Fashionably Late

by Olivia Goldsmith

  The truth was that Karen hadn’t been able to remember. But they were busy. A lot was happening. ‘None of your business,’ she had said. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Defina jerked her head in the direction of Bill Wolper. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, but I know what he’s up to,’ Defina had said. ‘And if it’s the same thing, you’re going to be doing it at thirty thousand feet.’

  ‘Come on, Dee, give me a break. I’m just hitching back a ride in a private jet. What’s the big deal?’ Karen had asked.

  ‘The big deal is the big deal. That kind of man will mess with your body so he can mess with your mind. I mean it, Karen. Be careful,’ Defina warned. Karen promised to be careful. Then Defina grinned. ‘You hear those popping noises today?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Karen said. ‘Were they serving champagne downstairs too?’

  ‘Only in Norris Cleveland’s dreams. It was her perfume bottles. They were exploding.’

  ‘What?’ Karen asked.

  ‘You heard me. Something was wrong with the packaging. Under the hot lights the perfume expanded. You can imagine the rest. Broken glass and stink all over everything. People were gagging. Next they’ll be suing. They have to recall it all.’

  Karen began to laugh. ‘Oh Jesus! What a fiasco!’

  ‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer girl,’ Defina said with a wicked grin.

  Karen nodded. ‘There is a God,’ she said.

  Now Karen sat at the cleared table of the NormCo 727. She lifted the little wooden stirrer that had crystalized sugar rocked around it and dipped it in her cappuccino. Dinner had been better than good, and Bill had been interesting, attentive, and a perfect gentleman. Karen wondered, just for an instant, if she was disappointed by that. The thought shocked her. If there was one thing she knew about herself, she knew she wasn’t that kind of girl. She and Jeffrey had resolved their problems. Things were good again. So what was she thinking of?

  ‘So, did you hear about the ruckus on the main floor?’ Bill asked.

  ‘No,’ Karen said innocently.

  ‘It seems that your friend Norris’s perfume was bottled when the liquid was cold.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Didn’t you take physics in high school?’ Bill asked. ‘When molecules heat they expand. But there was no room to expand in those goddamned bottles.’

  ‘So it wasn’t champagne that I heard.’

  Bill laughed. ‘No, it was the sound of a business failing. Norris won’t be able to talk her way out of this.’

  Karen thought of the cynical remarks Bill had made at their last lunch. Karen was glad at least one perfume would fail and women wouldn’t be sold false hope. Bill seemed pleased with Norris’s failure, but wouldn’t he be happy to sell junk if it increased NormCo’s bottom line?

  But she had to question her moral ground. Who was she to judge anyone? Hadn’t she just spent the day selling very costly clothes to very wealthy women? Where was the glory in that? She hadn’t even had a chance to check out the bridge line with its more modest prices.

  The steward brought a salver of paper-thin mints and cookies, then discreetly withdrew. They drank their coffee in silence. Karen had stayed in some of the world’s best hotels, and Jeffrey had introduced her to a level of elegant living she’d never known before, but Bill Wolper’s totally understated and completely luxurious way of life was on a new level, and one that Karen could appreciate. The food had been perfectly prepared, the table had been perfectly laid, and the appointments in the plane seemed beautifully arranged. There wasn’t a scratch or a mark or a stain on anything. She felt as if she were in a costly jewelry case, and the surroundings were the mounting for a precious gem. She smiled to herself. There I go, thinking about mountings again. She couldn’t help wondering whether Wolper was one to show as much attention to detail in bed.

  She wondered what he would think of her if she told him all the things that were really on her mind. If he knew that she was adopting a child – or trying to – would he be afraid she wasn’t dedicated enough? If he knew about her search for her mother, would he think she was flaky? Whatever the answer was, she knew she couldn’t take a chance.

  ‘Would you like to see the rest of the plane?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure,’ she told him. Aside from the salon and the dining area, which doubled as a conference room, Bill showed her the office complete with word processors, fax machines, and a phone console more complex than the one at KInc. There were two full bathrooms, and then Bill took her down a narrow central hallway toward the back of the plane. He opened a cabin door and there was a bedroom, complete with a pencil-post canopy bed! He opened another, smaller door and there was another bathroom, this one with a tub.

