All of her meetings at the agencies were discouraging, and by Friday she had heard the same thing over and over again. She had been out of the job market for too long, her experience was no longer relevant, she was too old and competing with people half her age for jobs. They suggested that she consider some other line of work in fashion, instead of design. Editorial assistant at a magazine perhaps, or working in a designer boutique or on the designer floor at a department store. No one took her seriously as a designer, and at four o’clock on Friday, she took Paul’s card out of her bag again, where she had left it after showing it to the girls, and called him. She wasn’t going to beg for a job, which she realized she was no longer suited to, but she was going to ask him if he had any suggestions for her. She had no idea where to turn next. The people she had worked with many years before all seemed to have disappeared. She couldn’t find any of them listed in information or on the Internet. She was touched when Paul took her call and came on the line immediately. His voice sounded pleasant and upbeat, and was a relief to hear.
“Hi, Sydney, what have you been up to?” He seemed like he really wanted to know, and she wasn’t sure if she should tell him the truth or lie. She was running out of steam. It had been a brutal week.
“Well, let’s see, since the plane crash I moved out of my house in Connecticut into an apartment the size of a phone booth,” she said. “I saw four employment agencies this week, and before I take a job as a waitress, I thought I’d give you a call and pick your brain to see if you have any bright ideas. It’s either that or work at Starbucks.” He could hear from the timbre of her voice that things were not going well despite her attempt to make a joke of it.
“Have you ever been a waitress before?” he asked, sounding startled.
“Actually, no.”
“Then why not stick with what you know? Let’s have lunch on Monday, and we’ll talk. Don’t sign up at Starbucks just yet.”
“I’ll try to resist the temptation,” she said and laughed, and felt better just talking to him. He’d had the same effect on her when their plane nearly crashed and he told her they’d be fine. She believed him.
“What else have you been up to? How are your daughters?”
“They’ve been terrific. They helped me move over the weekend.” He could only imagine how traumatic it must have been for her to leave her house, only weeks after losing her husband. He stayed off painful subjects while they chatted for a few minutes. He told her to meet him at his office, which was in an old warehouse they’d transformed in Hell’s Kitchen. They had facilities in New Jersey as well. He told her to come at noon and he’d show her around. There were several good restaurants in the neighborhood, and he’d take her to lunch after the tour. “See you then,” she said. “And, Paul, thank you for seeing me. I need some fresh ideas.”
“I’ll see what I can come up with this weekend,” he promised, and her spirits had improved slightly when she hung up. She had something to look forward to, and she was not going to tell her girls she’d called him. They had a visceral prejudice against the kind of clothes he made, and she wasn’t going to try and convince them otherwise. They were cheap copies of expensive clothes, but there was obviously a market for them. If nothing else, after their experience in Nova Scotia, she and Paul had become friends. And she needed some of those right now. Her old friends from Connecticut seemed to have disappeared the minute Andrew died. Veronica’s theory about married women not wanting divorced or widowed female friends around was proving to be accurate. She had disagreed with Veronica when she said it, but maybe she knew what she was talking about. There wasn’t a single part of Sydney’s life that hadn’t changed.
She spent a quiet weekend since both her daughters were in the Hamptons, and she took a long walk in Central Park and watched couples strolling and families picnicking together. She listened to a reggae band for a few minutes, and sat on a bench and observed the world drifting by, and then she went back to her apartment and tried to read a book, but her mind had been blank since Andrew died and she couldn’t concentrate, so she lay on her bed, which filled her entire bedroom, and fell asleep.
And on Monday morning, she headed for Hell’s Kitchen on the subway. She was wearing a white linen dress with big turquoise beads, flat sandals, and a chic straw bag, and her hair was pulled neatly back. She looked fresh and summery when she gave her name to a pretty young girl at the reception desk. Suddenly the whole world seemed half her age, and the people she saw coming and going around her all looked like kids. It was a relief to see Paul walking toward her a few minutes later with a smile on his face. He was delighted to see her. He gave her a hug in greeting and told her she looked terrific, and they went back to his office to talk before he showed her around.
