I spent most of the day with Sally, trying to gather everything we used for the campaign. The problem is there wasn't a lot of drawing board sketches or notes. Usually, when we start a new idea, everything gets planned out in black and white drafts. However, most of the material we have is the work in progress color swatches and final products.
"This is everything, are you sure?" Sally questions me again, worry seeps through her voice.
"Yes, I've gone through my computer as well. This is all the files." I sigh—this looks very bad for us. If we can't show how the ideas for this campaign came about and that everything turns out to be identical, how can we prove that our ideas were original.
"This will have to do then," Sally groans. "I'm having all the material for the campaign in question from Marx sent over to me," she stops speaking suddenly and reaches for her tablet. "Hold on, I'll check my emails."
While Sally does that, I sink back into my chair. This is not what I need right now, all my attention should be on working with my team to get Maddison's campaign in before tomorrow. I place my head between my hands and let out a long sigh.
My mind drifts back to the meeting and how stupid it must have looked me sitting there, dumbfounded—how unprofessional. They were all staring at me, Sally, Jim, Maddock and Calvin. That grin, which spread so widely across his perfect lips. I shake my head vigorously. All this happening and I'm sitting here thinking about a smile from another man, not to mention the underwear. Seriously, stop... stop!
"Alright, here's the email, let me just bring it up on your computer screen." Sally thankfully interrupts my absurd train of thought and I quickly jump up from my chair. If I were in a cartoon, my mouth would be on the floor. We both stare in disbelief as both sets of completed ads are strikingly alike. The positioning, colors and fonts used, are all very similar, just like the poster Jim showed me.
"I... ah, I don't know what to say. I have no idea how this happened," I stammer, finally managing to get some words out.
"I need you to start thinking Jason. Where did the ideas for these ads come from?" I can tell by her tone and pace she is talking, that this is really concerning for her. If they file a lawsuit, our company could suffer big losses.
"I'm on this, Sally, it's my main priority now." I reassure her. She snaps her briefcase closed and leaves my office. Rubbing my hands through my hair, the ramifications start to unfold in my head. I sit back down and try to figure out how I let this happen. If all our ideas were original, then how did we manage to come up with the same concept as someone else?
"Is everything okay, Mr. Trent?" Monique asks, as she brings in a large coffee for me. My office is a scattered mess of paperwork. She starts picking some up, "what can I do to help?" she offers.
"Could you please look back through last month and find out who I had working on the Florna campaign?" Before I even finish my sentence, she already has her tablet out and is compiling a list. I reach for my phone and text Bianca to let her know I'm sorry and will be home late tonight. A lot happened last month as we had a new intake of interns. I also recall we had 4 other deadlines the week of the Florna campaign. Monique and I continue combing through everything, placing the work with its corresponding owner. In frustration, my hands slam down on my desk.
"We will work this all out, just take a breath," she calmly reassures me. I know the answers are here somewhere, but it's proving impossible to find out how the initial idea came about. Every time I think back, I remember came together at the last minute. I sigh, looking at the time. I stand up and start stacking all the documents that are now covering my entire desk. "I'm sorry for keeping you back late," I apologise with sincerity and gratitude.
"It's just another Monday night on the couch," she chuckles, reaching for her bag to leave. I pack everything I might need into a box, concluding we aren't making any progress right now. I switch my computer off and walk out into the silent office space, being last to leave is not an unfamiliar feeling. The entire way to my car I rack my brain about this dilemma.
With a reach for distraction, I use the commotion and hassles of New York traffic. In a way, feels like no matter what obstacle's life throws at you, there's always a path through them. I first started my commute to the city at 16, when I got a part-time internship at J&C. Bianca's father has associates in the company and when he suggested it to me, I jumped at the chance, hoping it would help me with getting into Game Design.
Upon finishing college, I immediately began working full time, as Junior Art Director. When the position of Creative Director opened up, and it was offered to me, I wanted to turn it down. I felt it hindered my dream of running my own game studio. Bianca said it was too big of an opportunity to pass up and I need to think about our future. 'Chasing my teenage fantasy needed to wait,' was her exact words. At the time Bianca was pregnant already, and we were about to buy our first home—so I took the promotion.
When I get home, it's almost 10 pm. I walk in and notice Bianca's in her usual spot in the lounge room. She looks up from her phone with a half-smile, "dinner's in the oven." She tells me.
"Thanks," I reply, matching her smile. Taking my dinner from the oven I go to my office, which is my escape from reality. If I'm not at work or doing something with my family, then this is where I am. The desk along the back wall is packed with computers, game consoles and different gadgets. To one side of the room there's a black leather sofa, and the opposite wall has a large bookshelf along it. The whole thing is stacked with video games, action figures and model movie replicas. The rest of the wall space and even parts of the roof are plastered with dozens of game posters I have made, as well as all my favorite ad campaigns I have worked on.
