pretty sure dominated my entire face. “You have, but it’s okay to repeat yourself on occasion.”
“You’re beautiful.” He captured my hand off its resting spot on the edge of the table and brought it to his lips. “And I’m so very proud to be here—to be anywhere, anytime—with you.”
“Wow. I should have Carter do this”—I gestured to myself with my free hand—“to me more often.”
“You’re beautiful in sweats and a ponytail, Tobi.”
I felt the familiar pang that was my good fortune at having Andy in my life and quickly blinked away the tears Carter had forbidden me from shedding lest I ruin the masterpiece (his word) that was me. “Thank you, Andy. For being here, for being in my life, for being…you.”
He opened his mouth to answer, but closed it as Carl Brinkman, local network news anchor and the M.C. for the evening, stepped on stage to a ballroom-wide round of applause.
Over the next ten minutes, Carl entertained the crowd with advertising-related jokes and puns before moving on to the first award category of the night—Best Fifteen Second Spot. The previous year’s winner came out to the podium, gave a fun description of the category, and then announced each nominee, leaving time between names for the swell of answering applause from both the represented agency and the crowd overall. When the moment of truth came, the presenter ripped open the sparkly gold-edged envelope and read the winner’s name aloud—a name I knew, but a person I didn’t.
Cheers from a table on the right side of the ballroom led my attention toward the forty-something winner who stood, kissed the woman beside him, and jogged toward the stage with an excitement I felt clear down to my toes. The woman tasked with handing out the evening’s awards gave him his and then gestured him over to the podium for his allotted two minute acceptance speech.
I tried to listen, I really did, but honestly, I found myself thinking what I might say if the unthinkable happened. Grandpa Stu had encouraged me to write out a speech, but I’d resisted for fear of jinxing myself. Yet now that I was there, listening to the eloquent words of the man holding the first award of the night, I couldn’t help but question my decision just a little.
Before the mental browbeating could reach a crescendo though, the wait staff came out with salad plates while Carl Brinkman reappeared with a fresh round of jokes—some invoking laughter, others inciting muted groans and more than a few traded eye rolls. Eventually, he announced the next category—Best Photograph in a Print Ad.
Everyone at my table stopped eating and turned their collective attention on Sam as last year’s winner came out to the podium with a gold-edged envelope in one hand and the list of all four nominees in the other.
“As everyone here tonight knows, the right combination of words really does make a difference. It can mean the difference between success and failure for a new company, it can mean the difference between sought-after and ho-hum for a new-to-market product, and it can mean the difference between customers and no customers for a brand new restaurant or coffee house. But sometimes, depending on the method of delivery, the right words are only part of the equation. This is never truer than in a print ad. Because, let’s face it, pictures make people stop and look… And unless they stop and look, that really great combination of words you’re hoping will suck a prospective customer in, won’t matter a hill of beans. To that end, I present to you the nominees for this year’s Best Photograph in a Print Ad. Please stand when I call your name.
“Mark Walton, with the Ross Jackson Agency, for his contribution to St. Charles Brewery’s Autumn Days/Autumn Nights campaign.”
A swell of applause from a table directly in front of the stage intensified as the nominee stood and waved politely at the crowd.
“Jess Summer, also with the Ross Jackson Agency, for her work on Dr. Wyatt Morgan’s Perfect Smiles campaign.”
A second, louder swell of applause rose up behind me and I turned to smile at the petite brunette who rose up on shaky legs.
“Tim Dalton, with the Beckler and Stanley Agency, for his work on the Davidson Clinic’s Healthy Lives campaign.”
I traded glances with Carter as my former boss slapped his nominated photographer on the back so hard the man literally winced.
“And Sam Wazoli, with Tobias Advertising Agency, for his work on the Pizza Adventure campaign.”
In the interest of professionalism, I tried my best to curb my desire to hoot and holler, but even if I’d failed, I’m pretty sure it hadn’t been noticed anyway. Because really, anyone looking at our nominee at that moment was likely wiping their eyes over the way he pulled Mary Fran in for a hug. After a few seconds, he stepped back and nodded appreciatively at the crowd before taking his seat once again.
For a moment, I just watched him, marveling as I always did, at the maturity and class the teenager exuded twenty-four/seven.
“He’s really loving every minute of this,” Andy whispered in my ear.
“As he should,” I whispered back. “I’d be willing to bet he’s the youngest person to ever be nominated for one of these awards.”
“And that’s because of you.”
I pulled my attention off Sam and fixed it, instead, on Andy. “Sam is here for one reason and one reason only—his ability, his talent.”
“Oh, I’m not minimizing that in any way, shape, or form. I know Sam is good. He’s proven that again and again for Zander, as you well know. I’m just saying you gave him an opportunity to showcase that talent.”
“It’s been a win-win for me, as—”
“And this year’s winner for Best Photograph in a Print Ad is…” The woman stopped, slit the envelope’s seal with her index finger, and then cleared her throat as she pulled out the slip of paper. “Sam Wazoli!”
This time, I didn’t care about professionalism or volume or anything like that. I simply pushed back my chair and ran around the table for the hug I’d imagined more than a few times since word came of Sam’s nomination. He returned the hug, added a kiss on my cheek, and then trotted up the center aisle and onto the stage to receive his golden briefcase. When he took his spot behind the podium and the applause finally stopped, he looked down at the award and then back up at the audience.
“Some of you are probably wondering why I’m up here. And honestly, there’s really only one reason. Your colleague and my friend, Tobi Tobias, believed in me. She saw something in my work that wasn’t negated by my age and she gave me a chance to show that to all of you. Thank you, Tobes. For giving me a shot…for believing in me…for trusting in me.”
I sank down onto Sam’s chair and stared at my friend’s son—a young man who was wise beyond his years in so many ways. He looked so poised and so mature, and I couldn’t have been prouder if I’d given birth to him myself.
“I’d also like to thank Andy Zander of Zander Closet Company for not balking when Tobi brought me on as a photographer for their campaign…and Mr. and Mrs. Poletti for doing the same with the Pizza Adventure campaign that earned me”—he lifted his Golden Briefcase in the air and then grinned as he brought it back down to the podium—“this unbelievable accomplishment and honor. And, last but definitely not least, I’d like to thank my mom. Your love taught me to have faith in myself. I love you, Mom!”
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