Britt On The Go

A huge row erupted around the table and the perspiring president Finnegan O'Connor finally said, "Lady and gentlemen, may I call in the genius behind this promotion?"

Eager to get their teeth into someone's butt the board agreed.

Although not forewarned, Britt knew what to except. She burst in brightly and said, "Hi to the Board. I anticipate my ad is approved but you have one or two wee points for clarification?"

Britt was in a pin-striped business suit, wearing no shirt or bra and the jacket buttoned at her navel. The skirt stopped about eight inches below her hipbones. Although she was standing very erect, her stocking tops were clearly visible.

The men just gawked, leaving it to the only female member to engage. Old Mrs Arnold said, "Oh, our hilarious, impertinent weather girl Britt. I had wondered what had happened to you. From the vast amounts I can see, your skin looks to be in perfect condition."

"Thank you. I must say Mrs Arnold this series of advertisement is the lifeline your bank needs. We are dealing with a fickle public today who will switch churches, banks and brands of condoms without any thought of downstream repercussions. If we fail to interface with the new generations but still continue to display our 'steady as she goes' status of our more conservative customers we are heading for the bottom of the trough."

"We? Trough?"

"I knew you'd support this initiative Mrs Arnold. Your daughter Pansy is married to Farmer Brown's son Tom, I do believe?"

Mrs Arnold sighed. "Yes and I support this campaign one hundred percent. Clearly we are in danger of casting adrift from our customers. I see definite affinity in your film strip between Bartho Bank, er Bartholomew Bank and one of our oldest family customers."

By the time the males raised their eyes from Britt's stunning legs they knew approval was a done deal because Mrs Arnold herself called the bank Bartho Bank and she and her family held 41.37% of stock in the Bartholomew Banking Corporation. She had just announced, "I approve." Following brief discussion all Britt had to do was to promise to do nothing to bring the bank into disrepute.

Britt walked to her desk in triumph, but not showing it, anticipating creative director Gloria Roebuck would be watching her, breathing brimstone. Instead of looking up and waving, Britt read a waiting email on the intranet (internal internet system) marked urgent.

'Britt. Anticipating you have the balls to push the bank your way I have sent your clip through for final processing for a 60 second ad. By pulling all strings I have been assured it will run on both channels at prime time next Friday and appearing in that same time slot for the next seven nights. A half page version of the ad, a pic of Farmer Brown grinning at our junior Wendy removing her dripping gloves, will run in the first section of the Daily News on Saturday morning. Secretly I knew you would perform but even so you have exceeded my expectations by 500%. You have my permission to call me Gloria.

Congratulations. Gloria.'

Britt raced into the director's office and kissed and hugged the startled Gloria.

"Thank you, Britt bubbled. "Secretly I knew I could count on you despite your attempt to appear a frosty-faced bitch."

Britt was almost to the door when Gloria said, "Join me at the bar across the street for a drink after work this evening."

"Yes ma'am."

Britt's next assignment was no easier. Patrick's Irish Bar was going through hard times. She visited the bar and asked to see Patrick but was told there was no Patrick working at the bar.

"The boss. Oh it will be Cónán you'll be wanting," said the Irish lass, swilling the floor with a dripping mop. "There's the door waiting for you."

Britt was relieve Cónán didn't have a fake accent. He was Colin and he'd been a couple of classes ahead of her at high school.

They went out to the bar and Colin pulled her half a pint of light.

"It's gone 11:00 and I'm your only customer Colin, and getting a free one."

"Gawd Britt, you could easily get a free one from me between those lovely legs."

"We're talking business Colin. Behave. This bar smells like a pig sty. That woman is mopping with dirty water. Call in commercial cleaners right now. I'll be here with a camera crew at 1:00 tomorrow. I want you to get half dozen sexy women for the photograph. I suggest just the one half page in the Daily News to be repeated each month should do it."

"I don't know any sexy women who come here."

"Well get them from the brothel on James Street. You go there don't you?"

"Yeah... oh fuck what am I saying?"

"Just offer free drinks and tell them we want them looking like business women rather than whores."

"They'll say there's no difference."

"You're right. Um tell them to dress up a bit – wear bras and fairly low dress hems. And Colin, get the lighting down. This level is strong enough to see acne."

