G wendolyn Warner opened the heavy door to the office marked EXECUTIVE SUITE. She was greeted by a large desk situated toward the back of a plush room. Each wall was decorated with framed ads for DairyBaked Delights’ products. On either side of the desk and behind it were doors labeled with the names of the president, CEO, and vice president. The chief executive officer’s door remained ajar.
She looked at the business card in her hand. Rhoda Emerson, Chief Executive Officer, DairyBaked Delights. The person she was supposed to see. She looked at the sign once more and confirmed she was in the right place. Good. At least she wouldn’t be late for her interview. This job was too important. She couldn’t blow her chances by being late. She had to appear smart, creative, self-assured, and capable.
No one was sitting behind the desk, so Gwendolyn decided to settle in one of the two red upholstered chairs with a magazine and wait to be called. She had arrived fifteen minutes early, as was her usual method.
In her best effort to look nonchalant, she retrieved a woman’s magazine from her black leather tote. The cover promised articles revealing how to drop ten pounds in two weeks and how to create fabulous desserts, along with photos of the latest celebrity hairstyles. None of these items interested her. Gwendolyn wanted to study the photographs inside. Besides, she had to do something except sit on the edge of the seat, legs crossed at the ankles, hands holding on to her knees for dear life. No, she couldn’t afford to look too anxious.
Absorbed in her magazine, Gwendolyn startled when a male voice boomed from behind the president’s door.
“I never authorized hiring a new photographer for our ad campaign! We could save money by using old file photos.”
Save money? She clenched her teeth. Uh-oh. Maybe she wouldn’t get this job after all.
A calm, steady reply came from a female voice. “But this photographer comes to us with fine references, education, and credentials. And since she’s just started her own studio, her fees should be very reasonable.”
“Using old file photos would be even more reasonable,” the man snapped.
Shaking her head, Gwendolyn decided she would vote this man least likely to suffer a stomach ulcer from suppressing his emotions.
“I’d like to know who decided to override my authority in this matter. I thought I was supposed to oversee all ad campaigns,” he bellowed.
Gwendolyn’s chest tightened. What is this? With my background, I thought that I’d be a shoo-in to photograph the new DairyBaked Delights ad campaign. Anxiety clenched its ugly grip around her midsection.
“Sebastian, I suppose I did. But I wanted a new photographer, and so I made the decision,” the female voice answered, still maintaining calm.
Sebastian. Where have I seen that name?
She looked around the room and read the name on the door in the back of the room. Sebastian Emerson, Vice President.
A small gasp escaped her lips. So the VP didn’t want anything to do with her? How could she conquer such a formidable adversary? Her interview prospects for this job seemed to be waning quickly.
Heavenly Father, I pray it’s Your will for me to get this job. If it is, let this Sebastian man see that he needs to support me in my work. In the precious name of Your Son, amen.
She knew her prayer was selfish, but she felt that such a desperate petition was needed. If she didn’t get this high-paying assignment, Gwendolyn would have to admit to her brother that she couldn’t make a living on her own as a photographer.
Through years of hard work and sacrifice, Bruce, who was fifteen years her senior, had established a successful photography studio. Gwendolyn had been his assistant since high school. At first, Bruce was proud that his kid sister was part of his business. Gwendolyn was a miracle baby, born in her mother’s forty-fifth year. By that time, Bruce was a teenager and had become accustomed to his status as an only child. With so many years between them, Bruce had always been protective of her, but he never related to her as an equal.
Still, she had imagined he would be proud when, after discovering a love for photography in his studio, she announced that she wanted to follow in his professional footsteps. But when she left Northern Virginia to earn her degree in photography at a small college in the southwestern part of the state, Virginia Intermont College, his lack of enthusiasm was palatable. He preferred not to talk about her studies, except to remind her how many years he had worked to establish himself in a brutally competitive field. He was worried about how she would pay back the college loans. A reasonable worry, to be sure, since her field was so uncertain. But he had succeeded without a university degree. She had hoped that, in time, he would come to consider her an asset, someone who could partner with him in his work. Instead he regarded her as a rival, sending her on the least desirable assignments and booking her portrait sessions on the times he knew she had a Bible study or a church choir rehearsal scheduled. After three years of trying to prove herself, she knew she had no choice but to strike out on her own. Her decision magnified Bruce’s feelings that she was nothing more than a competitor to be squelched. If Gwendolyn failed and had to beg him to take her back, he would be sure to make her life even more miserable.
Failing was not an option she wanted to contemplate. She had to succeed.
A female voice brought her back into the present. “I’m the one who authorized the new hire.”
Gwendolyn glanced again at the sign on the door and confirmed that the office belonged to the CEO. Rhoda Emerson, the woman she was scheduled to see.
“And your father agrees with me,” Mrs. Emerson said.
Your father? So Sebastian is Mrs. Emerson’s son. Maybe I can win this one after all. She felt a smile of triumph form on her lips.
She could sense from his persistence that Sebastian wasn’t going down without a fight. “I thought we would just use the outtakes from our last photo shoot. The ones that Ebba took.”