  ‘I’ve never heard of a bathtub on a plane before,’ she said. ‘Does the FAA approve?’

  ‘I had to have it,’ Bill explained. ‘It wasn’t to show off. I just can’t bear to shower. Never have. I’m a bath man. How about you?’

  ‘I’m not a man at all,’ she said, and moved smoothly out of the bedroom and back down the hall. Bill followed her, and if he was disappointed or impatient he didn’t show it.

  ‘Let’s sit down in the salon,’ he suggested. They moved past the steward who was clearing the table. The plane lurched as they got into the open area of the salon, but Bill steadied Karen and helped her to a seat on the suede sofa. ‘Something to drink?’ he asked.

  ‘No, thanks,’ she told him. She knew that now was the time for him to apply the pressure and, sure enough, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

  ‘You know, Karen, I don’t want to rush you, but we can’t stall your husband and my lawyers for much longer. I need your answer. Do you think I would make a good partner to you?’

  Well of course that was why he had shown up. Had she thought it was just to see her? Sometimes her own naiveté surprised her. And she owed him an answer. He’d been very patient. Of course, he had used some hardball tactics. His appearance with Norris Cleveland had certainly been a warning of sorts, hadn’t it?

  ‘We’ve been through your numbers with a fine-toothed spreadsheet program. You know, you’ve got a lot of problems. Basil figures you have three-quarters of a million dollars in receivables that are as good as uncollectible. You need cash bad, and instead you got returns up the ying-yang, about twelve percent. I know you’re just start up, but the industry average is only three to six percent. I could help you with all of that.’

  She looked across at the man. She remembered Bobby Pillar’s words of caution and she knew that Bill was called just about every name in the book. From Wall Street to the Ginza he was loathed and feared. But, stupid as it seemed, she liked him, and maybe she should trust him. Jeffrey thought so. Karen had started the adoption process. Tomorrow morning the home visit was taking place, and Kramer’s office was already drawing up the intent-to-adopt papers. Surely a baby would be found. She’d made the deal with Jeffrey, and she’d have to stick to it.

  Plus there was something about Bill that made her feel protected, cared for. He treated her with the kind of care that a bird might show its egg. Always considered a strong woman by Jeffrey and all the people she worked with, it was both novel and immensely comforting to be mothered this way.

  ‘So, what do you say?’ Bill asked.

  Karen nodded her head. ‘Make us the offer,’ she told him.

  That night, Jeffrey was already asleep when Karen got home. She was exhausted and getting into her nightgown when the baby phone rang. Karen decided not to mention her lawyer on the first call, despite Kramer’s advice, so she took a deep breath and answered the phone. The woman – Louise – was married, had two children already, and explained she had been separated from her husband when she got pregnant with the third. Now she and Leon were back together, but Leon didn’t want to raise another man’s child. Tired as she was, Karen decided Louise sounded serious and sober, if not very bright. Karen couldn’t help but wonder what kind of genetic stock
she might be buying into, but she took Louise’s number and promised to call her the next day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Whirling Dervitz

  Sheila Dervitz must have been close to three hundred pounds. She was dressed in a sky blue sack-like suit and carried a large, cheap, navy blue leather briefcase. A hot pink and mustard scarf was draped around her neck. If fashion was a political barometer – and Karen believed it was – then Sheila Dervitz was still a part of the Rainbow Coalition. Karen tried not to wince when she looked at the woman, who was the social worker doing the home visit. It had been a bitch to steal away for the morning – there was so much to do – and then Sheila Dervitz had been late in showing up. She didn’t apologize either. She just said she’d had a busy day yesterday. Karen wondered if Miss Dervitz had started off her yesterday at 5 A.M. and flown to Chicago and back.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ Defina had asked. ‘You pay her to tell the state that you’re okay?’ Karen had nodded. ‘Seems like a conflict of interests to me,’ Defina said, and Karen had to agree. ‘But why don’t you just pay her twice as much and tell her to skip the visit?’ Dee asked.

