Insanity
Seated around the large glass and chrome conference table were the board of directors and corporate officers of Desiree Cosmetics. Blythe Howell, chief executive officer and Chairman of the Board, was anxious for the formalities to end so that the discussion could move on to more important matters.
Finally, the secretary announced, "That matter having been decided, we now move to the next item on the agenda: the status of the development of Desiree's new fragrance."
Immediately a palpable sense of excitement and anticipation filled the room. The new perfume was the reason why most, if not all, of the directors, were in attendance.
Gail Wilson, vice president in charge of product development, had the honor of making the long-awaited announcement.
"I am pleased to report that the fragrance we have been so diligently working on has finally been perfected."
Blythe Howell closed her eyes, and a slight smile appeared on her carefully made-up face. Sighs of relief, an outburst of nervous laughter and a sprinkling of applause could be heard throughout the crowded room. For Blythe the remainder of the board meeting was inconsequential. At the moment, she could care less if the sales of Always Fresh makeup were at an all-time high or that negotiations to purchase Hair Kair Products were nearing a successful conclusion. She was far too anxious to meet with the head of marketing to discuss plans for the new fragrance to concern herself with more quotidian business matters.
Finally, the meeting was adjourned, and Edith Potter, one of Desiree's long-standing directors, approached Blythe.
"I don't know about you, but I feel like celebrating," she declared, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Blythe looked at her watch; it was almost 6:45. No use trying to schedule a meeting with marketing this late in the evening.
"Me, too, Edith. Why don't we all go out? My treat. But I can't stay out too late; I'm going to be very busy tomorrow."
At 8:15 the following morning Blythe met with Claudine Jenkins, the vice president in charge of marketing.
"I have great news," Claudine announced. "I've found our spokeswoman."
"Who is it, some up-and-coming young fashion model?"
"No. Better than that. I got Tanya Wayne to promote our perfume."
"What?" Blythe exclaimed. "She's currently one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, last year's Oscar winner for best actress. We can't possibly afford to hire her."
"It's not a question of money. I told her all about this new fragrance and showed her the preliminary test results, and she believes in our product," Claudine explained. "She's agreed to do all the promos for us at a very affordable price."
"Remind me to give you a raise," the CEO laughed. "By the way, have you decided on the name for our perfume yet?"
"I've had several good suggestions, but I've finally narrowed it down to one. I think you're going to like this: Insanity. There's a whole advertising campaign that can be built around that name, like, 'Sometimes we all feel a little crazy. On those days I wear Insanity.'"
"I like it. Start your department moving on it right away."
"I already have. In fact, most of the members of my team have been working on this project for weeks now."
"What about the unveiling ceremony? And don't tell me you want to rent Bellevue Hospital for the party!"
"Here's where things could get sticky. I'm afraid my ideas for the party are not exactly politically correct. We could be in for some bad press if people take it the wrong way."
Blythe was immediately intrigued. None of her previous ad campaigns had ever been controversial.
"Just what are you suggesting?"
"That the unveiling party be for women only and strictly by invitation. When the guests first arrive, we'll let them sample Insanity. Then for a few hours, we'll pamper the hell out of them. We'll provide a buffet fit for a king—excuse me, a queen! We'll include all the sybaritic touches: fine wine, gourmet foods and decadent desserts. We'll have flowers everywhere—roses, orchids, gardenias—and soft music playing in the background."
"It sounds nice but expensive," Blythe noted. "However, if it helps sell Insanity, it will be worth every penny."
"By next week I should have cost estimates for several different locations. As soon as I do, I'll run them by you, so we can select a venue and get moving on this right away."
"You've certainly outdone yourself this time, Claudine. I'm very pleased and grateful for all your hard work."
"There is one other idea I had," the vice president said hesitantly.
"What is it?"
"I think it would be good public relations if we had someone hand deliver gift-wrapped free samples of our perfume to several influential women such as senators, congresswomen, governors, mayors of large cities, presidents of major companies, and so on."
"Great idea! Send along a long-stemmed red rose with each sample," Blythe suggested. "That ought to get their attention."
