"It is on, you Aussie reptile!"
I'm not sure if it's the sugar talking, but I'm soon back in front of my computer, determined to create the best pet food ad known to humankind. Or should that be dog kind?
The trick will be Jason not bothering to check the concept before he forwards it to the client. As lazy as he is, chances are he won't even open the attachment before sending it on. It's also a given he'll remove any reference to my email when he does so.
If the client loves the concept, by then it'll be too late for him to backtrack. For me to rework the agency's DRAFT watermark so that it includes my name will be easy.
While I've let my personal website fall by the wayside since working for MC&S, come tomorrow morning, it will carry a full complement of my work in recent years.
You never knew when a client would want to learn more about you. This was especially true when I knew Jason wouldn't be forthcoming.
As immersed as I am in updating my website, I freak out when someone knocks on the window right next to me. On my gaze flying in that direction, I note two things. It's Zac, and it's pitch-black outside.
How did it get so late? The last thing I remember was a bathroom break mid-afternoon, at which time I realized I hadn't had lunch. After a quick check of the kitchen, I'd put it in the too-hard basket.
My plan had been, after sending the web tile design to Jason, I'd head into town and grab some frozen meals. Enough to last me until the kitchen is rebuilt.
It's then I notice Zac is holding a plastic carry bag with a familiar logo on the side, and all thoughts of heat-and-eat flee. Something nuked in the microwave atop Stonehenge falls short compared to anything from the Thai Palace. The best takeaway in Coogan's Break.
On my opening the front door, he's waiting for me.
"I felt so bad about demolishing your kitchen. I wanted to make up for it." He nods toward the front of the house. "When I saw you were still working, I figured you might not have eaten yet."
ZAC
I'm confident until I knock on the window next to Kelly. I'm helping her out, that's all. Then a little voice whispers, "Yeah, sure you are."
And while I could fool others into thinking I'm turning a good deed; I can't fool myself. Of course, I've got an ulterior motive. I always do. I've always got my eye on the prize. This time, it's Kelly Sanderson.
All that changes the minute she answers the front door and I deliver my rehearsed lines. She's not buying it, at least in so far as my motive goes, her expression confirming it.
Once again, she's got me on the back foot, a stance I'm unfamiliar with. I'm ready to hand her the food and do a runner, when she again surprises me.
"That's so thoughtful of you." While polite, her words are also non-committal, leaving me unsure of where I stand, apart from on the bottom step. All that changes when she adds. "Why don't you come in? It looks as though you've bought enough for two."
Why is it she can see right through me? The lady at the Thai Palace may as well have written 'HOPING TO GET LAID' on the side of the bag, rather than 'ZAC'. It's clear, at least to me, that this is what Kelly has read into an order that's too big for one person.
"Thanks, but you're busy. I'll be on my way." The words are out before I've had time to craft them. To work on another angle.
Now it looks as though I've surprised her. However, rather than reach out and take the proffered bag, she instead huffs out in annoyance. Despite this, she steps to the side in silent invitation.
It's one I'm having second thoughts about accepting. On dinner dates with gorgeous women, I'm used to being welcomed with open arms. I don't need her pity. I've still not made a move, or even moved, when she speaks.
"Are you married or living with someone?" As abrupt as her question has been, I'm as fast to shake my head. It's all I can do not to spit out, "Hell, no!"
"Good, in that case, come on in. I need a second opinion on something. But let's eat first."
While not a gracious invitation, her request is intriguing. How can a guy with my skill set help someone like her? Isn't she a flash city designer, or something?
Deciding there's only one way to find out, I walk inside, heading toward the kitchen. Despite my having left it like a bombsite, it's there we'll find plates and cutlery.
And also glasses for water. If I'd turned up with beers or a bottle of wine, my true purpose would have been all too obvious. I needn't have worried, given how quickly she'd spotted my ruse.
When I flick on the lights, I'm surprised to find everything as it had been when I'd left earlier. The only plate on the counter is the one I'd used to give her the cookies I'd grabbed at the bakery.
After clearing a spot on the counter, I drop the bag and turn to her. "Did you even have lunch?"
She stops in her riffling through the teetering piles of plates and turns to me. "Didn't have time. I'm on, or I was on, deadline." There's then no missing the smug grin she indulges in, with her even snorting out in laughter.