“You know, I thought about you all weekend,” he said seriously, “trying to come up with some bright ideas for you to reinvent yourself, but I kept coming to the same conclusion. That’s crazy. You were a terrific designer when you retired. That doesn’t go away. You can’t throw away a talent like that, nor should you. It’s like teaching Picasso to be a busboy or an engineer. Why would you want to do that? You’re an artist, Sydney, a talented designer. You’ve been out of the business for a while, and you may not have the computer skills that kids do these days. But it wouldn’t take you long to get up to speed, and as long as you have a piece of paper and a pencil, who cares how you come up with designs, or what you draw them on? Look at you, you’re fabulous. You know just how to put it together. Why would you want to give that up? You took a break. Now you want to come back. Why not give it a shot?”
“Because no one will hire me,” she said honestly. “At least that’s what the employment agencies told me last week. I’ve been away from it for too long. My point of view has changed, the world has changed, I don’t have a commercial touch anymore, and everyone in the business is half my age. Look at my kids, they’re twenty-five and twenty-seven, and they’re at the top of their game. I’m over the hill,” she said, trying not to sound as discouraged as she felt.
“That’s bullshit. You have experience they don’t have, and perspective. You have an overview of fashion, which adds dimension. You know what’s already been done, what worked and what didn’t. A lot of these kids are still very one-dimensional. They haven’t seen enough yet. And too many of them rely on their computers and don’t really have talent. How many really do? You know it as well as I do. They can draw, but they can’t design. They don’t have enough to bring to it yet. They’ve seen last year, and two years ago. You’ve seen a hell of a lot more than that. It matters. And you have your own style, most of these kids don’t. They all look like bums sleeping under a bridge.” And she knew he wasn’t wrong about that. It was the current style.
“So what are you telling me? I did give it a shot, going to see the agencies.” Listening to him, she almost believed him, but it wasn’t happening. In fashion now, youth was king. And the one thing she couldn’t do was erase her age.
“I’m telling you, give me a shot. Give us a chance. Come to work for me. If you talked to your daughters about me, I’m sure they tried to scare you off. They’re at the top of their field. They work in an elitist world, even the line for teenagers your younger daughter works for. Their prices are still above ours. But the truth is that isn’t always what sells. Designers like your kids hate people like me, because we borrow, heavily, I admit it, but we bring fashion to everyone. We make looking great accessible to the masses, at prices they can afford. And if you want to try it, you can work in some original designs and do some signature pieces for us. I’d really like to give it a try, and if it doesn’t work, then we’ll have learned something from it. I think we need each other, and if you want to use your name here, you can. I have no objection to it. I’d love it. We can give you your own label for what you design. Sydney Smith for Lady Louise. That was my grandmother’s name, by the way. She was a seamstress and a cool old dame. I named the company after her. She came here from Poland an
d taught me everything I know about life and clothes. What do you think?”
Sydney could just hear Sabrina shrieking in horror if she heard their conversation, but so much of what he said made sense, and he was right. Designers like Sabrina were enormous snobs about fashion, and created for an elite few. There was plenty of room in the market for a different kind of customer. It sounded challenging to Sydney, and like fun.
“I’ll give you a tour,” Paul said. “I want to show you our design studio.” She followed him out of his office and up a flight of stairs. The building had an industrial look to it, which appealed to her. It was all very different from the lofty atmosphere she’d worked in before. This was fresh and young.
He led her into an enormous room where twenty designers were working at tables, sketching, working on computers, and correcting designs, with color swatches and bits of fabric hanging over their desks. Some of them had photographs on their screens of clothes she recognized, and she knew what that meant. They were copying more expensive designs, but Paul didn’t deny it, and he assured her that they modified them enough to keep them from being exact copies. Most clothing designs couldn’t be protected or copyrighted, but he still had his designers change a pocket or a sleeve length or a skirt to keep them from being identical to the designs that “inspired” them. They gave them a new twist the original designer may not have thought of, dared, or been allowed to do.