* * *
Once Blythe personally approved the product packaging, things moved quickly. Everyone at Desiree Cosmetics worked long days and weekends to get the new perfume into production. Soon the first bottles were coming off the plant's assembly line. Claudine and her department accomplished the monumental feat of not only organizing the unveiling party but also producing several TV commercials, magazine ads and billboards featuring the beautiful and seductive Tanya Wayne.
As Blythe dressed for the unveiling party, she remembered the day she inherited Desiree Cosmetics from her father, the founder of the company. His death had been unexpected, and she was not prepared to take over the business. A mere twenty-two-year-old girl, she feared she might run Desiree into bankruptcy. Then Brad Howell valiantly stepped forward and offered to run things for her. Blythe was so grateful to him that she agreed to marry him. She realized it was foolish to think of Brad now. He was gone from her life, after all, and this was her moment of triumph. Self-conscious, she put a jacket on over the sleeveless dress to hide the scars on her arms. Then she left for the party to share her good fortune with those loyal employees who had made tonight possible.
The party turned out to be an even greater success than either Blythe or Claudine had hoped for. Only two of those invited failed to attend, and both had good reasons for not being able to make it. Tanya Wayne, as spokeswoman, was given the honor of unveiling the six-foot-high replica of Insanity's elegantly designed bottle that held not perfume, but champagne.
At the buffet table, Blythe finally had the opportunity to meet the actress.
"Miss Wayne, I can't tell you how much we here at Desiree Cosmetics appreciate all you've done for us."
"No need to thank me. I'm more than happy to do it, Mrs. Howell. My second husband was Roy Decker, the football player. He was a big man with an even bigger temper. Like you, I bear the mental and physical scars of a disastrous marriage."
Thanks to the great success of Insanity's coming out party and the public's overwhelming reaction to the innovative pre-release advertising campaign, advance orders for the perfume poured in. Soon Insanity would hit the shelves of stores everywhere from Rodeo Drive to Fifth Avenue. Secretaries, homemakers, students, sales clerks, business executives, lawyers and doctors were all eager to try Desiree's new scent.
* * *
"This is our big moment, ladies!" Edith Potter exclaimed over her Piña Colada.
She and Blythe were having dinner with Claudine Jenkins, who had just been promoted to senior vice president.
"Tomorrow women all across the country will be buying Insanity. And, if all goes as well as we expect it to, we'll extend our efforts across the Atlantic to London and Paris."
Claudine's normally plain face was transformed by rapture.
"Imagine how many unsuspecting husbands and boyfriends will be buying the perfume for the women in their lives."
"Ladies, I propose a toast to the men in our lives," Edith announced in a dignified voice, the very picture of professional reserve and gravitas. "To my dear departed husband, Arnold Potter: may he burn in hell for all eternity."
"And to Edmond Jenkins," Claudine added, "may he be as miserable for the rest of his life as he made me during the years of our marriage."
The three women clinked their glasses, but Blythe remained silent.
"What about you? Aren't you going to toast Brad?" Edith asked.
As an old friend from Blythe's childhood years, she recalled Brad Howell all too vividly.
"I was just remembering something that happened when I was a little girl," Blythe reminisced with a wistful expression on her face. "My father gave me a guided tour of the company's facilities. The thing I remember most was the research laboratory. It was very hard for a ten-year-old to understand the necessity of testing products on animals. I cried for days, and I swore if I ever ran the business, no more living creatures would be harmed. Then father passed away, I inherited Desiree and Brad took over as president."
She looked from Edith to Claudine and smiled.
"It was Brad who made me realize that some animals deserved to suffer."
Edith nodded in agreement.
* * *
The following day little work was done at the corporate offices of Desiree Cosmetics. The marketing staff was out at stores nationwide keeping an eye on sales, and Blythe was given periodic reports of their findings.
"How's it going?" Claudine inquired when she entered Blythe's office.
"It's phenomenal! Almost half the stores have already sold out of their supplies. Customers were actually lined up outside the doors when the stores opened."