Next day the photographer and lighting technician got Britt to drive their van back to the office. The two guys went off with the sexy six women.

The ad Britt produced along with a graphic artist was mainly picture. The words overprinted across the legs of the prostitute models read: 'The Girls Go to Patrick's Irish Bar in Kingswood Avenue. Rumor has it the Guys Go for a Beer.'

* * *

At the Friday morning all-staff meeting Harry, back from vacation, at times had his tongue in Britt's ear, so everyone knew who'd be fucked at lunch break. As soon as Harry entered the building he'd gone up to Britt and declared he was a free man.

Midway through the presentation Gloria said, "And now two ads from our newest recruit, the very unconventional talented Britt Wade. It appears no job is too daunting for her because she was given these two assignments to really test her."

"The first is an ad of very poor taste that will appear in tomorrow's Daily News. Patrick's Irish Bar has hit hard times but this ought to do the trick," Gloria said, projecting the ad on to the big screen.

"Oh god, will we get away with that?"

"Oh boy, I recognize some of those, ahem, models."

"What does it mean?"

"In answer to comments one and two, yes, I agree with Britt we'll get away with this because it's not claiming anything, and is not selling anything. The unspoken message is in its subtlety. Yes, the ahem models are from the Tight Hole Brothel on James and in recognizing the women it's obvious where you spend some of your lunch breaks Ian. But as Britt says, what guy is going to lay a complaint and give himself away?"

Gloria continued after the laughter died. "Britt assures me women readers will think the women are regulars. In answer to your query 'What does it mean?' Janet it means men will now go along to see what brings that class of women to this bar and curious women will visit to see the men who attract such sexy women. The proprietor has cleaned up his act and will have a three-piece Irish band playing Thursday, Friday and Saturday's from 5:00 to 8:00 to make the place more hospitable and lively and the madam at Tight Hole has agreed to allow her girls, two at a time, to go to the Irish bar to find clientele. It does suggest an ad that will stimulate inter-business activity. Well done Britt."

"Now for a film-clip of Britt's ad for Bartho Bank that is slipping in popularity. This ad is one in a series to deliver a hard sell on a long-term customer's relationship with his or her bank. You may agree with me this is an entertainment classic in corporate image-building advertising."

Sixty seconds later everyone was clapping, laughing and calling out comments to Britt and the poor junior who'd been shown pulling off the dripping glove.

"Perhaps I should say Britt actually unblocked Farmer Brown's drain," Gloria said. "But for the shoot she decided she was too well-known after her recent exploits as Weather Girl to be shown as that might encourage some viewers and readers to suspect the situation was phony. And I agreed."

There was more clapping from people pleased to acknowledge the new recruit was up to standard.

As they were leaving the meeting Harry asked Britt if she'd like to go along the street to a hotel that rented rooms by the hour.

She replied stiffly, "No thank you."

Surprised, Harry said, "I'm sorry. Obviously you expected something better than that from me."

"Damn right," she replied hotly and walked away.

He called, "Britt, I have dinner with my parents on Friday evenings. May I invite you to accompany me? I'll call mom."

"Yes thank you. I am out on a job in half an hour. I know it's not the custom around here to work Friday afternoons but it's the only time that suits my target. Brendan is happy to come and has found a willing lighting tech in Dinah."

"Good, you'll like her. She has humor."

"That's good to hear. I do too Harry, mostly."

"I was an oaf. Sorry Britt."

"Accepted."

This time Britt was on-camera. The shoot began.

"Hi Mr Oliver. I'm Britt Wade, representing our client Bartho Bank."

"Oh hello gorgeous. You were that sexy weather girl on the now defunct ZEE-TV."

"Yes but this is serious business Mr Oliver. Why are you a loyal client of Bartho Bank?"

"Well granddad established this lumberyard on the back of a loan from Bartholomew and the bank stuck with him when times got tough as they do occasionally in our business. Dad took over and stayed with Bartholomew's and I was with a different bank and when I took over I thought I might switch the company to my bank. That day was payday and our courier with the pay failed to show, got pushed off the highway by a truck. So I rushed to our bank Bartholomew's and asked for $37,500 in cash, urgently. The teller looked at the clock and said, 'I'm sorry sir. We don't have that amount available right now but the time lock will open one of our vaults in fifty-three minutes. Could you come back then?'

