As she listened along with Michael to Zach’s analysis of City Slickers’ financial woes, she felt her irrational anger toward Zach mounting. How dare he drift into the heart of her family with such ease? And when in the world did he find the time during his brief appearance in Baldwin to worm his way into even Henry’s good graces as well?
“That Zach’s quite a character,” Henry had told Janie with a chuckle the afternoon after the party. Alain and his parents had left after brunch for their flight back to Paris. Janie, Louella, Henry, and Faith were finishing up a game of croquet on the side lawn.
“What makes you say that?” Janie had demanded, smacking her ball into a flower bed. Looks, background, even intelligence didn’t count much with Henry—character did.
“Takes one to know one, I suppose,” Henry had replied vaguely, glancing at Janie over his half-glasses before making a difficult double wicket shot. “He seems to think the world of you.”
Not that anyone would ever know from the way he acts, Janie thought bitterly, as she listened to his summation of City Slickers’ bottom line. Since the party two weeks ago, he’d been true to his word about helping her shape a marketing strategy. He’d stepped in, organized her raw data, implemented research, brainstormed ideas with her—all the while being barely civil to her. Janie was beginning to think that he only tolerated her—and had perhaps only wanted her back at D&D—because she could help him woo back Melina’s clients. She was starting to understand why so many of his competitors called him ruthless, driven.
“They’re up to their ears in inventory,” Zach concluded. “Overextended debtwise. They’ve been floundering in each of their new metro markets. It’s a hell of a bad time for retail anyway, deadly if you don’t know what you’re doing. In other words, they’re heading for Chapter Eleven. Fast.”
“So why,” Michael demanded, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with a tissue, “are we wasting our time on them? They sound like a losing proposition to me. I’ve never much liked Seventh Avenue accounts, Zach, you know that. They’re finicky and flighty and don’t pay their bills. Have you checked their Dun and Bradstreet standing lately? I wonder what their payables record is like?”
“I already told Zach,” Janie replied irritably, “that they were slow as molasses. Two months was fast … and even then we had to do just about everything but sign the check for them.” When Zach and Janie had rehearsed their presentation to Michael the day before, they had agreed that she would sound peevish and worried at this point. From the quick, appreciative glance Zach gave her, Janie knew she’d done well.
“Then I repeat,” Michael replied sternly, “what the hell are we getting into here? Not only do we know their financial situation is wobbly—so does the rest of the industry. I’ve got news for you—take a look at this!” Michael dug into his out box and pulled out a copy of Women’s Wear Daily. He flipped to a back page and pointed to an article. “Come on, Zach,” he said, pushing the paper across his desk, “I want you to read this.”
“I don’t have to,” Zach told him. “I planted it.”
“You what?” Michael asked in a whisper.
“I gave a friend of mine at Women’s Wear Daily a synopsis of the research we’d conducted on City Slickers.”
“Wait right there,” Michael said, standing up behind his desk. “Either I’m losing my mind or I understand you to say that you’ve just publicly disparaged an account you’re trying to pitch.” He looked from Zach to Janie, then back to his partner again. “Uh, is that correct?”
“Exactly,” Janie told Michael with a smile. At first she had thought Zach was utterly nuts when he told her his idea. But like so many of Zachery Dorn’s brainstorms, it began to seem more reasonable—eventually even wise—after it began to sink in.
“Okay, I’m game, guys,” Michael said with a sigh, collapsing into his chair. “I should have known you two had something up your sleeves. What’s the deal?”
“City Slickers isn’t worth much to us,” Zach began, pacing toward the window again, “as just another account. What’s their billing? A million? If that, right? Not a lot to win … not a lot to lose. In my mind, however, our pride’s at stake here. Ours and, more specifically, Janie’s.”
This wasn’t part of Zach’s prerehearsed script, and Janie felt herself start to blush as he turned at the window and went on, “Though Melina never really hurt us financially, she did her best to savage us in the press. Every move she made was publicized. She flaunted Janie’s departure to all our clients. She made hay of every piece of change—Ramona Cosmetics, the promo piece for Chanson—that she stole from us. In other words, she played dirty and she did it in public. And though we kept our heads down and to the grindstone, it couldn’t help but tarnish our image.”
“It’s true.” Michael sighed. “Now when we pitch an account, we’re always asked about why Janie left … why Madame Ramona followed.”
“We’ll get back to Ramona in a second,” Zach promised. “But right now I want to say that I learned something from Melina’s tactics. They work.”
“But come on, Zach,” Michael objected. “I refuse to roll around in the dirt with that woman!”
“I’m not talking about Melina,” Zach countered. “It’s City Slickers. You see … I don’t want us just to win that account. I want us to save it. Listen,” Zach went on, sitting on the edge of Michael’s desk as he began to lay out the plan, “the business is in trouble. Huge inventory. Sluggish sales. Poor local recognition. What do those things add up to in your mind?”
“Big sale time,” Michael answered.
