Nooners by James Patterson & Tim Arnold
Chapter 1
“So, Tim, how would you describe yourself in a single sentence?”
Friday lunch, and I was sitting across the table from Linda Kaplan, the president of one of the most successful advertising agencies in New York, Kaplan-Thaler. She’s in her mid-fifties, attractive, and exudes the confidence of well-deserved success.
I’m your typical New York adman, Madison Avenue through and through, but after a second stint at Paul Marterelli & Partners, I’d hit a wall. It was time to move on. Past time.
And at this lunch, it’s taking all I’ve got to stay in the moment. A lot of bad, crazy shit has come crashing down around me, and I’m trying to figure out what it all means.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.…
We’re at Soho House, a members-only restaurant, hotel, and spa down on 9th Avenue in the Meatpacking District. Linda Kaplan launched her agency in 1997 with the Herbal Essence shampoo “Yes! Yes! Yes!” campaign—think Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally—and never looked back. Now the agency is part of the Publicis Group, a global organization with the financial means to pay their people well. My headhunter hooked us up because Linda is looking for a co-partner and managing director to assume responsibility for all of the agency’s clients.
I’m getting a good vibe. The light in her eyes suggests she has a good sense of humor and doesn’t take life—real life—too damned seriously. Just her job.
This is a big deal. Our first interview. I want this job. A lot. Possibility of a 25 percent salary hike, plus bonus. I know I’m qualified, and so does she.
I’m wearing a necktie for the first time in years. I usually just wear jeans and a button-down to work, unless we have a client in or a new business pitch, but this meeting calls for a tie. Lots at stake here. And the damned thing feels like a noose tightening around my neck.
This was the day of the first murder. Somebody I knew. By the end of next week, my life will have changed forever.
Chapter 2
Yesterday…
On bad days the advertising agency profession can get old fast. Especially with lousy clients. But this day is set to remind me why I got in this business in the first place.
We’re presenting a new campaign to a client who’s sat on the same advertising for five years: Chubb Insurance—Marterelli’s biggest client—has become one of those “unapproachable” insurance companies lost in the morass of indistinguishable brands in a category that’s competing on price, and little more. Worse, Chubb is premium priced. We’ve got a scary idea—the kind I love—to take Chubb to the next level. The plan is to confront consumers with the inevitability of some painful loss of assets during their lifetimes. Then we let them know that Chubb will be there to help, with a campaign built around humor to balance the grim forecast.
It’s enough to distract me from the real-life bullshit swirling all around me.
The meeting’s scheduled for eleven a.m. I’m in the office by eight; I stop by the break room, crank up the coffee pot, and head upstairs to go over some notes.
I’m wearing jeans, for sure—Ralph Laurens—pressed, and an oxford cloth open-collar long-sleeved shirt. Got my black-on-black brocade sports jacket slung over a chair, ready for the client. So I’m going formal. Cool New York formal.
“Hey, buenos dias, amigo.” It’s Ramon, our tech guy, at my cubicle door. A tall, dark, and handsome guy, as they say, with a bright, persistent smile on his face. “What’s up? And what am I doing here this early, you ask?”
“Looking for…?”
“No one. Just here to set you guys up in the conference room. Big meeting, huh?”
“Yeah, totally. But we’re ready to kick some client ass. Thanks, man, I’ll see you later.”
“Ciao.” I will definitely see Ramon later.
Back upstairs with my coffee. Now it’s Mary Claire Moriarty, my junior account leader—that’s what I like to call all of us account types. Early twenties, straight out of the Missouri School of Journalism, and she’s a terrific writer, too, so I’ve given her a small part in the pitch. It’s all about teamwork, and providing experience in the trenches for these bright up-and-comers.
“Good morning, sir,” she says. Her bright eyes are beaming. She’s a spark.
“MC, I keep telling you, no ‘sirs’ in this business—or anywhere else for that matter—except the military. Anyway, how are you? Ready to rock?”
“Yeah. Just wanted to thank you for the opportunity. Hope I don’t screw it up.”
“Girl, you won’t. I know you won’t. Now you need to know it. Got it?”
“Yeah, yes…yeah, I’ve got it, thanks. See you downstairs.”
My mind is wandering.…
Will we be through with this meeting in time for a late lunch?
It’s a sixty-minute meeting. Done. No wordy slides. No extraneous BS. We headline the pitch with an innovative brand strategy to convey that Chubb understands life’s risks, and can relate to customers’ needs. Two fabulous ideas, both on strategy: the one with the most potential upside scarier than the other.
Mary Claire describes the brand personality in the colorful language she authored herself.
Then our creative director reads the last scripted line from another satisfied Chubb customer appearing in the TV spot and turns to me for the capper, the tagline that will separate this client’s business from the rest of the category.…
I look the CMO in the eye and announce in my rehearsed voiceover “Insurance Against Regret”…and the room is as quiet as a funeral. For an instant. And then an uncommon reaction in the agency business: applause! Our clients are smiling from ear to ear, and clapping!
They buy it on the spot. Damn, I love this business.
“Tim,” said the Chubb CMO, Kevin Magnus, shaking my hand, “you’ve just reminded me in dramatic fashion why I hired you guys in the first place. Send me the summary and a production estimate, and let’s get it done!”
My team hears all this and responds with enthusiastic, polite applause of their own. The client’s not out the front door before we’re gathering into a group hug, backslaps all around.
“Guys, this is the result of some fabulous teamwork. Never forget that. Together, we make shit happen.
“Now, get your asses back to work!” I say with a broad smile, which is returned in kind by every one of them.
Perfect timing for a lunch break. And I think I’ve earned a long one.
Chapter 3
By the time I get back, it’s four-ish, and the proverbial cocktail hour is within reach.
“Well done, MacGhee!” Paul Marterelli is at my door before I can get my jacket off. “Magnus just called me to say how excited he is about the possibilities! I’ve never heard him so enthusiastic. Must have been great. Obviously he bought the big one.…”
“Absolutely. Thanks, Paul, really appreciate it. It’s days like today that remind me why I came back to work with you,” I tell him. Hey, I’m an adman.
“Wanna grab a beverage?”