"Then there's nothing," Barbara said. "Nothing to hope for." There was emotion in her voice.
"No harm in hoping," Leonard Wingate answered. He added mockingly, "Hope don't cost none. But no good fooling yourself either."
Barbara said slowly, "Thank you for being honest, for telling it like it is. Not everyone does that, as I've reason to know."
"Tell him," Brett urged. "Tell him about your new assignment."
"I've been given a job to do," Barbara told Wingate. "By the advertising agency I work for, acting for the company. It's to make a film. An honest film about Detroit - the inner city."
She was aware of the other's instant interest.
"I first heard about it," Barbara explained, "six weeks ago."
She described her briefing in New York by Keith Yates-Brown.
***
It had been the day after the abortive "rustle pile" session at which the OJL agency's initial ideas for Orion advertising had been routinely presented and, just as routinely, brushed aside.
As the creative director, Teddy Osch, predicted during their martini-weighted luncheon, Keith Yates-Brown, the account supervisor, had sent for Barbara next day.
In his handsome office on the agency's top floor, Yates-Brown had seemed morose in contrast with his genial, showman's manner of the day before. He looked grayer and older, too, and several times in the later stages of their conversation turned toward his office window, looking across the Manhattan skyline toward Long Island Sound, as if a portion of his mind was far away. Perhaps, Barbara thought, the strain of permanent affability with clients required a surly counterbalance now and then.
There had certainly been nothing friendly about Yates-Brown's opening remark after they exchanged "good mornings."
"You were snooty with the client yesterday," he told Barbara. "I didn't like it, and you should know better."
She said nothing. She supposed Yates-Brown was referring to her pointed questioning of the company advertising manager: Was there nothing you liked? Absolutely nothing at all? Well, she still believed it justified and wasn't going to grovel now. But neither would she antagonize Yates-Brown needlessly until she heard about her new assignment.
"One of the early things you're supposed to learn here," the account supervisor persisted, "is to show restraint sometimes, and swallow hard."
"Okay, Keith," Barbara said, "I'm swallowing now."
He had had the grace to smile, then returned to coolness.
"What you're being given to do requires restraint; also sound judgment, and, naturally, imagination. I suggested you for the assignment, believing you to possess those qualities. I still do, despite yesterday, which I prefer to think of as a momentary lapse."
Oh, God!, Barbara wanted to exclaim. Stop making like you're in a pulpit, and get on! But she had the sense not to say it.
"The project is one which has the personal interest of the client's chairman of the board." Keith Yates-Brown mouthed "chairman of the board" with awe and reverence. Barbara was surprised he hadn't stood, saluting, while he said it.
"As a result," the account chief continued, "you will have the responsibility - a large responsibility affecting all of us at OJL - of reporting, on occasions, to the chairman personally."
Well, Barbara could appreciate his feelings there. Reporting directly to the chairman about anything was a large responsibility, though it didn't frighten her. But since the chairman - if he chose to exercise it - had a life and death power over which advertising agency the company used, Barbara could picture Keith Yates-Brown and others hovering nervously in the wings.
"The project," Yates-Brown added, "is to make a film."
He had gone on, filling in details as far as they were known. The film would be about Detroit: the inner city and its people, their problems - racial and otherwise - their way of life, points of view, their needs.
It was to be a factual, honest documentary. In no way would it be company or industry propaganda; the company's name would appear only once - on the credits as sponsor. Objective would be to point up urban problems, the need to reactivate the city's role in national life, with Detroit the prime example. The film's first use would be for educational and civic groups and schools across the nation. It would probably be shown on television. If good enough, it might go into movie houses.
The budget would be generous. It would allow a regular film-making organization to be used, but the OJL agency would select the film maker and retain control. A top-flight director could be hired, and a script writer, if needed, though Barbara in view of her copywriter's experience - might choose to write the script herself.
Barbara would represent the agency and be in over-all charge.
With a sense of rising excitement as Yates-Brown spoke, Barbara remembered Teddy Osch's words of yesterday at lunch. The creative director had said: All I can tell you is, I wish it were me instead of you. Now she knew why.
Not only was the assignment a substantial compliment to her professionally, it also represented a strong creative challenge which she welcomed. Barbara found herself looking appreciatively - and certainly more tolerantly - on Keith Yates-Brown.
Even the account supervisor's next words diminished her appreciation only slightly.
"You'll work out of the Detroit office as usual," he had said, "but we shall want to be informed here of everything that's going on, and I mean everything. Another thing to bear in mind is what we spoke of earlier - restraint. It's to be an honest film, but don't get carried away.
I do not believe we want, or the chairman of the board will want, too much of - shall we say? - a Socialist point of view."
Well, she had let that one go, realizing there would be plenty of ideas, as well as points of view, she would have to fight for eventually, without wasting time on abstract arguments now.
A week later, after other activities she was involved in had been reassigned, Barbara began work on the project, tentatively titled: Auto City.
***
Across Brett DeLosanto's dining table, Barbara told Leonard Wingate,
"Some of the early things have been done, including choosing a production company and a director. Of course, there'll be more planning before filming can begin, but we hope to start in February or March."
The tall, graying Negro considered before answering. At length he said,
"I could be cynical and smart, and say that making a film about problems, instead of solving them or trying to, is like Nero fiddling. But being an executive has taught me life isn't always that simple; also, communication is important." He paused, then added, "What you intend might do a lot of good. If there's a way I can help, I will."
"Perhaps there is," Barbara acknowledged. "I've already talked with the director, Wes Gropetti, and something we're agreed on is that whatever is said about the inner city must be through people who live there - individuals. One of them, we believe, should be someone coming through the 'hard core' hiring program."
Wingate cautioned, "Hard core hiring doesn't always work. You might shoot a lot of film about a person who ends up a failure."
"If that's the way it happens," Barbara insisted, "that's the way we'll tell it. We're not doing a remake of Pollyanna."
"Then there might be someone," Wingate said thoughtfully. "You remember I told you - one afternoon I trailed the instructor who stole the checks, then lied to get them endorsed."
She nodded. "I remember."
"Next day I went back to see some of the people he'd visited, I'd noted the addresses; my office matched them up with names." Leonard Wingate produced a notebook and turned pages. "One of them was a man I had a feeling about. I'm not sure what kind of feeling, except I've persuaded him to come back to work. Here it is." He stopped at a page. "His name is Rollie Knight."
***
Earlier, when Barbara arrived at Brett's apartment, she had come by taxi. Late that evening, when Leonard Wingate had gone - after promising that the three of them would meet again soon - Brett drove Barbara home.
The Zaleskis lived in Royal Oak, a middleclass residential suburb southeast of Birmingham. Driving crosstown on Maple, with Barbara on the front seat close beside him, Brett said, "Nuts to this!" He braked, stopped the car, and put his arms around her. Their kiss was passionate and long.
"Listen!" Brett said; he buried his face in the soft silkiness of her hair, and held her tightly. "What the hell are we doing headed this way? Come back and stay with me tonight. We both want it, and there's not a reason in the world why you shouldn't."
He had made the same suggestion earlier, immediately after Wingate left. Also, they had covered this ground many times before.
Barbara sighed. She said softly, "I'm a great disappointment to you, aren't I?'
"How do I know if you're a disappointment, when you've never let me find out?"
She laughed lightly. He had the capacity to make her do that, even at unexpected moments. Barbara reached up, tracing her fingers across Brett's forehead, erasing the frown she sensed was there.
He protested, "It isn't fair! Everybody who knows us just assumes we're sleeping together, and you and I are the only ones who know we're not.
Even your old man thinks we are. Well, doesn't he?"