“Exactly!” Zach cried, pounding the table. “Instead, you’ve got Melina running Janie’s hip, high-priced image series. What those stores need is traffic—lots of it and fast. Now, let’s take this a step further. They don’t have much money left for advertising. So what do we do? We plant stories—ever so carefully, mind you—in all the appropriate metro papers about the bad news at City Slickers. Word begins to build that they’re in trouble. Real trouble. Any minute now, they could go out of business. And then what do we do?” Zach asked, turning to Janie.
She held up a full page newspaper ad with a banner headline that read, “City on Fire!” And in slightly smaller type underneath, “The fire sale of the century now taking place at a City Slicker store near you.”
“Inventory moves,” Zach continued. “Store recognition mounts. We keep the sale running as long as we can. Maybe even years. We save their hide—and we save it publicly. We get our name in the trade press as the agency that brought City Slickers back from the brink. We make our own hay from this—and we never once mention the sainted name of Melina Bliss.”
“Zachary Dorn,” Michael said with a laugh, “I knew there was some reason I went into business with you.”
“A lot of this was Janie’s thinking,” Zach said quickly.
“I can tell,” Michael said, turning to smile at Janie. “Christ, it’s good to have you back. This looks great! When do we see them?”
“We have a meeting scheduled for next Thursday,” Janie said.
“And Madame Ramona?” Michael asked with a troubled look on his face. “That’s the account I really do care about, you know. I still can’t for the life of me figure out why we lost it. I guess more than anything over the last couple of years, losing Madame’s confidence really threw me.”
“I know, Michael,” Zach said gently. “But Janie and I have been talking about that, too. And it may just be that you never lost her confidence at all.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It’s kind of complicated,” Zach replied evasively, glancing at his watch. “And I’m already late for another meeting. Trust us that we’re working on it.”
“Trust you?” Michael sighed, taking off his glasses and shaking his head. “When have I ever had any other option, Zach?”
Chapter 43
He wasn’t aware that she had followed him ba
ck to his office until he sat down behind his desk and saw her standing in the doorway.
“Janie,” he said, looking up and giving her a brief smile. He then started to sort intently through the pile of pink message slips his secretary had left for him.
“I thought it went well, Zach,” Janie said, stepping into the office. He hadn’t invited her, and she hadn’t visited him here since her return to D&D. She sensed that her presence wasn’t welcome now. “Michael seemed pleased.”
“Yes,” Zach replied tersely, “I thought so, too.” He tried hard to concentrate on the names and numbers scribbled on the message slips in front of him, but everything blurred with Janie in the room. He had shown off inexcusably in Michael’s office, he told himself, throwing in certain theatrics—tossing his hair, gesturing with his hands—calculated to impress Janie. But what was the point? He was behaving like an old trained seal whose act nobody much cared for anymore. Flapping his flippers. Barking his harmless bark. A ridiculous performance. He riffled through the messages again, and his eye fell on the word Bellevue.
“Zach, listen…” Janie began nervously, closing the door behind her. “Is something wrong? I mean, have I done anything to offend you? These days you just seem so distant … and sort of angry … and I…”
Bellevue Hospital. Urgent. Call immediately. He knew what it was before he even picked up the phone and dialed the number. He only vaguely heard Janie in the background, saying, “Zach, what is it?”
“Yes, we’re sorry,” the nurse was saying on the other end of the line. “He’s comatose now. But he was asking for you before. Get here as quickly as you can.”
“Zach?” Janie demanded again, coming up to him as he put down the receiver. Zach stood staring at the phone. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m sorry,” Zach said numbly, “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get…”
“Wait,” Janie said as he started out of the room, “you’ll need your raincoat … and umbrella.” She grabbed both from behind the door and raced down the hall after him. “Zach?” she asked again as the elevator descended in silence. “Tell me what’s going on.” But he didn’t seem to hear her. Instead he stood looking straight ahead toward some private anguish of his own. She didn’t repeat the question.
He didn’t seem to notice or care when she climbed into the taxi after him, or that she followed him into the reception area at Bellevue. But after he consulted with the front desk, he turned an ashen face toward her and said, “Go home, Janie. I’m going to be here a while.”
“What is it, Zach?” she asked one more time, trying to read his distraught gaze. “What’s happened?”
“It’s my father,” Zach replied. “He’s dying.”
“But I thought…” Janie started to say that she thought Zach’s father lived in Los Angeles when Zach cut her off harshly.
“My father’s a drunk. A derelict. I’ve tried to help him over the years. I tried … I tried…” His face was blank, hard. “I gave up trying … Listen, do me a favor, okay? Go home. Forget you were here.”
But Janie couldn’t. She tried to tell herself that Zach didn’t want to see her there, didn’t really want to see her at all, but somehow it didn’t matter. She waited for hours in the reception area, flipping through magazines, drinking lukewarm coffee from the concession. She called Michael to give him the news and was surprised to learn that he knew all about Zach’s upbringing.