  Now, Karen wished she could. She was exhausted, but faced the big blonde woman who sat on the sofa opposite her yet kept turning her head, this way and that, as if she saw rats in corners. Karen tried to appear relaxed. ‘I see you have a lot of books,’ Miss Dervitz commented. Karen turned and looked at the shelves behind her.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ she agreed. Somehow, the way Miss Dervitz said it made it sound as if books were a bad thing.

  ‘Are any of them inappropriate for children?’

  ‘I’m sure a lot of them are,’ Karen said. Why hadn’t she thought about the books?

  ‘Do you mind if I take a look?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Karen tried to say it as if she meant it. She looked around the living room. While she’d been in Chicago, Ernesta had outdone herself. There wasn’t a mote of dust on anything. The windows, the mirror, and the glass in the bookshelves all gleamed. The floor had been freshly waxed and buffed. For the last two days Ernesta had insisted they all walk around in socks. Last night, after she got in from the airport, Karen herself had arranged the mauve spray roses in a vase on the demilune table, and this morning she and Ernesta, giggling, had made up the bed in the spare room with teddy bear sheets. Karen and Jeffrey had already gone through a painful first interview with Miss Dervitz in her office and now there was only this home visit before they were legally approved by the State of New York as potential adoptive parents. Had Belle and Arnold actually gone through this? Karen would have liked to have seen that home visit report! Would Belle have been intimidated the way Karen was? Karen doubted it. But the phone call from Louise meant Karen had a real baby on the line, if Miss Dervitz would let her keep it. Karen took a deep breath as the woman who would decide her future lumbered along the rows of books. Was she looking for pornography? Did the books of nudes from her life drawing classes at Pratt count? Oh, God, this was making her crazy!

  ‘The cabinets lock,’ Karen told the woman. Then she felt as if that sounded as if they had something to hide. Miss Dervitz didn’t say anything. She just spun around on her tippy toes, looking a lot like the hippo ballerinas in Fantasia. Why did Karen feel as if that meant she disapproved?

  Karen felt powerless and Jeffrey certainly wasn’t helping. So far he had not tried to make this interview pleasant. When Miss Dervitz had asked him if he felt he was capable of being a nurturing parent, he had shrugged. ‘Who knows for sure?’ he asked. When she asked him if he had deep religious beliefs, he had told her he had deep anti-religious beliefs. Then he excused himself and went in to the office. Great!

  Karen tried to be diplomatic, to explain and soften his answers and pick up the slack, but she felt that Miss Dervitz was busy comparing all that Karen had to her own life. The social worker asked a lot of questions about how frequently they went out, the kind of parties they attended, and gossipy questions about what restaurants they frequented and how much it cost to eat in them. Karen had tried to answer all Miss Dervitz’s questions and charm her with glitz, but then was taken aback when the woman asked sternly the amount of time they really had to spend with a child. Karen had assured Miss Dervitz that she was not looking at this as a hobby. ‘I’m planning to cut back on my business commitments,’ she said. ‘Raising a baby would really be my first priority.’

  ‘You have a child selected?’ Miss Dervitz asked. She made it sound like Karen had gone out shopping for socks.

  ‘Well, there are a few mothers we have been talking with,’ Karen lied. She thought again of Louise. Would that amount to anything? Miss Dervitz grimly took some notes.

  She wondered now if she should offer Miss Dervitz a visit to KInc. Would it complicate things and make them worse? Should she offer Miss Dervitz some clothes at wholesale price? Would that seem like a bribe? Would a bribe work? And did she have anything that would possibly fit Miss Dervitz?

  Now the social worker stopped and held up a book. It was Rushdie’s Satanic Verses. ‘What’s this?’ she asked and did another pirouette.

  ‘A novel.’ Didn’t Miss Dervitz know that? Did the woman think Karen was a devil worshiper? ‘It’s about the Islamic as opposed to the Christian view of the world.’

  ‘But you are Jews?’ Miss Dervitz asked, spinning around again.

  Karen nodded. Was she going crazy? Or was Miss Dervitz certifiable? Hadn’t she heard about Salman Rushdie? And if Karen told her about him would she sound condescending?

  Miss Dervitz put the book away. Karen was about to say something when the phone rang. She moved to it and lifted the receiver, keeping an eye on the social worker. ‘Hello?’ Who would be calling me here now? she wondered.

