“Damn this heat!” Lally unhooked her brassiere, her alluring breasts freed and supple, freckled and rosy from the sun and the heat. “Here, let me help you.” She walked over to Constance and promptly started unhooking her bra as well.
“Really? You’re quite assumptive, Lally.…” Constance smiled as she felt Lally’s hot breath on her neck and then her cupping her generous breasts with her hands. They fell into a heated embrace.
“I had no idea you…” Constance threw her head back in pleasure.
“I knew from the moment I saw you at the Stork Club. It’s just like having another gin and tonic. Sweet, wet, and feels oh, so good.” She shrugged.
“Does Topper know?” Constance asked as Lally nibbled on her neck.
“He’s too stupid and he could care less about what I like or do. He’s made that very clear. He is also sleeping with that tin heiress, what’s her name? Jacqueline … something foreign. I’m sure it’s for the money.” She grimaced. “Does Van know?”
“If he does, he’s never said a thing.”
“I’m sure. A lot goes on in Palm Beach that no one talks about,” she confided. “And that’s the way we like it.” After a half hour trysting in the shower rooms together, they silently walked back into the locker area as if nothing had happened. Neither woman commented on what transpired as they dressed for drinks and dinner. It was a brisk and businesslike exchange, and while their lust never generated as much heat as Constance had experienced with CeeCee, it was more functional and tidy. Constance felt as though she were back in college again, the secrecy and camaraderie of the forbidden pleasure from women of her class.
“Lally, I do like so much that color combination.” Constance surveyed the sporty top Lally had slipped over her head. It was a vivid green and contrasted beautifully against her pink lace underwear. She also stepped into a bright pink pleated skirt. Pink and green. A fabulous color combination for one of her products.
“Oh, this.…” Lally shrugged. “It’s veddy, veddy Palm Beach, dahling,” she joked.
“Well, it suits you and your coloring.” They hooked arms and walked to the clubhouse like conspiring sisters. At the bar, they nodded and waved to friends and both had gin and tonics and toasted their close friendship. Constance was pleased, as she now had a new home and a new “athletic” outlet on the island. And she also now had a new very pink-and-green packaging idea for her new mascara, soon to be called Eye-allure.
With great aplomb and speed, Constance returned to New York, tan and relaxed. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Lenny was no longer at his job. CeeCee had obviously taken care of the nuisance with one of her uptown thugs. She would have called her to get the update but had no way to reach her. She never even knew where CeeCee lived. With a sense of confidence, Constance shifted her focus to a new product and her newest big idea: adoption. It had come to her on the train ride back to New York when she had seen a mother with a new baby handled by two capable British nannies. It all seemed to make so much sense. A baby would solve everything, given her tawdry inclinations and Van’s silent demands for a family. And as usual, and with businesslike focus, within a few months after contacting the very best service, she and Van had the picture-perfect son, all blond and blue-eyed, and she had bribed plenty for it. Van was happy to have a namesake … Van Wyke Jr. While Constance could never be described as maternal, she hired her own two British nannies to do all the work and oversaw their care of him with punctual efficiency. She also knew there were side benefits to their new addition. At a moment’s notice Van Jr. was camera ready, and she loved the occasional carriage push in the park with photographers in tow and the resulting press opportunities. Constance marveled at the whole thing. All it took was $25,000 to the unwed mother in Kentucky and she would give her child all the best that life had to offer: the elite schools, homes, and clubs. After all, what said “heterosexual” more than a new baby boy with platinum-blond hair who looked exactly like her? That she was never showing was not an issue to her public and army of Gardiner Girls, as she had stayed out of the limelight, always working. Close friends and acquaintances knew, but no one talked about it. It was unmentionable. Once the hand-engraved baby announcement went out, they received the proper slew of baby gifts and telegrams of congratulations.
Constance wheeled the baby back to the nannies, gave him a perfunctory peck on his blond forehead after a twenty-minute photo session with Good Housekeeping, and got down to the business at hand. She took a cab to her office and checked in on her number one project. She had ordered numerous tests from her cosmetics team on the mascara and was close. She gave detailed instructions on both the sample products and the containers that held them, ensuring that the box was just as beautiful as the product within. Slim, shiny boxes in all different shapes lined her office shelves. But none compared with her signature packaging, the inimitable peachy-pink and green. She thought about how different the color scheme had looked on Lally. It was nautical yet witty. Bold but elegant, fun even. She was excited that her internal product development team had promised that she would see samples later in the week. Constance told them it must be finished by the close of business on Friday. She had to play hard to stay in the game. The women of America demanded and wanted something new.
* * *
In the office atop Herz Beauty’s Fifth Avenue flagship salon, a frustrated Josephine sat on the phone, listening to the banal excuses from her own development team.
“I’m coming back to the lab tonight to see the new samples. If it’s not complete, I vill remove the lot of you.” She banged the receiver down.
A knock on her door offered a merciful distraction from her distress.
Sheridan Sloane had been the head of Herz’s legal department going on eight years. He was a rigid snob, if one took the time to know him. Josephine had always overpaid for the best, and she had thought a patrician, white-shoe, Princeton-educated lawyer would help her ease the way with national accounts. Such was her insecurity, she had thought lawyers also needed to look the part.
