Glamour

by Louise Bagshawe

  “Of course she could have, ma’am—I’m so sorry you’ve had this trouble today,” Janice said triumphantly.

  “That wasn’t the case,” Jane said calmly. She struggled to keep her voice under control. “I told these young ladies where their goods were located and I was going to fetch an assistant to help them, since I’m a greeter this morning… .”

  “We don’t argue with the customers!” Janice snapped. “Get back into the staff room immediately, Ms. Morgan!”

  “That’s right,” Julie triumphed with a little snicker. Her eyes danced over Jane with total contempt. “Get back inside immediately, Jane, so I can be sure you’re fired from your crappy little job. Go on, get!”

  Jane stood there, and Evans watched her tense shoulders slump, and painful tears of humiliation fill her eyes. He understood at once.

  This was a black, bleak moment in this young girl’s life.

  How could the other girls be so foul? And why weren’t his staff standing up for their young colleague? He’d heard staff morale was at rock bottom in L.A.

  Perhaps this was why.

  “Didn’t you hear me? You move,” spat Janice Esposito, her own face suffusing with pleasurable outrage.“What do you think you’re doing?”

  That was it. He strode toward them and addressed his personnel manager.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Rhodri Evans stood in front of the group, angry. He glanced at his young greeter—tears were spilling from her eyes now, but she was standing her ground, even as they all glared at her. The ugly looks of satisfaction on the faces of the rich girls annoyed him intensely.

  “You did not observe the situation,” he said coldly to Janice Esposito, “and you are making a scene in front of the customers.”

  “Who the hell are you? Security!” said Janice, flushing scarlet and snapping her fingers.

  Two security guards, who’d been watching the altercation idly, wandered over.

  “This guy’s leaving,” snapped Janice.

  “No.” Evans withdrew his wallet and handed the guard his business card. “My name is Rhodri Evans, I’m senior vice president of marketing, western region. And you’re fired,” he said to Janice. “Human Resources will be in touch to return your personal effects.”

  “You can’t do that,” she hissed. “I am Human Resources.”

  “Not anymore.” He nodded, and the guard took her elbow.

  Janice went bright red. “I’ll sue you!”

  “Try it.” Evans shrugged. “Don’t you know the whole thing’s on camera? And these young women”—his tone was deliberately insulting—“are also leaving,” he said the second security guard. “They attempted to harass a member of our staff. They aren’t welcome here.”

  “Fuck you!” Julie Manners went bright pink in the face.“My father will—”

  “Save it. There’s a video. The contents of which I very much doubt any of your fathers would wish released to the press.You know, bullying is very unattractive.”

  “You have no idea who I am,” Maureen Smith hissed.

  “Sure I do—you’re somebody who’s just been banned.”

  He turned to Mrs.Watson as security hustled the shamefaced girls away.

  “Who is this young lady?” he asked gently.

  “Her name’s Jane Morgan, Mr. Evans,” she said eagerly.“I hired her myself, and she’s always been one of our best workers. I fully supported you just then, Jane, I was just about to step in… .”

  Sure you were.

  Evans turned to Jane. “You handled that well.”

  “Thank you,” she said. He realized her voice had thickened from the tears.

  “Mrs. Watson, find another greeter.” To Jane he said, “You come with me. I want a word—privately.”

  Jane fought her tears all the way to the office. It was hard—so hard. Somehow it was easier to be strong when she was being attacked. No damn way she’d let those girls see her crumble. But when this man, this stranger, defended her …

  The emotional walls she’d erected tumbled down. The hard work, the exhaustion, the low pay—and then, pure humiliation. Jane felt naïve; why hadn’t she assumed they’d come looking for her?

  Maybe she was being dumb. Maybe she should apply for something in the comfort zone—librarian’s assistant, or public school teacher’s aid. It would pay higher out of the gate—enough for a real apartment, a secondhand car. But it would be a dead end after that—no career prospects—no advancement.

  She had come here with a purpose.

