There were minor ramifications at work, having started a campaign that no client had requested. As we didn’t have a client, we weren’t technically being paid for Athletes Against Exploitation. But as we’re in PR, the fact that we’re pioneering it (and will be forever associated with it!), it’s great publicity for the firm. I found myself having a quick meeting with my boss at my side with the owner of the company, Eileen McGrath-Roth, in the coffee kitchen.
“Who came up with the name?” Eileen asked as an opener. She has a reputation of being quick tempered and impatient, but she seemed genuinely interested.
“I did,” Sheila, my boss, supplied. “But Lisa here came up with the whole idea.” Sheila thumped my back heartily, a laddish gesture that made me want to cough. Eileen raised an eyebrow at the thump, and then turned a dazzling smile on me.
“Are you a do-gooder, Lisa?” she asked. She had lipstick on her top teeth, which looked a little like fresh blood. She had a reputation as a shark, and red marks on her teeth completed the picture of her as a predator. My reputation as a Christian had preceded me.
“She is,” Sheila put in. “Lisa has this thing with her church…what is it called? The stop-light action?”
“The red light prayer,” I clarified nervously. “It’s a prayer you say at every red light, asking God to stop the sex industry.”
Eileen’s smile broadened. “But this is a campaign…the prayer wasn’t enough?” she asked. Her lower lip dropped a bit, so I could see she also had lipstick on her bottom teeth. She looked like she had just finished a feeding frenzy, but was ready for more. I swallowed.
“Of course it is. It’s what moved me to start Athletes Against Exploitation.” I glanced at Sheila. Eileen stopped grinning and nodded.
“God uses PR, just like everyone else.” Eileen focused her laser-like gaze on me and looked at me questioningly. “That doesn’t offend you, does it?” There was an ominous silence pause as Eileen waited for me to answer, and I could hear Sheila shifting from foot to foot. I asked God for strength, and held Eileen’s gaze.
“No,” I told her. “I’m not offended - it’s true. “ I kept telling myself that when I thought some of the things I did for work were frivolous. Eoghan, my pastor, kept reminding us that God uses everything for His glory.
I could hear Sheila breathe a sigh of relief. “God moves in mysterious ways!” she laughed. That certainly was true, even if it sounded glib. Eileen didn’t raise a smile at this, and Sheila’s mirth promptly vanished.
After a tiny pause, Eileen straightened her jacket, and smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her sleeve. “Well, it’s good work,” she declared, giving me a small reflection of her famous shark smile. “Let’s just see if we can get a client behind this!” Eileen McGrath-Roth was ever the businesswoman. She excused herself, and looked meaningfully at the clock on the wall. Taking the hint, Sheila and I scurried back to our desks.
“Well, that’s the official stamp of approval,” Sheila said. “Let me find a client who will back this up.” I was a bit numb after our meeting with the owner, so I didn’t say anything.
Have I done enough? I asked God. Should I have said more?
“It’s not like you to take initiative like that, and start campaigns,” Sheila said to me. She has this thing about emulating Eileen, but she’ll never come close to being a scary go-getter like her. She can’t stop conversation with a look, or command everyone’s attention in a heartbeat.
“You said I should take more chances,” I reminded her, something I do a lot. Sheila tends to forget what advice she gives you, making you have to explain why you’ve done something she’s recommended.
Caught off guard, she smiled robotically. “I did, didn’t I?” She’d clearly forgotten. I nodded. “Well, it’s good. It’s raising your profile here.” The way Sheila’s voice was quivering made me wonder if she saw me as threat now.
I threw her a bone. “Hey, you’re the one who came up with the brilliant campaign name.”
Sheila genuinely smiled now, clearly pleased. “I have some calls to make,” she said. “Let’s find a client before today is over!” She hurried off to her office. As soon as she was gone, Jimmy, the colleague who had helped me rope in the charities, swooped over my desk.
