A One Stop Shop

“Brian, how the heck are ya? Take a seat. How’s the fam? Happy wife happy life, am I right?”

Brian remained silent as he pulled out the hightop bar stool and took a seat as directed. Almost everyone in their industry was aware that he had suffered a very public and expensive divorce the previous year. Brian reasoned that it was a fifty fifty shot whether Randy, ever the eccentric, had absolutely no idea about the split or was ironically amusing himself with no regard for the comfort of his guest.  

Randy grabbed the arm of a woman in a white button down shirt and black dress pants walking by their table, “Sweetheart, two dirty martinis, extra dirty for me, light dirt for my friend here.”

She was not their waitress. Or an employee of the restaurant for that matter. And this was not the 1950s. Upon Randy’s grandfather’s death ten years prior he had taken over the old man’s pinstripe suits, his old-timey mannerisms, and, most lucratively, his advertising agency.  

The woman, on her way to the bathroom, made eye contact with the bartender and stuck her thumb over her left shoulder in the direction of the gentlemen. She asked the bartender, who admittedly was wearing an outfit almost identical to her own, if he’d caught the order. It had been loud enough for anyone within earshot. “What’s your name?” the bartender demanded. 

“Robin,” said Robin.  

“Look, I’ll make the martinis, but you still have to ring it in to the computer,” he instructed.  

“I don’t work here,” she muttered to no one as the bartender turned to locate the martini shaker.  

She vowed to choose a different outfit the next time she knew the boss was going to take her out to lunch. 

“Brian, let me cut right to the chase. We’ve got a new account, well, a collection of new accounts really, and a number of us at the agency think you’re the man for the job.”  

Work had been scarce. Brian had been an executive at a rival ad agency across town prior to his minor mental breakdown. He had commandeered one of the company’s billboards on which they generally rotated advertisements bi-monthly for various campaigns. He plastered the billboard with a photograph of his wife, who ran the only temp agency in town, with one of her male temps that had been taken by his private investigator. The unedited photo, topped with the staffing agency’s insignia and phone number, read, “Various Positions / Openings Available.” Having not considered the criminal, civil, social, or vocational consequences of this act, Brian soon found himself in financial trouble, relieved of his position at the agency, and encountering some resistance in attempting to work his way back into the field.  

“Rachel… hellooooo, new girl,” the bartender shouted as Robin made her way back past the bar, “martinis are up.”  

Why fight it she thought as she delicately lifted the brimming olive laden beverages off the service station and delivered them to the gentlemen. As Randy launched into their steak orders she decided enough was enough. “I’m not your waitress.”

“Oh, too bad, you’re very good, can you find out who is?”

“I don’t even work here,” she opined as she wiped her gin tipped fingers on the butt of her black pants and exited the bar area to rejoin her boss.   

“Huh, that was fast, think she quit or got fired?” Randy mused before shouting in the general direction of the bartender who had gone back to his crossword puzzle, “Two ribeyes, mine still mooing, baked potato full loaded, my friend here…”  

Brian lifted the plastic toothpick out of his beverage and ate the first of three olives off the end. “What’s the catch Randy?”

“No catch. Not only do we want you to be the lead on the creative side of things, we’re thinking of featuring you in some of the ads, both print and televised.”

Brian cocked his head to the side, sighed, and said, “I’m not getting any less confused.”  

“Ok, like I said, I’ll cut to the chase, it’s just a place holder at the moment, but for the time being we’re going with ‘Modern Divorce - A One Stop Shop.’”

Randy explained. They wanted Brian to become the poster boy for aggrieved husbands everywhere. Randy had amassed a sea of unpaid interns. He told them waiting for the client to come to them was outdated. They were to choose local businesses with pitiable campaigns and craft better spots. Senior executives would take the best pitches from there, sure to give credit to the intern team who developed the ideas. In the meantime the senior executives could all be found on the golf course.  

The team with the best idea had decided that cross pollination could save everyone a lot of money. They had paired a local private investigator with no internet presence, a divorce firm with only one attorney, a newly developed and half empty apartment complex, and a used furniture retailer. The storyboard for their thirty second spot featured Brian saying, “Dudes, don’t be like me. Choose divorce with dignity.  We’ll save you money…and face.”  

Randy loved it. Alan, the PI with no idea how to spell www, loved it. The out of state condo developers looking to mitigate losses loved it. The furniture repossession firm who refurbished unpaid for couches on credit loved it most of all. An advertising baby was born. And who to get this baby walking? A brilliant advertising mind not in a position to turn down employment, even if offered double duty for the price of one position.  

“Wow. That’s an awful lot to process. I actually have to take this call, but I’ll be right back before the steaks are on the table,” Brian took a few gulps of martini and pushed himself back from the table.  

Out the front door looking for air Brian instead found Robin, cigarette in hand, delaying heading back to the office. “So, when you’re not being our fake waitress, what is that you actually do?” Brian asked.  

“I’m the paralegal for David Dill, divorce attorney to the stars,” she dropped the cigarette, crushed it with her high heeled toe, and looked at Brian, deadpan, “well, to a handful of the greater metropolitan area sad dads anyway. And I don’t smoke, it just buys me time to think my thoughts. You?”  

“Is it a big office? Lots of secretaries?” Brian asked.  

“Nope, just me and DD,” Robin shook her head almost imperceptibly, raised her eyes to his, frowning, silently asking why he was asking.  

“Well, that’s one perk. I think we will meet again.” Brian patted Robin gently on the shoulder as he opened the steakhouse door intent on enjoying his last meal as an unemployable man, hopeful that the alternative would not be worse.