  For the first time in her life, Jane Morgan was gambling.

  Was she about to win—or lose?

  This manager—he’d stood up for her, yeah. But he was a guy. She had become adept at brushing aside advances. From customers, from staffers, from other worker bees at the base of the food chain. Funny, what being beautiful did for you. Until Sally made her over, looks weren’t a problem Jane Morgan had had to deal with.

  Did Rhodri Evans have an ulterior motive? If so, this could be the end. Because she wasn’t going to sleep with anybody.This guy was major league. He could end her career.

  “Right in here.” He opened the door. “Take a seat.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  Jane drew her legs together and tried to tug down the hem of her Shop Smart uniform’s skirt.

  “Don’t worry.” Evans was looking at her sympathetically.“I’m not going to hit on you; I’m gay.”

  “Oh.” She smiled weakly. “That’s great! I mean …”

  “I know what you mean.” He studied a file on his desk. “You’re seventeen?”

  “A legal adult,” she said quickly.

  “There’s a note in your file of how you came to us.”

  Jane didn’t say anything; she waited for him to speak. Evans smiled; that was clever.

  “You must have known Shop Smart would take advantage of the free publicity and hire you.”

  “Yes, I did.” She started to feel more confident.“Publicity has value. I traded it for free legal advice, and then this job.”

  Evans decided he was enjoying himself hugely.When did moments like this ever happen, in his tightly wrapped corporate life? She was a most unusual girl, indeed. Seventeen years old, and, simply from the way she spoke, obviously keenly intelligent. He suspected far more so than himself.

  “Alright.” Rhodri pushed his chair back and adopted a light frown. “Why were you looking at Shop Smart? We pay low wages …”

  “Minimum wage.”

  “And require low skills—we are always oversubscribed for jobs.With your qualifications …”

  “Firstly, I have no qualifications. I even had to leave high school before I finished.”

  “You could have been a nanny. There are many rich families in this city who would pay highly for a girl with an English accent, from a good school.”

  “Nannies aren’t senior vice presidents, western region.”

  “Ah.” He grinned. “So that’s what it is? You wanted to get into the management program?”

  “I wanted to get into management,” she corrected him. “Get noticed—and promoted.”

  “You always knew this day would come?” Evans teased her.

  But her reply was deadly serious.

  “Yes. Because if you do something brilliantly, you’ll get noticed. And promoted. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else. Eventually.”

  “And you think you were brilliant, at the door?”

  “I know I was,” she said confidently.

  “So I should make you a manager, huh? Give you a department. Just like that.”

  “I’ve worked in this building seven days a week for three months. There’s nothing I don’t know about this store—and nothing your management program can teach me.”

  “What do you know about business?”

  “Try me. I read the Economist.”

  He arched an eyebrow.

  “I do,” Jane insisted.“I take a b
us to the library every Saturday morning—it’s my break from exercise. And I read. Magazines, and the Wall Street Journal.”

  “Amazing,” he breathed. He believed her. “Okay, rookie,” Evans said. “You’re up. Tell me. I put you in charge of women’s merchandising.What happens next?”

  “I say I want a bigger job.”

  “What?”

  “It’s part of the problem. Managers for every section of the store, all fighting for their patch. It’s one store. It needs integration, not turf wars.”

  “Example.”

  “Electronics are in aisle six. But telephones are in aisle two. You need to store like goods together. Food needs dedicated checkout lines. The layout needs to be thought through—customers shouldn’t be able to walk right out.You need tempting, quick-purchase items by the tills, not the same old medley of magazines …”

  Jane went on, sketching a vision for the store. He listened attentively. The girl made a lot of sense.

  “You realize this would mean slashing jobs.”

  “Slashing a wasted layer of management jobs. For a company so concerned about wages, you waste a ton of money on pencil pushers who don’t do anything.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “I’ve watched them,” she said simply. “With the savings, you announce an incentive scheme. Bonuses to staff who get special commendations. And an invitation to study for the management program once they reach a level of excellence.You really need to improve morale. Get some family picnics going, events. Better food—the cafeteria can do a lot better on the same budget.”