"Do you think there might be anything on the news yet?"
"Let's find out," Blythe suggested, taking a remote-control unit from her desk drawer and turning on the television that sat atop her credenza.
She scanned through the channels. Just the usual afternoon fare: cartoons, game shows, cooking programs and soap operas.
On one of the cable stations, Tanya Wayne, dressed as Cleopatra, held up a bottle of perfume and declared, "In every age, there was a little Insanity."
"Channel 2 has an early news program," Blythe stated. When she turned to that channel, a talk show was in progress. "This should be going off in a few minutes. Want some coffee?"
Blythe had just taken a sip of her hazelnut-flavored brew when Channel 2 news broke into the talk show.
"We interrupt our regularly scheduled program with this important bulletin. Live from Washington, here's Walter Merrill."
Channel 2's top anchorman sat behind a desk in a busy newsroom in shirtsleeves, his casual appearance a far cry from his usual chic attire.
"We've just learned that President Elliot Madison was rushed to Bethesda Naval Hospital after suffering an apparent seizure at the White House. First Lady Caroline Madison told reporters that the president had been reading The Washington Post when he complained of severe pain in his head and then underwent what she called an epileptic-like fit. Doctors at the hospital have no immediate explanation for this attack. The president's condition is listed as stable, and we are informed he is being heavily sedated at this time. A White House spokesman reports that Vice President Meredith Hayden has temporarily assumed the president's duties. We'll provide you with more updates as they come in. Now, we take you back to our regularly ...."
Walter Merrill then paused and placed his hand on the microphone in his ear.
"Ladies and gentlemen, reports are coming into Channel 2's newsroom from its affiliates that hundreds of men across the country are being taken to hospital emergency rooms with symptoms identical to President Madison's. Cases of unexplained seizures in otherwise healthy males have been reported in cities as far away as Anchorage, Alaska."
Blythe turned off the television, and with a trembling hand, put the remote control down on her desk.
"The president!" Claudine cried with fear. "I never believed it would reach that far. How long do you think it'll be before they find out the cause of his mysterious malady?"
"It's hard to tell, but I imagine they'll eventually connect it to the perfume."
Claudine sighed.
"The resulting lawsuits will break this company. There may even be criminal charges pressed."
"Maybe," Blythe said, "maybe not. But that's the chance we all agreed to take. And I'd do it again, even if it means going to prison or losing everything I own. Did you hear that broadcast: hundreds of men stricken? And it's been less than twenty-four hours! I can't help wondering, if it weren't for Insanity, how many wives would be in the hospital tonight instead of their husbands?"
"You're right, Blythe. I've enjoyed the peace and security of this new life so much that I almost forgot what it was like with Edmond: the black eyes, the split lips, the loose teeth and the cracked ribs. Always having to walk on eggshells, afraid of saying something that might set him off."
"I wish to God I could forget," Blythe cried. "I wish I could look at myself in the mirror and not be reminded of the brutality of the monster I married. We're not hurting innocent people, Claudine. Millions of men—decent, gentle, loving husbands—will be completely immune to the dangerous effects of the chemical reaction produced by the perfume. It's only the aggressive ones who are in danger, the ones who can't control their violent tendencies when they're around someone wearing the perfume."
The intercom feature on Blythe's phone buzzed, and her secretary spoke.
"I know you don't want to be disturbed, but this call is important," he informed her boss. "It's Caroline Madison."
Blythe and Claudine both blanched.
"Mrs. Madison," Blythe respectfully addressed the First Lady of the United States, "this is indeed an honor. How can I help you?"
"I called to tell you that I received a bottle of your new perfume today. Having seen those delightful ads, I couldn't wait to try it. I thought it had a truly unique fragrance, although my husband seemed to have suffered some sort of allergic reaction to it. Of course, it was probably just a result of this medical problem he seems to be having. There's nothing at all for you to worry about, I'm sure."
"I heard the bulletin on the news. I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Madison. I hope the president will be feeling better soon."
