If dirty stories make you uncomfortable, or if you’re offended by vulgar jokes, this blog entry is not for you. But if you believe as I do that anything goes (short of downright malice), then ….
Read on, my friends, and you shall hear
Of the silly saga of Prudence Devere
It began on an evening in Sixty-seven
In a quiet restaurant whose food was heaven..
When an issue arose from out of the blue…
And manners were abandoned, and good taste too.
When I first met Pru Devere, she was in her early thirties, attractive in a conventional way, articulate, intelligent and well-educated. She was already a successful copywriter at a big New York ad agency, had won industry-wide recognition for her work, and was about to become the agency’s first female vice-president. Not satisfied, however, with what she’d already achieved, she was determined to start her own agency; a nearly unheard-of goal in a business so thoroughly dominated by men.
But all in all, she was much like her male peers: bold, talented, ambitious and driven.
Yet despite having so much going for her, Pru had one major flaw: she believed she could manipulate people without them ever noticing. And although she was charming and persuasive, she was nonetheless a serial manipulator; addicted to using anyone and everyone to her advantage. Which is why she ran through boyfriends faster than a bicycle messenger through red lights and why I found her to be fun … in small doses.
For example, whenever she had a serious business problem, she would call one of a coterie of ‘qualified friends’ and offer lunch at a decent mid-town restaurant.
’We haven’t seen each other for so long.’ she’d coo. ‘Let’s just get together and chat. And this one’s on me, okay?’
I myself had gotten several of those calls, and in some ways looked forward to them. The lunches gave me a chance to hear gossip about which agencies were pitching which clients, and who was pulling the sneaky on whom. (Also, a free meal on her expense account was welcome at that stage of my self-employment.) Eventually, of course, we’d get to her problem which was usually one of agency people or politics, and then I’d offer my opinion for her to disparage and ignore, but somehow absorb. In truth, I came to suspect she considered me a better ‘sounding board’ than anything else.
So I was stunned one day when she called and invited me to dinner at Lutece.
Lutece for dinner? I said to myself. I can’t believe she’s serious. Lutece is the most famous French restaurant in New York! What am I saying? …it’s one of the most famous restaurants IN THE WORLD! Holy Christ, it’ll cost her a fortune!
And, of course, that’s when my suspicion gene snapped awake.
What does she want? I asked myself … and then figured that whatever it was, it would cost me something. Nobody like Pru Devere does Lutece without a big payout in mind. So what would I be paying out? Did she want me to join in some conspiracy that she‘d profit from? Did she want to pitch someone I knew and needed inside info? Or maybe she was secretly starting her own agency. But would she do that without an anchor client?
If so, we’d be eating at Katz‘s Deli, not at Lutece.
So it was with anxiety and salivary anticipation --along with those natural twins, curiosity and wariness -- that I met her on the appointed evening.
Lutece was located in a converted brownstone on East Fiftieth Street and was easy to overlook if you didn’t know it was there. But once inside, there was no doubt that you’d entered a special place. The ambiance and the décor were, of course, French and perfect in detail. But what was different was how subdued the dining room was. In a city whose restaurants were often deafening, even bordering on raucous, everyone at Lutece spoke in near-whispers. The atmosphere was as reverential as might be found in, say, the Sistine Chapel; and for a moment I wondered whether only white smoke came from its kitchen chimneys.
In any case, my strategy with Pru was to insist on small talk for as long as possible so I could enjoy a few of the dishes made famous by Andre Soltner, the chef/owner. And I succeeded through the Alsatian onion tart (wonderful) and got halfway through the braised baby lamb (even more wonderful) before Peggy knocked lightly on my hand and said:
I have a fantastic opportunity at the agency.
Congratulations. Tell me about it later. I replied.
No. That’s no good. You need to think about it now.
I’ll think about it over dessert. I can’t think and eat at the same time.
Then just listen, she demanded. It’s a big deal for me.
I must have nodded my okay because she plunged into it.
Warner Lambert is giving us a new product .. something so amazing that .. I dunno’ .. just amazing. And I’ve been given the whole thing. I mean EVERYTHING .. packaging, design, marketing, promotion, publicity, the ad campaign .. the works. Isn’t that great? I even get to name it! And if it’s successful … WOW. The sky’s the limit. Don’t say anything, but I think I could become creative director of the whole agency .. Or maybe even a bigger agency like Y&R or BBD&O. Great, huh?
Yeah, sounds wonderful. I said. Could I have a bite of your trout almondine?
Don’t be so wise-ass, she chided. I’m serious, dammit! And I need a name for it.
