Henry’s dark green BMW 2002 rounded the last hairpin turn. Parking was tight and the uphill slog to the Kleiners’ spartan front door felt more strenuous than usual. Henry pressed the buzzer.
Despite knowing he would enjoy the party crowd tonight, he had a hard time motivating himself to attend. The issue stemmed from the idea of combining work with pleasure, which left him feeling depleted instead of invigorated.
“Henry! Great to see you.” Bruce grasped Henry’s shoulder, leading him inside. “Alice isn’t with you?”
“She sends her apologies. Her morning sickness lasted all day. She would love to celebrate Ruth’s milestone over lunch in a few weeks.”
“First kid is always the hardest. Ruth is with some women in the living room. Give her the invitation.” Bruce gestured behind. “You’ll know most of the faces, plus my new colleagues are here too.” The doorbell rang, causing Bruce to shift his attention away from Henry. As Bruce turned, he said, “Duty calls. Grab a drink, Ad Man, then go drum up some business for yourself.”
Henry moved in the direction Bruce had gestured. The party was well underway. Scattered groups of fashionably dressed guests chatted, laughed, and drank, spilling merriment throughout the space and into the pool area, where a band played.
Turning right, Henry stepped into the cantilevered living room. The combination of the hillside location and sweeping windows gave him the feeling that he floated in an infinite space above the city. Meticulously curated furniture and artwork highlighted the dramatic architecture. Deep wood and Chanel perfume filled the room with a luscious fragrance, one Henry had only known in wealthy homes. Although he appreciated the beauty of the house’s interior, he also felt its opulence increasing his fatigue. Henry spotted Ruth by the windows.
She stood with her back to him as she held the rapt attention of a group of elegant ladies. They were members of the Philharmonic Women’s Fundraising Committee to which his wife and Ruth both belonged. Leaning against the velvet sofa, he listened to understand the conversation before interrupting.
Ruth shared sensational details of interactions with Hollywood stars from her job with Apex Talent, a respected agency. Henry wouldn’t interrupt her storytelling because he could speak with her later. So he slipped towards the sunken dining room, where he felt a wave of disgust wash over him. The air, thick with a mixture of cigarette smoke and cologne, smelled so opulent it was wasteful. The bright colors of a tropical fish tank reeked of exhibitionism. On his way to the bar, he passed two men debating vigorously.
The tall man in the blue wool jacket said, “Shouldn’t society focus on alleviating poverty and inequality?”
The shorter companion adjusted his glasses. “No, and anyway, the President is right–we can’t make any progress on big issues without restoring law and order.”
Henry, despite his passion for heated debates, resisted the urge to interject and ignite conflict. He understood the importance of networking while the other guests were still clearheaded, even though it was his least favorite aspect of his job. Mr. Weinberg, the firm’s founder, emphasized networking as crucial for Henry’s advancement. Without Mr. Weinberg’s pressure, Henry would prioritize his work on scripting and campaign strategy over growing the firm’s client base, as creative work as a writer energized him.
He scanned the room for Bruce’s colleagues and spotted one near the bar. The man resembled Fred Flintstone, in his dated three-piece suit and wide tie. Henry concluded that the man’s connection to Bruce was through the airline industry, not his prior Hollywood career, as Hollywood types kept up with the latest fashions. Mr. Weinberg’s desperation to land an airline client drove Henry to attend the party. Henry made his way over to the bar and ordered a gimlet.
As Henry waited for his drink, he assessed the man. The man’s shifting eyes and body conveyed his unease with the extravagant atmosphere, as if he couldn’t find his place.
Drink in hand, Henry introduced himself. “Henry Jareb, long-time friend of Bruce’s.”
“Walter Huxley, colleague of Bruce’s from Air West.” Walter’s hand was sweaty, his handshake limp. Henry heard a tinge of a Canadian accent.
“How long have you lived here?” Henry discreetly wiped his hand.
“Is it obvious? I moved with my wife ten years ago from Detroit.”
Henry noticed Walter’s clipped response, which set him apart from a more typical guest at Bruce’s parties and made Henry wonder whether he had offended Walter or if Walter was awkward. Either way, Mr. Weiberg’s advice rang in Henry’s mind: build rapport by putting the client at ease and find an angle by asking smart, engaging questions. “Thought I heard a hint of an accent, Walter, that’s all. Me, I was born in this city of angels and grew up as it grew up. The marvel of freeways, the growth of Hollywood, and the post-war building boom transformed us from scattered villages to a city. I look forward to the next phase of change, driven by aviation. But you’re at the forefront, working at Air West. What direction do you think commercial aviation is heading?”