“Yeah, well, it’s not something he brags about, Janie. But from what I can figure, the old man’s been haunting Zach’s life for years now, showing up on his doorstep looking for a free handout whenever he feels like it. In some ways it explains a lot about our boy, doesn’t it? His crazy need to make everyone happy … at his own expense.”
“I guess so,” Janie replied, thinking of the times she, too, had landed at Zach’s doorstep, looking for a handout of a different kind. She felt her heart constrict with pain and guilt.
“Keep me posted,” Michael told her. “And tell that son of a bitch to take as much time as he needs, okay? I don’t want to see him in the office tomorrow morning. Understand?”
She went back to her magazines and coffee, and the next thing she knew she was being shaken awake. She sat up in a nearly empty reception area to find Zach standing over her.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” he demanded, his eyes rimmed with fatigue. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“How is he, Zach?” Janie asked, sitting up groggily. “What’s happened?”
“He … didn’t make it,” Zach said, looking down at her and suddenly—though he was clearly trying to fight against it—his expression crumpled. Without thinking, Janie stood up and pulled him into her arms.
“I’m sorry…” he said brokenly.
“Shhh,” she told him, holding him close. He smelled so familiar, so good. She reached up and caressed the back of his head, smoothing down his hair. She could feel his heart, fast and irregular, beating against her shoulder. His breath was warm against her neck. He broke away first.
“I’ve got to get you home,” he said abruptly. “Let’s find you a cab.”
It was three o’clock in the morning, and taxis were scarce on First Avenue, though Zach finally flagged down a battered gypsy cab whose driver looked more than half asleep. Zach gave the man Janie’s address and then, on impulse, he climbed into the back seat after her.
“This doesn’t look like the safest vehicular contraption ever made,” he explained to her, stifling a yawn. “Want to make sure you get home in one piece.” He was asleep before they went three blocks, his head resting on Janie’s shoulder. The cab, which seemed to have no springs, managed to hit every pothole without jostling him awake. Janie stared out at the dark, early morning streets, wide awake now and overly conscious of Zach’s body pressing against her own.
It was her turn to wake him.
“Come on, soldier,” she said, “up and at em.”
“What…”
Janie got out, walked around to the driver’s window and paid the fare. She opened her door and said, “You’re coming up with me for a cup of coffee.”
“But I’ve got to get back…” Zach began to protest.
“No, you don’t, Zach,” Janie said. “Come on.”
They took the elevator up in silence. Janie glanced over and saw Zach leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed. Her apartment was cool and dark. She turned on one light beside the couch and told Zach to sit down as she turned toward the kitchen.
“I really don’t want any coffee,” Zach called after her.
“What do you want?” Janie asked, turning toward him.
“Nothing,” he said, letting his head fall back against the worn leather. “I want to just sit here in the dark and not feel anything. Not think anything…”
“Okay,” she said gently, turning off the light. She hesitated for a second and then started to walk toward her bedroom.
“Janie…” It was half whisper, half plea. “Come sit beside me.” She told herself that he needed comfort, he deserved solace. She reminded herself of all the times he had been there for her. But, in truth, as she sat down beside him, as she felt his warm hand close tightly around her own—she felt such a rush of longing and physical need that she automatically drew back. He let her hand go.
He was an utter fool to have come, he told himself. A blind, driven, lovesick idiot. But she had caught him at a weak moment—no, at one of the all-time worst moments of his life—and he had caved into this gnawing, constant craving to be near her. So, he was near her now … did that solve anything? No, it only made the need stronger, the desire more fierce. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to stave off the madness.
“Tell me about your father.” Janie’s voice sounded shaky, uncertain in the darkness. “What was he like?”
“Oh … he was…” Zach began, “a con artist. A hustler. On good days, he could charm the birds out of the trees. On ba
d days, he … simply conned himself. He was always on the move, always running. From himself, I guess. From his fear of being a failure. And the more he failed, the harder he ran.”
“But he kept running back to you?” Janie asked softly. “You said earlier that you tried to help him.”
“My worst mistake,” Zach told her bitterly. “I kept telling him he could get better, get sober, pull his life together. I took on the job of being his keeper, you know, the one he could always depend on. The one who believed in him.”
“Shouldn’t you be proud of that?” Janie asked, confused. “You sound angry at yourself.”
“Don’t you see,” Zach tried to explain, turning toward her in the darkness, “supporting him like that was the easy thing to do. It made me feel good. Holier-than-thou. It made it nice for me … and comfortable for him to screw up and come back to me for forgiveness, only to screw up again.”
“But what should you have done?”
“Made it tough on him,” Zach told her simply. “Forced him to do his own forgiving, his own believing. I finally figured it out. I had to let him go, be himself, follow his own dark path. Loving someone is one thing, but acting on that love … that’s the hard part.”
“My father said something like that once,” Janie mused aloud, remembering their walk along the bluffs at Christmas.
Changes of Heart Page 34
