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She nodded, but I could see disapproval in her eyes. “At first blush, that may seem like the correct response, and certainly that’s appropriate for a week or maybe more, but it can’t end there.”
I opened my hands. “What else is there? I screwed up and ended up in the papers. I looked like the idiot I was at the time. It was the alcohol, by the way, and I embarrassed us. So, I need to stop doing that shit. Lesson learned.” Somehow this woman’s attitude got on my nerves. She was way too relaxed, and my glare bounced off her like she was covered in some kind of reflective material.
“I see.” Her slight smile didn’t waver. “In staying out of the news, what is it you hope to accomplish regarding your image exactly? Would you like people to remember the last thing they read about you in the paper, perhaps have time solidify that view of your character?”
I sighed. “Not exactly.”
“Then what exactly? Do you want to continue to be seen as the womanizing playboy with a different date on your arm every week? The one who cavorts naked in public fountains every month?”
“I would think staying out of the papers would change that perception,” I responded defensively.
Her thinking face reappeared for a few seconds. “Let me pose a hypothetical. Let’s say you and I meet for lunch, and you see me arrive driving a twenty-year-old, dirty, rusty Volvo. I’m wearing a sleeveless red dress with a plunging neckline and greet you with a kiss. Being the man you are, you try to cop a feel, and I don’t resist.”
I was already salivating, imagining the scene.
“I order the grilled salmon,” she continued, “with lemon and dill. I drink one and half glasses of chardonnay. Then we don’t see each other until the next weekend.”
I nodded along, waiting for what happens the next weekend.
“What kind of car do I drive?” she asked.
“That’s easy.” I had a good-enough memory for this game. “A Volvo.”
“That’s the problem right there. You don’t know that, but you assumed it was mine because you saw the Volvo and me together. You didn’t ask me about it, and if I didn’t tell you my Mercedes was in the shop so I’d borrowed my brother’s car, that’s the same assumption most people would make.”
I gulped, waiting for the rest of her critique.
“Pretty much everyone in the country saw pictures of you and that girl naked in a public fountain, and they’ve formed their own conclusions about your character, and who she is to you.”
“I don’t even know her,” I protested.
“They saw you together, so it doesn’t matter. Until they get another image to replace that one, that’s who you are to them, and who she is to you. Lack of countervailing information will not make the impression any better with age.”
I took a deep breath. “So what’s the plan?”
“We determine the traits you want to project, and those you don’t want to project, and build actions around them.” She opened the folder she’d brought. “The Shark of Wall Street devours another victim,” she read from the first sheet.
I listened without comment. The next three were similar.
“These all call you a shark, and sharks don’t appeal to people, personality-wise.”
I sighed. “What can I say? I negotiate hard. It’s the job, and I’m good at it.”
“Were good at it,” she corrected.
The distinction deflated me. “So, now I’m supposed to roll over in negotiations and get a bad deal?”
“The objective is to soften your image.”
“Should I adopt a half dozen puppies from the shelter and walk them around the park?”
“That would be a good start.”
I’d been joking, but she wasn’t laughing.
“Now you’ve been given the perfect platform to change your perception as a cold, heartless businessman. People like philanthropy. They appreciate it when those with the means to help others.”
In the back of my mind, I wondered how much of this had been approved by Dad. His words brought Gramps’ note to mind, but I didn’t bring it up. “So, give lots of money away. I already—”
