Abby Gaines - That New York Minute

Two hesitations in the space of a minute. What was going on?

“I got shortlisted for partner at KBC today,” Garrett said, buying himself time to work out his dad’s agenda.

Why had he said that? What was the point of telling his father about a promotion that he didn’t intend to stick around to get? It wasn’t as if Dad would be impressed.

He braced himself for a lecture about getting a “real job.” Namely, one in the armed forces, one that mattered.

His father surprised him by saying, “Good.” He took another drink of his beer. Not his usual measured pace.

“If I get the partnership—” shut up , Garrett warned himself, stop right there, you’re not doing this “—I’ll be chief creative officer.” Dammit, the alcohol he’d consumed over the past twenty-four hours had loosened his mouth.

Dwight’s glass thudded onto the table. “Chief creative officer?”

This was why Garrett should have stopped.

“What would anyone there know about being an officer? ” his father asked. “About discipline and structure?”

“Nothing at all,” Garrett said with heartfelt relief. His father’s rigid adherence to discipline and structure were what had driven them apart, and Garrett’s choice of career had done nothing to fill the gap. Dwight derided the advertising industry as frivolous, billions of dollars spent giving people choices they didn’t need. As far as he was concerned, there was only one way to do anything: his way.

As Dwight leaned forward the four metal stars on his collar denoting his rank, polished to a high gleam, caught the light. “Wouldn’t a job like that involve commanding a team?”

“Leadership is part of it, yes.” Might as well give his father enough rope to hang him.

“You don’t have the right attitude for that,” Dwight said. “You need to blend authority with a genuine interest in your men.”

“I’m definitely not interested in men,” Garrett agreed, using flippancy, guaranteed to drive his father nuts, to mask his annoyance.

Without knowing the first thing about it, Dwight had decided Garrett didn’t deserve the promotion. Garrett was tempted to prove him wrong. To stick around, win the partnership. Then quit, which would give Tony and the other partners a lesson in how not to run a partnership selection.

Not worth the hassle, he decided. There were other agencies he could go to right away. Lots of them.

Dwight was inhaling noisily, his face turning slightly purple. If Garrett had been one of his father’s “men,” he’d have feared imminent court-martial.

“If you want to learn leadership, Garrett, you should get a real job,” Dwight said. “You could make something of yourself.”

Here we go . Garrett drained his glass, glad he hadn’t been naive enough to think they could survive a whole meal. He stood. “See you around, Dad,” he said, confident it was highly unlikely. Madison Avenue might not be far from USUN, the United States Mission to the United Nations, where his father was an adviser, but their paths never intersected.

“Sit down,” Dwight ordered.

Yeah, right. Garrett wasn’t about to start obeying his father’s commands at this late stage. He left the role of the “good son” to his brother, Lucas.

“Please,” Dwight said.

Garrett stared. Dad learned a new word .

When his father pointed at the chair, he sat down again.

Dwight closed his eyes for a moment before he spoke. “I know this is a. Difficult day for you.”

“But not for you?” Garrett asked.

Irony was wasted on his father. “That’s why I wanted to see you.”

His birthday, the anniversary of his mother’s death—not everything he’d told Rachel had been a lie—had been a difficult day every year for the past fifteen years. This was the first time Dwight had acknowledged it. “Are you sick?” Garrett asked.

It would surely be divine retribution for the lies that had Rachel so riled, if his father suddenly confessed to a terminal illness. Not that Garrett felt the least bit guilty about Rachel. He’d done her a favor, telling her a plain truth last night. This morning, she’d got up his nose with her superiority and her dismissal of his abilities. She’d reminded him, in fact, of his father.

Only she’d been far easier to topple than Admiral Dwight Calder. She didn’t have the backing of the U.S. Navy to make her feel infallible.

“I’m not sick,” Dwight said.

Relief rushed through Garrett. He tilted his chair back. “Then why are you here?”

Over on the far side of the room, the band was running a sound check. In another five minutes, there’d be no possibility of conversation.

“It’s time you and I made more of an effort with each other,” his father said.

Garrett’s chair thumped back on to all four legs. “Are you going to tell me this was your idea?” he asked calmly.

“Stephanie suggested it,” Dwight admitted.

“Tell your wife to butt out.” Garrett kept his voice even, masking the upsurge of anger. He didn’t know why Stephanie should pick now, after all this time, to take an interest in his relationship with his father. He didn’t want to know.

A whine of feedback came through the amplifier on the tiny stage, hurting his ears.

“She’s your stepmother,” Dwight said with icy control.

But they both knew that in this area, Dwight had never been able to control his son.

Garrett stood again, and this time, nothing would induce him to sit back down. “Goodbye, Dad.”

RACHEL WAS DECIDEDLY on edge early Saturday morning as she mooched around her Washington Heights condo—not a great area, but the best she could afford when she’d bought the place two years ago.

She’d been convinced Garrett would quit rather than give KBC a chance to fire him.

Yet when he left the office last night with Clive—worrying in itself—The Shark didn’t appear to have cleared out his desk.

Maybe he didn’t want to quit on his birthday, she thought, as she wiped the kitchen counter. If it was truly his birthday, and that wasn’t another lie.

She tossed the dishcloth in the washing machine, and set about plumping up the cushions of her giant sofa. She’d never have predicted Garrett would be interested in the partnership in the first place. What if he didn’t quit after all?

Their prospective client, Brightwater Group, was tickled pink at the prospect of not one but three fabulous ideas for their campaign, in exchange for giving feedback to the KBC board about the three partners designate. Rachel was beginning to feel like a contestant on America’s Next Top Ad Agency Partner .

She hated those shows. She wasn’t a crier by nature, but she cried when people got thrown out of the house, expelled from the island, kicked off the catwalk.

I could be next . She felt nauseous just thinking about it. If Garrett did stick around, his slimy behavior today had given her a heads-up that he wasn’t about to play fair. If he wants a fight, he’ll get it . She would put the work in, she would leave nothing to chance and she would win.

This would have to be her best campaign ever. She would have to be the best every step of the way. Starting with the meeting she, Garrett and Clive would attend at Brightwater’s offices on Monday.

Rachel usually handled briefing meetings with ease. But this time the client would be directly comparing her with Garrett.

What if they liked sleazy, lying, tardy but highly creative jerks?

What if the client asked some off-the-wall question, to which she would say her usual, “Hmm, you make an excellent point, Ben/Jerry/Jack. I’d like to think about that and get back to you.” While Garrett would produce some amazing spontaneous insight.