Nicholas Sparks - Two by Two

“Yes,” she giggled. “But it’s not more fun than Bodhi.”

“Bodhi! Biking is WAYYYY more fun than Bodhi.”

“No it isn’t. Bodhi’s WAYYYYY MORE fun.”

“No, no, no.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She giggled. “And I want to go to his house!”

By then, I was giggling, too. “Oh, no,” I said. “I think you’re WAYYYY too little to go over to BODHI’S house.”

“No, I’m not. I’m BIG!”

“I don’t know…”

“Yes, yes, yes. I’m big enough to go to Bodhi’s house.”

“Okaaaay,” I said, “I guess I can ask his mom about that.”

She beamed before putting her arms around my neck.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too, baby girl.”

“I’m not a baby.”

I squeezed her tight. “You’ll always be my baby.”

After turning out her lights and thinking I’d reached the point where I couldn’t keep up with London any longer, I went to the garage and rolled my bicycle out of the garage. I’d had it for years and like London’s had been, it was more neglected than damaged. I cleaned and oiled it, added WD-40 to the sprockets, and filled the tires before giving it a test ride.

Good enough, I thought, and heading inside, I perched my computer on the kitchen table. Pulling up YouTube, I watched a dozen different Cal Worthington commercials, thinking Taglieri had been right; the jingle was snappy and old Cal always had his dog Spot, which was always an exotic animal. The spots were memorable, but the whole thing came across as hucksterism at its finest. It’s no wonder a kid would want to meet the car dealer, but I wasn’t so sure that it would inspire the confidence necessary to land clients as an attorney.

I watched Taglieri’s commercials again. Afterward, I jotted the number on a pad of paper, and matched the numbers to the letters, wondering if I could come up with a word or two to make the phone number more memorable. Nothing leapt immediately to mind with the number he had, but if he added a second toll-free number, there might be something I could do. I thought first of simply spelling his last name, but there were eight letters and seven numbers, so that wouldn’t work, even if people could remember how to spell Taglieri, which was doubtful. I might be able to do something like W-I-N-4-Y-O-U or T-A-G-I-S-I-T or maybe even B-U-L-L-D-O-G, but none of those seemed exactly right. I hoped something better would come to me.

While I knew Taglieri’s business would benefit from other forms of advertising, I focused first on the commercials because I knew it was a language he’d understand. How, then, to make them better-and different enough-to entice him to make the switch? I spent the next couple of hours jotting down various ideas until they began to solidify: Ditch the office and the suit; instead, let’s show Taglieri outside the courthouse, in a sweater, looking neighborly, like someone who really cares. Similar script, but more… familiar and casual in mood and tone.

Definitely different, but then again, I wasn’t sure it was quite up to the level of Cal Worthington either. Maybe it was because I was tired, but even as I continued to tinker with various slogans and ideas for images, my mind kept wandering to the ludicrous. You wanted raw hucksterism? How about you dress up in a superhero outfit and crash through doors to take on the evil insurance executives? Or how about I drape you in an American flag with images of bald eagles to show how trustworthy you are? Or maybe I’ll have you do cool things, like break through blocks of wood like a karate expert, to show how you’re ready to do whatever it takes to win?

As the images rolled through my mind, I found myself occasionally laughing, even if I couldn’t imagine ever using them. Creativity and originality were fine, but people who were injured didn’t want slapstick. They wanted experience and tenacity and trust, and I was struck by the notion that instead of trying to do all of that in a single commercial, it might be possible to capture those ideas individually in a series of commercials…

To me, it seemed right, and I felt my heart thump in my chest. I wondered if Taglieri would be interested in something like that. And if I could persuade him to sit down for a pitch, I knew I’d need to lay out the idea for at least two or three commercials. The first would be reminiscent of what he was doing now, but the second and third ones?

They had to be different and while one would be short, the other should feel like a special event, the kind of commercial that would only run every now and then, the kind that almost tells a story…

I could feel the gears turning, the beginning of an idea, and I continued to develop it over the next couple of hours, bits and pieces coming together.

As to the third commercial-a short one, using humor and focusing on a single theme-the idea leapt to mind just as I was shutting down the computer. Like magic, I was struck with yet another idea a few minutes after that, the creativity beginning to flow.

Feeling good about myself, I turned out the lights an hour later and though it took a while for me to fall asleep, once I was out, I slept better than I had in weeks.

“So you’re saying that you want to take your pitch on a test drive, and I’m the sucker you’ve chosen?”

It was Thursday morning; Joey had dressed down today, in shorts and a T-shirt, just like me. And still, he was sweating through his shirt.

“I wouldn’t phrase it that way.”

“You know I’m a busy man, right? I don’t know if I can handle any more business.”

That was a new reason for rejection and I wasn’t sure what to say. He must have seen my expression because he laughed.

“I’m kidding. I gotta get as many people as I can to walk into my office so I can find those nuggets that actually pay the bills. I’ve got three associates and three paralegals, and that means the bills are high. My specific area of law has become a volume business these days, even if it means sifting through all the nutjobs for a surefire winner. I need people calling the office and walking through that door.”

“That’s why I’m talking to you. I can help.”

“How long would it take you to put something together?”

“I’ve already got some general ideas,” I admitted. “It wouldn’t take long at all to finalize everything.”

He looked me over. “All right. Monday afternoon. One o’clock. I’m in court the rest of the week, and the week after that.”

I couldn’t fathom waiting that long, even if it meant that I’d be buried in work the next three days.

“One o’clock it is,” I agreed.

“Just remember, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t waste my time. I hate when people waste my time.”

That afternoon, knowing the presentation had to be as informative as possible with far more specific detail than the ones I’d done last week, I went to work. Though I was going to present a plan that offered a broad campaign in a variety of media, I started with the commercials because it seemed to be Taglieri’s main area of interest. My first step was to start with the script and after the first drafts were complete, I began to cut and paste together generic images I pulled from the Internet, so Taglieri would be able to follow the flow of the commercials in the way I imagined. While I worked, London was content to play with her Barbies, but I worked from the kitchen table, so I could keep an eye on her.

Vivian rolled in a little past five. I gave her a quick rehash of my day before she spent some time with London and made dinner. It was only after I got London in bed that Vivian and I were able to get some alone time. I found her on the couch, flipping through a magazine, a nearly empty glass of wine on the end table beside her.