"I'm not going to get my hopes up, Mrs. Howell. I happen to believe in fate, and I will accept whatever hand it deals me. Take all that recent unpleasantness about my husband and those young women at the White House. That sort of scandal can be so humiliating for a wife, but long ago I learned to live with the fact that my husband was a lustful and hot-tempered man. Alas, now poor Elliot is quite insane, I'm afraid," the first lady declared, trying to suppress a girlish giggle. "Anyway, I only called to thank you for your thoughtfulness. Oh, and the vice president also thanks you for her complimentary bottle. May I say that if you should ever need a favor in the future, be assured that you can count on me and Vice President Hayden?"
After Blythe hung up the receiver, she turned to Claudine and announced, "She knows, and apparently so does the vice president. Mrs. Madison didn't specifically come out and say so, but I had no difficulty reading between the lines."
"What do you think they'll do?"
"Nothing. In fact, I have a feeling they'll do their best to cover up for us."
"Why would they do that?"
"One, because Caroline Madison is probably tickled pink that the philandering Elliot got what he deserved and, two, Meredith Hayden—thanks to our perfume—will become the first woman president of the United States. She's not likely to run the risk of a scandal leaking out about how the president became incapacitated."
"But what about the others? Hundreds, probably thousands, of men will wind up in mental institutions. Not even the new president can cover that up."
"Claudine, I shudder to think how many situations and scandals our leaders must have successfully covered up in the past. These seizures will be attributed to some new virus, an unforeseen side effect of medication or maybe even a terrorist plot. But the government will come up with a very clever cover story and that will be that."
"What if no one believes it?"
"Who believed the report of the Warren Commission and its single bullet theory? Who believed Reagan when he said he didn't know about the Iran-contra Affair? And who believed Bill Clinton when he said he didn't have sex with Monica Lewinski? It's not a question of belief. The thing is: who can prove it or do anything about it?"
"What about the perfume? Do we keep on selling it?"
"Of course. The number of men affected by it will be high at first, and then the number of cases will level off. Eventually, these seizures will be regarded as just one more medical threat, the same as cancer, AIDS and heart disease. Who knows? Maybe someday the Surgeon General will issue a warning to men that violent tempers could be hazardous to their health."
"I hope you're right."
Determined not to worry, Blythe picked up her coat and briefcase and headed for the door.
"I've got to run. I want to go see Brad, and visiting hours will be over soon."
Blythe drove to the private institution to which her husband had been committed two years earlier. An orderly escorted her down the hall and unlocked the door to Brad's room.
"Just call me when you're ready to leave, Mrs. Howell," he said sympathetically and walked away, leaving her alone with her husband.
There had been many times when such close proximity to Brad would have made her cringe with fear. Thankfully, those days were long gone. The patient sat in the center of the bed, not moving, not speaking, not hearing and, although his eyes were open, not seeing. Drool ran in a slow stream from his mouth and down his throat to soak into the hospital gown he wore.
"I know you can't understand me, Brad, but I wanted to share this night with you. After all, if it weren't for you, none of this would have happened. You were the one who inspired me and drove me to succeed. And you were so indispensable in those early tests," she added, as she blotted the drool from his mouth with a tissue. "It was much more humane to try the perfume out on you, Arnold Potter, Edmond Jenkins and others like you than on those poor, innocent little mice and rabbits in the lab."
It was no use talking to him; he was beyond understanding anything now.
"Oh, Brad, why couldn't you have been content to just control the company? Why did you want to control me, too?"
Blythe wiped the tears from her eyes, called for the orderly and left without saying goodbye to her husband.
The CEO of Desiree Cosmetics listened to the radio on her long drive home. There was no music, only continual updates on the condition of the president and the mysterious epidemic of brain sickness that was striking a significant number of males in the country. Only Blythe Howell, her trusted employees and perhaps the first lady and vice president could appreciate the irony that in between the up-to-the-minute news bulletins the radio station broadcast a series of commercials in which Tanya Wayne promised that "Insanity perfume is guaranteed to drive a man crazy."
Salem No. 5? I doubt you'll find this perfume at Saks Fifth Avenue. (Try the dollar store instead.)
