by Francis Ray
“You don’t have to,” Brooke said, uncurling her bare foot from underneath her. “Marketing has changed dramatically in the last ten years with infomercials, the home shopping network, the web, and all the other ways to sell. Let me show you.” Picking up the TV control she turned on the forty-two-inch TV she kept in a beautiful cherry armoire.
Claire leaned forward, switching her attention from the spokeswoman for the herbal fragrance bath set of five products, to the counter on the bottom left-hand side which showed the number of units being sold. “The number is changing by the second. I can’t believe it. My mother and I have never bought anything in our lives that we couldn’t see or touch. Even with the products, she was able to get samples first. When she worked for Livingston, the other household staff used to tease her about not helping them all keep their jobs by buying from the Livingston catalogue.”
“Many women are too busy these days to shop in stores, or for one reason or another they can’t get into the store,” Lorraine pointed out. “Most large specialty stores, like Saks, have personal shoppers for just that reason. There may not be a Neiman’s or a Bergdorf here, but many women order from their catalogues or online.”
Claire turned to her. “Then to reach those customers we’d need a similar established outlet they already trust.”
“You just said we couldn’t do TV or magazines,” Lorraine reminded her.
“I was talking about the Livingston Catalogue,” Claire said.
Lorraine’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Then you’re in.”
Claire glanced back at the counter. “I’m in.”
With a squeal of joy, Lorraine hugged Claire. “I knew it! I just knew it.”
“Congratulations. This calls for a drink.” Brooke stood and went to the bar. At least somebody’s life was on the right track.
* * *
Lorraine was bubbling over with happiness. She couldn’t wait to tell Hamilton when he arrived home from work that night. She’d prepared a special dinner of grilled salmon and had a bottle of his favorite wine. Hearing the key in the door, she went to open it. “Hi.”
He smiled into her face and kissed her on the mouth. “Hi, yourself. What’s got you so happy?”
“I’m going into business with Claire,” she blurted.
The smile on Hamilton’s face slid away. “You’re doing what?”
Uneasiness coursed though Lorraine. “Claire and I are going to open a gift shop.”
He walked past her and placed his attaché on top of the slate gray marble on the kitchen island. “This is rather sudden, isn’t it?”
“In a way, yes. But I’ve always wanted a gift shop since I worked in one in high school and college. Margaret and I had the idea to open a floral gift shop … then she became ill,” she explained. “She made me promise not to let our dream die.”
“Margaret is gone and you know nothing of what it takes to run a business,” he pointed out.
“I can learn,” she told him.
He didn’t appear convinced. “You’ve never mentioned this before.”
“You were so busy with the Anderson account that I decided to wait. Then Margaret became ill and I forgot about it.” She reached toward him. “Now I have another chance.”
He folded his arms instead of taking the hand she offered. “Businesses go bankrupt every day, Lorraine, with people running them with far more experience than you or Claire have.”
Hurt splintered through her. She let her hand drop to her side. “I realize that, but I believe this can work. Claire’s products are wonderful. We went to Saks and several other upscale shops today and did some comparative pricing,” she told him. “I really want to try.”
Arms still crossed, Hamilton leaned back against the island. “At least Margaret had some retail business experience in management. You and Claire have none. Besides, you can’t possibly think you can compete against Saks’ buying power or their clout in advertising.”
“We don’t plan to. We’ll specialize in what we do, and do it well,” she said, not understanding why he was being so stubborn.
“What about your social obligations, this house, me?”
Suddenly she smiled and went to him. So that was the problem. “You’ll always come first. I just want you to support me the way I’ve always supported you.”
His mouth firmed. “I was making a better life for all of us. You don’t need to work. Isn’t it enough that I need you to be here for me?”
“This isn’t about my feelings for you or the life we have; it’s about fulfilling a dream of mine.”
If anything his expression became sterner. “Are you saying I haven’t made you happy? You aren’t satisfied being my wife?”
Lorraine felt the conversation slipping from her control. “No, not at all. You have your work. I want mine.”
“I see.” He turned and picked up his attaché case. “I think I’ll go shower before dinner.”
“Hamilton,” Lorraine called and he glanced back over his shoulder. “I love you. Please, I don’t want to fight.”
He quickly came back and took her in his arms. “I just don’t want to think that what we have isn’t enough for you.”
“Ham—”
“No. I have to leave in the morning and I don’t want us to be at odds over this.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “Let’s talk about it when I get back.”
“All right, Hamilton,” she agreed, but she wasn’t giving up on the dream she and Margaret had begun. She loved him, but this was something she had to do for herself.
CHAPTER SIX
Claire had a plan. It just wasn’t working.
After four days of trying to contact Gray at his office in Charleston he still hadn’t accepted any of her calls. It looked as if getting an appointment with the CEO of Livingston Catalogue was next to impossible. Fifteen years ago, when she needed the clout of his name to help convince the bankers to give her a loan, she’d simply gone by his grandparents’ home where he lived. He had been much more accessible then.