“Do you have a moment?” he asked. Before waiting for an answer, he sat himself down in the chair opposite her.
“Only one, Sloane.” She always called him by his last name, and now with dismay he saw the turbulent look in her eyes and knew she would be in one of her famous moods.
“We have a problem with your rushed production on the new product line. I’m still a bit in the dark on this. May I ask what it is exactly?”
“When it’s complete, you will have your answer.” She had been fielding questions about the whole matter, from the press and her own employees, for months now, and she could not risk a leak from her own inner circle given her recent mole, Polly. Something about this man had always given her pause.
“Unfortunately, as you know, it’s not a smart move to place the product in the stores if we haven’t trademarked the name and have a patent. Especially if this is a newly designed item. We don’t have the insurance in place, let alone the time to go through testing on this. When we have the trademark and/or the patent, then we can at least announce to the trade. One cannot put the cow out to pasture if one does not know if the cow can feed itself. Do you see my point, Madame Herz?” He seemed too proud of his point and Josephine wished she could reach across the table and flick the glasses off the bridge of his perfect aquiline nose. Like lightning, she now knew why Sheridan Sloane gave her pause: he reminded her of Jon Blake. Good-looking, lazy, and … always a step behind.
“Yes, I am quite aware,” she said in a bored tone.
“It seems rather unconventional,” he said. “Are you certain you cannot reveal more?”
“I promise that when I do, all the hoopla and hype will be worth it. This is the next step in the future of our industry.” She glared at him.
“Well, Madame, far be it from me to be the one to doubt you.”
“Indeed,” Josephine said. She made a mental note to fire this man and next time hire a Jew. She had already
been working with an outside legal firm on the patent, and Sheridan had been too busy playing squash at his club to figure that out.
Sheridan stood up and collected his things. He pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. Before he left, he turned to her.
“Does it have a name?” he asked. “Or will we be waiting on that, as well?”
“Lashmatic,” she declared. “I already have the trademark.”
“I see,” he said. “You used another lawyer for that?” He was confused. “Sounds like a wonderful new car.”
“Since that woman, Gardiner, planted a mole in my office, I will be using different lawyers for different things from now on. I don’t want any one person knowing too much.” She looked away briskly.
“I see.” He looked down. He knew she was right and couldn’t argue but was displeased nevertheless.
“In fact, I trademarked the name months ago with an outside firm.”
“Are you sure you don’t trust me to do that for you?”
“I trust no one, Sloane, including my own soon-to-be-ex-husband, so don’t take it personally,” she said matter-of-factly as she dismissed him.
He walked out of the room with his silver-blond hair a perfect helmet, despite the fact that his confidence was in disarray.
Josephine managed a faint smile and remained silent for a while. She had just received news from the trademark office that Lashmatic was hers. Herz! Now that she had the perfect name, she needed the perfect product. And one that must work.
She laughed aloud.
Lashmatic. A wonderful new car.
What a fool, she thought about Sloane. She would hire a new in-house lawyer in the morning.
27
FALLOUT
New York City, 1936
CeeCee had called Mickey numerous times to discuss that night. Did the plan go as executed? Was there any fallout? The endless questions and anxiety swirled in her head. She figured it was best to find him at home and talk with him face-to-face. The problem was she would only allow him to come to her apartment and had never been to his. She had a rule that she would not go where she knew other women had been.
As she made herself up, she looked down at all the products spread across her dresser. Various half-used bottles and old trial samples of Gardiner Cosmetics took up most of the surfaces in her room. She remembered a box in her closet. All of the Herz Beauty products that Constance wanted to study, some that she had asked CeeCee to purchase and some that Polly and the other girl, Frieda, the spy, had stolen. Unopened products, most of them of a higher quality than the small samples she was allotted. Grabbing the waste bin, CeeCee dragged her arm across the dresser and dumped all the Gardiner products into the bin. Next, she went to the closet and grabbed the box. She opened it, brought out the products she needed, and started to apply the cosmetics the Herz way.
It was near noon when CeeCee reached Norfolk Street and Mickey’s family fruit stand. A small older man was unpacking peaches and apples from wooden crates.
“Excuse me? I’m looking for Mickey. Is he here today?”
The old man turned around. “No, miss, he is not.”
“He’s a—” She stopped herself. “Friend” wouldn’t be the right word to use in this case. Additionally, she had no desire to get into racial politics with the man. She needed information. “I’m CeeCee Lopez. He needs me to clean his apartment. He told me to meet him here. He never gave me an address.” To others it may have seemed strange she had never been to his apartment, that she would see him only at hers. But she had never wanted to cross the line, no matter how much time they spent together. Now she thought it was odd that she had no idea where he lived.
“Oh, of course!” The man’s tone changed as if he were now speaking with a child. “I will write it down for you.”
The man went into the loading area to grab a piece of paper and a pen. When he returned, he began to write down the address.
“You like cleaning?”
“Very much, sir. Mama always said to keep a good house.” She smiled sweetly and batted her eyes.