“No. I let you have your way last time, but not now. Even the best of Ebba’s remaining pictures aren’t what she would want to appear in any DairyBaked Delights ad. I won’t hear of it.”
“Ebba was the only one who could handle Pansy,” Sebastian pointed out.
Pansy. That must be the name of the cow.
“I’m sure this photographer will do just fine with Pansy,” Mrs. Emerson argued. “I’ve been assured there will be no problem.”
Gwendolyn swallowed. Her experience with animals was limited to the pets little children would bring in to Bruce’s portrait studio to be photographed. Their owners usually took care of them.
Lord, please help me!
“He’d better be good with animals. Pansy has been our symbol since the company started.” Even though she’d never met him, Gwendolyn could almost see Sebastian folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not giving Pansy up for anybody.”
“No one is asking you to. And you may as well know now, the photographer is not a he. It’s a she. Gwendolyn something or another,” Mrs. Emerson answered.
Gwendolyn wrinkled her nose. Some ally, if she couldn’t remember her last name.
“And I’m sure she’ll know what it takes to reach the next generation,” her ally continued. “When I was young, there weren’t so many choices. Now everyone has so many options in every area of life. That includes what type of commercial baked goods to buy. Not only do we have to compete with traditional bakeries, but many grocery stores have their own top-notch bakeries as well. Not to mention the big mail order bakeries. And all of them use every possible medium to remind consumers how many choices they have.”
“You forgot to mention the biggest new kid on the block—the Internet,” he reminded her. “Why do you think I recommended that you ask for Internet rights to the photos?”
“Oh, the Internet. Yet another thing I have to worry about.” Gwendolyn heard Mrs. Emerson sigh. “How will I ever reach kids today?”
“You can start by not referring to young adults as kids.” Sebastian retorted. “I know this is a new generation. But must we be like everybody else and use blatant sex appeal to sell our product? The people who buy our products respect us for not pandering to the lowest common denominator. We don’t want to lose our base of established customers!”
Blatant sex appeal? No one had told Gwendolyn that the shoot would have anything to do with sex appeal. All she knew was that the ads would involve a cow and some baked goods. Even though creativity was her business, Gwendolyn had a hard time picturing an ad with a cow and a cake as being sexy.
A feeling of grudging admiration for Sebastian welled up inside her. At least he tried to hold on to some standards.
At that moment, a chubby matron who Gwendolyn surmised was the executive secretary entered from the hallway. Spotting Gwendolyn, she hurried to close Mrs. Emerson’s door before setting a stack of paperwork on her desk. “May I help you?”
She stood. “I’m Gwendolyn Warner. I have an appointment with Rhoda Emerson.”
“Oh. So you’re the photographer. Sorry to keep you waiting. I had to step out of the office.” The matron looked more embarrassed than the situation warranted. Perhaps she knew Gwendolyn had overheard an argument. “Uh, I’ll let her know you’re here.”
“Thanks.” Still wanting to appear calm, Gwendolyn returned to her seat.
The secretary quickly entered the CEO’s office and then emerged a few moments later. She gave Gwendolyn a brief nod. Gwendolyn’s heart began to hammer. What will I do if they decide not to hire me? Oh, I can’t think of that now.
Fixing her face into a pleasant mask, Gwendolyn set her shoulders straight, smiled politely, and swept into the CEO’s office with the confidence that had served her well during many interviews and difficult photo shoots.
Gwendolyn had taken care to appear in dressy pants, flat shoes, and a crisp white cotton shirt that bespoke a healthy pride in appearance yet told onlookers that her clothes wouldn’t encumber her work.
Gwendolyn knew she had made the right decision to wear her favorite gray wool trousers when she saw Mrs. Emerson attired in a soft but businesslike suit the color of charcoal. Short but loose bleached-blond curls and soft makeup gave her a youthful appearance but did not quite camouflage the fact that she qualified for senior citizens’ discounts. Though Gwendolyn had heard Mrs. Emerson could be tough, she sensed the older woman possessed a gentle side behind her businesslike veneer.
Gwendolyn scanned the office, in search of her antagonist. He was nowhere in sight. An interior door offered a clue as to how he had made his escape.
Coward!
Mrs. Emerson broke into her thoughts. “Thank you for meeting with us today,” she said, extending her hand.
“Us?”
“Yes. My son, Sebastian, will be in momentarily,” Mrs. Emerson assured. “In the meantime, I’ve already looked over your sample photos. I must say, they are quite impressive.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Emerson. I do my best to create memorable photographs.” She handed the older woman a formal portfolio of her best photos. “I also have examples of my most recent work here, if you care to see them.”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Emerson took the portfolio. “Please, call me Rhoda.” She sat down in the executive chair behind a large desk, but not before motioning for Gwendolyn to take her seat in a nearby leather chair. Gwendolyn watched as Rhoda flipped through the book. “Hmm,” she said.
“You have a question?”
“I notice that your professional portfolio includes weddings and portraits, but no commercial ads.”
