Viper Advertising occupied an old but slickly renovated warehouse at the end of a wharf on Sydney Harbour. More than 200 people worked there and they all wore red. It was a condition of employment. Red was the company’s signature colour. The walls were red, the felt on the pool table was red, so were the glasses they drank from. But it wasn’t just any red: it was Pantone 032, specified by the head of Viper Advertising, Tania Mantelle. Tania had ten beliefs and they were printed in white on the red wall behind the reception desk. Caesar Maxwell read them as he waited to see her.
Caesar Maxwell smiled. Tania Mantelle’s father Brian had been his best friend, so he’d known Tania since she was born. She was now 31 and had taken her agency to the top. Her father would be so proud. He had started a printing shop in Ipswich as a sixteen-year-old school dropout and had grown it into an international corporation.
When Tania was only thirteen she told her father that he should do more than just print what people wanted him to print – he should offer better designs and smarter headlines. Brian was able to charge more for his services and business increased. Tania left school two years later and headed the creative arm of Paw Print – a small printing company he’d set up to save on his own printing costs. By the time she was twenty, Tania wanted to do more than improve flyers and newsletters, so she talked her father into helping her set up Viper Advertising. It was the easiest sell-job she’d ever done. Brian was proud of his only daughter and wanted to see her succeed. He didn’t want her to start small. So he bought the wharf on Sydney Harbour, put a truckload of money in her bank account and told her to hire whoever she wanted.
One department of Viper Advertising was dedicated to doing the creative work for Paw Print, but the rest of the clients were big national manufacturers and retailers. The biggest was MyFries. The second biggest was the Australian Party – they didn’t advertise much between elections, but when an election was coming, the money rolled into Viper like a tsunami. Some people who didn’t like Tania Mentelle said she only held the Australian Party account because her godfather Caesar Maxwell made big donations, but she didn’t care. She was having fun and making money. Anyway, most of those rumours came from people she’d sacked at some point.
‘Uncle C!’ Tania finally emerged from behind the red wall. She was wearing leather pants that made her long legs look like black pencils, a black top and a red scarf. Her hair was jet black and cropped short. The makeup had failed to cover the freckles across her nose and forehead.
‘Tania, my love, wonderful to see you.’
She had to bend so she could kiss him on both cheeks. ‘You’re looking well, sir!’
He laughed and patted his big belly. ‘You mean I’m looking rich!’
‘Well, that too!’ She grinned. She put her arm around his shoulders. ‘Now, come into the boardroom and stop wasting my time with small talk. Have you eaten? I’ll have Cheryl here get us some food.’ She indicated the receptionist. ‘Cheryl, can you call The Knife and get them to send over a roasted eye fillet of beef and a bottle of Mr Maxwell’s favourite wine?’
Caesar grinned. He always ate well when he came to Viper.
‘I’m sorry, Ms Mentelle,’ said Cheryl nervously, ‘but The Knife will have finished lunch service. It’s past two o’clock. You have to place delivery orders before twelve. I can get something in from Raymond’s, though. They deliver anytime and their lobster’s supposed to be great.’
Tania Mantelle pivoted on one stiletto and took three steps. She leant across the reception desk and spoke in warm, low voice. ‘Cheryl. I had high hopes for you. You seemed to be one of the brighter girls I interviewed. But it must have been one of my rare off days, because you are clearly a fool. Please collect your things and leave. But before you do, kindly tell Annalise in accounts that I would like roasted eye fillet and a bottle of ’96 Grange Hermitage from The Knife served in the boardroom within the hour. And then tell her that you are leaving – and why. Thank you.’ She turned back to Caesar, ‘Come on, Uncle C. We can talk before we eat. Sorry about that.’
Together they walked down the corridor, arm in arm.
The boardroom table was a five-metre slab of stainless steel. It reminded Caesar of those benches he’d seen on TV shows like ‘CSI’, where they laid out the dead.
‘I wouldn’t have minded something from Raymond’s,’ he said.
‘I know, but how else will these people learn? She’s been annoying me for a week, that one. It was time she went.’
‘Of course, of course. Brilliantly handled. Want to come and work for me? I’m sick to death of namby-pamby executives.’
‘I do work for you, Uncle C. But I might write a book on my management style. I think there’s a market for it.’
‘I’ll buy the prime minister a copy. That’s what that woman needs. A few lessons in getting tough.’
‘Oh, she’ll learn soon enough. Wait until you see the ads my crack new team have come up with.’
‘New team? I thought you’d be doing this anti-ad ban campaign yourself.’
‘You know I’m across everything that happens in this agency. Same with this. I’ve just got a couple of extra heads thinking about it – that’s all. They’re young and smart and they work cheap!’
‘Sounds good to me.’
Tania reached for the telephone on the table and pressed a button. ‘Annalise? Is our food on its way?’
‘Yes, Ms Mentelle. It will be here in twenty minutes.’
‘Excellent. In the meantime, could you call the creative department and have Kip and Toby sent to the boardroom?’
Watching the ad, Caesar Maxwell laughed so hard his red wine nearly came out his nose.
‘Are you right?’ Tania bit her lip. ‘Careful, Uncle C.’ She smiled. ‘That cost $400 a bottle.’
‘Absolutely!’ he said, catching his breath. ‘I love the concept just as much as Whiting will hate it. Well done, boys! Good job.’
