"The environment," Efrat enunciates each syllable. "Green," she says, with a surge of ego-inspired energy. Seeing him fervently writing, she thinks he is taking notes on the brilliance of her method. "Love," Efrat spits out, glancing furtively in Shmulik's direction, to make sure he is sufficiently impressed. "OK, give me red," Efrat announces, as pictures of different objects appear on the screen in succession. These are the graphic artists and copywriters who work together to "generate ideas": the really good ones harboring fantasies of wowing their way into Shmulik's good graces the more mediocre among them dreaming of surpassing him by miles - the miles separating Tel Aviv from New York. Between them, on either side of the 10-meter mass of lacquered mahogany, are a dozen very young - very attractive - men and women who constitute the firm's "creative department." One he has come to loathe.įrom her position at the head of the room, Efrat has a direct view of her boss, who is seated at the opposite end of the table. WHILE EFRAT goes into high slave-driver gear, Shmulik resumes scribbling with one of his many Mont Blanc pens - a passion he cultivated during his fierce climb to a place he once coveted. "Vladimir's going to kiss your feet," Efrat said, remembering how excited she'd gotten when he'd kissed hers. "Vladimir's trying to further Zionism," Shmulik said, trying to prevent himself from being persuaded, "not sell Zippo lighters." "It's a whole commercial globalization thing we could get going here - just think of the marketing possibilities, the tee-shirts, the trinkets, computer games, the works!" "That's the beauty of it, don't you see?" Efrat practically screamed.
"Sounds pretty trite in a kitschy sort of way," Shmulik said, though not with his usual conviction. "You make Israel a consensual concept, a rainbow, a 'We are the World' type of image." "You know, like the United Colors of Benetton," Efrat said, understanding that she'd do well to speed up her pitch before Shmulik lost interest. "It's the purest form of subliminal message there is." "Yes," Efrat answered, with equal arrogance. "The color-wheel?" Shmulik asked, with customary skepticism. Instead, she told him of her plans to utilize the color-wheel. She did not mention that doing so might involve seducing Vladimir.
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Having observed her behavior since her move up the ladder, he was beginning to wonder whether his choice hadn't been as dubious as the reputation of the Russian oligarch funding the "Hollywood-style hasbara happening" - to take place in three world capitals simultaneously on Independence Day - that the agency is so desperate to handle.Īlso causing him to toss and turn is his growing inclination to leave slogan-land for good.ĮFRAT ASSURED Shmulik that she knew how to land the account. Yet, the question of her ability to meet the company's current challenge of securing Vladimir's multi-million-dollar campaign to "sell" Israel abroad has been keeping Shmulik awake for several nights. That she was the one who introduced him to Vladimir didn't hurt. Efrat, he believed, would be the right person to provide it. Which, for Shmulik, meant having to exert much more effort for his profits. Offices like his, he realized, were becoming a lot less exclusive. Not with every schnook with a diploma in design or marketing going into the advertising business. Over the past few years, it has been dawning on Shmulik that the agency he created two decades ago would no longer be able to rest on its laurels. A project he has decided will determine his future. All due to the mega-project being dangled, a la Tantalus, just beyond his reach. Threatening to fire members of the staff is a privilege he reserves for himself alone. On the other hand, he is experiencing a slight surge of annoyance at her hutzpa. On the one hand, the reason he promoted Efrat to Director of Operations recently was because of her obsessive dedication to quality and deadlines, as well as her cut-throat ambition and perfect legs. Shmulik looks up from his doodling, surprised by his own mixed feelings. "If we lose this client, there will be serious consequences." "Let's go," she adds, squinting and pressing her glossed lips together harshly.
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Next to her is a laptop hooked up to a projector that is playing a Power-Point slide-show on a portable screen behind her. "Come on, people," Efrat says, tapping nervously on the conference-room table with a set of perfectly manicured acrylic nails. NOTE! Consider delaying until first div on page If (slot) slot.addService(googletag.pubads()) (function (a, d, o, r, i, c, u, p, w, m) Flipside: Subliminal messages - The Jerusalem Post
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