Lisa Ruff - Man of the Year

Brenda laughed. “Sounds like you’ve got a thing for the man in the towel.”

“No way, Bren. No ballplayers. Never again. You know that.”

“It’s been a long time, Samantha.” Brenda looked at her friend directly. “Just because he plays baseball, doesn’t mean he’s going to run around on you.”

“Whether he plays baseball or not, he’s not going to get the chance.”

Brenda shot her an exasperated look. “Those were boys, Sam. These—” she waved a hand at the photos arrayed on the table “—are men who know what mitt-muffins are like and what they want. Not every guy in the league is only interested in empty sex.”

Samantha snorted. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of Sheba. The mitt-muffins are just the tip of the iceberg, Bren. It’s the ego I can’t stand. Every player I ever met acted like he’s God’s gift to the universe. That hasn’t changed much from when I was a kid, hanging out at Boomer’s high school games.” Samantha looked at Jarrett’s picture, then turned it so the handsome smile was directed at Brenda. “This guy’s got an ego as big as them all. Maybe bigger.”

“You know that after meeting him just once?”

“Oh, yeah, that came through loud and clear.”

“But he still turned you on,” Brenda added smugly.

“I said he was sexy, not that I was interested in him.”

“I say go for it, Sam. If he’s as sexy as you—”

“You know I can’t, even if I did want to,” Samantha interrupted. “I told you what Elliott said.”

“He can’t tell you who you can and can’t date,” Brenda said.

“Sure he can. He holds all the cards. At least as far as the team is concerned.”

“You think he’d cancel the contract because you went on a date with a player?” Brenda was incredulous.

“I don’t know if he would cancel, but he could make our lives very difficult,” Samantha said, serious now. “I can’t—I won’t—take the risk of finding out how far he’s willing to be pushed. I do know Elliott was dead serious when he said he didn’t want any trace of scandal around the team.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Brenda sounded doubtful.

“I know I am. We need this contract much more than I need a date with some smooth-talking, sexy farm boy from Oklahoma.”

“It’s your call, Sam.”

“Exactly, and I don’t want anything that smells even vaguely suspicious getting back to Elliott’s nose. Besides, I get enough of baseball from Boomer. More, I don’t need.”

“Speaking of which, what are you going to do about him?” Brenda shuffled the pictures and came up with Boomer’s. “What’s his bit in all this?”

“Nothing special. I treat him just like any other player. He knows that and so do I. Elliott didn’t seem to think there was a problem, as long as we both knew that there would be no special treatment. I told him about the connection, but it turns out he already knew. Thanks to Boomer.”

“He told him?” Brenda asked, surprised. “Why would he do that?”

“Little brother didn’t want any blotch on his career because I was bidding on the team’s ad contract.”

“Huh? I don’t get it.”

Samantha shrugged. “That’s how he explained it. As it turned out, I may have gotten the contract because of my connection with him, at least indirectly. Elliott said that my knowledge of baseball was one thing that tipped the scale in our favor.”

“That and being low bidder.”

“Well, his budget is tight this year, so that worked to our advantage as well.”

Samantha was philosophical about why she had beaten other, more prestigious firms for the high-profile job. In the end, all that mattered was that she knew her team could do the work as well as, or better than, any other firm. She had convinced Elliott of that. And her spiel to him was not merely boastful, hopeful words. Samantha would not have taken the contract if she did not think Emerald was right for the job and that the job was right for Emerald.

The size of the project was a bit daunting for a small company, though. The firm would be responsible for not only the advertising, but also a new logo, uniform design and colors. Caps, buttons, bumper stickers, giveaways—the list was endless. They would set up interviews for the players at local radio and television stations. The budget ran into the millions.

To handle all this work, Samantha had to turn away numerous smaller jobs, some with clients that she hated to lose. In the past, those small jobs had been the company’s bread and butter. The contract with the Rainiers would usurp all their resources. If Emerald succeeded, it would earn national exposure. Other corporate clients would notice the small company from Seattle and come courting. Samantha’s fledgling firm would fly to a higher altitude in the ad business. With that flight would come money and prestige.

And if they failed? Samantha had not thought much about that possibility. Without consulting her accountant, she knew her business could not afford to lose. If Emerald failed to show Mr. Elliott a healthy return on all his advertising dollars, it would be stretched pretty thin, maybe too thin to recover. Nothing like putting all our eggs in one basket, Samantha had thought when she signed the contract.

“So, Bren, this is the big one. Let’s get started. I want to schedule a kickoff meeting with everyone on Monday. Afternoon is best.” She gathered up the photos.

Brenda jotted a few more notes on her pad of paper, then boosted herself out of the chair. “Right, boss. I’ll set it up.”

Samantha dropped the photos in the center of the mess on her desk. As if by magic, Jarrett’s picture slid out of the pile. He smiled up at her.

“Wipe that cocky grin off your face, Jarrett Corliss,” Samantha warned the man in the photo as she tapped his nose with the eraser end of her pencil. “I’ve got plans for you.”