Aha! There it was. She knew I was good at labeling things .. and people (‘Masterpiece Theatre’ would be a case in point) .. and wanted to bounce some names off me and maybe get some suggestions. But I was still more interested in the food; so when I asked casually what the product was, I wasn’t listening too carefully
First, you have to promise not to laugh, she said. It’s .. uh .. different. So promise. No laughs, no jokes!
Her look was so intense, her eyes so serious, that my taste buds skidded into stop.
Okay, so what’s the product? I asked.
Promise me! she insisted. Cross your heart and hope to die .. and you will die because I personally will kill you.
Oh for Christ’s sake, Pru I promise. What’s the product?
It’s a vaginal deodorant.
A WHAT?
Sensing that I was about to burst, her jaw tightened and she hissed at me through gritted teeth.:
You heard me, goddamit .. it’s a vaginal deodorant.
My laugh must have sounded like a gunshot because every conversation in the restaurant stopped. Even at the furthest end of the dining room, people turned to see if anyone had been hurt.
You sonofabitch, Pru said. You promised!
She was trying to make the best of it, looking embarrassed and smiling apologetically at people sitting nearby. Meanwhile, I’d brought myself back to semi-control with a series of gasping giggles.
That’s crazy, I said finally. Who the hell wants a vaginal deodorant?
Teenage girls, she told me. They’re very self-conscious about their bodies; and the company’s research says it’s a massive potential market. In fact, even post-teen women worry about .. uh, odor. It could be a very hot product.
Wonderful, I said, you can call it ‘Cherries in Bloom’ and give it a scent. You know, like a room freshener or those pine tree things that hang on rear-view mirrors?
She gave me that hard look again.
Or how about ‘Serene”? … but spelled s-i-r-e-n-e so the teenies will think it’ll make boys happy.
You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? she said.
Yup, I sure am.
I must have been making too much noise again because the hostess/major domo --who I later found out was Andre Soltner’s wife -- captured my attention from her command post with pursed lips and a slightly upturned eyebrow. Very French and very pointed. I got the message
Okay, let’s get serious, I said.; meaning it but knowing I was barely holding on.
So is this a spray of some kind? I asked.
Yes, that’s right.
All wrong, I said.
All wrong? What’s all wrong?
It should be a roll-on.
What the hell are you talking about? Pru demanded.
A roll-on, dummy … up and down, up and down.
She still didn’t get it so I hummed the melody to the Doublemint Gum jingle. Then she understood and, much to my surprise, laughed with me. Together, we sang ‘Double your pleasure and double your fun …’ as Mrs. Soltner headed our way.
I lifted my arms in surrender and put a forefinger to my lips in the universal sign of silence. She nodded curtly and turned away.
Pru said: We really have to behave or they’ll throw us out.
I agreed and we settled back to our meal, smiling and occasionally giggling quietly at the absurdity -- and the paradoxes -- of the world in which we lived and worked. So the next minutes passed without incident, the dining room went back to its air of respect and gentility, until, as we were looking at the wondrous desert menu, I had an inspired and thoroughly unexpected vision.
I’ve got it! I said. I’ve got the perfect name.
What?
It’s even got its own tag line .. the name itself says it works instantly.
Oh for God’s sake, Pru said. What IS it???
I looked both to my right and to my left to see if anyone was listening, and I beckoned her closer to me.
Are you ready?
She looked ready to kill.
In a half-whisper, I said: we should call it …Lickety-Split.
And that, my friends, is how all restraint was lost, all etiquette shattered. In short, that is how to be ejected from a world-class restaurant.
AFTER DINNER MINTS
Warner Lambert finally named its product ‘Pristeen’, a name that was possibly too cute. It was advertised nationally, and promoted heavily, but lasted only a few years before being withdrawn.
Pru Devere continued to have a successful advertising career, but never started her own agency. The only woman of the ‘Mad Men’ era to do so was Mary Wells of Wells, Rich, Green who married her biggest client. She lives today in Manhattan and on her yacht in the Meditteranean.
Andre Soltner sold Lutece in the early 1990s to an upscale restaurant chain. It closed in 2004 when its old customers refused to adjust to a new menu and its new customers considered it past its prime. But it is still referred to, not infrequently, on ‘Mad Men’. Sic Transit Gloria Mundi.
Vaginal deodorants in the form of sprays, wipes and suppositories are still available in most drug stores. Some are scented with aromas described as ‘Sheer Tropics’ and ‘Fresh Island Breeze’. They seem to sell for reasons beyond reason.
And finally .. although Pru Devere and I remained friends, I never received another invitation from her .. not even for breakfast.
Thanks for reading my ramblings. I hope you’ll share them with friends by sending them the link: http://keywestwind.blogspot.com.