  “How would you improve morale?”

  “Shop Smart needs to be an excellent store—that means running it smoothly. When I’m manager, I will actually watch staff. All the staff, including the backroom operators, the caterers, the security guards. Rewards and employee excellence certificates for those that do best. Nobody will put the extra effort into it if they think they’ll get nothing back.”

  He nodded. “I’m not going to make you a manager.”

  Jane sighed, disappointed.

  “It’s too much of a risk. I take a seventeen-year-old-girl—plucked from the greeters—and put her in charge of a multimillion-dollar store? If you fail, I become a laughingstock. And get fired.”

  “I see.” She did.

  “So what I’m going to do is test you. I’m promoting you to junior manager in charge of staff.”

  “Reporting to Mrs.Watson?” Jane’s tone showed her disdain.

  “Only technically. She will be instructed to let you have your head, but on paper you will report to her. It covers my back.”

  She grinned back at him.

  “Your task is to get this lackluster bunch of employees into a team that could be Disney World cast members.You talk a good game—I expect you to deliver. I better see something outstanding. You have six months.”

  Jane flushed with pleasure. “Yes, sir.”

  “And that’s not all. I want you to continue your observations of the store. Logistics, and cost-cutting. Write daily reports, collate them into a monthly assessment, and send it to me at central office.When you have six months of cost-based analysis, maybe I can see about a promotion.What is your current weekly salary?”

  “I do about seventy-five hours a week. Sometimes more. On minimum wage, so that’s two hundred fifty a week.”

  “From now on your salary is forty thousand dollars a year basic. There will be incentives—I’ll send you a contract. The signing bonus is five thousand dollars—you can pick that check up today—and you’ll get use of a company car. Junior management gets a Ford. Any color as long as it’s black.”

  Jane sat quietly. “Thank you, Mr. Evans,” she said eventually. “Thank you very much.”

  “You didn’t tell me you can’t believe it,” he observed.

  “But I can believe it,” she said coolly. “I believed it from the start. It’s why I came here.”

  He stood up, indicating the meeting was over, and offered her his hand.

  “Then your plan is working out.”

  She allowed herself a brief smile. “Yes—it is.”

  “I don’t see why you gots to go.” The landlady was sulking. “You wanted the place pretty bad first time I talked to you.”

  “And I kept my word.” Jane looked at her calmly. “You ran a filthy squat, now it’s a student apartment. If you’re smart, you’ll sell it. Otherwise it’ll just get wrecked again, and that’s money out of your pocket.”

  “You got a big mouth, lady.” The woman glanced round her apartment. It was bright, clean, repainted a gleaming white, with pretty curtains and furniture. It smelled good and she could see no bugs. Shheee-it! A contractor would have charged her plenty to get it looking this nice. She had to admit, that two hundred in rent had come with some sweet added value. “Pick yourself up a fancy new boyfriend?” she sneered.

  “No. The three months is up, and I got a real job, and a car. Just like I told you.”

  The landlady admitted defeat. “Well, you did good.The place looks nice.Thanks,” she said, grudgingly.

  Jane inclined her head.

  “You gonna rent someplace fancy now? One o’ those swish apartments over at Park La Brea?”

  “Rent?” Jane was dismissive. “I’ll never rent again. I’m going to buy my own house.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “So here we are,” Ahmed said. “Mash’Allah.”

  He stopped to pray before they entered the courtyard. It was a crowded Cairo street, and Helen was tired, and hot. It had been a long flight, and the city seemed strange to her, even after L.A.The flood of traffic, the constantly honking horns, workers on bicycles, a choking sense of dust, it was all completely overpowering.

