different enough--to entice him to make the switch? I spent the next couple of hours jotting down various ideas until they began to solidify: Ditch the office and the suit; instead, let's show Taglieri outside the courthouse, in a sweater, looking neighborly, like someone who really cares. Similar script, but more... familiar and casual in mood and tone.
Definitely different, but then again, I wasn't sure it was quite up to the level of Cal Worthington either. Maybe it was because I was tired, but even as I continued to tinker with various slogans and ideas for images, my mind kept wandering to the ludicrous. You wanted raw hucksterism? How about you dress up in a superhero outfit and crash through doors to take on the evil insurance executives? Or how about I drape you in an American flag with images of bald eagles to show how trustworthy you are? Or maybe I'll have you do cool things, like break through blocks of wood like a karate expert, to show how you're ready to do whatever it takes to win?
As the images rolled through my mind, I found myself occasionally laughing, even if I couldn't imagine ever using them. Creativity and originality were fine, but people who were injured didn't want slapstick. They wanted experience and tenacity and trust, and I was struck by the notion that instead of trying to do all of that in a single commercial, it might be possible to capture those ideas individually in a series of commercials...
To me, it seemed right, and I felt my heart thump in my chest. I wondered if Taglieri would be interested in something like that. And if I could persuade him to sit down for a pitch, I knew I'd need to lay out the idea for at least two or
three commercials. The first would be reminiscent of what he was doing now, but the second and third ones?
They had to be different and while one would be short, the other should feel like a special event, the kind of commercial that would only run every now and then, the kind that almost tells a story...
I could feel the gears turning, the beginning of an idea, and I continued to develop it over the next couple of hours, bits and pieces coming together.
As to the third commercial--a short one, using humor and focusing on a single theme--the idea leapt to mind just as I was shutting down the computer. Like magic, I was struck with yet another idea a few minutes after that, the creativity beginning to flow.
Feeling good about myself, I turned out the lights an hour later and though it took a while for me to fall asleep, once I was out, I slept better than I had in weeks.
"So you're saying that you want to take your pitch on a test drive, and I'm the sucker you've chosen?"
It was Thursday morning; Joey had dressed down today, in shorts and a T-shirt, just like me. And still, he was sweating through his shirt.
"I wouldn't phrase it that way."
"You know I'm a busy man, right? I don't know if I can handle any more business."
That was a new reason for rejection and I wasn't sure what to say. He must have seen my expression because he laughed.
"I'm kidding. I gotta get as many people as I can to walk into my office so I can find those nuggets that actually pay the bills. I've got three associates and three paralegals, and that means the bills are high. My specific area of law has become a volume business these days, even if it means sifting through all the nutjobs for a surefire winner. I need people calling the office and walking through that door."
"That's why I'm talking to you. I can help."
"How long would it take you to put something together?"
"I've already got some general ideas," I admitted. "It wouldn't take long at all to finalize everything."
He looked me over. "All right. Monday afternoon. One o'clock. I'm in court the rest of the week, and the week after that."
I couldn't fathom waiting that long, even if it meant that I'd be buried in work the next three days.
"One o'clock it is," I agreed.
"Just remember, though."
"What's that?"
"Don't waste my time. I hate when people waste my time."
That afternoon, knowing the presentation had to be as informative as possible with far more specific detail than the ones I'd done last week, I went to work. Though I was going to present a plan that offered a broad campaign in a variety of media, I started with the commercials because it seemed to be Taglieri's main area of interest. My first step was to start with the script and after the first drafts were complete, I began to cut and paste together generic images I pulled from the Internet, so Taglieri would be able to follow the flow of the commercials in the way I imagined. While I worked, London was content to play with her Barbies, but I worked from the kitchen table, so I could keep an eye on her.
Vivian rolled in a little past five. I gave her a quick rehash of my day before she spent some time with London and made dinner. It was only after I got London in bed that Vivian and I were able to get some alone time. I found her on the couch, flipping through a magazine, a nearly empty glass of wine on the end table beside her.
"Did she go down okay?"
"She was tired. Only a couple of books tonight."
"How's your work going?"
"There's a way to go, but I'll get it done."
"I noticed when I pulled in that you fixed up your bicycle."
"I want to be able to ride with London."
"She said that the two of you went riding again."
"She rode. I ran and almost died. Hence the repairs on my bike. She's getting pretty good. I can't keep up with her anymore."
"She's got a lot of energy."
"Yes she does."
She turned a page. "I was able to make some calls to day cares while I was out of town."
"Really?" I asked, feeling a mixture of astonishment and relief, along with a stab of guilt I hadn't expected. Our previous discussion of the matter had led me to believe she'd never call at all. "When did you have the time?"
She nodded. "When Walter was meeting with Senator Thurman. But it was just a preliminary call. I didn't schedule any appointments though because I wasn't sure about my travel schedule next week."
