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you, Jack?” he finally said in a low voice.
     
    Jack swallowed hard. “What? Me? Nothing!”
     
    “Something’s clearly wrong with you. I know you’ve had your problems, but you were my rising star, Jack. Now you’re giving me worse ideas than the fucking interns, and I don’t even have to fucking pay them for the privilege of getting fucking screwed!”
     
    This was so much worse without being able to see his face. “Um, if I knew what you were unhappy with, sir...”
     
    “Everything!” screeched Mr. Morton, turning back. “Your whole damn campaign, that’s what’s fucking wrong! I’ve seen the draft you emailed last night, and I’ll tell you what: it’s shit, Jack. Utter shit.”
     
    Jack’s worst nightmare was coming true. “But... did you see the video?”
     
    “Especially the goddamned video! You’re seriously telling me you think this is what teens will respond to?” Jabbing blindly at a key on his laptop, the big flatscreen mounted on the interior wall blinked to life... and a draft of Jack’s television ad began to play, with the baritone voice of James Earl Jones narrating over stylized scenes of everyday life. It hadn’t been easy to get such a celebrity for the job!
     
    “Too big, too small. All work, no play. You’re connected to the world every minute of every day, but you’ve always been forced to pick what device to take. Phone or tablet. One or the other. But choose no more, because now there’s the revolutionary Flux. The one and only personal device you’ll ever need... wherever life should take you. This Christmas, give the gift of Flux.”
     
    When the screen faded to black, Mr. Morton turned slowly to Jack. His face was beet red. “Jack. Man. Either this is some kind of horrible joke, or you’ve lost it.”
     
    “I... I can make it better,” offered Jack weakly. He’d spend two solid weeks on this thing! Just finding Mr. Jones’ agent had been an excursive in frustration...
     
    “This crap you’re shoveling at me doesn’t even mention the fucking screen, and that’s the whole fucking point of it! And what’s with this all work, no play bullshit? It’s clichéd, man. Weak. Matsukisha is looking for their got milk moment. They want where’s the beef , not where’s the fucking mute button!”
     
    Jack felt himself sinking lower into the padding of the chair. He felt an inch tall. “I swear I can make it better, sir.”
     
    “Yeah, well, you’d fuckin’ better, Jack. Because if you fuck this up for us because your head’s no longer in the game... then you’re gonna be out on your ass faster than you can say unemployment insurance!”
     
    “Um... yes sir.”
     
    “Now, some good news... because I’ve managed to postpone the presentation until Wednesday afternoon. So, you’ve got two days to patch this cock-up. Two days, Jack. But if I don’t see at least something I like by tomorrow morning, then you’re out and we’re going with Tom’s plan. Which if I’m being honest is crap too, but still better than your crap!”
     
    Jack had battled Tom for the position he was in now. The arguments had gotten rather ugly, and he’d made many bold promises... so if he lost out to Tom now, then his career was as good as over.
     
    Oh Johanna, why couldn’t you be here to guide me? Without you as my muse, nudging me in the right direction and pushing me away from the brink... creating the same kind of magic just seems impossible!
     
    “Now, let’s talk about these fucking abominations you call print ads...”
     
    * * *
     
    When Jack finally left Mr. Morton’s office some twenty uncomfortable minutes later, his embarrassment and anxiety over his poor performance had transitioned into seething anger. Not because of what his boss had said, or because of some random twist of fate that had upended his life... but Jack was angry with himself, simply for having given up. For setting on mediocrity, instead of his normal standard of godly perfection, and