by Francis Ray
Dianne’s hand tightened on the phone. “Did—did Alex tell you?”
There was a slight pause. “No. I saw the CEO on a news show. He gave an interview.”
It couldn’t have been worse. “I see.”
“I’ve left instructions that if he tries to reserve a table the answer will always be no.”
“You don’t have to do that for me,” Dianne said. “I don’t like him, but I don’t want your business to suffer.”
“It won’t. I don’t want a man who treats people so callously in my restaurant. I had my fill of men like him when I was trying to get the business off the ground,” she said. “Too many of them thought I was too young to know what the hell I was talking about. Or they wanted me to sleep with them to obtain a contract.”
“I bet you set them straight.” Dianne almost smiled.
“With pleasure,” Summer said. “I sent each of them the newspaper clipping when Radcliffe’s opened and the Who’s Who of New York society came, and again when it was featured in Food and Wine and Bon Appétit magazine six months later. Success is the best revenge.”
“I hope one day I’ll be able to say the same thing,” Dianne said quietly.
“With Alex in your corner, you will. He’s a great guy.”
“I’m not sure where I would be without him.”
“He probably feels the same way about you.”
Dianne frowned. “You’re mistaken. I’ve probably complicated his life.”
“And made it better. Life without challenges isn’t life, my father always said,” Summer told her. “You can tuck your tail or bare your teeth and fight for what you want. The Radcliffe clan has never been the tucking-tail type. Gotta go. If you and Alex want to get out for a bite, give me an hour’s notice. Bye.”
“Bye.” Dianne hung up the phone. Summer was successful, but it hadn’t been easy. Neither had Catherine’s success. As much as Dianne wanted to wallow in self-pity and hide, she wasn’t going to find a job moping in the apartment. Getting up, she went to find a phone book. She wasn’t giving up.
* * *
Alex forced himself to listen to Marco Thomas tell him about the house he and Martha, his wife of thirty years, were building in upstate New York. What was supposed to be their dream home was turning into a construction nightmare.
“The builder kept adding on charges, kept dragging out the completion date. We’re more than a hundred thousand dollars over budget and only a quarter of the way finished. We saved and did without for this house.” Mr. Thomas looked at his wife sitting beside him. “In the three months Johnson’s been building, not one day has passed without an incident.
“I was told you could help us.” He grabbed his wife’s hand. “At this rate the house will never be finished and we’ll be a million dollars over budget.”
“Johnson, the builder, said additional expenses are to be expected, but we went by there the other day and wires are hanging everywhere in the basement,” his wife said. “Although we paid for particleboard, the label says plain drywall. We’re afraid besides gouging us, the house won’t pass code when it’s finished.”
Unfortunately, Alex had heard it all before. “I have a contactor who can inspect the house, but if he finds the house is not up to standards, as you expect, you’ll have to make a decision as to how you want to handle the information.”
“Why, we want him to fix the house, of course,” Mr. Thomas answered as if that were obvious.
“If Johnson is dishonest, he’s probably done this before. He could claim he put in the inferior material at your request. Do you have plans and specs listing the items you wanted?” From the uncertain way the couple looked at each other, Alex was almost sure they didn’t.
“I can’t believe this is happening to us,” Mrs. Thomas said, blinking back tears. “We trusted him. We won’t have the house or the money.”
People who used others pissed the hell out of Alex. Johnson was out for himself, just like the CEO of Harrington. “Let my contact, Spencer Douglas, go out with you as a friend. Say you want to show off your home so his visit won’t rouse the builder’s suspicions. He’s the best in the business. Once we have his report back, we’ll go from there. Inferior materials are one thing, not building to code is another.”
The couple gripped each other’s hands. “Then you’ll take our case?”
“No person should be taken advantage of,” he said, his thoughts going to Dianne. He could only give her support, not fight her battles for her no matter how much he wanted to. Luke had called that morning. He didn’t have anything yet with which Alex could take Boswell down a notch. Until then, if Spencer found the builder was gouging and not building to code, Alex would take great pleasure in putting him out of business. “Yes. I’ll take your case.”
* * *
A week later, Dianne walked out of another employment office. They hadn’t been able to help her, either. The woman apologized, but Dianne was too well known as the face of Harrington for other clothing firms to use her. When asked about other modeling jobs, she was told she just “wasn’t what they were looking for.”
Leaving the office building, she turned and saw Greg Dickerson, the head designer at Harrington’s New York office. Her first instinct was to go back into the building so he wouldn’t see her. Instead, though, she lifted her head and continued toward him “Hi, Greg.”
His head came up. Surprise registered on his thin face. For a split second, he looked as if he wanted to duck into the building himself.
Mild hurt coursed through her. She had always gotten along well with Greg. Unlike René in Paris, Greg was never impatient or demanding with her. “I never thought you would snub me. Sorry if I bothered you.”
“Wait,” he said, glancing at her then away.
Dianne paused. “What is it?”
He turned to her, pushing up his black designer sunglasses with his finger. “You just came out of the employment office.”