"Oh dear, you'd be ready to blow a fuse at that moment."

"Damn right. But the teller's supervisor had overheard us and said, "Please come with me sir.' She told me a contingency system was in place and took my withdrawal slip and two minutes later was back with her manager and asked me to check the money was there, saying it was in packs of $1000 dollars. I counted thirty-seven packs and then five hundred dollars and signed for the money."

"Well, lucky you Mr Oliver."

"Yes it was great service. I said to the supervisor, Miss Briggs, might I take you out to dinner tonight? She whispered to her manager and I heard him say, 'Approved, we know Mr Oliver and his father well and his grandfather before him. A very solid family."

"Ah, I smell romance?"

"Yes Britt. Come over here and meet Cathy with the twins. This is my lovely Cathy, formerly Miss Briggs, bank supervisor. She now runs our accounts and these babies are two months old. Bartho Bank read about the birth and sent us a lovely baby's blanket and a bank account with a credit of $50 and a moneybox. Apparently they do that to all new borns because they consider the client is the family, not individuals. We laughed at only one blanket and bank account and said nothing but late that same afternoon the customer relations officer came out with another set of gifts and apologized hugely saying the birth notice in the newspaper initially had not been read correctly. She presented Cathy with flowers and gave me a half bottle of whisky. All I can say is Bartho's is our kind of bank."

"Definitely, it's our family bank," smiled Cathy.

The crew reshot some of the takes and back at the office Britt sent an order through for the film to be edited in production for a 60-second slot including the voice-over used in Bartho's Farmer Brown ad.

Cameraman Brendan, taking Britt across the street to the bar where they found half the personnel from the office gathered, said, "That was a pretty dry ad, not like the first one."

"Horses for courses Brendan. This ad is for the more conservative types who appreciate their service provider going beyond the normally accepted level of duty and care. That ad ought to send a strong message to them."

"Aw come on Britt, can't you think up something sexy?"

"Hmmm, let me think. Would you like to film college hockey girls coming in all muddy and going into the showers nude, tits wobbling?"

"Would I what!"

"You will be supervised by their coach Brendan but I advise you to wear loose trousers if I can pull this one off."

"Britt, you are a real gem, you know that. Here, let me buy you a wine."

Harry came over and kissed Britt, confirming to everyone something was on between them, and Britt found to her delight that Harry and Brendan were really good friends.

"You'll have to come for dinner and meet my wife Lucy," Brendan said. "She will be relieved to see you with Harry. Every time he comes home Lucy has this vivid thought that he's out to stick her."

"You mean knife here?"

To Britt's embarrassment the two guys roared with laughter. Then she twigged but too late. Everyone gathered round to hear the joke repeated and Brendan obliged. The women from the office noticing Britt's acute embarrassment comforted here, saying things like, "Fucking men and their toilet humor."

It was then Britt noticed she was being accepted into the fold as being a woman with vulnerabilities like most of them rather than being a Miss I-Can-Do-Anything star.

"Britt are you into full shaving yet?" asked Betty a computer graphics artist. The men strained to hear Britt answer but she kept her voice down too low.

On the way to his parents' home Harry stopped at a late-closing florist store and bought two bouquets. "One for you to take home to complete my apology and one for you to give to mom."

"Oh of course, I wasn't thinking. Please let me pay for her bouquet."

"Okay, $37.50."

Britt, fingering her hair in the vanity mirror asked, "Will your mom know I haven't been home to freshen up?"

"Yeah, I told her when I called you were the only one in the office out working. She was totally impressed."

Debra, almost as tall as Britt who was six feet, and with an older woman's chest and thickened arms, greeted Britt with a huge smile and said, "I've seen you on TV and heard about you from my men that I feel I know you Britt," she said kissing her guest lightly.

"Oooh, how many men do you run with?"

Debra shrieked in laughter, throwing a hand across her mouth to stifle the noise. "God, I expected you to be funny but you still caught me out. Have you bedded my boy?"

"Not yet, he keeps running away."

Debra released another laugh into her hand. "Come through darling. You will have come straight from work via the bar. I'll leave you to freshen up."

It was a relaxing, entertaining evening. James proved to be an agreeable host and he asked such acute questions about Britt's background that she was forced to comment, "You have been a newspaper journalist haven't you?"