  She felt out of her depth. Lost—and she was slightly ashamed. Helen had been foreign in L.A.—too dusky, too Arab, only protected by her girlfriends. And now, she felt foreign here. Her native tongue had atrophied; she thought in English, she groped about for Arabic words.The garish billboards with their smiling photos embarrassed her; she could not read the Arabic inscriptions.

  Helen felt herself between two cultures—and not fitting in with either one.

  “Mash’Allah,” she repeated, bowing her head.

  Whatever happened, she was determined to use this time. How long would it take to arrange a divorce? Let them bathe, and eat, get some sleep, and she would discuss it openly with Ahmed in the morning.

  “This is our house.” For the first time, he smiled warmly at her. “I worked on it—many years. The garden, especially. I hope you like it—since that is your name.”

  She nodded. HelenYanna—al-Yanna, the garden. She’d always liked that part of her name.

  She glanced around, drinking it in.

  “Do you approve?” He was hopeful. It touched her that Ahmed desired her approval.

  “I do.” Helen nodded. “This is beautiful.”

  The doorway was hidden—almost secret—a gray-painted nothing of a door, set anonymously into a wall of the city street.While Helen waited with their suitcases, Ahmed reached into his wallet and pulled out a small brass key, old, she thought, with intricate casing. He inserted it into the lock; she heard the clicks and tumbles, like a puzzle solving, and the little door, heavy, swung open on its hinges. She had to stoop to enter, and then they were inside.

  Now she looked around. The effect was magical. When the small door closed, the sounds of the street disappeared. She was standing in a high, ancient courtyard, where the walls were many feet thick, strong enough to drown out the traffic.The height offered a pool of natural shade.The garden was green; shady palms, as many as seven, were placed strategically around gravel paths. Tiny bricks, painted blue, fenced off flower beds dotted with azaleas, blossoming cacti, and thick beds of lilies. In the four corners of the garden, low-level fountains bubbled with water; it spilled, burbling, into square pools, giving the air a moist feel, a sense of a true oasis. There were birds in the trees, singing; she saw A
hmed had discreetly placed feeders and boxes for them. Butterflies darted around the flowers.

  The garden was set in a Roman peristyle. There was a covered walkway around the outside, with flagstones like a European church underfoot, and the pillared arches covered in mosaics, in the Moroccan style; tiny squares of glass, blue and green. Islamic art and architecture, and she felt her soul thrill with unexpected pleasure.

  “Wow,” she said, in English, as it sank in.

  Delighted, he looked at her and chuckled.

  “It isn’t rich—not a big house,” he said, apologetically. “My business is not as good as it should be, not yet. But you will like it, I hope so.”

  “We can try in Arabic,” Helen said, switching, awkwardly.

  “You’ve forgotten?”

  Ahmed spoke softly, and looked into her eyes with a new confidence. As though he were assessing her.

  “I will remind you,” he said. “I will teach you.”

  To Helen’s amazement, her stomach started to churn. She blushed and lowered her eyes. A tendril of something … desire, she realized … was trawling over her belly.

  To cover her confusion, she said “I would like to bathe… .”

  “Of course. How tired are you? Can you manage dinner?”

  She was rocky with exhaustion, but she nodded, still blushing.

  “And then … bed.”

  Helen’s head snapped up. He was still looking at her in that way. As she opened her mouth, wondering what to say, Ahmed lifted his hand and traced a fingertip across her mouth, softly and possessively.

  “You are afraid—like a mare, before saddling. No, not tonight. I do not want you tired. I want you fully awake.”

  “The bathroom … ,” she said dry-mouthed. “Please … ?”

  He grinned and extended his arm, opening the house to her. And as Helen walked inside, she was aware of Ahmed watching her.Wanting her.

  She didn’t know what she was feeling.

  The house was not as spectacular as the little garden; it had some tile work, some old woods; she thought it was beautiful, modest, and comfortable. Three large bedrooms, a master suite with a bathroom and two dressing rooms, a kitchen, some servants’ quarters, a living room, a dining room, and a small ornate room set aside for prayer, with the mats and a window facing Mecca.