She walked from table to table quietly, and was shocked at the youthful age of the designers. They were dressed like orphans and street people, there were as many girls as boys, and they all looked intent on their work. It was an impressive operation, and on the floor above them were the patternmakers, working diligently, adjusting the designs to make sure they worked. It was exciting being back in the familiar milieu, on a much larger scale. Paul had more of everything. There were so many of them it looked like a school, and in a way it was. They were all learning something new, and she had new techniques to learn too. She toured the building with him, and they wound up back in the lobby, and then he walked her down the street to an Italian restaurant with a garden for lunch. The day was just cool enough to sit outside. He ordered a Bloody Mary, and they ordered lunch, and she talked about what they’d seen. She asked him a lot of questions, and his answers seemed straightforward and sounded right to her. She was touched that he was willing to give her a chance. She had a feeling that no one else would, and certainly not a firm like the one Sabrina worked for, or others like it. She’d been gone for too long. But not for Paul.
“I’ll do it,” she said, halfway through lunch, and he glanced at her in surprise.
“Do you mean what I think you mean…what I hope you mean?” he asked, and she nodded and broke into a smile.
“If you want me, yes, I do,” she confirmed.
“I can’t pay you what you made before, when you stopped working. But in the long run, you’ll make more here. A lot more if you take the kind of strong role I hope you will. Sydney, we have a home for you for the long haul, if you want it. You could have a major impact here.” He made her feel competent, relevant, and important, and not like a has-been. He gave her hope that she could work her way out of the financial mess she was in.
“I do want it,” she said seriously, and suddenly nearly dying in a plane crash with him had become the best thing that had happened to her in a long time, and recently for sure.
“When can you start?” he asked, beaming at her, and she laughed.
“Tomorrow?”
“Sydney, you’re on!” He got up and walked around the table to hug her, and it reminded her of Nova Scotia again, when he had told her that everything would be okay, and she believed him. And now he was making that promise come true. She clung to him for a moment and thanked him, and he ordered champagne when he sat down again. “My grandmother would approve,” he said, smiling at her, and she laughed. Things were starting to look up. She had a job. The only thing she couldn’t do was tell her girls where she was working. In the five weeks since Andrew’s death, she had nearly drowned, and now, thanks to Paul, she was swimming to the surface again, and she knew she would survive.
Chapter 4
The morning after her lunch with Paul, Sydney woke up feeling anxious and excited. It seemed like a hundred years since she had last gone to work, and now she had a job at a successful company again, no matter how different it was from where she designed before. Her heart pounded when she thought of it, but she could hardly wait to get to the office. She had no idea what assignment she would get at first. She had a lot to get familiar with.
She took the subway downtown and walked into the Lady Louise building in Hell’s Kitchen at five to nine. Paul had told her to report to HR to fill out paperwork when she arrived. She took the elevator to the top floor of the remodeled warehouse complex, found the human resources office, and introduced herself. A girl who looked about Sabrina’s age smiled at her, handed her the employee handbook, and put the papers to sign in front of her. She noticed that she would be getting health insurance, which was important to her, since hers got canceled when Andrew died, and she couldn’t afford to get sick now. The entire process took half an hour. The girl was brisk and efficient, and asked if Sydney had any questions. She had one last paper to sign, which was her work contract. She and Paul hadn’t discussed salary, and Sydney stared when she saw the amount listed on it. It wasn’t even close to what she used to make when she was the head designer of a high-end fashion line, but it was far more than she had hoped to make now, or thought she deserved after a long hiatus. It showed Paul Zeller’s respect for her and her talent, and what he thought she could do for his firm. Five minutes after she signed the contract, she walked into his office and thanked him profusely.
“You’re paying me too much,” she said, looking embarrassed, and he laughed and invited her to sit down.