Instead of answering, Walter stared at his feet, then his glass, creating an awkward silence which hung between them like a soaked sweater on a thin line.
Walter finally broke the uncomfortable pause. “Well, we established Air West to meet the growing demand on the West Coast. But my passion is airplanes more than air travel. My background is in aerospace engineering, which I started in as a …” Henry nodded along, though he struggled to follow the conversation as he became bored and then distracted by various loud snippets of conversation around them.
Two women to his left contemplated the meaning of the large, ocher hued acrylic painting hung on the dining room wall. The painting, which depicted a party in a setting reminiscent of an Eero Saarinen design, was Ruth’s proudest acquisition and the inspiration for the Kleiner home’s interiors. However, Henry felt the women were pretending to have depth rather than understanding the painting. To him, it was another empty display of wealth.
The raised voices of two men arguing over cars overpowered the women’s conversation on the painting, causing Henry to lose track, distracted by the escalating argument.
Then, another pair of voices grew even louder, as a woman screeched about the colors of the new silk Pucci bags. Her voice oozed wealth, but it was devoid of any substance.
Henry felt an urge to escape from the banal conversation he was in, as well as those surrounding him. Fortunately, Walter’s monologue winded down. “Hey Walter, why don’t we admire the view outside? I could use some fresh air and would love to share with you what my little ad agency does,” said Henry.
“I would love to because this atmosphere is a bit too much for me, but I’m trapped, waiting for a friend.” Walter paused in awkward reflection. “He’s better than me in these settings and loves fancy ad talk. I’ll come find you once he arrives.”
“Can’t wait,” Henry said, relieved to escape work-related conversation. He went outside.
Henry’s friend Charles, who was by the pool, waved him over. Henry and Charles were colleagues who advanced in the industry together, starting when New York was ‘It’ and Los Angeles was Siberia. The growth of Hollywood and its impact on advertising changed the perception of assignments in Los Angeles from detested to coveted. Charles was speaking with a recent New York transfer, whom Henry called Slick because he couldn’t remember his proper name. Henry’s mind clung to the man’s moniker with the grip of a climber on a ledge. Slick puffed a cigarette, his white teeth shining in the pool’s light.
“Heya Henry, nice jacket.” Slick said, fingering the lapel of Henry’s deep green sports coat. “How’s old Weinberg treating you? Were you involved in creating that sharp Gino’s ad? Slick’s grin widened as he taunted Henry. Slick correctly guessed that Henry had limited involvement in the year’s smartest ad because controlling Mr. Weinberg managed every aspect alone.
Henry wasn’t surprised that Slick had deduced his lack of involvement, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it, so he lied. “I’m proud of that piece. Mini pizza sales have doubled since the ads started airing. As I’m sure you’ve seen, Mr. Weinberg has been too busy making the rounds to run the agency.” Henry referred to his boss’s frequent talk show appearances. “He is also working on a play.” Mr. Weinberg started in entertainment and drew from it in crafting campaigns, transforming the advertising industry. Henry hoped to capture this skill, along with Hollywood connections, by continuing to work with Mr. Weinberg. Connections were essential to selling Henry’s novel, which would allow him to escape advertising.
Slick said, “But wait until you see my latest ad. Fasten your seatbelts because I think it’s going to take off. It will give your ad competition in time for the Clios.” He formed his hand into an ascending airplane. “The New York boys say it will soar. If I land another new client, I’ll be partner in the agency by early next year.”
“Well boys, would you look at that,” Charles said, averting conflict by redirecting their attention towards two ladies. One of them resembled Raquel Welch. “Bruce has an eye for setting.”
“He’s stocked the pond, and this angler is ready to cast. I’ll catch up with you gents later.” Slick said, before heading after the two women. Sleaze coasted his every action, especially when it involved women, money, or business.
Charles and Henry traded industry gossip as they sipped their drinks. Charles suspected Slick had landed an aerospace client, given his use of aviation puns, but Henry had a hard time imaging it. Henry didn’t understand how Slick, an ad man whose main gifts were terrible puns and nice hair, landed any clients, nor how he stayed on the partnership track at Frost+Cromwell. Who would want to hire the guy known best for those boring ketchup ads?
By then, the party was heading towards the debauchery typical of Bruce’s. One group shook to the band’s spirited rendition of Montez’s “Let’s Dance” while another played Twister in the living room. Three heavily intoxicated men stood near the fish tank, playing truth or dare, each task growing more outrageous. Henry noticed Walter, alone at the bar, observing the trio with a mix of fascination and disgust.
