Read Online This Is How It Happened by Jo Barrett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jo Barrett
Tags: Humor, United States, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction
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dad.
Sometimes, especially in cases of extreme trauma, a person needs to shelve certain emotions. Tuck them away in a drawer. It’s a good way to get through the day. Because reminiscing, sentimentalizing, all that crap, leads to alcohol and pills and other bad stuff. Stuff to make you forget, anyway.
It’s not like I want to forget my parents; it’s just that it’s easier not to remember all the details. Like the way my mother used to sing and brush her hair. Upside down. Her head almost touching the floor. Bobbing as she sang along to Mick Jagger. “I’m a honkey tonk woo-man!” she’d sing.
That kind of memory. It kills me.
I walk over to Henry’s office. Peek inside. He’s at his computer. Typing like a madman. He’s got a shock of white hair on his head, twinkling blue eyes, and an ornery smirk.
I tap on the door even though it’s open.
Henry is one of those bosses with an open-door policy. “My door is always open,” he says, his blue eyes twinkling. He’s like Santa Claus, without the beard.
He really is.
“Madeline!” he roars, looking up from the screen. “Come in, come in. How’s my FAVE-rite gal?”
I walk into the office, a big smile on my face. “I’m fine, Henry. Great, actually.”
“Good to hear, good to hear. Sit, sit,” he says, motioning to a chair in front of his desk.
I sit.
He swivels around and faces me. “You, my dear, are a genius,” he starts in, pointing a stubby finger at me. “The marketing plan you came up with for the Meyers Group—pure gold, kiddo.”
The Meyers account was the largest account Henry had ever entrusted me with. When the call came in, from Mr. Meyers himself, Henry informed him that I was in charge. He was putting his full faith in me.
“Aren’t you going to be involved at all?” I’d asked.
“I need a fresh mind on this one. Not my crusty ol’ ideas, kiddo. And I know you won’t disappoint me,” he’d added.
So, I met with the client. Mr. Meyers and twelve of his staff. I was the youngest person in the room by twenty years. And the only woman.
“She may look young, but she’s my top gun,” Henry had said, in the introductory meeting.
I spent several sleepless weeks devising a campaign. They needed something lightning-fast. And Henry promised them I would deliver.
Mr. Meyers was the CEO of an investment bank—J.P. Meyers and Company. He’d founded J.P. Meyers in 1964 but had recently suffered a massive heart attack. And since the stock price had fallen on the news, the company was trying to do split-second damage control.
My tag line for the marketing campaign I developed was: IF YOU THINK YOU’VE GOT TO TEACH AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS—THINK AGAIN. Pictures of Mr. Meyers came on the screen, first as a young man, and then growing older as the company grew into one of the most revered firms on Wall Street, along with statistics of his accomplishments. We did a commercial and a glossy brochure for the company’s quarterly report to shareholders.
The bottom of the brochure read: J.P. Meyers and Company—Our Captain has weathered the Ship for the Past 40 Years. How long has yours been at the helm ?
“I’m glad you liked it, Henry,” I say. “I worked hard on that.”
“Like it? I LOVED it, Maddy! And so did the client. Mr. Meyers actually clapped when he saw the commercial.” Henry drums his knuckles against the desk. “Rest assured, my dear. As soon as they pay their bill, you’re in for a very significant raise. Soon you’ll be making more money than yours truly,” Henry teases, his blue eyes moist from his morning hot toddy. I know he’s splashed some Irish whiskey into his coffee. I can smell it on his breath.
“Drinking before 10:00 a.m.?” I ask. “On a Monday?”
“Medicine, my dear,” Henry shrugs, with his smiling eyes. He’s got bright, shiny, mischievous eyes. The type of eyes that seem to know everything. And so even when I put on my game-face, he knows immediately something is
Sometimes, especially in cases of extreme trauma, a person needs to shelve certain emotions. Tuck them away in a drawer. It’s a good way to get through the day. Because reminiscing, sentimentalizing, all that crap, leads to alcohol and pills and other bad stuff. Stuff to make you forget, anyway.
It’s not like I want to forget my parents; it’s just that it’s easier not to remember all the details. Like the way my mother used to sing and brush her hair. Upside down. Her head almost touching the floor. Bobbing as she sang along to Mick Jagger. “I’m a honkey tonk woo-man!” she’d sing.
That kind of memory. It kills me.
I walk over to Henry’s office. Peek inside. He’s at his computer. Typing like a madman. He’s got a shock of white hair on his head, twinkling blue eyes, and an ornery smirk.
I tap on the door even though it’s open.
Henry is one of those bosses with an open-door policy. “My door is always open,” he says, his blue eyes twinkling. He’s like Santa Claus, without the beard.
He really is.
“Madeline!” he roars, looking up from the screen. “Come in, come in. How’s my FAVE-rite gal?”
I walk into the office, a big smile on my face. “I’m fine, Henry. Great, actually.”
“Good to hear, good to hear. Sit, sit,” he says, motioning to a chair in front of his desk.
I sit.
He swivels around and faces me. “You, my dear, are a genius,” he starts in, pointing a stubby finger at me. “The marketing plan you came up with for the Meyers Group—pure gold, kiddo.”
The Meyers account was the largest account Henry had ever entrusted me with. When the call came in, from Mr. Meyers himself, Henry informed him that I was in charge. He was putting his full faith in me.
“Aren’t you going to be involved at all?” I’d asked.
“I need a fresh mind on this one. Not my crusty ol’ ideas, kiddo. And I know you won’t disappoint me,” he’d added.
So, I met with the client. Mr. Meyers and twelve of his staff. I was the youngest person in the room by twenty years. And the only woman.
“She may look young, but she’s my top gun,” Henry had said, in the introductory meeting.
I spent several sleepless weeks devising a campaign. They needed something lightning-fast. And Henry promised them I would deliver.
Mr. Meyers was the CEO of an investment bank—J.P. Meyers and Company. He’d founded J.P. Meyers in 1964 but had recently suffered a massive heart attack. And since the stock price had fallen on the news, the company was trying to do split-second damage control.
My tag line for the marketing campaign I developed was: IF YOU THINK YOU’VE GOT TO TEACH AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS—THINK AGAIN. Pictures of Mr. Meyers came on the screen, first as a young man, and then growing older as the company grew into one of the most revered firms on Wall Street, along with statistics of his accomplishments. We did a commercial and a glossy brochure for the company’s quarterly report to shareholders.
The bottom of the brochure read: J.P. Meyers and Company—Our Captain has weathered the Ship for the Past 40 Years. How long has yours been at the helm ?
“I’m glad you liked it, Henry,” I say. “I worked hard on that.”
“Like it? I LOVED it, Maddy! And so did the client. Mr. Meyers actually clapped when he saw the commercial.” Henry drums his knuckles against the desk. “Rest assured, my dear. As soon as they pay their bill, you’re in for a very significant raise. Soon you’ll be making more money than yours truly,” Henry teases, his blue eyes moist from his morning hot toddy. I know he’s splashed some Irish whiskey into his coffee. I can smell it on his breath.
“Drinking before 10:00 a.m.?” I ask. “On a Monday?”
“Medicine, my dear,” Henry shrugs, with his smiling eyes. He’s got bright, shiny, mischievous eyes. The type of eyes that seem to know everything. And so even when I put on my game-face, he knows immediately something is
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