Looking at the stack of bills in the basket in the kitchen, she decided to try the same method. She had no idea if he still lived there or not, but it beat sitting around doing nothing. Grabbing the gift basket of products, she went to her car.
It didn’t take her long to arrive at the Livingston home in the cobblestone streets of the Battery. Tall and imposing, the house was an impossibly beautiful, three-story mansion, all the more so because an African American family had lived in the historic neighborhood for forty years. Many of the homes, preserved since the antebellum era, were built by African craftsmen, bond and free. Gray’s grandfather had started the catalogue business by sending products from Korea, while he was stationed there in the Army, for his wife to sell. Once home he’d kept his contacts and expanded. Now Gray ran Livingston Catalogue.
Her heart thumping in her chest, Claire opened the black wrought-iron gate and walked up the stone walkway to the door. Neatly trimmed hedges hugged the house. Monkey grass ringed colorful borders of begonias and caladiums. She moistened her lips. She had no idea if Gray was home or if she’d even get past the front door. She just knew she had to try. She rapped the brass lion’s head with a sweaty hand.
The heavily carved, recessed door opened almost immediately. Her hand clenched around the basket handle.
The woman who answered the door wore a gray uniform with a white apron. “Yes.”
Claire recognized the round friendly face at once. “Good evening, Mrs. Martin.”
The elderly woman peered at her a long time, then a slow smile washed across her lined face. “Claire?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Claire said, relieved to see that the woman who had worked during her mother’s tenure was still the housekeeper. “It’s Henry and Nancy’s daughter.”
Sadness entered the woman’s eyes. “It still grieves me when I think of them being gone. We were talking just the other day about them and how fine they were. Always proud of you and what you did for the
m.”
“Thank you. I tried.”
“You’re a whole sight better than most children these days. Including mine, which I haven’t heard from in weeks.” She squinted up through her thick bifocals. “What you doing here?”
Claire’s mind veered back from Mrs. Martin’s daughter, Prudence, who, like Derek, hadn’t been able to wait to leave Charleston. “I need to see Gray … Mr. Livingston. Is he here by any chance?”
“Sure is. He’s working in that study as usual.” Mrs. Martin stepped back onto the terrazzo floor of the spacious foyer. “Come on in. It’s muggy out there today. Can I get you something to drink? I remember you liked strawberry lemonade.”
Claire was touched she remembered. Everyone had always watched out for her. “No, thank you. It’s good to see you, Mrs. Martin. Is the rest of the old staff still here?”
The robust woman grinned, showed a gap-toothed smile. “Just like that bunny on television; we just keep going and going. Added some help, but the rest of us old timers are still here. Although I sometimes wish I could rest these old bones like your parents did, but what would I do all day? But ’least I got a job to be thankful for.”
“I’m glad.” The Livingstons were kind, down-to-earth people who had always treated their employees with respect. She tried to remember that as she glanced down the hallway.
“You go on, baby, and when you finish talking with Gray, you come on back to the kitchen and say hello to the others,” Mrs. Martin said. “They’ll be as glad to see you as I am.”
“I will,” Claire replied. If Gray doesn’t throw me out first.
* * *
Gray was racing against a deadline. But what else was new? He divided his time between his grandparents’ home and his new place in Columbia. The move had been necessary when he’d opened a second warehouse six months before. Livingston was growing and he planned to keep up with demand.
He never paused when he heard the soft knock on the door. He assumed it was one of the servants. His grandmother never knocked. “Come in.”
He didn’t look up from going through the quarterly reports, expecting whoever had come in to say what they wanted. When they didn’t, he lifted his head and saw a pretty woman with cinnamon-hued skin and a death grip on a basket. Her straight black hair was pulled away from her face that was free of makeup. Her unpainted lips were sweetly curved. His dark eyes narrowed as his gaze ran over her slim, shapely figure. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but none of the women he knew dressed in simple cotton shirtwaist dresses or wore low-heeled flats.
“Yes?” He pulled his reading glasses from his face.
Moistening her lips, she took another step closer. “Hello, Gray.”
The voice, the shy innocent voice, made the face click into place. Gray smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Hello, Claire.”
“Mrs. Martin let me in. I know you’re busy, but I just have to talk with you. It’s important.”
He motioned for her to have a seat. The last time she had come to him had been for her parents. They were gone now. “What can I do for you?”
Instead of taking a seat, she set the overflowing basket on his desk. “I made these. I want to talk to you about putting my bath and beauty products in your catalogue.”
Gray felt instant disappointment. He wouldn’t have expected Claire to be the kind of person who would attempt to use him for her own benefit. Old friend of the family or not, he didn’t want to be used by anyone again. “I don’t handle product placement in the catalogue.” He picked up his glasses and returned to the report. “You know the way out.”
“Please, Gray. Tell me what I have to do to have them in your catalogue,” Claire said, her voice trembling.
Gray glanced up, remembering the shy young girl who used to stare at him with huge worshipful chocolate brown eyes. If he spoke to her, she’d drop her head and chew on her lower lip. He’d always liked her because she appeared so open and honest. Now, she was just another woman wanting him to do something for her.