"You're traveling next week, too?"
"I think so. But I'm not sure what days yet."
"When do you think you'll find out?"
"I'm hoping by tomorrow, but who knows? I'll let you know as soon as I know."
I didn't know how Spannerman could believe that scheduling last-minute overnights was fair to employees, but then again, my experience of him told me that he probably didn't care.
"What did the day cares say?"
"I didn't speak to them very long. I just wanted a sense of some of the activities they offer, how many kids are there, things like that."
"Did you feel comfortable with them?"
"They seemed okay. The people I talked to were conscientious, but even they told me that we couldn't get a real sense of the places unless we actually visited."
"Makes sense," I said. "How was your trip, by the way?"
"Productive. In addition to the senator, Spannerman met with two different representatives, and our lobbyist. Now that the PAC has more funding, it's a lot easier to meet with the people we need to."
"That's not a surprise."
She shrugged. "So you had pizza last night, huh? And ice cream?"
"I figured she'd enjoy it. She wasn't in the best mood after dance."
"She'll like it more once she starts competing. That's when I started to like it."
"You used to dance?"
"I've told you that before."
Not that I could remember. "How long did you dance?"
She continued to flip through the magazine. "I don't know. Two or three years? What does it matter?"
"It doesn't. I was just making conversation."
"It's not a big deal. My teacher was nowhere near as good as London's. I wish she would have been. I probably would have kept at it longer." She reached for her glass. "Would you mind getting me another half a glass of wine? I'm exhausted and I really want to be able to sleep tonight. Especially since I promised to make up for our date night."
"Yeah," I said, glad she remembered. "Sure."
I rose from the couch and went to the kitchen, returning with a half a glass. By the time I got there, Vivian had turned the television to a reality show, and though we sat together for another hour, she retreated into silence, content to watch her show and flip through the magazine, as if I weren't there at all.
Friday morning, and as soon as I woke, my thoughts flashed to the presentation. I was out of bed minutes later, and as I'd done the day before, I worked from the kitchen table until it was time to head to art class. While London was painting, I parked myself at the coffee shop, and lost in thought, I didn't notice the passage of time. The next thing I knew, London's class was over.
Oops.
I gathered my things and walked quickly to the studio, feeling relief when I spotted London and Bodhi in the corner, heads together. I was about to call out to her when I saw Emily watching me with an amused expression.
"Hi, Russ."
"Oh, hey Emily. You're still here?"
She smiled, looking relaxed. "I saw you in the coffee shop a few minutes ago, and you looked pretty intense with whatever you were working on. When you didn't show up, I thought I'd wait until you got here to make sure London was okay."
"You didn't have to do that," I said.
"No worries. Believe me, my son was thrilled that you're late."
"Where is he?"
"My son?" She motioned in London's direction. "He's talking with your daughter."
I suppose I should have seen the resemblance; now that I
knew, I could see it clearly. "Bodhi's your son?"
"Small world, huh?" As we watched them, she went on. "They're so cute at this age, aren't they? They're just so... innocent, you know?"
"I was thinking the same thing."
"No hamsters today?"
"Was I supposed to bring them?"
She laughed. "Not that I know about. But Bodhi loves Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles. Ever since she brought them, he's been asking me if we could get some hamsters, too."
"Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, London wants to play with Noodle. And see Bodhi's light saber."
"Don't get me started on the light saber. Bodhi brings that thing everywhere. He started to cry when I wouldn't let him bring it into church last weekend. How's your work coming?"
"It's going well. I'm hoping to finish this weekend. How's your painting?"
"It's been hard to get back into the rhythm. Tough couple of years, I guess."
"Makes sense," I agreed. "I haven't been able to swing by the gallery to see your work yet."
"I didn't expect you to. I'm guessing that between work and London, you're on the go pretty much every day. London's schedule is packed. Dance, piano, art, and now tennis." When she saw my expression, she went on. "What can I tell you? Bodhi talks about her all the time. He wants a playdate."
"So does London, but frankly, I'm not even sure how to go about setting up something like that."
I sensed her amusement. "It's not that complicated, Russ," she said. "We talk about it. As in, what's your schedule like? Do you have any time on Monday afternoon? Can London come over?"
As soon as she said it, I knew it would be perfect. But...
When I didn't answer, she went on. "Do you have something else planned?"
"No," I answered, "it's not that. Actually, I'm supposed to have a presentation at one o'clock."
"Then it's perfect. I can pick her up here and bring her to the house. I'll feed her lunch and let the two of them hang out until you come by to get her."
"Isn't that almost like babysitting? Since I'll be off working?"
"That's called a happy coincidence. Let's plan on it, okay?"
"Are you sure? It feels like I'm taking advantage of you."
She laughed. "You haven't changed much, have you?"
"What do you mean?"