by Judith Gould
Edwina placed her hands on her hips and turned slow circles, her pensive eyes sweeping the office. If she took this suite, she decided, and everything told her that she should, this large light-filled corner office would be hers. Imagine, she thought, me back on Seventh Avenue! Only this time as the head of my own fashion company. This suite is going for premium rent, but so what? You have to spend money to make money, don’t you? And being based in this building, the very epicenter of the fashion world, from which every new trend and vogue is transmitted around the country, is worth every penny. And then some. It says Edwina G. is here—and here to stay.
“As you can see, everything’s already wired for one-ten and two-twenty,” the real-estate woman pointed out. “Even the telephone jacks are already installed. All you have to do is move in your furnishings and you’re in business.” She paused, eyeing Edwina shrewdly. “Still, we’re prepared to throw in three months’ rent allowance for fixturing.”
“I need,” Edwina said slowly, frowning, “five.”
The woman sighed. “No can do. Three and a half. That’s as far as I can go.”
Edwina took a deep breath and then plunged. “Make it four,” she said, “and it’s a sale.”
“You drive a hard bargain, but it’s yours.” The woman smiled and held out her hand. “Congratulations,” she said as they shook on it. “Now, as soon as I get back to the office I’ll get started on the paperwork. Do you want it sent to you or to your attorney?”
“My attorneys.” Edwina fished in her purse for the business card of Leo’s law firm.
The woman took it, glanced at it, and looked impressed: it was one of the city’s five top legal firms. “If they have any questions, tell them to feel free to call me,” she said. “That’s what I’m here for. Well, I’ll be heading back now. Here’s a set of keys. Feel free to stay as long as you like.”
Edwina thanked her and walked her to the front door. Then, as soon as she closed it on her, she did a bump and grind, squeezed her eyes shut, and jumped high into the air while letting out an ear-shattering “Ya-hoo!”
She still could hardly believe it.
The dream was finally becoming a reality. And to think she was right here, starting out at the very top, ensconced in her own little kingdom smack dab in the very pulsing heart of the fashion industry!
Would wonders never cease? She hoped not.
She had her offices. Next was assembling a talented, top-notch staff who knew all the ins and outs. But a secretary—an administrative assistant—had to come first. And he or she had to be someone who already knew all there was to know, who was familiar with this dog-eat-dog territory . . . who knew all the distributors . . . someone who was fierce and tough and protective . . . and above all, loyal and devoted.
She sighed.
A jewel. That was what she required. But jewels didn’t grow on trees. So. How to go about finding one? Now, there was a problem.
She was still mulling it over when she let herself out, locked up, and summoned the elevator.
When the doors slid open, there was only one other passenger on it. A grim-faced Liz Schreck, alligator handbag and bulging plastic shopping bag in tow.
“Why, Liz!” Edwina greeted her warmly as she stepped in. “What a pleasant surprise! Did you know, you’re the first friendly old face I’ve run into in this building?”
Liz Schreck smiled wryly. “And for the last time, I’m afraid.”
Edwina frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Liz tightened her lips. “I’ve just quit.”
“Quit? What do you mean, you’ve just quit? Not de Riscal?”
Liz nodded grimly. “For the first time in thirteen years, I’ll be pounding the pavement.”
“I . . . I don’t think that will be necessary,” Edwina said.
Liz tilted her head and squinted uncomprehendingly.
“You see, Liz . . .” Edwina was positively beaming. “This is pure serendipity! Do you, by any chance, believe in predestination?”
“Pre-what?”
“Never mind. Just trust me when I say this is our lucky day. I tell you what. Why don’t I buy you a cup of caffeine in the coffee shop downstairs? Give me five minutes and I’ll give you the world. Well, maybe not the world,” she amended, “but I will make you an offer you can’t possibly refuse.”