“You seem like a very pretty girl for a maid, but we know our Mickey.” He laughed and handed her the address, and she smiled.
“Thank you, sir. Good day.”
Mickey’s apartment building was not too far away from the fruit stand, a few blocks south of Delancey, near Orchard. The old man could have just given her the street and building number, but was kind enough to take the time to write out a virtual map with arrows, perhaps underestimating her sense of direction. When she arrived, she climbed to the third floor and knocked on the fifth door. After a series of knocks, Mickey opened the door in a dirty wifebeater and holding a glass of whiskey. A mass of wiry black hair sprouted from the shirt, and dark thatches of hair were visible beneath the thin material. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in a week and CeeCee could see, just by peering in the door, that the apartment was in a wretched state.
“Cee, how did you—”
“The stand. Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”
“I didn’t want to talk. You came looking for me?”
“May I come in?” She put her hand on the door and gave it a gentle push. He showed her inside, closed the door, and started cleaning up clothes that were strewn about.
“Apologies for the mess. Can I get you something?” He attempted to turn on his charm. “I’m so glad you finally came. You would never come here before,” he said, making pleasantries.
“Mickey, what happened?”
“It won’t be a problem anymore. You can count on that.” His eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at her.
“He got the message?”
“Yes, one way or another.” He still would not meet her gaze.
CeeCee removed her jacket to reveal a somewhat provocative dress. A plum cotton sundress with a sweetheart V-neck that was scalloped at the breast. She was not unaware that some allure might help her to get the facts straight.
“You’re so beautiful,” Mickey stammered.
“Tell me what happened.” She sat on the couch and patted the place right next to her.
“The details aren’t necessary. He won’t bother you again.”
“Tell me, honey. Please.” She was willing to perform. The seductress, eliciting her answers. He’d open up in a moment or two.
“No, Cee. It didn’t go as planned. Let’s leave it at that.”
Her smile dropped. “What do you mean, as planned?”
“I said leave it!” he roared. She couldn’t have imagined his voice that loud before. He stood and began pacing the room like a tiger.
“Mickey, you tell me right now what happened. You can tell me what didn’t go according to plan.”
“I was drunk and it was Tony. He egged me on.”
“Who is Tony?” she asked.
“It was like a nightmare. I can’t rack my brain why I did it.”
“Did what?!” CeeCee had enough. All the worst possible thoughts raced through her mind.
“My guy screwed up. Morello beat him up. But the guy took his wallet. We had to get to him before the pigs got involved.”
“Morello?”
“The guy sent to get the guy that was messing with you.” The more he paced the room, the quicker her heart began to pound.
“Morello called me in a panic.… Then I got Charlie on the phone. We went over to the guy’s house and luckily he was there drinking beer. He was a greedy son of a bitch and I had a feeling he was thinking about his next move. So we busted in, beat him up, and threw him in the trunk of the Buick. And next thing I know, I’m at a shit motel a mile out of the city with the guy bleeding out in the tub.”
“Who was bleeding, Mickey? Who was bleeding!”
“The guy. The janitor.”
CeeCee shrieked. The sound of a wounded doe. This was not what she bargained for.
“Cee, it wasn’t good.”
“No more.” She turned away, tears streaming.
>
“I did it for you, Cee.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“I wish I could take it back. I do. I do.” He sobbed into her chest and she held him. The two sank into the couch.
“I gotta get out of town for a while, Cee,” he whimpered, which was an unusual sound for such a macho guy.
“Where?” She let out an anxious breath at losing him.
“L.A. My uncle Irving runs the numbers rackets out there. I’m going out to work for him until this all blows over.” He shook his head, his glossy curls breaking free of the hair pomade.
“I understand.” CeeCee lowered her head. “I’ll miss you.”
“Not more than I will.” He gathered her into his muscled frame, and she felt his bulk and the sensual smell of his aftershave mixed with manly sweat. And for one wretched moment she let herself think of only one thing. Not the man who died, but the man who loved her.
28
REALIZATION
New York City, 1936
Constance and her team at Gardiner were having a different kind of launch plan. No big speeches in a boardroom on strategy. No grandiose talk of the future. Because the future was being cranked out as best they could, piecemeal and with the best of intentions. That said, everyone knew something was amiss. Constance had first approved the slim, cylindrical metal tubes chosen from an exposition in Paris a few years back. Then she’d decided to look at a new form of lighter plastic that was now available. The brush size kept changing as well, and the formula was either too thick or too watery. If all went as it should, everyone knew her eye product would be an instant success, but the project was plagued by indecision, a lack of control, and product formulation problems.
To take her mind off it, Constance was more focused on the marketing right now, the rollout plan for the product once it launched, as this was her favorite part: approving the advertising and promotion creative side. Then there were the more difficult budget decisions; how much to spend on brochures and radio versus newspaper and magazine ads to support her door-to-door army, and whether or not it would be the right decision to offer a small introductory gift with purchase. As she finalized the list of stores to receive the first shipment, the door opened to reveal a familiar face. Although it had been weeks, the sight of her old friend immobilized her momentarily. She did her best to hide her surprise.
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