Harrison’s lap was a small case of videotapes. With absolute assurance, without asking permission, he went to a TV set and inserted one of the tapes.
“Watch this,” he said. “It’s not one of my clients, but I think it’s just astounding.”
The videotape played a commercial for American pizza, and the pitchman was Mikhail Gorbachev, the former president of the Soviet Union. Gorbachev sold with quiet dignity, never saying a word, just feeding his grandchildren pizza while the crowd voiced its admiration.
Marcantonio smiled at Harrison. “A victory for the free world,” he said. “So what?”
“The former leader of the Soviet Republic, and now he’s clowning around doing a commercial for an American pizza company. Isn’t that astonishing? And I hear they only paid him half a million.”
“OK,” Marcantonio said. “But why?”
“Why does anyone do anything so humiliating?” Harrison said. “He needs the money desperately.”
And suddenly Marcantonio thought of his father. The Don would feel such contempt for a man who had ruled a great country and did not provide financial security for his family. Don Aprile would think him the most foolish of men.
“A nice lesson in history and human psychology,” Marcantonio said. “But again, so what?”
Harrison tapped his box of videos. “I have more, and I anticipate some resistance. These are a little more touchy. You and I have done business for a long time. I want to make sure you let these commercials run on your network. The rest will necessarily follow.”
“I can’t imagine,” Marcantonio said.
Harrison inserted another tape and explained. “We have purchased the rights to use deceased celebrities in our commercials. It is such a waste that the famous dead cease to have a function in our society. We want to change that and restore them to their former glory.”
The tape began to play. There was a succession of shots of Mother Teresa ministering to the poor and sick of Calcutta, her nun’s habit draping over the dying. Another shot of her receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, her homely face shining, her saintly humility so moving. Then a shot of her ladling out soup from a huge pot to the poor in the streets.
Suddenly the picture blazes with color. A richly dressed man comes to a pot with an empty bowl. He says to a beautiful young woman, “Can I have some soup? I hear it’s wonderful.” The young woman gives him a radiant smile and ladles some soup into his bowl. He drinks, looking as if he’s in ecstasy.
Then the screen dissolves to a supermarket and a whole shelf of soup cans labeled “Calcutta.” A voice-over proclaims,“Calcutta Soup, a life giver to rich and poor alike. Everyone can afford the twenty varieties of delicious soup. Original recipes by Mother Teresa.”
“I think that’s done in pretty good taste,” Harrison said.
Marcantonio raised his eyebrows.
Harrison inserted another video. A brilliant shot of Princess Diana in her wedding dress filled the screen, followed by shots of her in Buckingham Palace. Then dancing with Prince Charles, surrounded by her royal entourage, all in frenetic motion.
A voice-over intones, “Every princess deserves a prince. But this princess had a secret.” A young model holds up an elegant crystal bottle of perfume, the product label clear. The voice-over continues, “With one small spray of Princess perfume, you too can capture your prince—and never have to worry about vaginal odor.”
Marcantonio pressed a button on his desk and the screen went black.
Harrison said, “Wait, I have more.”
Marcantonio shook his head. “Richard, you are amazingly inventive—and insensitive. Those commercials will never play on my network.”
Harrison protested, “But some of the proceeds go to charity—and they are in good taste. I hoped you would lead the way. We’re good friends, after all.”
“So we are,” Marcantonio said. “But still, the answer is no.”
Harrison shook his head
“Watch this,” he said. “It’s not one of my clients, but I think it’s just astounding.”
The videotape played a commercial for American pizza, and the pitchman was Mikhail Gorbachev, the former president of the Soviet Union. Gorbachev sold with quiet dignity, never saying a word, just feeding his grandchildren pizza while the crowd voiced its admiration.
Marcantonio smiled at Harrison. “A victory for the free world,” he said. “So what?”
“The former leader of the Soviet Republic, and now he’s clowning around doing a commercial for an American pizza company. Isn’t that astonishing? And I hear they only paid him half a million.”
“OK,” Marcantonio said. “But why?”
“Why does anyone do anything so humiliating?” Harrison said. “He needs the money desperately.”
And suddenly Marcantonio thought of his father. The Don would feel such contempt for a man who had ruled a great country and did not provide financial security for his family. Don Aprile would think him the most foolish of men.
“A nice lesson in history and human psychology,” Marcantonio said. “But again, so what?”
Harrison tapped his box of videos. “I have more, and I anticipate some resistance. These are a little more touchy. You and I have done business for a long time. I want to make sure you let these commercials run on your network. The rest will necessarily follow.”
“I can’t imagine,” Marcantonio said.
Harrison inserted another tape and explained. “We have purchased the rights to use deceased celebrities in our commercials. It is such a waste that the famous dead cease to have a function in our society. We want to change that and restore them to their former glory.”
The tape began to play. There was a succession of shots of Mother Teresa ministering to the poor and sick of Calcutta, her nun’s habit draping over the dying. Another shot of her receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, her homely face shining, her saintly humility so moving. Then a shot of her ladling out soup from a huge pot to the poor in the streets.
Suddenly the picture blazes with color. A richly dressed man comes to a pot with an empty bowl. He says to a beautiful young woman, “Can I have some soup? I hear it’s wonderful.” The young woman gives him a radiant smile and ladles some soup into his bowl. He drinks, looking as if he’s in ecstasy.
Then the screen dissolves to a supermarket and a whole shelf of soup cans labeled “Calcutta.” A voice-over proclaims,“Calcutta Soup, a life giver to rich and poor alike. Everyone can afford the twenty varieties of delicious soup. Original recipes by Mother Teresa.”
“I think that’s done in pretty good taste,” Harrison said.
Marcantonio raised his eyebrows.
Harrison inserted another video. A brilliant shot of Princess Diana in her wedding dress filled the screen, followed by shots of her in Buckingham Palace. Then dancing with Prince Charles, surrounded by her royal entourage, all in frenetic motion.
A voice-over intones, “Every princess deserves a prince. But this princess had a secret.” A young model holds up an elegant crystal bottle of perfume, the product label clear. The voice-over continues, “With one small spray of Princess perfume, you too can capture your prince—and never have to worry about vaginal odor.”
Marcantonio pressed a button on his desk and the screen went black.
Harrison said, “Wait, I have more.”
Marcantonio shook his head. “Richard, you are amazingly inventive—and insensitive. Those commercials will never play on my network.”
Harrison protested, “But some of the proceeds go to charity—and they are in good taste. I hoped you would lead the way. We’re good friends, after all.”
“So we are,” Marcantonio said. “But still, the answer is no.”
Harrison shook his head
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