Free Chameleon On a Kaleidoscope (The Oxygen Thief Diaries) by Anonymous Page A

isn’t
it?”
    Johnathan, our very
British account manager, appeared genuine enough but an account
man’s work was never done. He might need me to work late, or let
him kill an idea he couldn’t sell or come in to work on a weekend.
This was his way of sounding me out. So when I redirected his
gratitude to Silvestro, his eyes narrowed. A creative who didn’t
gloam at easy praise was something to be wary of. Did I know
something he didn’t? Was this campaign about to be received less
favourably than he’d been led to believe? Why would I deflect the
credit for a potentially award-winning campaign?
    The preliminary research
results indicated that The Life Less Driven was a winner. It had
already tested through the roof in London, Berlin, Los Angeles and
New York. The idea was simple. Demonstrate safety by showing the
driver and passenger conversing freely. Real conversations. The
more relaxed the conversation, the safer the car. The client loved
it because the car was in every single shot and creatives aspired
to it because the conversations were real. It went beyond
advertising. It was reality with a logo.
    Christoph, our German
producer had referred to it, in an all-staff email as the Irishman’s campaign. This was something he would only do if
Silvestro had already sanctioned it. My first impulse was to send
out a reply-to-all saying I’d had nothing to do with it. But if the
creative director wanted it said that I was involved in this
campaign then who was I to object? Maybe it was his generous
gesture of welcome? His way of including me. I also had to tread
carefully since my visa-situation had become extremely delicate.
The lawyer was now saying my “ little hiccup” at the Canadian
border could effectively halt my green card application and because
of this here was a very real danger I might never work in the US
again. This was not the time to distance myself from an award
winning campaign. And anyway hadn’t I perpetrated enough good work
of my own over the years to piggy-back just this once?
    Across the room Lucien sat
straight-backed and expressionless watching me carefully as if he
might draw me later from memory. Without taking those button-black
eyes from mine his fingers began typing so fast I thought at first
he was joking. The screen in front of him was as indecipherable as
he was. Macro enlargements of half-tone photography woven into
layers of transparent type, ground up against jagged slabs of flat
black and white. All strangely haphazard and definitely
non-commercial. It was like an aerial view of some unforgiving
alien landscape, impenetrably obscure, airless and unwelcoming. It
was obvious from even a distance that it wasn’t agency work. It
soon became clear from the galleys and layouts strewn over every
available surface of the three-story canal house that Lucien’s book
of black and white photography (mostly black) would soon be
published thanks to agency funds set aside by Silvestro. It would
be his reward for past services and, as far as I could see it was
the only reason he tolerated any of us at all.
    What I didn’t know was
that he had already resigned. As soon as his books were delivered
he would be gone. Was it just co-incidence that I should end up in
Amsterdam just as he was leaving? It might have been paranoia but a
scenario began to emerge that seemed to explain everything. Maybe
Andy had intentionally orchestrated the shoot in Canada knowing
that my visa was up for renewal. He wasn’t exactly pleased when he
caught me printing out my book and even less so when I made that
comment in the toilet. And with Lucien leaving they needed someone
to help Silvestro. Andy could get rid of me and find a use for me
at the same time. It made sense. As creative director it would have
been easy for Andy to find out the status of my work visa. If this
was true then I might have to accept that Amsterdam was now my
permanent home.
     
    PIPPA
    Pippa was an upper-class
British girl whose idea of