The Bazaar of Bad Dreams

‘That’s El,’ I say. ‘Nothing stops her. If she feels like she has to go somewhere, she goes.’

‘—and I thought to myself, “That’s a real graveyard cough.”’ He raises one gloved hand in a stop gesture. ‘Not that I really thought—’

‘I get it,’ I said. ‘It was on the way to being a stay-in-the-hospital cough, for sure. But I finally got her to see the doctor, and now … road to recovery.’

‘Good. Good.’ Then, returning to what’s really on his mind: ‘Mrs Warshawski was pretty grossed out when I told her. I said we’d probably just find some spoiled food in the fridge, but I know it’s worse than that. So does anybody else on those floors with an intact smeller.’ He gives a grim little nod. ‘They’re going to find a dead rat in there, you mark my words. Food stinks, but not like that. Only dead things stink like that. It’s a rat, all right, maybe a couple of them. Mrs W. probably put down poison and don’t want to admit it.’ He bends down to give Lady another pat. ‘You smell it, don’t you, girl? You bet you do.’

There’s a litter of purple notes around the coffeemaker. I take the purple pad they came from to the kitchen table and write another.

Ellen: Lady all walked. Coffee ready. If you feel well enough to go out to the park, go! Just not too far. Don’t want you to overdo now that you’re finally on the mend. Carlo told me again that he ‘smells a rat.’ I guess so does everyone else in the neighborhood of 5-C. Lucky for us that you’re plugged up and I’m ‘nasally challenged.’ Haha! If you hear people down the hall, it’s the exterminators. Carlo will be with them, so don’t worry. I’m going to walk to work. Need to think some more about the latest male wonder drug. Wish they’d consulted us before they hung that name on it. Remember, DON’T OVERDO. Love you-love you.

I jot half a dozen xs just to underline the point, and sign it with a B in a heart. Then I add it to the other notes around the coffeemaker. I refill Lady’s water dish before I leave.

It’s twenty blocks or so, and I don’t think about the latest male wonder drug. I think about the exterminators, who will be coming at three. Earlier, if they can make it.

The dreams have interrupted my sleep cycle, I guess, because I almost fall asleep during the morning meeting in the conference room. But I come around in a hurry when Pete Wendell shows a mock-up poster for the new Petrov Excellent campaign. I’ve seen it already, on his office computer while he was fooling with it last week, and looking at it again I know where at least one element of my dream came from.

‘Petrov Excellent Vodka,’ Aura McLean says. Her wonderful breasts rise and fall in a theatrical sigh. ‘If that name’s an example of the new Russian capitalism, it’s dead on arrival.’ The heartiest laughter at this comes from the younger men, who’d like to see Aura’s long blond hair spread on a pillow next to them. ‘No offense to you intended, Pete. Petrov Excellent aside, it’s a great leader.’

‘None taken,’ Pete says with a game smile. ‘We do what we can.’

The poster shows a couple toasting each other on a balcony while the sun sinks over a harbor filled with expensive pleasure boats. The cutline beneath reads SUNSET. THE PERFECT TIME FOR A VODKA SUNRISE.

There’s some discussion about the placement of the Petrov bottle – right? left? center? below? – and Frank Bernstein suggests that actually adding the recipe might prolong the page-view, especially for webvertising and in mags like Playboy and Esquire. I tune out, thinking about the drink sitting on the tray in my airplane dream, until I realize George Slattery is calling on me. I’m able to replay the question, and that’s a good thing. You don’t ask George to chew his cabbage twice.

‘I’m actually in the same boat as Pete,’ I say. ‘The client picked the name, I’m just doing what I can.’

There’s some good-natured laughter. There have been many jokes about Vonnell Pharmaceutical’s newest drug product.