His Best Friend. Patricia Kay

working on an experimental treatment for certain types of cancer and they want us to follow one of the patients who’s participating. A start-to-finish kind of thing.”

      “How’re they planning to use the promotion?”

      “It’ll be sent to hospitals and cancer specialists around the world as well as shown on various health channels.”

      “Budget?”

      Kurt named a figure.

      John’s eyes widened. At least they seemed willing to spend enough to put out a high-quality product.

      “Richard Philbin, their public relations manager, wants to meet with you this afternoon.”

      “How much of a crew can I have?”

      “A videographer—I’m thinking Paul, you met him earlier, he’s the one with the shaved head, a PA—Laurie’s the best one we’ve got, and an audio tech—probably Doug. They’re a good crew. They’ve worked on several projects together. You saw one of them. That Larrimer spot? You know, the dancers?”

      John nodded, pleased he’d have a production assistant. That would take a whole load of crap off his shoulders.

      “Okay. Here’s Philbin’s number.” Kurt handed John a business card. “Give him a call. We’ll either talk today after you’ve met with him or tomorrow morning if your meeting runs late. By the way, Susan ordered some business cards for you. We should have them tomorrow.”

      John didn’t reach Richard Philbin on the first try and had to leave a message. But Philbin returned his call within the hour and they agreed to meet at three that afternoon in Philbin’s office.

      Since John hadn’t anticipated a client meeting, he hadn’t dressed for one that morning. So at noon, instead of going out for Thai food with some of the guys, he headed for Philip’s town house where he changed into black dress slacks, a black shirt and gray tie—his official look.

      John arrived at Fairchild fifteen minutes before he was due. Luckily, Philbin’s earlier appointment finished ahead of time, so John only had to wait ten minutes before being ushered into Philbin’s nicely furnished tenth-floor office in the middle of the medical center area.

      Philbin turned out to be a handsome gray-haired man of about fifty. He gave John a quick once-over and seemed to approve. After handshakes and an offer of coffee or a Coke, Philbin got right down to business. “What I’m looking for,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “is a video that seems more human interest than self-serving promotion. You know, the kind of thing Dateline or 60 Minutes would do.” He smiled. “Is that possible?”