“How’d it go with the big boss lady?” he asked expectantly.
“I lived to tell the tale,” I reported. “She’s on board.”
He gave me a high five. “Way to go! What’s next?”
“Sheila’s finding a client who will pay for this. I’m just happy the message is getting out.” Jimmy sat on the corner of my desk, nodding.
“I had no idea how prevalent the sex industry is,” he admitted. “I mean, I knew it’s there. I’m not naïve. My brother works in sales with a major software company, who do a lot of business abroad. When his company was hosting a fair for all the subsidiaries in Europe and the Middle East, one of the executives from the Dubai office asked him where he could find a woman for the night.” Jimmy’s normally bright features darkened. “My brother had some phone numbers…”
Wow. This was more direct than Tommy’s clients going to a lap dancing club. “Phone numbers?” I echoed. Jimmy sighed.
“I asked him for a number…I thought I’d give it to one of the women’s charities, but my slick brother is too smart for that one. He says the less I know, the better.” Jimmy gave me a sad smile. “I wonder what he’d make of our campaign.”
I thought of Tommy’s colleague. You can’t outlaw sex! “He’d probably laugh at it.”
“You can’t laugh at the arrests they made in America,” Jimmy offered. “I looked into it…some of the prostitutes were girls. I don’t care how sophisticated and liberal you are, that’s paedophilia. Something I thought we knew only too much about in this country.”
I was only too aware of what a bad name the Catholic Church had nowadays. I thought about the word, paedophilia. Literally translated, it meant a love of children. Most dictionaries will label it a perversion. I would define it as a crime. “If all the prostitutes were of age, would it make it less of a crime?” I asked, repeating what my contact, the reporter, had asked me. Jimmy shook his head. I was thinking about something I had read online from an anti-sex trafficking charity. “Do you think there’s a difference between a prostitute, and a person who’s been trafficked?” I asked Jimmy.
“Aren’t they the same?”
It was my turn to shake my head. “One is a person who may have been kidnapped or led away under false pretences, whereas the other one willingly entered into the sex trade, for whatever reason.”
Jimmy caught on. “Oh, so one is a victim, and the other made bad choices, so she’s partly responsible?” He folded his arms across his thin chest. “No. I don’t think anyone goes into prostitution really willingly. It’s a last resort, at best. They’re being exploited – someone is taking advantage of their weakness.”
I admire Jimmy. In some ways, he’s what you would expect of a PR executive; brash, talkative and flamboyant, but in other ways he’s really remarkable. The way he helped me on this campaign, for instance. How insightful he is in other ways. “I have to admit, I used to look at it that way. That prostitutes were bad girls who went looking for trouble,” I told him. He raised an eyebrow at me, so I explained. “Here I am, doing my best to be a good girl. I know nobody would believe me, but I’m tempted…I have needs, like anybody else…and these women are selling their bodies, getting paid for sex.”
“You think they enjoy it?” Jimmy asked.
“No. Especially when I read about how they don’t see the money they earn. How I think of the customers they must have to deal with.” I shuddered. “It’s not all lonely good-looking businessmen like the movies would have you believe!”
Jimmy smiled, then leaned in, lowering his voice. “Have you ever met a prostitute?” he asked. I shook my head. “They’re not happy people. They’re not proud of what they do; they’re trapped.”
I wondered how Jimmy knew prostitutes. “In Scandinavia, prostitution isn’t illegal, but buying sex is,” I told him. Jimmy leaned back, and nodded.
“I like that. Make the people who perpetuate the system the criminal.” He got off my desk. “Better go earn some money,” he said. He paused. “I mean, in a legitimate, honourable way!”
“They say people who work in PR are like prostitutes,” I reminded him.
Jimmy gave me his sparkling smile. “Well, then, let’s move to Stockholm, where our clients will be the criminals, not us!” I laughed dutifully, and watched Jimmy go back to his desk.
Please, Lord, help us find a client who will finance this campaign!