Henri exhaled noisily. His
assignment was insurmountable. It was wonderful that Williams, Turner and Bo
had landed the Beauty Be You account. Yet, it was less than marvelous that, as
a Senior Producer, he had to stimulate sales of an anachronistic creation, a
lipstick, via television and the Internet spots. Long gone were the days when
energetic dames were considered attractive. It would have been easier to hawk
pulp fiction to Literature Professors or to vend trout to weekend fishermen
than to sell Red27. No one wanted to look like women-girls.
On balance, thats why
Williams, Turner and Bo had been hired; Beauty Be You had survived by playing
to niche markets, including consumers who sought to appear as nimble females.
The corporations reach knew no limits.
Hitherto, bright plumage,
once evidenced by vigorous peoples clothing and cosmetics, was shunned.
Fashion, per se, was passé. Few designer houses or make-up
enterprises endured. Whats more, most marketed shoes were orthopedic.
Most middle-class dwellings yielded staircases to private elevators.
In fact, Henri had been
instrumental in helping a developer, Tomorrows 42nd Street, showcase
walk-in bathtubs, wide doorways, and single lever kitchen faucets in that
businesss new, expensive building. Yet, Henri had failed to charm that
firms owner into advertising personal alarm systems, toothat
mans prize seventy-five year-old wife had insisted that they take a trip
to the moon instead of bankrolling a necessity.
In contrast, Henris
own wife was no trophy. Actually, there had been titters and rude coughing as
she had walked down the aisle at their wedding. Penelope was Henris
junior. Whats more, as she had entered their union entirely intact, she
had been able to produce four children. It was only Henris professional
status that kept him from being the offices laughingstock.
significant decline in world population, middle aged and older femmes were
hot, while their daughters and granddaughters were not. A decade or
so earlier, a University of Minnesota scientist had proved, through possibly
spurious research, that men lived longer when consorted by gals past menopause.
Accordingly, youth was scorned, in general, and fledgling partners were
spurned, more specifically. Plus, global altruism died.
Few men cared that hitching
themselves to senior missuses increased their individual longevity at the cost
of not perpetuating humanity. The new sexy had become living past
ninety while exploiting a centenarian as arm candy. It was often the case that
the richer the man, the older the bride.
Henri picked up the product
samples shipped by Beauty Be You and shrugged. The popularity of mating elders
had caused many consumers to forego traditional enhancements. Women coveted
wrinkles, not anti-aging creams. They demanded grey hair, not juvenile
pigments. Besides, famous people were often quoted as saying things like
artificial color, texture, and protection is unenlightened; true beauty
is a ripened face.
Henri shrugged. Attraction
really had no limits.
He then rubbed his chin;
his sentiment could become the basis for the Beauty Be You ads. Williams,
Turner and Bo could showcase couples consisting of golden agers and their
mates, and then fade to pairs in which the ladies were unmistakably fecund.
Whereas social norms were strong, it was neither illegal nor immoral to desire
a babe or to sire children on hersuch acts, merely, were
All things considered,
Henri still jumped when Sima Turner, the companys vice president of
marketing, knocked on his door. That hoary executive was rarely seen outside of
her suite as she was the ships-wheel. Anyway, her looks were so
extraordinary that any man speaking to her risked losing his professional
So, Henri memorized all of
the particulars of his wife, Penelope, which were captured in the photograph on
his desk, before he bade the silvery decision-maker to enter his space. He was
determined not be misled by Ms. Turners wiles.
Mr. Randolf, I
cant see how we will be able to promote the beauty of mademoiselles. This
campaign is tosh.
Henri gestured to the
storyboards on his computers screen.
Less than five minutes
later, the vice president left his workplace. She was smiling and
Fortune smiled on Williams,
Turner and Bo weeks before their campaign launched. More exactly, paparazzi had
caught Frances president leaving a countryside hotel with a broad half of
his age. He declared to the press that his lover was not a daughter substitute,
but a smart doll, whose eroticism spewed from her forthrightness and her love
well-liked actor, James C. Nussim, had tossed down the gauntlet by very overtly
marching his newest wife, the red-headed Alana Quinn, a youngster in her
twenties, around the halls of the annual Depends Charity Gala. His act had
occupied headlines for two days.
As well, there had been
that retired footballer who had sat, with his doxy, a toy allegedly in her
thirties, in the front row at the Liquid Foods Awards. Calling the
athletes flaunting of a December/May relationship merely
scandalous was akin to calling an oak tree dying of wilt just
Turner and Bos campaign was noticed in tabloids and on billboards. Their
operation was spectacularly reinforced on social media, too. As discovered by
investigative journalists, courageous ancients bought the lipstick.
Furthermore, schoolgirls and their sisters, likewise, purchased it.
In truth, Sima Turner, too,
was wearing that shade when she summoned Henri into her set of rooms. Had he
been faster or a fighter, Henri would not have been wearing it when he exited.
The following day, Henri
turned in his key. He had quit. After rebuffing Simas offer of a
horizontal promotion, he had decided to move his family to Vermont to try