“Yes,” she answered. “It appears there’s not very much demand for models my size.” The words no longer had the power to make her want to tuck her head.
Greg shoved his hand into the pocket of his slacks. “There’s even less for designers.”
Dianne’s eyes rounded. “You too?”
He nodded. “The company needs more vibrancy,” he spat.
She touched his arm. “I’m sorry. You’re a great women’s fashion designer. Grandfather called you one of the best.”
Some of the harshness left his face. “Mr. Harrington had faith in his people, made you feel a part of the company. People fear Boswell. Sooner or later, it’s going to affect the bottom line.”
“As much I want Boswell to fall flat on his face, I don’t want him to ruin Harrington,” she said. “My grandparents worked too hard.”
“He’s fired a lot of the people who’ve been with the company a long time. You aren’t by yourself,” he said.
Dianne placed her hand on his sagging shoulder. “You’re talented. You’ll find another job.”
“Hope so. I don’t want to dip into my retirement fund,” he told her. “You’re young. You have time to replace yours.”
If she had a retirement plan. She didn’t. She hadn’t given the future a thought until shortly before she was fired. By then it was already too late. “If I hear of anything, I’ll call you.”
His expression remained solemn. “I’d appreciate it,” he said and gave her his phone number. “I’ll keep my ears and eyes open for you.”
“Thanks.” Opening her purse, she put his number inside and gave him her new cell phone number that she’d proudly paid for herself. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” Greg went into the building.
Dianne stared after him and then started down the street. A block later she paused and gazed into a storefront at the mannequins. Could they all be right? Was she too old and too fat and too well known for this business? She was thirty-two years old and weighed 118 pounds. She might be considered in her prime i
n any profession except modeling. And no one wanted her.
She wanted to sit down on the sidewalk and bawl. Instead she went inside the department store. It was only a little past twelve. She didn’t want to go back to Alex’s apartment. It was lonely there without him.
She ended up in the lingerie department. Alex had insisted she keep the American Express card, but she had no intention of buying anything unless it benefited both of them. Fingering the see-though material of a pink negligee, she smiled to herself and wondered if it would count. Probably, if she kept it on for longer than a hot second.
Being loved by Alex was heaven and hell. She wanted to be successful, to be able to meet him on equal terms. Instead she was jobless, practically broke, and without prospects. Releasing the fabric, she started to leave.
“Where are we going to find another model? The fashion show is scheduled to start in five minutes,” said a terse male voice.
“The three models will just have to change faster,” came the answer from a woman in a beautiful black suit.
“How is that going to work when three models are supposed to be circulating at all times among the diners and talking to the women about the clothes being available in the store? The Women’s Club has had their annual meeting here for years. They shop here. I want to keep them happy customers,” the man answered. “I want this problem fixed and I want it fixed now.”
The woman the man had spoken to swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Dianne admired the woman’s courage and realized this was her opportunity to find her own. With her most charming smile in place, she stepped forward, extending her hand as she did so. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I’m Dianne Harrington. You might have heard I’m available. Not only can I model, I can sell the clothes.”
Both of them turned; both gave her a thorough once-over. Relief spread on the woman’s face. She grasped Dianne’s hand. “You’re hired. I’ll have Human Resources bring the paperwork. I’m Elaine Sims, head of women’s wear, and this is Mr. Ascot, the store’s executive. I’ll show you where to change.”
* * *
Dianne happily greeted the other models and the store personnel in the room set aside for the models. From the slightly shocked expressions on their faces, she knew they recognized her name or her face—or both. Thankfully there wasn’t time for questions. The store’s executive had been correct.
She’d barely settled the black kimono dress over her head before she was on the dining room floor weaving her way through the hundred or so women. That was good, because she didn’t have time to get nervous about the reactions of the women or wonder if any of them recognized her. The teenager at the fashion shoot certainly had been dismissively vocal about her, but two other women were also kind. Dianne concentrated on the latter for a brief moment, then thought of Alex and lifted her head.
By the time she’d passed the third table, her shoulders were back, her head high, and she was working the room, smiling as she passed the women. Some were attentive; others were more interested in their cheesecake or conversation.
By the third change, she was actually enjoying herself, glad she was able to answer the women’s questions about the color of the fabric or whether the design was right for them. She’d learned a lot about both at Harrington.
“Can I feel that fabric?” one of the diners asked.
“Certainly.” Dianne stopped so the middle-aged woman in a yellow silk suit could touch the striped cotton pullover with shoulder detail. “The solid blue cropped drawstring pants are made of cotton and spandex. Besides blue/white, it comes in linen/white and pink/white. Easy wear. Easy care.”
“What do you think, Jewel? We’re going sailing next week with your father.”
The woman seated next to her looked from the woman who had spoken to Dianne and folded her arms. “It’s cute and you’d look adorable, Mother,” Jewel answered.
The woman frowned. “I meant for you. I like the other two she wore as well.”