James said, "Guilty, I began my working life as a cub reporter and finished as a chief crime reporter on a big city daily. My promotional prospects didn't appear favorable so one of my pals was head hunted into advertising and two weeks later I rode in on his back and he and I eventually purchased my father's company when he decided to retire. I brought out my partner out three years ago. Interviewing technique involves many facets. Gloria tells me you are great at asking the question and then standing back, something that I know women find it difficult to master."

"It seems to be the right thing to do."

"Gloria tells me your natural talent runneth over."

"Well, that's one person's opinion. Mrs Jamieson..."

"Oh please Britt, call me Debra at all times."

"My Farmer Brown ad runs in two minutes. Would you like to see a sample of my work?"

"All her own work apart from post-production," said James.

They watched the ad and Debra was obvious impressed and said so. I saw the newspaper version. That was good but this one is sheer entertainment and yet delivers well. I was creative director at the company. That's where I met James."

"Oh, how romantic."

"Well yes, I'd never had some much sex in my life until I coupled with James."

"Er, Gloria says this series could win us an award if Britt keeps her motor running."

Britt thought enough had been said about her. "Ah guys, could we talk about something else? Did you build this house? I love the feeling of style and openness."

Harry drove off, placing a hand on Britt's thigh.

"It's welcome to stay there providing you drive attentively."

He grinned. "You've slain mom. She thinks you are sensational and says I'm not to let you go."

"Well moms think they know best. Let's see how you go."

"Will you move in with me?"

"Harry, I first want you to think how that could affect your career."

"I have and reckon it could enhance it."

"Well if you're than keen I better look over your apartment. If it appears unsuitable the answer will be no."

"God you are tough."

"It might pay you to remember that Harry."

Harry though fuck you honey. Britt could be so cold at times. His preference was for fun-fun females, not cold ones wanting to tell him what to do. He checked the answer phone as soon as he stepped into the apartment, undoing his tie, and listening to the first message said, "Oh damn."

"What?"

"My brother arrives at the airport in thirty minutes. He's asked me to pick him up."

"That's fine, I'll take a cab home."

Harry looked as if Britt had pulled on of his teeth. "No, please come to the airport. Please."

"Okay."

Harry listened to another message and turned white. "That was Veronica's mom. They arrived home early and she found Veronica in the bath with a gin bottle and glass and a razor blade with just one light cut to her arm. Veronica is in an emotional mess and she wants me over there to help."

"Well that's serious Harry. Off you go."

"Okay, I was thinking I should do that. You pick up Kingsford at the airport and take him home. He'll be tired, arriving back from an international convention in Switzerland."

"How will I recognize him?"

"Um, I get a photo from my bedroom."

Harry returned with the photograph and said, "He's older than me and more serious."

"Why the stethoscope; is he a male nurse?"

"No you idiot, a pediatric surgeon and apparently a good one, recently gaining a senior appointment. He looks very much like that; the photo is less than two years old. Take it with you."

"How will I know where to take him?"

"Christ, I hope you're not too drunk to drive. Kingsford knows where he lives."

"Oh."

Harry handed Britt the keys. "Take care with my car. Kiss me."

Britt brushed her lips over his.

"Call that a kiss," he complained and was told to kiss Veronica properly.

"God you're cold."

"That could be because I remain unsure about you Harry."

"Off you go," he said sourly. "Return my car undamaged."

CHAPTER 3

The guy in a white suit with just an attaché case looked older and grumpier, but perhaps that was how surgeons look after a transatlantic flight after playing hard for a week.

"Kingsford?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure I'm not Kingsford you dumb broad. Fuck off before my wife sees me talking to you. I'm in deep shit already for coming home two days late."

Britt turned away and bumped into a guy, almost tripping. He caught her.

"Have you lost mommy?"

Britt looked up into smiling gray eyes and thought she liked his bedside manner. She decided to play it cutely. "Do you wear a stethoscope?"

"Sometimes."

"And is your mommy's name Debra."

"Yes," said the man, now looking a little mystified.

"And you have a brother who can be such a jerk?"

"The asshole. He's not come to meet me, sending you instead."

"Correct Dr Jamieson."

"Then he's out screwing the ass off a sensational chick named Britt. Mom's been telling me about her. Well," he smiled pleasantly. "At least he's sent someone to pick me up. What's your name pretty one?"