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your time." He gave him a few minutes to study the ideas then joined him at the table. It was a pretty big account, and he needed the business.
    "I thought these might appeal to kids." Zack pointed to a series of drawings and the slogan he'd written in bold letters above it. Plum's Gum Sticks With You All Day Long. "We can use the same slogan for the children's and adult ads."
    Plum adjusted his bifocals and peered over the sketches, his wrinkled face drawn in concentration. The first illustration depicted a little girl who'd popped a pink bubble all over her face. The second, a boy about eleven years old wearing a baseball uniform with green gum on his shoe. The next, a toddler with a wad of purple gum in his hair. The last one, a teenage girl holding a telephone while she stuck her well-chewed piece of gum under the table at a coffee shop.
    Plum threw his head back and laughed, his fat jowls shaking. "The kids will get a kick out of this."
    "And this one should appeal to adults." It was obviously a male bashing scene where several women threw their gum at a photograph of a man on the wall.
    Plum laughed again. "That's great. Using different ages is clever." Plum pointed to another drawing. "This is good, too." The caption read, Chew Your Days Away With Plum's Gum. Zack had labeled each day of the month with a different flavor—thirty in all—thanks to the latest in candy technology.
    Plum stood and extended his hand. "Let's close the deal. I don't even need to chew on it."
    Zack groaned silently and shook Plum's hand as Plum hooted at his own joke.
    When he finally stopped belly laughing, he loosened his grip. "Say, the wife and I are having a little family barbecue on Sunday for some of our supporters. Want to bring your Mrs. and join us?"
    Zack stacked the sketches, avoiding eye contact. Perhaps he should go and meet Plum's supporters, but for some reason the idea of an afternoon with Plum's family didn't seem appealing. Smothering maybe, but not appealing. "Thanks for the invitation, Mr. Plum, but I'm not married."
    Plum slapped his back. "Ah, too bad. Maybe I can fix you up with one of my daughters."
    Zack silently gasped. Past experience with a previous client warned him not to accept. Plum would probably have wedding plans underway before he finished his meal.
    His client took his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open. A long portfolio of pictures flopped before him. "These are all my grandchildren," Plum said. "I've been married fifty-five years."
    Fifty-five years? Zack's throat tightened just as it always did whenever the word marriage was mentioned.
    "Been some happy years," Plum said, pointing to a photograph of a silver haired woman with rosy cheeks. "Mildred gave me nine kids. Got seventeen grandkids so far." He pointed to a dark-haired young woman with a pointed chin and glasses. "Debbie will be there Sunday. She's my youngest and unattached."
    Zack's collar suddenly felt like it was choking him, and he reached to loosen his tie with sweaty hands. "I... I'm sorry but I'm already busy Sunday."
    "Well, let me know if you change your mind. Marriage is great."
    Zack nodded. Why was everyone pushing marriage?
    Plum pulled at his chin. "I was a wild one back... well, let's just say, in the day. Then I walked down that aisle and everything changed."
    An image of a dark walkway that lead to a raised altar where a a noose dangled from lattice work at the end flashed in Zack's mind, and a shudder ripped through him.
    He'd watched his father walk down the aisle, what, six, seven—he couldn't even remember how many times. But two or three months later, he always ran the other way, complaining about pantyhose in his shower, feminine products overflowing his vanity, and having to constantly juggle with the toilet seat.
    Zack grimaced. The toilet seat belonged up. He liked maintaining control of his own remote control. Sundays meant football, cold pizza for breakfast and no hassles. And he liked his women to go