Gwendolyn swallowed. She knew when she agreed to the interview that Rhoda might mention her lack of commercial experience, but this woman cut right to the chase! “I was an assistant at Bruce Studios for five years,” she answered.
At that moment, the young photographer was glad to see that Rhoda apparently didn’t make the connection that Gwendolyn and Bruce shared the same last name. “You might know us. I mean, them.” Calling the people at Bruce’s studio “them” instead of “we” seemed strange. “They” were her work family. And her friends. She cleared her throat.
“Yes, I am familiar with them. Your association was one of the main reasons why I was willing to give you a chance.”
Oh, great. I’ll never get out from under his shadow.
Rhoda flipped through to the last picture. “And, I do like the artistic shots you included.”
Rhoda’s compliment gave Gwendolyn courage. Maybe she did have a grain of talent, after all. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Oh, don’t ‘ma’am’ me.” She waved at Gwendolyn as if the gesture would cause the offending reference to disappear. She shoved a box in her direction. Gwendolyn’s inspection revealed that it contained individually wrapped brownies.
“All right, Rhoda.” Gwendolyn selected a tempting piece of cake loaded with frosting and chocolate chips. “Thank you.” She nodded toward her portfolio as Rhoda continued to flip through the pages. “My education is mentioned on my résumé. College gave me an opportunity to take artistic photos, as well. The type of creative photography that makes a print ad successful.”
“I see.” She set the portfolio on her desk. “All of that is very commendable, but I want you to know here and now that I have my limits. I want to reach the next generation, but not at the expense of our current customers. I look at the magazine ads. This artsy stuff can be a bit much sometimes. I will not accept any campaign that doesn’t mention our product. And I don’t want to see black and white photos of anemic-looking couples crawling all over each other. I’ve heard the old adage that sex sells, and perhaps it does. But I won’t resort to that tactic to convince customers to buy our products.”
Obviously, despite Rhoda’s willingness to argue with Sebastian, her son’s opinion held powerful sway. She resolved to remember that. “I hadn’t planned on that type of ad for you,” Gwendolyn assured Rhoda. “I’m afraid some other manufacturers have cornered the market on those. I understood I would be working with a cow and a cake.”
“Oh, and don’t forget Bernie. The Saint Bernard.”
“A–a Saint Bernard?”
“Of course. We always use Bernie in our winter campaigns—unless you have a better idea.”
“No, no,” Gwendolyn hastened to assure her. Racking her brain, she remembered seeing a Saint Bernard in past ads for DairyBaked Delights. Their popular slogan, “DairyBaked Delights to the rescue!” flashed though her memory.
“We’re quite attached to Bernie,” Rhoda said. “My father was fond of his Saint Bernard, so he liked to use him in the ads way back when. I’ve kept up the tradition as a nod to the past.”
“I like that.”
Rhoda sent her a pleased smile. “If you’re as good as I think you are, I’ll be giving you more latitude later. That’s why I want you to know the rules right off the top. Love of our product is more important than art, I believe.”
Gwendolyn’s first love was art, but she couldn’t express disagreement with her prospective client. She searched for a common denominator. “I think it does help to be familiar with a product you’re selling.”
“Then I trust this is not the first time you’ve tried one of our products.”
She chuckled. “No. I’m afraid I succumb too often to your baked goods. And I do thank you for making sugarless CreamDreams. They’ve gotten me through many a chocolate craving.”
“Have they now?” Rhoda grimaced. “I’ll tell you a secret, but you didn’t hear this from me. I don’t like the sugarless stuff. But our customers sure seem to.”
“I enjoy all your products. That is why I jumped at the chance to photograph an ad for DairyBaked Delights,” Gwendolyn said.
“Really?” Rhoda’s expression displayed her approval.
“Really.” Gwendolyn nodded. “Even though I want this assignment, I wouldn’t lie to get it.”
Job 32:21–22 popped into her mind. “I will show no partiality, nor will I flatter anyone; for if I were skilled in flattery, my Maker would soon take me away.”
For the briefest of moments, she considered sharing the verse with Mrs. Emerson. Just as quickly, the thought vacated her head. No need to appear any more self-righteous than she already had.
“Good.” Rhoda’s expression softened from that of a tough businesswoman to a mother hen’s. “I didn’t think you looked like someone who would resort to deceit.”
“Never.” Seeing Rhoda’s friendly expression, she decided to take a chance. “I’m a Christian.”
Rhoda’s face lit up. “Even better.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “We’re not supposed to ask, you know.” She leaned even closer and lowered her voice another notch. “I do believe you are the perfect photographer to take us into our next phase of development. Don’t tell anyone, but we’re planning to—”
An interior door to their left creaked open. Startled by the unexpected intrusion, Rhoda and Gwendolyn both nearly jumped out of their chairs as they looked in the direction of the sound.
Rhoda leaned back, swiveled her chair, and smiled too broadly. “There you are, Sebastian.” Her voice was louder than necessary.
Gwendolyn shot her gaze to the door through which Sebastian entered the office. She stood in anticipation of a handshake and mustered a smile for her opponent.