After picking at my pasta dish and scanning thought what seems like endless pages, I decide I should probably call it a night. I get up, switch everything off and head upstairs to bed. On my way, I stop in and kiss Olivia and Matt on their foreheads. Most days I get home they're already fast asleep, especially when there's deadlines looming. On weekends or times I get home early, I try to make it up to them. Last weekend we spent both days at the park across the road.
Upon entering our bedroom my eyes are drawn to the bed—Bianca has been shopping again. There're new sheets and blankets, oh, and pillows, lots of pillows. I walk into the closet to get changed, and the first pair of boxers I grab just happen to be, Calvin Kline labelled. The next thing I know, all I'm thinking about is how the hot lawyer would look in his underwear. The strangest sensation and feeling runs through me, I begin to get... aroused. I shove the underwear back in the drawer and grab another pair, trying to forget everything that happened with him today.
After stacking a ton of excess pillows into the trunk at the foot of the bed, I climb into the crisp sheets. New linen is horribly uncomfortable, it's all stiff and flat. Every time I sleep with new bedding, it's not the same as having freshly washed, worn in sheets. I love the feeling they provide, as though they're hugging your skin. After staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, I look over at the empty pillow. Bianca's down in the living room on her phone still, her voice softly echoes up the stairs. She's probably chatting with one of her friends. Lately it seems we barely communicate with each other, it has never been a strong part of our relationship, however, I like to think we work most things out as a team.
Some nights we're in the same bed together, but she's either on the phone or reading a book and I've usually got a magazine or doing something for work. A change from back when we were younger and would lay here for hours chattering and laughing—I miss that. I feel like all these smaller things have led to us becoming disconnected somehow, and I'm not sure how to fix it.
I glance back up at the ceiling and try to clear my mind, and I can't help but feel off somehow. It's not just this work stuff, it's that guy, Calvin. I can't seem to shake the weirdness. Maybe it's nothing but my mind over thinking each and every situation like I have a habit of doing. There's something alluring about him, the way he kept looking at me, it was as if... he was checking me out. Oddly, the thought doesn't make me feel uncomfortable. In a way, I guess it's kind of flattering.
***
"Bianca, what time is it?" groaning, I rub my eyes. The movement of the covers wakes me as she climbs into her side of the bed.
"Sorry, Mark's having a hard time at the moment, go back to sleep, you have an early meeting tomorrow," she whispers.
"When isn't he having a hard time?" My words come out with a little more sarcasm than intended.
"What's that supposed to mean? You know he and Rachel are having problems." She uses the same tone she always does when defending him. Before I know it, we're already amid another fight.
"He's a grown man Bianca, who needs to grow up, he's always doing this," I scoff and mash my pillow, more out of frustration than anything.
"You know he doesn't have many friends and he needs someone who he's comfortable with." Her arms are crossed now, so I know she's getting annoyed.
"He's just manipulating you, as usual." I roll over and yank the covers up.
"You always do this Jason, you know I care about him and don't want to see him do something stupid," she snaps, with the same bitterness as mine.
"How do you expect me to react?" I bite. Again, we're having another pointless argument, why do we keep doing this?
"Not like this. It doesn't matter, you don't understand," she says firmly, but I know she's upset with me. I switch on my bedside light and roll back over to sit up against the bed head.
"Explain it to me then! Because you're always there for him, but you don't even notice something as simple as me having a rough time at work." My eyes twinge as I stare at her.
"How am I supposed to know that?" her words snap together.
"You don't even ask me anymore," I shout, it comes out a lot louder than it should have.
"You're being a jerk now Jason." She says this as she rolls over and pulls the covers up. By the tone of her voice, she's utterly upset now.
"Oh, now I'm the bad guy?" I throw my hands out in front of me dramatically.
"Whatever, I'm going to sleep," she huffs.
Throwing the blankets aside I grab my pillow and storm off downstairs to my office. The sofa in there is where I end up sleeping on more occasions than I'd like. I find myself staring at the ceiling again. My hand automatically reaches for the blanket that's folded up on the back; it's still there from the last week when we fought. I shouldn't get so worked up, but I can't help it. Mark's important to her, I get that. We all attended college together, so, they have been friends for years. However, this isn't the first time she has put him above me.
A few years ago, one of my clients invited us to a launch party. I was at home ready to leave and Bianca sent me a text saying she would meet me there—she was with Mark. He had broken up with one of his many girlfriends and was in a bad place. I ended up leaving the party alone as she never got there.
We have been a part of each other's lives for so long and I can't imagine being without her. We've drifted so far away from each other and every time we talk about stuff, it ends up in a yelling match. My alarm's set to go off soon and I know that I'm not going to get much more sleep.