Arthur Hailey - Wheels

"The project is one which has the personal interest of the client's chairman of the board." Keith Yates-Brown mouthed "chairman of the board" with awe and reverence. Barbara was surprised he hadn't stood, saluting, while he said it.

"As a result," the account chief continued, "you will have the responsibility - a large responsibility affecting all of us at OJL - of reporting, on occasions, to the chairman personally."

Well, Barbara could appreciate his feelings there. Reporting directly to the chairman about anything was a large responsibility, though it didn't frighten her. But since the chairman - if he chose to exercise it - had a life and death power over which advertising agency the company used, Barbara could picture Keith Yates-Brown and others hovering nervously in the wings.

"The project," Yates-Brown added, "is to make a film."

He had gone on, filling in details as far as they were known. The film would be about Detroit: the inner city and its people, their problems - racial and otherwise - their way of life, points of view, their needs.

It was to be a factual, honest documentary. In no way would it be company or industry propaganda; the company's name would appear only once - on the credits as sponsor. Objective would be to point up urban problems, the need to reactivate the city's role in national life, with Detroit the prime example. The film's first use would be for educational and civic groups and schools across the nation. It would probably be shown on television. If good enough, it might go into movie houses.

The budget would be generous. It would allow a regular film-making organization to be used, but the OJL agency would select the film maker and retain control. A top-flight director could be hired, and a script writer, if needed, though Barbara in view of her copywriter's experience - might choose to write the script herself.

Barbara would represent the agency and be in over-all charge.

With a sense of rising excitement as Yates-Brown spoke, Barbara remembered Teddy Osch's words of yesterday at lunch. The creative director had said: All I can tell you is, I wish it were me instead of you. Now she knew why.

Not only was the assignment a substantial compliment to her professionally, it also represented a strong creative challenge which she welcomed. Barbara found herself looking appreciatively - and certainly more tolerantly - on Keith Yates-Brown.

Even the account supervisor's next words diminished her appreciation only slightly.

"You'll work out of the Detroit office as usual," he had said, "but we shall want to be informed here of everything that's going on, and I mean everything. Another thing to bear in mind is what we spoke of earlier - restraint. It's to be an honest film, but don't get carried away.

I do not believe we want, or the chairman of the board will want, too much of - shall we say? - a Socialist point of view."

Well, she had let that one go, realizing there would be plenty of ideas, as well as points of view, she would have to fight for eventually, without wasting time on abstract arguments now.

A week later, after other activities she was involved in had been reassigned, Barbara began work on the project, tentatively titled: Auto City.

Across Brett DeLosanto's dining table, Barbara told Leonard Wingate,

"Some of the early things have been done, including choosing a production company and a director. Of course, there'll be more planning before filming can begin, but we hope to start in February or March."

The tall, graying Negro considered before answering. At length he said,

"I could be cynical and smart, and say that making a film about problems, instead of solving them or trying to, is like Nero fiddling. But being an executive has taught me life isn't always that simple; also, communication is important." He paused, then added, "What you intend might do a lot of good. If there's a way I can help, I will."

"Perhaps there is," Barbara acknowledged. "I've already talked with the director, Wes Gropetti, and something we're agreed on is that whatever is said about the inner city must be through people who live there - individuals. One of them, we believe, should be someone coming through the 'hard core' hiring program."

Wingate cautioned, "Hard core hiring doesn't always work. You might shoot a lot of film about a person who ends up a failure."

"If that's the way it happens," Barbara insisted, "that's the way we'll tell it. We're not doing a remake of Pollyanna."

"Then there might be someone," Wingate said thoughtfully. "You remember I told you - one afternoon I trailed the instructor who stole the checks, then lied to get them endorsed."

She nodded. "I remember."

"Next day I went back to see some of the people he'd visited, I'd noted the addresses; my office matched them up with names." Leonard Wingate produced a notebook and turned pages. "One of them was a man I had a feeling about. I'm not sure what kind of feeling, except I've persuaded him to come back to work. Here it is." He stopped at a page. "His name is Rollie Knight."

Earlier, when Barbara arrived at Brett's apartment, she had come by taxi. Late that evening, when Leonard Wingate had gone - after promising that the three of them would meet again soon - Brett drove Barbara home.

The Zaleskis lived in Royal Oak, a middleclass residential suburb southeast of Birmingham. Driving crosstown on Maple, with Barbara on the front seat close beside him, Brett said, "Nuts to this!" He braked, stopped the car, and put his arms around her. Their kiss was passionate and long.

"Listen!" Brett said; he buried his face in the soft silkiness of her hair, and held her tightly. "What the hell are we doing headed this way? Come back and stay with me tonight. We both want it, and there's not a reason in the world why you shouldn't."

He had made the same suggestion earlier, immediately after Wingate left. Also, they had covered this ground many times before.

Barbara sighed. She said softly, "I'm a great disappointment to you, aren't I?'

"How do I know if you're a disappointment, when you've never let me find out?"

She laughed lightly. He had the capacity to make her do that, even at unexpected moments. Barbara reached up, tracing her fingers across Brett's forehead, erasing the frown she sensed was there.

He protested, "It isn't fair! Everybody who knows us just assumes we're sleeping together, and you and I are the only ones who know we're not.

Even your old man thinks we are. Well, doesn't he?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I think Dad does."

"I know damn well he does. What's more, every time we meet, the old buzzard lets me know he doesn't like it. So I lose out two ways, coming and going."

"Darling," Barbara said, "I know, I know."

"Then why aren't we doing something - right now, tonight? Barb, hon, you're twenty-nine; you can't possibly be a virgin, so what's our hangup? Is it me? Do I smell of modeling clay, or offend you in some other way?"

She shook her head emphatically. "You attract me in every way, and I mean that just as much as all the other times I've said it."

"We've said everything so many times." He added morosely, "None of the other times made any more sense than this one."

"Please," Barbara said, "let's go home."

"My home?"

She laughed. "No, mine."

When the car was moving, she touched Brett's arm. "I'm not sure either; about making sense, I mean. I guess I'm just not thinking the way everyone else seems to do nowadays; at least, I haven't yet. Maybe it's old-fashioned . . ."

"You mean if I want to get to the honey pot, I have to marry you."

Barbara said sharply, "No, I don't. I'm not even sure I want to marry anybody; I'm a career gal, remember? And I know you're not marriage-minded."