Olympia hit the roof. “What the hell are you trying to do?” she shouted. “Commit professional suicide and run me out of business in the process?” She was pacing her austerely modern office furiously while quick-puffing on a newly lit cigarette. With a growl of disgust she stabbed it out in the giant glass ashtray and glared at Billie Dawn. “And as if all that isn’t bad enough, I’m the one with egg all over my face, young lady. Me, not you. Me!”
Billie Dawn sat serenely in one of the Mies van der Rohe chairs, one splendid leg crossed over the other.
“Anti-fur!” Olympia spat it like the vilest of curses, her sea-green eyes blazing. “Fur! If that’s your issue today, what’s tomorrow? A march on the Revlon headquarters? Spray-painting passersbys’ mink coats? Sending letter bombs to medical-research facilities?” She slumped wearily into her desk chair, cradling her head in her hands. “Why?” she moaned weakly. “Why couldn’t you at least have warned me ahead of time? Or just have refused to go to that damned photo session in the first place? What in hell possessed you to blast a client on television?”
“Olympia, I didn’t mean to create problems. Really I didn’t. I quite understand your being upset—”
Olympia’s head came up slowly. “You un . . . der . . . stand?” she whispered, picking up her cigarettes, pulling one out of the pack in slow motion, and lighting it with shaking fingers. “What do you understand? Losing me one of my biggest and most longstanding of clients? Do you have any idea of what this agency’s de Riscal billings come to annually?”
“No, I don’t,” Billie Dawn said calmly. “But I do understand this. Here. Why don’t you take a look for yourself.” She slid the Animal Rights League pamphlet onto Olympia’s glass desk. “They say a picture’s worth a thousand words.”
“I give up.” Olympia threw up her hands in surrender and looked down at the pamphlet. The sudden freezing over of her features said it all. She too was shocked.
“Now do you understand?” Billie asked her quietly.
Sighing, “All right, this once, just this once—and I mean this once—I’ll let you get away with it.” Olympia shoved the pamphlet back at Billie. “But in the future, I don’t want any more unpleasant surprises. If you don’t like something, or decide to take a stand on an issue, you tell me first. Before you talk to the press. Is that clear?”
Billie nodded.
“Now, get out of here,” Olympia said gruffly, waving her away. “And take your pamphlet with you. I’ve got a lot of damage assessment and explaining to do.”
Billie pushed her chair back and rose. “I appreciate your understanding,” she said softly.
“That makes one of us,” Olympia snapped, shoving her Ben Franklins onto the tip of her nose with one hand while reaching for the telephone with the other. She stared questioningly at Billie. “Well? Are you going to stand there all day?”
“About your mink coat ...” Billie began.
“No.” Olympia’s voice turned downright dangerous. “Don’t you dare press your luck.” She pointed a quivering finger at the door. “Out! Out out out, I say—while you’re still ahead and I don’t drop you like the hot potato you are!”
Billie left, a slight smile forming on her face after she snapped Olympia’s door quietly shut behind her. Now, that wasn’t too bad for starters, she thought, especially considering it was only the beginning. One little step at a time, that was the way issues gained momentum. She’d be willing to lay bets Olympia’s mink would be in mothballs before the year was out.
Chapter 44
“All right, darling,” Anouk said calmly. “Before you panic, let’s take this one thing at a time. And in order of importance.”
“Antonio,” Anouk said soothingly, “let me be the judge of that. After all”—she smiled—”I am the damage-control expert. N’est-ce pas?”
Antonio drank down half a glass of Château Lafite in a single swallow and then sat back broodingly. He couldn’t remember a more disastrous morning. First he had walked into the anti-fur demonstration, then Liz had resigned in a huff, and finally he’d fired Klas. And as if all that hadn’t been enough to deal with all at once, Billie Dawn hadn’t shown up for the fur session and Olympia had called with the most devastating piece of news of all: Billie Dawn’s outraged comments to the press. Oh, yes, all in all it had been one lulu of a day—and it wasn’t even half over yet.
“Darling,” Anouk said, reaching across the tablecloth and covering his hand with her own, “trust in me. There’s no need to be so worried. You know that I can fix almost anything.” She smiled reassuringly.