  ‘Karen?’ Lisa’s voice was shriller than usual. ‘Are you sick?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what are you doing home now?’

  ‘Lisa, can I call you back?’

  ‘You never call me back. Listen, I only need a minute of your time. The caterers just called me and they can’t get black chintz for the table clothes. But I think taffeta is too wintery. What do you think?’

  Karen didn’t have a clue. What the hell was her sister talking about? Meanwhile, Miss Dervitz was disappearing down the hallway toward the bedrooms. Karen lowered her voice. ‘Lisa! I’m sorry I haven’t called you back but I really can’t talk to you now. I’m in the middle of something.’

  ‘Karen! Are you having an affair?’

  Where the hell did that come from? No time to ask now. That was all she needed: talking about adultery while the social worker made a home visit. ‘I’ll call you back,’ she told her sister and hung up the phone.

  She found Miss Dervitz looking for dust balls under the bed in the spare room. Together they moved into the master bedroom. Karen couldn’t believe it when Miss Dervitz began opening dresser drawers. Even if Karen was a devil-worshiping child pornographer, wouldn’t she have the sense to get rid of all the evidence in preparation for the social worker’s call? What in the world was the point of this? Karen held her tongue. Then Miss Dervitz went to her closet.

  ‘Well, you certainly don’t have much to wear, being a designer and all,’ she said brightly. She looked at the array of neutral-colored clothes hanging neatly on the rack. ‘Maybe you should think of spicing this up with some cheery colors,’ Miss Dervitz suggested. Karen told herself she was coming one step closer to making a home for Louise’s baby. She tried to smile and nodded her head.

  ‘What a good idea,’ she said.

  That evening, and the next and the next, Karen spoke with Louise. Each call lasted over an hour. Karen felt Louise was developing trust in her. She brought up Harvey’s name on the third night that they talked and Louise seemed comfortable with it. The next day, Monday, Harvey’s office FedExed a package of legal, medical, and background forms to Louise. She filled them in and returned them within two days. Karen began to let herself get excited. This was her reward for
moving forward with the Real Deal, for getting straight with Jeffrey. Everything would be all right. Before Louise called again, Karen showed all the information to Jeffrey and prepped him to speak with the woman. Jeffrey was nice to her, and when he handed the phone back to Karen, Louise had sighed. ‘He sounds so sweet,’ she said, and Karen could hear the wonder and the longing in Louise’s voice. She wondered what Leon was like, and what price Louise had paid for her lapse.

  Karen and Jeffrey paid for a sonogram for Louise and it looked like the baby was a girl. Karen began to think about how she would break the news to Belle and the rest of the family. So far this had been a secret along with the bad news from Dr Goldman. But now, perhaps, it was time to share. Now that she didn’t have only bad news to tell them. Falling asleep, after another marathon call with Louise, Karen had time to ask herself one question: Did she keep her bad news from her family to spare them pain or to spare herself?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Tongue in Chic

  Casey, some of his staff, Jeffrey, and Mercedes sat with Karen around the conference room table. They were going over weekly sales figures as well as the final tally of orders that the trunk show had garnered. The farm wife dress definitely had all the earmarks of being a runner – what they called a style that would be reordered over and over, as if it ran out of the store. In fact, it had all the earmarks of becoming a Ford – a design that would be copied by all the lower-priced knock-off artists in the business. It looked as if all the new designs that Karen had snuck in had done very well. It was, of course, no guarantee that the press or the Parisians would like them, but it gave all of them what Casey, in his best marketese, called a ‘positive indicator.’

  ‘We wrote orders till our hands hurt!’ Casey told the group now, proud. ‘I’m telling you, these are the best sales figures ever!’

  Jeffrey looked at him. ‘Those aren’t sales figures,’ he said. ‘Those are orders. You know how many things can happen between getting that order and delivery five months from now? We have to get the orders booked and hope the goddamned factory will extend credit and make them. Then we got to hope they make them right. Then, if they sell in the store, if they don’t get returned, we have to hope Chicago pays us before the interest eats up our profit or the factor shuts us down. You didn’t make a sale. You only took an order. A sale is when a check comes in after an invoice has been sent.’