Chapter 11

DOWN TO THE NITTY GRITTY....

Bob Smelton swore again as he looked over the file of new business prospects. He sensed what they were worth because he had written his share of them in the days before he became manager of the department.

Each spoke glowingly of meetings and lunches with someone who could influence the decision within the client firm. The attached expense accounts were more impressive, and probably more realistic, than the glowing reports of progress.

Of them all, the tire account looked like the best bet. Pete had turned in a good presentation and the prospective client appeared to be serious about wanting a new public relations approach.

Landing that account would mean more than just a fat fee, it could also influence the advertising account into the agency. That would really get Sinclair off his neck and establish him as the fair haired boy again.

He called Pete into his office and they talked about it. Pete was quietly confident that they were running neck and neck with one other outfit that was after the account. He also agreed that it could be a good idea for Bob to have lunch with the vice president who would make the decision.

Bob made the call five minutes later. In a brief conversation, it was arranged that he would visit Kent Dowson at his office just before lunch and that after a chat, they would have lunch together.

Checking the time, Bob felt his confidence grow. Pete had done a good job of getting things in motion. All he had to do was turn on the high level approach, impress Dowson with his grasp of the situation, and the account was theirs.

He caught himself reaching for the phone to call Darcy Sinclair and break the word that he was about to pick up the tire account. He stopped just short of making the call.

There was enough of the old Bob Smelton left to show him that in doing so, he would be acting like a messenger by rather than an administrator. Time enough to break the news when he had the contract in his pocket.

Then, he thought, I can just throw it down on the bastard's desk and smile. Let him get sarcastic then.

But there was no time for day dreaming. Kent Dowson was waiting and was about to discover how a real PR. man could operate.

His car was parked seven blocks away, Dow-son's office was three blocks. Walking didn't involve much in the way of decision, but he made it anyway. Bob never did anything without reaching a decision first.

An attractive young receptionist took his card and flashed him a warm smile in return. Looking her over, Bob was sure she went for him in a big way. He was a firm believer in the glamor and excitement of agency life and felt that no normal woman could resist it.

A moment later, she moved out from behind her desk with an attractive flash of nylon clad legs and held a door open to him. Taking a deep breath, Bob Smelton walked into the office with more cnfidence than the had felt in a long time.

"Good morning, Mr...." Bob's knees buckled and he almost fell. He felt perspiration break out on his forehead even though he was cold all over.

It was the same man he had met in the washroom of the bar that day. The man who had lured him back to the thing he thought he had finally given up.

"Mister Smelton?" the smile was calm and easy as Kent Dowson extended his hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

Could it be he didn't recognize him? Bob wondered as he stumbled through the introduction and accepted the chair the man offered him.

"You look warm, Mister Smelton?"

"My office is just a few blocks away so I walked. I guess I walked a little too fast."

"That's the trouble with people in your game, you go too fast. You never learn to relax."

Bob knew he was still stumbling, but he managed some line about it being a tough, competitive game and how they had to keep running to give their clients the best service possible.

Five minutes later, they were on a first name basis and Kent was telling him how impressed they were with the program Pete had offered them.

After another five minutes, Kent excused himself and went outside to dictate a letter. He returnee a couple of minutes later and explained that as soon as his sceretary typed the letter, they would be able to break away for lunch.

Content that things were going much better than he had feared after the initial shock, Bob was able to carry on a conversation with the man who still seemed to have no recollection of their previous meeting.

It was difficult though, since Bob kept expecting the man to stand, lower his zipper and offer him the same thing he offered in the washroom before. Bob wished passionately that he had left the account to Pete to bring in, but it was too late to think of that now. He had jumped in and all he could do was keep swimming until he reached the dock.

The secretary smiled at both men as she handed the letter to Kent. He stuffed the envelope into his inside pocket and they left the office.

They were discussing where to eat, when Kent paused, looked at his watch and announced that he was supposed to take an important personal call at his apartment in fifteen minutes.

With an apology, he suggested that Bob come along with him and they could have a drink there while he waited for the call.

Instinctively, Bob smelled something wrong, and yet, the man seemed so genuine about it. Either way, he had to go through with it.

Ten minutes later, Bob walked into a well furnished apartment as Kent held the door open for him.

"You're lucky to have an apartment like this so close to your office," Bob observed as he looked around at the tasteful furnishings and the expensive looking paintings on the walls.

"I don't actually live here. I just find it convenient to have an apartment downtown. You know how it is."

Adopting his best man-of-the-world attitude, Bob assured him he understood such things.

Kent Dowson was a gracious host as he poured drinks for the two of them. There were ice cubes in the small fridge behind the bar. The apartment offered all the comforts of home, Bob noted and decided that he too would have something like this one of these days.

They were half way through the first drink when Kent excused himself. Before leaving the room, he reached into his pocket and dropped the envelope on the bar.

"You may want to take a look at this while you're waiting," he said with a smile.

Apprehension flooding his body and mind, Bob waited until he was alone in the room before opening the unsealed envelope. Could it be some kind of blackmail note? Was this the man's way of humiliating him. What if he had somehow taken a picture of the incident with a secret camera?

As one ugly thought piled on the other, Bob had difficulty getting the single sheet out of the envelope. Unfolding the letter, he blinked, then forced himself to read it.

It was a signed letter of undertaking to accept the public relations account as proposed. The official contract would be signed as soon as it was prepared.

The shock was almost too much for Bob. His hand trembled as he picked up his glass. Some of the liquor trickled down his chin, but the rest poured down his throat and burned a little.

It was the sweet thrill of success. He had landed the account. All of a sudden, he felt a strength he hadn't known in a long time. He was Bob Smelton and he had just landed the big account he needed. There would be no stopping him now.

As a follow up, he would steer the advertising account into the agency. With that kind of billing under his belt, there would be no way they could avoid making him a vice president.

After that, there would be other accounts. There was nothing above him now but the sky and even that was his for the taking.

Hearing the door open, he turned, his mouth opening to speak. Instead, he uttered a groan and the glass fell from his hand to bounce on the thick carpet.

Kent Dowson stood naked in the doorway. One look was more than enough to show Bob that he was going to be called upon to service his new account in a way that had nothing to do with public relations in the accepted sense!