I roll my eyes—Avery and Mateo have clearly gotten him to call me that too—but he’s right in a way. Andgrandpacomes across like a term of endearment when he says it.
“Building a brand is important.”
“Care to share any wisdom?”
“Hmm, so, it’s all about getting your engagement up.” I can tell by the way his voice pitches that he’s extra excited to be asked about this. “It’s about telling a story that marries text with image and targets your key demos in a way that keeps them interested. That makes them feel something.” His vocal speed intensifies. “For example, if I held your hand…” He pauses a beat, his voice dipping to this low, sultry place that’s still oozing with sweetness. “Can I hold your hand?”
“Yes,” I tell him, offering up my palm.
“So, if I held your hand, which I am now. Thanks, by the way.” He sports a goofy grin. “You would have an immediate emotional reaction, either good or bad or indifferent, and it would play a major role in whether you’d like to continue engaging in said hand-holding. Whether you liked it. Whether you liked it, just not with me. Whether you felt unmoved by it. Or you just didn’t like it at all.”
“I like it,” I assure him. “With you.”
He stops, but only long enough to let his feverish blush pass. “You see, so branding content is about targeting those who like hand-holding and figuring out how they like to do it. Fingers intertwined, loose grip, firm grip, etcetera, based on engagement data—that’s your audience—then creating posts that appeal to their emotions. Like Maya Angelou said, people will often forget what you say, but not how you make them feel.Pathosis the word Aristotle used to describe motivating a sense of empathy and urgency in your social media audience, a feeling of belonging.”
“Ah, yes. Aristotle, the famous Greek philosopher and avid social media user.”
“Hey now, he did have a lot offollowers.” I shake my head to hide my smile at his nerdy attempt at a joke. “Okay, okay. End rant.” He lets out an embarrassed laugh. After he listened so attentively to me when I went on and on about Alice, the least I could do is return the favor. He sounds impassioned, all fired up. It’s adorable.
“Oh, and one last thing to remember with social media,” he says. “A good hashtag goes a long way.”
“Got it.” I let go of his hand, reach for my tote bag, and pull out my notebook and pen. I write in large, looping letters at the top of a fresh page:
#HowToBeSocialMediaSavvy as taught by Derick Haverford
He flashes me a thumbs-up, appearing heartened that I’d take his lesson so seriously.
As I make sure to jot down every detail, never knowing when this might come in handy, he puts the episode back on. Our bus continues to barrel toward the Lincoln Tunnel, and I think,This is going to be an interesting two days.
Chapter 19
The Flatiron Building reminds me of a massive slice of deep-dish pizza dropped into the wrong city.
My stomach growls, but there’s no time to eat.
Since our room wasn’t ready yet when we arrived at the hotel, Derick and I checked our bags and left for our meeting downtown. We skipped into the depths of the subway system and then emerged at Madison Square Park as if by magic.
The streets are packed with people. Yellow taxis whizz by, triangular, splashy ads slapped on top. The sidewalk is punctuated with towering stalks of steel, windows and walls creating ginormous, winning games of Tetris.
Just beyond the food-like feat of architecture, Oscar leans against a wall wearing pointy-toed shoes with silver buckles and no socks. A vape pen dangles from his fingertips.
“Hello, hello.” He extends his free hand to both of us. “So good to see you. Glad you could make it.”
“Thank you for having us,” I say, breathing this in.
Once pleasantries are exchanged, he has us sign in at the security desk and then whisks us up to the eighth floor by elevator. The view from his spacious office is stellar. There is a ton of natural light, and the hardwood floors, I can tell, are original. It’s amazing what he’s made of himself since starting out as a freelance film critic and working his way up to bestselling author and podcast host. My imposter syndrome comes on strong.
“Anything I can get you folks? Water, seltzer?” He pops open an impressive mini fridge filled with rows and rows of beverages. I never pass up a LaCroix.
Derick presents Alice’s box of memories, while I flip through my notebook for Alice’s approved list of topics. Oscar is prepping the projector. Alice shot her movie on 16mm film, the smallest size used for professional films and the biggest money saver, and then it was blown up to 35mm, so Oscar had to call in a few favors to get the proper antique equipment. She told me shooting on 16mm was also an aesthetic choice because older zombie films had used it before to give their movies a gritty, grainy look. Blowing it up made it more easily viewable to a mass audience, albeit one that never got a chance to embrace it anyway.
The tin the film is in smells heavily of vinegar, an apparent sign of aging. Setting the center hole of the take-up reel onto the proper arm, Oscar threads the film through the tabs as if he’s performing surgery. It must be precise and exact; otherwise he could risk ruining it, destroying the negative we need to preserve.
As soon as the projector starts up, the noise is cacophonous, something akin to a symphony of snowblowers on a suburban street after a blizzard. I plug my ears.
“You’ll get used to it!” Oscar yells over the sound.
My heart starts beating faster and louder.