“Yes, but this doesn’t need a fixer, it calls for a miracle worker.”
“And I am one!” she assured him brightly, withdrawing her splendidly manicured hand. “Now, then.” She clapped her hands together lightly and steepled her fingers. “I believe I can take care of everything except this fur business.” She frowned slightly. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to do that. Call a press conference as soon as you get back to the office.”
Antonio groaned. “You know how I loathe talking to the press.”
“Be that as it may, darling, you must. There just isn’t any choice.”
“But what will I tell them?”
Anouk’s features grew momentarily thoughtful. “Tell them . . . tell them that you’ve looked into it and discovered that Palace Furs does indeed hold the license and that you’re planning to sever all ties with them. Not only that, but announce that you will no longer design furs, period.”
He looked shocked. “Do you have any idea how much income the fur license generates?”
She waved a hand negligibly. “Not enough to warrant further involvement with such an explosive issue, that’s how much. These are changing times, Antonio. The anti-fur movement is growing, and we might as well deal with it now. Sooner or later we’d have to anyway.”
Antonio sighed. “Palace isn’t going to take this lying down. You know that.” He drained the remainder of his glass of wine. “They’re liable to sue my ass for breach of contract.”
“So? Better they do that than we alienate our bread-and-butter consumers—our off-the-rack buyers. Besides, think of all the free publicity this can generate!” Her eyes suddenly shone. “If you play it right, every television station and newspaper will make you out to be a hero.”
He stared at her. “You know,” he said slowly, “you may have something there.”
“Of course I do!” She fell silent as the waiter brought their plates of côte de veau à la crème d’herbes fraîches. Once he refilled their wineglasses and was gone, they picked up their cutlery.
“Now, then,” Anouk continued with a wave of her knife, “Klas is no problem, at least not anymore. You did the right thing by firing him. Dead wood needs to be pruned, and that was what he had become. Needless to say, Dafyyd being his lover, as well as my walker, makes it a bit unpleasant, but I know that Dafyyd will understand.” She gave a short laugh. “He, better than anyone else, knows how trying Klas can be. And as far as a replacement for Klas goes, I believe Edwina still hasn’t got a job—at least not in fashion. I’ll simply offer her Klas’s position, and voilà! He’ll never be missed.”
Antonio’s forehead furrowed into a frown. “Do you think Edwina will really go for it?”
“Edwina? Darling, she’d be a fool not to. She’d give her right arm to become your number two. Who wouldn’t? And that leaves one last little problem: Liz Schreck. Personally, I can’t stand the woman, but that is neither here nor there. Someone as efficient and capable as she is impossible to find. She really is irreplaceable. I will just have to see to it that she changes her mind.”
“Then I wish you good luck,” Antonio said gloomily. “You didn’t see the state she was in.”
“Perhaps not, but I’ll do my best. So. It’s settled, then. As soon as you get back to the office, you’ll call an immediate press conference. And in the meantime, I’ll get on the phone at home and do my magic. You see, darling?” Anouk pushed her unfinished main course aside; she never ate more than a few choice morsels of any meal. “Between the two of us, there’s really nothing we cannot do.”
“I only hope you’re right,” he murmured.
“But of course I am!” Anouk said confidently. “Darling, this is your wife you’re talking to. Remember?”
An hour later, Anouk had changed into a pair of dark blue silk lounging pajamas and was curled up on the day bed in her bedroom, a cup of tea at her side and the telephone receiver at her ear.
“Edwina?” she cooed, curling the telephone cord around her index finger. “Darling, it’s Anouk!”
There was a long silence.
“Hello, Anouk.”
“It’s been so long since we’ve talked! Darling, how have you been?”
“Oh, fine.”
Anouk launched smoothly ahead. “You’re probably wondering why I’m calling so . . . out of the blue? I mean, we haven’t talked for ages, and I realize we’ve had our . . . ah . . . differences in the past. But I always say let bygones be bygones! This city really is too small to harbor grudges and wage feuds. Sol What have you been doing with yourself?”
