by Richard N. Anderson
Another Thursday night working on Jamesville. They were reworking the campaign. He needed a break: to get away from business. Everybody fled the city early in August. Who would be around? Who was in the city all the time? He reached for a Chiclet and started to chew. Continue reading
New York’s Racquet and Tennis Club stood grandly, covering a full block on Park Avenue. Alan passed through the marble lobby with the ugly statue of the tennis player in the middle. Continue reading
They entered the creative department through the enormous leather padded doorway. Alan smiled at the four typing secretaries arranged in a four-stall cubicle. Frederick Taylor, meet Herman Miller, he thought. Continue reading
“I think they’re trying to screw us,” Alan snarled, as he got into the limousine.
“Who?” Bob Wilson, the account management supervisor, asked. Alan and Wilson had just finished presenting new advertising for Wholesome Soups to its management. The presentation had fallen flat. Alan was flummoxed. Continue reading
The Art Director left Tom Hartley’s office carrying the notes and a few sketches for the Jamesville Fresh Soup campaign. Now Alan, Charlie and Tom could laugh about the night before at PJs. Continue reading
Alan stood by the picture window in his office and looked at the New York skyline. He’d been back for a week from a five-day trip to the coast. The fifteenth of August. Nothing was quite as it had been. Continue reading
From across the pool Claire appeared to have nothing on. He squinted and watched her climb out of the water–so unlike Kikki, and he wanted her more. Continue reading
By Richard N. Anderson
An hour later, after the last girl had closed the door, Mel Fox rose out of his chair holding a piece of paper and a ball point pen.
“Everybody completed their ballots?” Continue reading
Over the next hour and a half eight other beauties each completed the interview, picked up her portfolio, and swung out the door. Continue reading
By Richard N. Anderson
“I suppose somebody is going to have something crazy for breakfast,” Alan said smiling as he looked at the Beverly Hills’ breakfast menu with its unorthodox list of steaks, obscure pears, and funny sounding omelets. Continue reading