Charles suggested going inside for another drink. Henry understood Charles wanted a closer look at the daredevils. Charles found inspiration in indulgent fun if he observed it from a safe distance. Henry, more exhausted than energized by noise and indulgence, opted to take a break outside instead.
The party’s sounds receded as Henry headed to the pool’s rear to enjoy the city lights sparkling below. Henry took a deep breath, allowing the crisp, herbal air to fill his lungs and tickle his nose. He wished for a railing to lean on at the concrete patio’s end so he could better appreciate the view. Instead, the patio fell away, plunging unobstructed into the abyss below. The openness of it, the endless darkness, unnerved Henry, so he turned towards the pool. He removed his shoes and socks and dipped his feet in the cold water, which created an initial shock that jolted his mind from thoughts of business, refreshing him. He leaned back on his elbows and surveyed the scene.
The calm, chilly pool contrasted with the vibrant, hot party inside. The distance created a detached feeling, like viewing a film from the theater’s back row. Slick, who was in the dining room, was making a move on Raquel Welch. He leaned in as he wrapped his arm around her waist, but she slid out of his grasp, escaping outside. She stopped at the edge of the pool opposite Henry. The water twisted her reflection into a kaleidoscopic painting reminiscent of Picasso. Henry stared at the reflection until it moved. She walked towards him, hips swaying, daring him to move with her eyes. Her high-heeled shoes clicked on the tile, and a sly smile played on her lips. Henry was interested enough to want to find out more about her.
She said, “Mind if I join you?” Before he answered, she stepped out of her shoes. She sat next to him with her short dress further pulled up to expose her flawless legs. Henry pondered whether it was an unintended result of sitting or a deliberate action of seduction. Regardless, the outcome was alluring.
She asked, eyebrows raised, “Are you some kind of voyeur, sitting here by yourself watching everyone?”
“More an observer of human behavior.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
Henry shrugged. “I needed a break.”
“If you don’t like parties, why did you come?”
“I like parties. Besides, Bruce is an old friend, so I would have come regardless.” Henry caught Raquel’s attention. She forgot about her sexy pose and leaned forward. “It’s just … it feels so extravagant sometimes. I’m here to network and generate business for my firm, but I can’t get into it in this atmosphere.” Raquel leaned back again, watching the crowd out of the corner of her eye. “What about you? How did you end up here?”
“Ruth invited me, said mingling with the Hollywood types would give my career exposure. But it’s been a bust. So far, I’ve only met a pair of airline guys and one grabby ad man who fake-promised a spot in a commercial.”
Henry now understood her connection to the party-she was one of Ruth’s aspiring starlets, invited to enhance the scenery. She differed from the typical starlet because didn’t fall for Slick’s promise of commercial stardom. The inkling that she had more depth intrigued Henry.
He asked, “What inspires you?”
“Film, obviously, but not only that.” She gestured towards the large ocher painting, which was only visible in snippets because Walter was now standing in front, speaking with a shaggy-haired man who sported an unfashionable handlebar mustache. “Take the painting in the dining room. The painting either inspired the house or was commissioned for it. But if you look beyond the surface, you notice bored facial expressions and dissatisfied postures. It’s questioning whether wealth is making those people happy.”
She impressed Henry. He had seen the painting many times but never analyzed it, dismissing it as a useless extravagance. Now he longed to examine it, to draw parallels between the painting and the real-life scene before him. But even more, he wanted to continue his conversation with the Starlet because he found her intelligence a shining star in the otherwise black-hole of lavishness.
“Have you read the Affluent Society?” She shook her head. “It concerns the issues of unhappiness and consumerism, advertising’s role in generating unnecessary demand, and the importance of prioritizing public goods over private consumption.”
She leaned towards Henry, touching his arm. “That’s why you’re here, observing consumerism from afar?”
Henry felt his mood shift as he realized his ideas interested The Starlet. It felt invigorating to be understood. “You could say that. I needed a breather and a bit of time to plan my next networking move, and then you came along and my evening improved.”
“Although I appreciate your kindness, I’m a distraction if you stay instead of mingling. We’re both here to do business, and I don’t want to cause your failure.”
Henry debated his next move. He didn’t want to part ways with her, but also felt ready to do his job. She would respect a motivated man. He said, “I’ve enjoyed talking to you, but you’re right, I should go. Let’s talk later. You’re fascinating.” The Starlet winked as she wished Henry luck. Henry’s eyes followed her as she headed back inside.