“Oh, this and that,” Edwina replied vaguely.
“Have you found another job?”
“A job? No, I can’t really say I have. At least, not in the usual sense of—”
“But you have been keeping busy?”
“Oh, most definitely.”
Anouk fought to keep a light and cheery tone in her voice. This conversation was like pulling teeth. Damn that Edwina! she cursed silently. The woman can be downright infuriating! You’d think she was guarding King Solomon’s mines, the way she husbands information. What does she have to guard, anyway?
“At any rate, chérie, since you don’t have a job,” Anouk continued blithely, “and since Antonio’s number-two position has just been vacated—”
“Klas has resigned?” Edwina interrupted in disbelief.
Anouk chimed a tinkly scale of her trademark glissando. “Well, not in so many words, darling. Let’s just say that he . . he no longer works for Antonio de Riscal.”
“I see,” Edwina said knowingly. “In other words, he was fired.”
“Hmmm . . . yes, I suppose one could say that.”
“And you called to see if I was available to take the job? Is that it?”
“Darling! You must be psychic!”
“I’d love to accept, Anouk. Really I would.”
“Maaaaarvelous!”
“But I regret to say that I can’t.”
“But, darling! You have to say yes!”
“But you see, Anouk, I can’t.”
“But why not?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?”
“Darling, I don’t understand. What haven’t I heard?”
“That 550 Seventh Avenue has a new tenant.”
“Oh? And who might that be?”
“Why, me!” Edwina said, choking back the laughter in her voice. “Would you believe I’m a designer now? With my very own label?”
“No,” said Anouk from between clenched teeth, “I would not!” And slammed down the receiver.
Anouk waited five minutes to regain control before making her second call. She took a series of deep breaths to fortify herself before using her gold pen to dial the number. When Liz Schreck answered, she said brightly, “Liz? Darling, it’s Anouk!”
There was a dead silence.
“Liz? Are you there?”
“Yes, Mrs. de Riscal,” Liz rasped tartly in her
smoker’s voice. “I am.”
“Good. Listen, darling, I just had lunch with Antonio, and he told me of the . . . ah . . . unfortunate incident that transpired this morning. I really couldn’t believe my ears!”
“Well, trust them. They heard right.”
“Liz, we really must meet to discuss this in person. As you well know, you are like family to us—”
“Well, you’re no family of mine,” Liz snapped.
Anouk stifled the urge to lash back. Instead, she assumed a hurt tone. “Liz! How unlike you!”
“Mrs. de Riscal, look. If you called about luring me back to that lunatic asylum, forget it. You’d only be wasting your time and mine.”
“Liz! Surely you’re not seri—”
“In other words, you can take that job and shove it. N’est-ce pas?”
That did it for Anouk. The woman could go to hell—and straight-away. She wasn’t about to put up with her any longer. Nor was there any reason to be civil.
“You’re finished!” Anouk hissed, dropping all pretenses. “See if you get any references!”
“For your information, Mrs. de Riscal, I don’t need any,” Liz sniffed. “I’ve already found another job.”
Anouk was speechless.
Now that Liz sensed she had hit home, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to twist the blade in the wound a little ... let Anouk be on the receiving end of a knife thrust for once.
“As a matter of fact,” Liz said conversationally, “we’re sure to run into each other every now and then, since I’ll still be working at 550 Seventh Avenue. Isn’t it ironic? To think I should have been hired by Edwina Robinson, of all peo—!”
Anouk couldn’t slam the receiver down fast enough. It was as if it had scorched her.
Chapter 45
“Les,” Hallelujah sighed in the gloomy monotone of depression, “how are we supposed to get those two back together again when she won’t even talk about him?”
They sat atop a graffiti-sprayed boulder in Central Park, eyeing the buttery twin towers of the San Remo with a mixture of hope and disgust.