Jewel affectionally patted her mother’s arm. “Thanks for thinking of me, but you know nothing in this store fits me.” Her smile a bit wistful she said to Dianne, “Thanks for your time.”
“Thank you.” Dianne moved on, but she couldn’t get what the woman’s daughter had said out of her mind. She’d been fretting because she was a ten. She could admit it now, she thought as she took the fourth clothing change, but she could shop in all the major stores. She could even wear some petites.
This time, as Dianne made her way through the table aisles, she made a point to pay more attention to the women, especially those whose figures were fuller. She discovered that most of them barely glanced at her. She even heard a few comments that “they” should have some real women modeling. One voluptuous woman even commented that she could wear the sand-colored linen sleeveless sheath dress—if she bought two of them and sewed them together. She high-fived the woman sitting next to her. The entire table broke into laughter.
Dianne didn’t smile as she left the dining room for the final time. She’d been fired because her size didn’t fit the image of what Boswell wanted. Some of the women in the dining room might be able to laugh it off that certain fashion lines excluded them, but Dianne couldn’t. It was her life.
“Ms. Harrington, you were sensational,” Ms. Sims said as Dianne returned to the dressing room. “My card. We have these fashion events once a month. The store would love to have you model again. You’d be a tremendous draw.”
Dianne was flattered, and she would have jumped at the chance two hours ago, but now she had other ideas buzzing though her head. “Thank you. You can’t imagine how much this meant. Can I call you?”
Disappointment touched the woman’s face. “Please do. Your check will be mailed.”
“Thank you. While I’m here, I want to do some browsing.”
Ms. Sims immediately brightened. “You’re in the right store.”
* * *
Dianne was on a mission. She knew the best stores for women’s clothes, the little-known boutiques that were high on the lists of women who demanded the best, and the shops frequented by women on a budget. Her grandfather always said it was as important to know the competition as it was to know your own designs.
She didn’t even pause at her own clothing size, but went to the larger sizes—when she could find them. Overall, she wasn’t impressed with what she saw. She quickly noticed that the selection grew scarcer, the colors and patterns bolder, as the sizes increased.
By the time she walked out of the last store and hailed a taxi, she was bubbling with excitement. Finally, she knew what she wanted to do. She couldn’t wait to share it with Alex.
* * *
Alex shifted the bouquet of flowers and his briefcase to insert his key in the lock. He longed for the sight of Dianne, but he was half afraid that he’d see the defeated look in her face he’d noted each day that week when he came home. It tore at his heart. It was rough on him, but a hundred times rougher on her.
Each day, the smile on her face seemed to be harder and harder to form. Last night, he’d awakened in the middle of the night to find her turned on her side away from him instead of in his arms.
It had taken only a short time for him to become used to her slight weight in his arms while he slept. He wanted her there through eternity, but she wasn’t ready to hear that he loved her and wanted to marry her. He knew she cared by the way she looked at him, the way she trembled in his arms when he held her.
She knew he cared and probably thought the sex was a side benefit.
Finally opening the door, he entered, calling her name. “Dianne. I’m home.” No answer. Hoping that was a good sign, he dropped off his briefcase in his office, then went to the kitchen to look for a vase.
He opened a cabinet door, and was trying to remember where his mother had stored the vase she said every home needed when he heard the front door open.
“Alex.” Excitement, happiness rang in that one word.
“Kitc
hen,” he said, but he was already moving. He saw her ten feet away. She’d never looked more beautiful. Grinning, she closed the distance between them, launching herself into his arms. He caught her. His laughter joined hers.
Her arms around his neck, she grinned up at him. “I finally know what I want to do.”
“I always knew you would figure it out,” he said simply. “You have the brains and the drive to do or be anything you want.” All you needed was the courage.
Her hands palmed his face. “Whatever I did in life to have you and Catherine in it, I’m thankful.”
He kissed her. He couldn’t help it. One day when she valued herself as much as he did, he’d tell her that she was his world. Ending the kiss, he placed her on her feet. “Tell me all about it.”
Her eyes still shone. He hoped his kiss had a little to do with it. “I want to bring fashion and style to women who wear size eighteen and up. I got the idea when I was modeling today—”
“You were modeling?”
She laughed again. Opening her handbag, she withdrew a business card. “I overheard the head of women’s wear and a store exec talking about needing a model. I offered my services.”
“That’s my girl.” He gave her a brief hug. “And of course you were sensational.”
“The head of women’s wear certainly thought so, but some of the women there didn’t.” Her bright smile faded. “The largest size was a fourteen. The women with fuller figures were left out. I heard a couple of jokes about it, but I remembered how I felt when I was let go because I was too fat and too old.”
Alex’s features hardened. “You’re neither.”
Her expression pensive, she placed her hand on his chest. “I’ve finally accepted the hard truth that perhaps I was.” She placed her finger on Alex’s lips when he opened his mouth to speak. “In some modeling ways I am, but it doesn’t mean I’m not without value.”
“Damn straight,” he said, his hands on her waist pulling her closer.