“Please. Tell me,” she pleaded.
“All right.” At least that would get her to leave. Closing the folder, he clasped his hands on top. “Can you deliver five thousand products to my warehouse within the next ten weeks before the final catalogue is printed? Can you sell the products to me at a sixty to seventy percent discount?”
“No, I … I can’t.” Stunned, Claire sank into a leather burgundy side chair in front of his desk. “What am I going to do?”
“Keep your day job,” he advised briskly, picking up the file again.
Claire blinked, then swallowed. “I wish I could have. I was laid off ten days ago.”
Gray tried to feel nothing, but couldn’t quite manage it. Seeing her blink, he absently set the folder aside. He didn’t deal well with tears. Well, that wasn’t true. Jana had pleaded and cried and he had felt nothing but disgust. He’d heard she was in London. He didn’t care where she was as long as she stayed away from him.
Not wanting to remember how big a fool he had been with his ex-wife, Gray reached into the basket Claire had set on his desk and picked up the first thing he touched—creamy rose-shaped soap enclosed in netting with a rosette bow. A light fragrance drifted out to him. “How much do you plan to sell this for?”
The blinking stopped. She chewed on her lip, then dropped her head. “I have no idea.”
“Well, you better get one.” Gray tossed the soap back into the basket.
Claire’s head came up. “How?”
Now he was the one blinking. Her directness caught him off guard. He remembered himself sitting in that same chair as his grandfather drilled the catalogue business into his head. He’d been scared, but determined to learn and to make his grandfather proud of him. “Don’t do another thing until you come up with a business plan. That means everything from production time and cost to your core audience.”
Claire dug inside her worn, black imitation leather purse for a pen and paper. “What else?”
If she didn’t look so eager and earnest, he might have told her to get a business manual, but he found himself ticking off advice about everything from inventory to budget to a marketing plan.
Gray finished thirty minutes later. “Find your strength and know your weaknesses, and above all remember customer service is key.”
Claire put her pen and paper away, then stood. “Thank you, Gray. You’ve been very helpful.”
Standing, he picked up the basket. “Don’t forget this.”
Smiling, Claire shook her head. “It’s my gift to you for being so nice. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Goodbye and thanks again.”
The door closed softly behind her and Gray was left wondering if she’d make it. He found himself hoping she would. At least she was willing to put forth the effort, unlike a lot of people he’d met.
Gray was barely settled in his chair when the door opened again. Corrine Livingston breezed into the room, looking as lovely as usual in a raw silk natural-colored suit, her gray hair perfectly coiffured, her back straight despite her seventy-eight years. His grandmother was a five-feet-three-inch dynamo. Fiercely loyal, she didn’t suffer fools. She kept the whole family on their toes.
“Hi, Grandmother. I thought you were out shopping.”
“I just returned. Helen says you’ve been in here all afternoon. I came to remind you that we’re having guests for dinner and not to be late.”
Gray wrinkled his mouth. He wasn’t looking forward to an evening with the Franklins even if he was president of the bank they did business with. “Is Sherry coming with her parents?”
His grandmother shot him a look. “You don’t think she’d miss an opportunity to try and interest you, do you?”
Gray grunted.
“Oh, how lovely.” Bending, she started going through the assortment in the baskets. “Don’t tell me women have started sending you gifts.”
“It was a gift, but not in that way. It’s from Claire Bennett.” He proceeded t
o tell her about Claire’s visit.
“I always liked the family, with the exception of the son. Always had an excuse ready for not working.”
His grandmother hesitated, something unusual for her. “You haven’t received any more packages from her, have you?”
Gray’s mouth tightened. There was no need to explain who she referred to.
“No.”
She nodded. “That woman has some serious issues.”
An understatement if ever there was one, Gray thought. He’d been completely snowed by Jana’s vulnerable act partly because it was obvious that her father could barely stand to be in the same room with her. He didn’t learn why until it was too late.
Gray had thought he was saving her when he married her, that his love would heal her. Instead she’d nearly destroyed him. He’d never give any woman that much power over him again.
“Enough unpleasantries.” His grandmother picked up a candle in a clear container and turned it over in her hand. “Are you going to help, Claire?”
He picked back up his folder. “With the new warehouse opening in Columbia, I’m busier than ever.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
Sighing, Gray glanced up at his grandmother. She was patiently waiting for her question to be answered. “She doesn’t know the first thing about running a business.”
“Then she came to the right place.” Corrine picked up the basket. “Don’t forget, dinner at six.”
Gray rocked back in his chair. He might not be able to get out of dinner, but Claire was on her own.
* * *
Claire was excited.
She couldn’t wait to get home and invite Lorraine and Brooke over the next morning. As soon as she served them coffee, she told them of her visit with Gray. “I met Gray yesterday afternoon and although he’s not going to put my products in his catalogue, I can see why. We need to develop a business plan.”
“That’s exactly what Hamilton said,” Lorraine told them. “We put discussing the business on hold until he returns from a business trip next week.” She sighed. “Margaret had all the business knowledge.”