Kip and Toby weren’t particularly proud of the ad they’d made, but felt relieved at Caesar Maxwell’s words. They had been out of work for months after they were fired from Pettigrew Lewis TBLC, and Tania Mentelle had thrown them a lifeline.
‘The pay will be terrible and the conditions awful until you prove that you’re worth more,’ she’d said. ‘I have no time for pretty-boy posers and no jobs for them, either. So you come here and do exactly as I say, or you go to a different kind of agency.’
They’d been to every other agency in Sydney and no one would hire them. The disasterous ad they made for Parfizz had ended up on YouTube but Tania Mentelle didn’t care. She never entered award competitions or looked online and had a reputation for down-and-dirty advertising that worked. No one could deny that she had a knack for winning business and making money. A job at Viper was their only option.
But at least the campaign to fight the ad ban was high-profile. Kip and Toby had thrown themselves into coming up with an idea no one could ignore.
‘Run me through it again.’ Caesar Maxwell leaned back in his chair.
‘Sure.’ Toby ran a hand through his hair that still felt uncomfortably short. Tania had made him cut it. She said her clients were neat-hair people, so hers was a neat-hair agency. ‘We have a whole heap of beach balls printed with kids’ faces on them,’ he said, ‘so the kids look bloated. We see them rolling around on a shiny floor. Then we see a woman’s legs – from the knees down, wearing cheap high heels. In slow motion we see she’s preparing to kick one of the balls. The voice over says, “No one likes fat kids. Kicking the problem around won’t solve it. That’s exactly what Prime Minister Clara Whiting is doing. Just like her government, the ad ban won’t work. Say no to the ad ban and yes to freedom of choice.” Then the woman, who we assume is the prime minister, kicks the ball. The kid’s face winces . . . we can do that with animation.’
Toby sighed with relief at the look of satisfaction on Tania’s face.
‘I love it,’ Maxwell said. ‘Absolutely love it.’
‘I knew you would,’ said Tania. ‘How are you going with raising the money to run it?’ She dismissed Toby and Kip with a nod. ‘The ad itself is cheap to make, but you’ll need big money for media. You want to play it on all commercial channels, all the time.’
‘Going okay.’ Maxwell shrugged. ‘All the burger chains have paid up. The chicken people have been generous and there was no argument from the pizza companies. The soft drink guys couldn’t transfer their funds fast enough. Not surprising, as they’ll be the first hit. There’s only been one that’s less than enthusiastic. But I’m not worried.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Parfitt’s from Brisbane – pathetic little outfit. Probably doomed, anyway.’
‘If Parfitt’s isn’t with us, we have to assume they’re against us.’ Tania placed her fingertips on the edge of the table as if it were a keyboard. ‘They need to sign on for their own survival.’
‘Come on, Tania, we can manage without an insignificant bunch like them. And what are we meant to do, anyway? We can’t force them.’
She burst out laughing. ‘Of course you can! You’re Mr MyFries. You can force anyone to do anything.’ She patted his hand and filled his wine glass.
Toby and Kip sat in the room Tania had said would serve as their office until they earnt somewhere better. It wasn’t really a room – just a space behind the kitchen, where old printers, phones and unidentifiable boxes of CDs were dumped. Their desk was a yellowing plastic table that had once been used for barbecues on the terrace adjoining Tania’s office.
‘That went well,’ Toby tapped his knee with a pen.
‘I suppose,’ Kip said glumly.
They looked at each other and both knew the truth. The ad they had presented to Caesar Maxwell was a dog.
‘What are we doing here?’ Toby shook his head. ‘How did this happen?’
‘I don’t know.’ Kip closed his eyes.
A year ago, they’d been flying high on the success of an ad they’d made for a chain of barber shops called Clippers. Their work won them a Bronze Turtle award and everyone was saying they were the next big thing in advertising. They were offered a job at Pettigrew Lewis TBLC, once the biggest ad agency in Brisbane. The money was great and their office had its own fridge and coffee machine. Not that they were there much – they felt more creative outside the office and most of their day was spent in cafes and bars. But then they made an ad for Parfizz that cost too much and wasn’t right and they were fired. So it was back to Sydney, broke and embarrassed. Kip moved in with his parents. Toby had the attic at his nan’s place.
There was no disappearing to bars or cafes at Viper, though. Tania expected them to be behind their desks all day and most of the night. They were expected to wear their shirts tucked in and they had to wear proper shoes – no Vans.
At the interview, Tania had lowered her eyes to Kip’s footwear. ‘Are you a professional athlete?’ She inhaled. ‘In training for something?’
‘Ah, no.’ He tried to cover one shoe with the other.
‘Well, we don’t wear sports shoes in this office. We work with extremely important heads of industry and they relate best to people who dress as they do. Leather. Polished.’
‘But – I don’t have any.’ Kip hoped he didn’t sound as pathetic as he felt.
‘What about you?’ She nodded at Toby’s feet.
‘Sorry.’
‘And no money to buy any I suppose.’ Clearly Tania Mentelle was enjoying her power.
‘We’ll get some with our first pay,’ Kip said, too quickly.
‘No.’ She scribbled a note. ‘You’ll get some today. Give this to Annalise in Accounts. She will advance you $500 each for shoes.’
Kip and Toby were stunned.
‘And don’t buy them on special and pocket the change. I want receipts.’
They had spent an afternoon shopping for shoes they didn’t want. Tania Mentelle hadn’t just paid for their shoes – she had bought them and it was a lousy feeling.