“Okay, sports fans. Here’s the pitch,” Samantha announced.

Her staff groaned loudly, their heads falling limp to rest on the conference table in mock anguish.

Samantha grinned. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Show some respect here. I’m the boss and if I want to play sportscaster, you all get to listen in rapt silence.”

A loud, wet raspberry cut across the end of her sentence and she scowled at the culprit. She should have expected it—Brenda. “Quiet! No dissension in the ranks.” She softened the stern warning with a smile. Then, before she lost control of the unruly bunch, she plunged ahead with the meeting.

“As you all know, I met with the Rainiers last week. Here’s the schedule I’ve penciled out for what needs to be done.” She passed a stack of papers around the table. “First, I have a meeting with Elliott and his people on Friday. We have to have presentation DVDs by then.”

There were several moans of protest.

“I know. It’s a push, but we need to roll in high gear. The photographer is scheduled to reshoot the team photos next Tuesday. The first commercial will be shot the middle of the following week, probably Wednesday and Thursday, depending on Dietrich’s schedule. We’ll use photos or pull stills from the video for billboards.”

Before she could continue, Lane interrupted. “Wait a minute, chief. What happened to all the time we were supposed to have to get ready for this project? We’ve known about it for a month.”

“You’re right. But contract negotiations were delayed, so we’re up against the wall. The team leaves for spring training camp in three weeks. All this has to be done before they go.” Samantha knew what the next few weeks were going to be like—an unbroken string of long days and longer nights. She didn’t like it any more than her team did, but it was essential that they attack it with all their enthusiasm and momentum.

“Hey, after three weeks of twenty-seven-hour workdays, things should settle down to a more reasonable pace,” she added with a smile.

She paused to survey the faces around her. They all looked interested, eager and alert. A little apprehensive, too. No harm in that. No one was surprised by the amount of work. No one complained.

“The tight deadline will mean a lot of work, but we can do it. Brenda has a list of all the details to be covered that we’ll go over at the end of the meeting. First, I want to start with the overall thrust of the campaign.”

Samantha outlined the information she had on the Rainiers, their recent history, changes in staffing, their strengths and weaknesses. If her staff hadn’t all heard this somewhere else, she wanted to be sure they did now. To design a good advertising campaign, Emerald Advertising needed to somehow magically erase the past. She wasn’t fooling anyone about how hard that would be.

“Let’s bounce some ideas around. Nothing is too far-fetched or corny at this point. Brenda, got your crayon and notepad warmed up?”

“Ready, coach. Let ’em fly. I’ll catch ’em.” Brenda’s pencil was poised to write, but the room was silent.

“Come on,” Samantha coaxed. “I can see those wheels turning. Spit something out. Anything.”

“Okay,” Lane began cautiously. “What about bikinis?”

“What about them?”

“Well, sports and women in bikinis just go together like, like—”

“Like safe and sex,” Pam finished. A burst of laughter followed.

“I’m all for bikinis,” Carol chimed in. “But only if the players are wearing them.” More laughter greeted this sally. Samantha joined in, then guided the conversation.

“Lane has a point. The commercials that have been used during most major sporting events have featured any number of bikinis and skimpy attire to promote everything except swimwear and clothes. But how do we use them? We’re promoting a baseball team. Is that a different market than beer commercials target?”

Samantha sat back and let the others debate the issue. Ideas were tossed out randomly. Bikinis and beer led—by a very circuitous route—to nuclear reactors and life preservers. She let them mine the raw possibilities of each idea for a while then pushed them off in another direction. Brenda wrote furiously, so every speck and notion was documented for future reference. Ideas and patterns of ideas mentioned in this session might even prove useful later for a completely different product. Brenda was a storehouse of past brainstorming sessions, any of which she might mention without warning to send them off in a new direction.

The discussion returned to its start and an argument raged back and forth about the ethics of using bikinis to promote anything. The women opposed it, the men were for it, so long as good-looking female models wore them. Then Lane yelled something crazy about extraterrestrials and the brainstorming took a decidedly odd turn. Samantha laughed and broke into the ruckus.

“Okay, guys. That’s a little bizarre, even for me. I know I said nothing was too far-fetched, but come on, aliens in bikinis kidnapping a baseball team?”

“Sure, it’d be great,” Stuart said, adopting Lane’s brainchild for the moment. “Like Willie Mays meets ET. But with less cellulite.”

“Yeah. The players could be sucked up into this ship. Then weird creatures would operate on them and make them better players.” Carol picked up Stuart’s thought and gave it another twist.

When this craziness had run its course, Stuart asked the question Samantha had been waiting for. “What do you have in mind for this campaign, Samantha? We’ve been spilling our guts for over an hour, but you haven’t offered much yourself.”

“Well. I’ve heard some good ideas passed around today, except the one about aliens.” She shook a finger at Lane. He smirked. “But I want to focus a little tighter on the problem before we look for solutions. The Rainiers are a bunch of druggies and bullies, and no one wants to go to their games because they always lose. Right?” There were nods of agreement.