Henry’s improved mood meant he looked forward to finishing his networking so he could talk to The Starlet without his work following him like a pungent odor. He approached the end of the patio again as he talked himself through his approach to Air West. This time, rather than an abyss, the void took on the air of endless possibility, motivating Henry to contemplate his ideas, trying them on until he found the perfect fit. Securing this crucial client required Henry to prepare a perfect pitch, even if it took a long time. He needed to stand out from other Ad Men.
Henry, armed with the right pitch, returned to Walter. The party’s noise was unbearable, driven by the game of truth or dare. Henry felt disappointed that The Starlet had disappeared but encouraged because he didn’t see Slick either. Slick slyly interfered with a prior deal of Henry’s, turning a sure thing into a competition. He didn’t want to give Slick an opening to grab Walter’s business, especially if it would make Slick a partner. Henry could barely stomach him as a colleague, so the thought of Slick as a partner made him ill.
Walter said, “Henry, this is the friend I mentioned earlier.” Walter’s social incompetence prevented him from finishing the introduction, so Henry took over.
Henry held out his hand. “Henry Jareb, ad man and Bruce’s long-time friend.”
The man pumped Henry’s hand with a solid, dry grip. “Heroic Hank, aviator, Walter’s colleague.” Hank laughed at his own joke.
What kind of person introduces himself as Heroic Hank? In Henry’s experience, aviators didn’t sport the small stature and disheveled dress of this man. Henry masked his surprise at the contrast between Hank’s job and appearance by redirecting attention towards the game of truth or dare. “What do you make of that?”
Walter said, “It’s over the top. We should stay out of it. Let’s go outside,” Henry and Hank agreed. They made a stop at the bar, chitchatting and fortifying themselves with martinis.
Outside, Henry began his pitch, highlighting the ethical angles of his work and his approach to building brand trust over empty demand. He elevated his own role in the agency even further than he had with Slick. It was the only option he saw to close the deal because someone who calls himself Heroic Hank only deals with the boss. Hank and Walter asked questions as they followed along, but then the crowd behind Henry roared, distracting them. They turned to look.
One daredevil stood on a chair, leaning forward into the fish tank, his jacket still on. He yelled, “It’s here, the secret fishing spot. Come to Papa fishies.”
Walter snorted with disgust. Hank’s expression read repellent fascination. People climbed on furniture to gain a better view, blocking the line of sight. Bruce, adopting John Wayne’s swagger, cut through the mess to pull the man out of the tank and save his precious fish.
Walter shook his head. “I don’t want to see that. It’s disgusting behavior.” Hank laughed. Naturally, an aviator was more of a thrill seeker than an engineer.
The Starlet pulled herself from the crowd and headed outside, joining Henry’s group. Henry turned to her and said, “Hey darlin’, let me introduce you to my new friends, Walter and Hank.” Henry hadn’t caught her name earlier.
And he still didn’t since she said, “Nice to see you boys again.” Her voice was huskier than he remembered. She directed her attention towards Hank.
Hank wasn’t a bad-looking guy, despite his unkempt appearance, but he wasn’t better looking than Henry, and he was bouncing around on his feet like he stood on springs. What an odd, rumpled man, Henry thought. But despite Hank’s inferior looks and strange behavior, The Starlet stepped closer to him, turning so that her shoulder nudged Henry in the chest, forcing him away.
The Starlet leaned towards Hank, touching his arm as she said, “You having a good time?”
Henry didn’t understand why she was lying on so thick with that oddball. Henry made small talk with Walter while also following The Starlet’s conversation with Hank. Despite the challenge of listening while speaking, he caught enough of the conversation to detect a flirtatious tone, igniting a pang of jealousy. Then Walter mentioned his wife had an interest in music, which shifted Henry’s attention fully to Walter. This was an angle Henry could work.
Without hesitation, Henry offered to connect Walter’s wife with the Philharmonic Women’s Fundraising Committee. Alice and Ruth’s sponsorship ensured she would be a lock for the prestigious group, even if she was a dud like Walter. Walter declined the generous offer, taking Henry aback. Another guy at the party, presumably Bruce, had already connected her.
Henry overheard an opening in the Starlet and Hank’s conversation and inserted himself. “You talk about that painting yet?” Henry nodded towards the dining room, then pulled his shoulders back. His goal was to make a smart comment so the Starlet would redirect her attention towards him. The comment would also allow Henry to expand his earlier pitch and show off his knowledge of consumerism. It was perfect.