“You’re the first employee who’s ever said that to me. I think you’re worth it, Sydney. I want you to give Lady Louise a touch of class we don’t have now, just a little edgier and upmarket from what we’ve been doing. I think some of our clients are ready for it. We want to attract that client, and for those who aren’t, they’ll still have our lower-end lines.” He looked at her thoughtfully, admiring what she’d worn that day. She had picked a short black linen skirt, a simple white silk T-shirt, and high-heeled black linen pumps for her first day at work. She looked elegant and youthful, and everything she had on was chic and expensive. Sabrina would have approved of her outfit, but not the job she had just taken.
Sydney knew she was damn lucky to have it. She just hoped she could justify his faith in her. “I’m going to put you in the hands of our head of creative and design today. I want you to be his shadow for the next several months. He can teach you everything about our business. I had a meeting with him yesterday after our lunch. He’s going to give you some projects so you can get your feet wet. He’s a great guy, and is responsible for some of our biggest successes. He has an unfailing eye,” he said, smiling at her. “A lot like you. He’ll be here in a few minutes,” and as he said it, a tall, thin, young Chinese man walked into his office in a black T-shirt and black jeans, wearing high-topped black Converse. His hair was jet black and as long as Sydney’s, and hung straight down his back, nearly to his waist, and the look suited him. He had a beautiful, delicately carved face, like an ivory statue, yet his whole style was modern, simple, and sleek. He greeted Paul in a businesslike way, and looked Sydney over appraisingly. She couldn’t tell if he liked what she was wearing or not, or if he approved of her getting the job. She wondered if people would be jealous of the fact that she’d been hired, or bothered by her age. She hadn’t seen anyone even close to her age, except Paul, since she walked in. And so many of the design staff she’d glimpsed the day before looked like kids fresh out of school to her.
Paul introduced them. The young Asian man’s name was Edward Chin. He was twenty-nine years old, and he had a British accent. Paul said he came from Hong Kong,
had worked at Dior for two years, and been employed by Lady Louise for three, and he had risen to stardom in the company quickly. She thought it an interesting contrast that he had gone from high-end, high-priced fashion to the low-priced lines Lady Louise produced. They spent a few minutes chatting in Paul’s office, and then Edward said he had work to do and invited Sydney to come with him. She felt suddenly overdressed compared to her new boss, but she had thought it best to dress well for her first day at work. She could see now that she’d be fine at work in future in jeans and even T-shirts, as long as she looked neat and presentable. Edward’s outfit almost disappeared, and all that she noticed and was riveted by was his finely chiseled face, and his intelligent dark eyes.
She followed him to the design floor she had seen the day before, with the twenty young designers frantically at work. None of them had private offices. They all worked in the big open space that looked like a loft, with brick walls, long, tall windows, and high ceilings. He walked her over to the table he had assigned her close to his own. Hers had an enormous desktop computer on it. There were several sketch pads, a box of pencils, erasers, sharpeners, and everything she needed. She felt like a kid on the first day of school.
“Paul said you don’t design on a computer. You’ll learn,” Edward Chin assured her. “We’re working on next spring right now. Half the group is working on tops and blouses, the more senior designers are working on jackets.”
“What would you like me to do?” she asked, feeling slightly overwhelmed.
“I’ll show you what we’ve got so far, and what’s been approved,” he said seriously, and she followed him to the large computer on his own desk, where he brought up a slew of designs. She was impressed by how clean and straightforward they were, could see easily that many of them were variations of the same pattern, which was economical for them, and admittedly some of the designs and styles looked familiar to her. She concentrated on what he was showing her. “Why don’t you work off some of these today, and see what you come up with? Try and stay within the parameters of what you’re seeing, using the same bodies, and adding something new with collar, sleeve, detail, and stitching. Our size runs are pretty broad, so it’s got to look good on a size twelve too, and no tricky hidden closures, which are too costly to produce. This isn’t what you’re used to.”
Fall from Grace Page 5
