Advanced Mythology by Jody Lynn Nye Page B

come on,” Doug Constance said. “Half the people out there will have no idea what that means.”
    “Packhorse? Mule? Suitcase?” suggested Rollin Chisholm. “I’m throwing out ideas here—Office Entertainment System?”
    “Nope,” said Mann, tersely.
    “Smartpack?” Janine Martinez offered.
    “No way.”
    “Palm Pro?”
    “Too close to the competitors,” Paul Meier said. “Fingertip?”
    “Uh … nah.”
    “Encyclo-PDA?”
    “Y’know, every single agency in Chicago has come up with that one.”
    “Really?” said Peggy Gilmore, narrowing her eyes. “I thought that one was pretty clever.”
    “We really ought to try New York, too,” Lehmann said to Mann. Dorothy stiffened. Paul leaned over and put a hand over hers.
    Lehmann noticed the gesture and seemed genuinely abashed. “Sorry. We think out loud too much. Corporate culture.” He pointed a finger at his head pistol style, and pulled the imaginary trigger. “You know, no people skills.”
    “This thing doesn’t need a campaign behind it,” Paul said admiringly. “The thing writes its own ad copy. Just write down everything it can do.”
    “Use the list as wallpaper,” said Doug excitedly. “Transparent, over a photo, maybe the user’s hand and a train window in the background. It’d make a good and sticky ad—one that keeps your eyes on it for a long time.”
    “Yes,” Dorothy said, sketching the unit in Lehmann’s hands and filling in scribbles around it to indicate words. “Good.”
    “HE for Home Entertainment?” suggested Chisholm. “HE’s the one you want to take everywhere with you? Turn HE on, and HE’ll turn you on?”
    “No,” Paul said. “Male customers will think it sounds like they’re taking a guy on a date.”
    “Okay, SHE? Single Home Entertainment? Women are less sensitive about hanging with other women.”
    “PE?” added Parks. “Personal Entertainment?”
    “No,” Mann said. “PE sounds like gym class. It’s still going to be the Gadfly Mark One no matter what handle you hang on it.”
    The Gadfly guys seemed nonplussed by the babble going on around them. They couldn’t be impressed, having heard initial pitches from a dozen companies. They listened as the staff threw out idea after idea, saying “no,” or simply shaking their heads.
    “Everyone will want one of these,” Constance said. “Can you think of one single person in the world who won’t want one? This will galvanize the industry. Gadfly could sell a million of these in the first week.”
    “But it needs the right approach,” Paul Meier said.
    “The right name,” said Mann.
    Keith sat watching Ms. Schick manipulate the Gadfly unit while the others argued over his head. He wasn’t the only copywriter that Dorothy had brought in, but she trusted him. She wanted him to succeed for her. He was grateful for the chance. He didn’t want to let her down.
    He couldn’t take his eyes off the device. The flat hinges allowed the PDA to be turned inside out and upside down, revealing more and more uses. An infinity of utility. He didn’t even notice Dorothy’s desperate eye, so intent was he on the device. It bent every which way, like someone folding a piece of paper.
    “Origami,” he said, dreamily.
    “How about the Pocket Secretary?” Chisholm proposed.
    “Too much like an infomercial,” said Lehmann.
    “The Office Box?” Constance offered.
    “What?” Mann asked. “What did you say?”
    The blond executive started. “The Office Box? I know it needs work.”
    “No, him, the bug-eyed one,” he said, pointing at Keith. “What did you say, son?”
    Keith grinned, embarrassed. “I said ‘origami.’ The Japanese art form. That’s what it reminds me of. They can take a piece of paper and fold it into anything you want. It just made me think of it, the way you can twist that around into so many different shapes. It can be about anything you want it to. Can’t it?”
    The executives smiled slowly at one