The Starlet pursed her full lips. She asked, “The one in the dining room? Well, it’s a party, of course.” She wrapped her arm around Hank’s, a small smile playing on her lips.
Henry couldn’t work out her game, so he pressed on. “Have you ever thought about the questions of wealth versus happiness, of conspicuous consumption versus public investment and the role of advertising in meeting demand rather than creating it? The…” The Starlet’s focus remained on Hank, but Hank and Walter nodded along with Henry’s words. Henry’s mood lifted, and he leaned further into the topic. He had found like-minded individuals in this extravagant wasteland, people who appreciated profound thoughts over material wealth.
A clap on Henry’s shoulder jarred him out of his mini-manifesto.
Slick said, “The professor pontificates on the existential questions. Lighten up, man, it’s a party, in a beautiful place, waiting to be enjoyed.” Henry shrank with an involuntary cringe. Slick, seeping of slime, spoiling the scene.
Walter said, “Thanks again, Don, for that intro for my wife. She’s wanted to join the Philharmonic Committee for years, but lacked connections.” Now Henry remembered Slick’s name was Don. Dumb Don had bested him by making the Philharmonic introduction first. Henry wondered if Slick had spoken to Walter while Henry was thinking through his pitch. Henry couldn’t think of any other time when he wasn’t monitoring Walter.
Hank stopped bouncing and leaned forward, hair dangling in his eyes. “Also looking forward to our meeting next week. My plan is to make it productive by strategizing and initiating action. I also can’t wait to see how you will get this lady on screen in an Air West hostess uniform.” He squeezed The Starlet’s waist and pulled her closer.
Henry’s head spun, full of questions. How had Slick bamboozled these two gentlemen to land the Air West campaign in such record time, despite being the antithesis to everything Henry had talked about with them? Why did The Starlet join forces with this strange aviator? A burning gulp of martini did nothing to quench Henry’s dry throat. He needed to escape from the conversation to regroup. He headed to the bar, unaware he had left without excusing himself.
Bruce stepped in front of Henry as he crossed the dining room and said, “I saw you with Hal Herbert. Good work networking with ‘The Aviator’. Walter won’t move without Hal. Hal isn’t what you expect based on the magazines, is he?”
Henry shook his head, confused. “Hal? He introduced himself as Hank.” Hal Herbert was a Big Deal, a founder of multiple airlines, the father of modern aviation. Henry shook his head; he couldn’t reconcile the stylish Hal who graced magazine covers with the strange, sloppy man he had met.
“It’s Hal, you heard wrong. It’s funny to see what a magazine stylist can do for a man despite his lack of raw material, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m sure you closed the deal with your smart moves. He’s a flashy guy, despite appearances, and would have enjoyed hearing your Hollywood stories and meeting that foxy girl. He’s quite a ladies’ man.” Henry’s stomach turned as he thought about how unsuitable his pitch had been, focusing on ethos instead of Hollywood, and of the childish game he played, attempting to win back The Starlet with smart comments. “You don’t look so good.”
Henry’s lungs constricted as he thought about the ruined opportunity and Slick’s imminent partnership on the back of landing the Air West deal. “I should get some fresh air. Excuse me.” He left Bruce, pushing through the crowd and out the front door. He leaned against the house and took deep, controlled breaths.
Hal stepped out of the front door, his arm draped around The Starlet’s shoulders as if to claim his latest acquisition. Henry shifted further into the shadows, watching. Once Hal disappeared in search of his car, The Starlet’s body relaxed, as she had exhaled out one persona and breathed in another. She sauntered towards Henry.
She said, “So.”
“So?” The word sounded harsher to Henry’s ears than he expected, but it didn’t matter because she had already made her choice.
She sighed and peered into Henry’s soul with her eyes. “Henry, what do you expect me to say? We had a lovely conversation. Those thoughts of yours are beautiful. They’re meaningful, capital I Important. But we both had a job here and mine was to make myself a star. Where do those idealistic thoughts get you, anyway? Fishing in the wrong spot and coming back empty-handed. We’re all actors and fans, consumers, and shopgirls, winners and losers. We’re striving in a city of dreamers, scratching for our big break. You missed yours, with your smart talk, but I didn’t miss mine.”
Henry closed his eyes to concentrate on his breathing, reopening them as he heard an engine roar up the hill. The weight of his failure made it difficult to think of anything other than his ruined future.
She said, “Take my advice: abandon idealism if you want success.” She turned towards the car, leaving Henry watching from the shadows.
