Page 19 of Bad Love

"Hunter’s Cross.Tradition without the bullshit." I flash an earnest-but-knowing grin at thecamera.

The director calls, "Cut!"

My smile fades, and I survey the commercial set. "This isn'tworking.”

The music stops, and the cameraman pulls back. I'm surrounded by a dozen attractive professionals playing at being my friends, drinking Hunter’s Cross brew in front of this upscalebackdrop.

The actors around me stop their chattering, and the director bites back a sigh. "What's wrong, Hunter? Is it thelighting?"

His impatience rolls off me. I know what we’re trying to create, and it doesn’t boil down to notes on lighting. It’s afeeling.

Feelings sellbeer.

Feelings selleverything. Cars. Underwear. Eveninvestments.

We like to think we’re rational, but humans aren’t rational creatures. No matter how we dress ourselves up, no matter how many pro-and-con lists we make, at the end of the day, we’re impulsive asfuck.

Once you admit it, it’s a beautifulthing.

Monty and my family will never understand, but that’s why I love advertising. I can sell people what they need but don’t know they need throughfeeling.

Every beer drinker needs Hunter’s Cross in their life. It’s my job to help them realize theinevitable.

Which is why I’ll be here working on this new video spot for our social ads until we’ve got the feeling exactlyright.

"This place." I look around the room we rented at Monty’s parents’ hotel. "It's tooprissy."

"It's the grand ballroom. We're on the second from the top floor of the Charlotte." His voice implies we couldn’t do better than one of the most exclusive hotels inMidtown.

"Exactly. It's not different at all." The wheels turn in my head. "I have an idea." I look at the actors. "You guys keep doing what you're doing and followme."

I start toward the door before turning back to the camera guy, who's whispering to the director. I stick two fingers in my mouth andwhistle.

The shrill noise echoes in the room, and every head snaps towardme.

"You should be filming,” I tellthem.

The main camera guy lifts the camera off the tripod and shouldersit.

I stalk out the door, and the stream of actors follows, talking andbuzzing.

People are questioning what I’m doing. The professionals who do this all day, every day, are suddenly offguard.

It’s right where I wantthem.

I stride down to the end of the hall, over the fancy carpets, to the fire escape. Through the door. Behind me, it builds—the energy, thecuriosity.

I hear the director's, "Are we insured forthis?"

The mob goes up the stairs to the top door. I stalk out onto theroof.

Nellie's parents had thought about a rooftop patio, but they put the project on hold to do other restorations to the classic twenty-four-story building. The roof isn’t anything, just a big empty space with a few construction materials and some rebar on one side. The ornate edges of the building are only visible if you’re willing to look out over the ledge at the drop down to streetlevel.

In other words, it’sperfect.

One of the girls at my back squeals. "Fuck, it'sraining!"

When the first of the fat raindrops hits my face, I grin.Hellyeah.

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