Kathy was pleased that she had persuaded her father to put his long-time friend Mannie in charge of the store one Sunday every month so that he could bring her mother and aunt out to the house for the day. On Sundays Phil slept till noon. After Sunday brunch he would drive to Julius’s to spend much of the afternoon in conference with his father. Kathy explained to her family that Phil was pushing toward the partnership his father had promised him. She enjoyed having most of the day alone with her father and mother and aunt.
Rhoda came up for the Memorial Day weekend. Her depression over the break-up with Derek had receded. Now she was enthusiastic about having bumped into Frank at the Times Square BMT station. She was seeing him again.
“Just for fun,” she told Kathy. “Remember what a great time I had with. Frank in Hamburg?”
On impulse Kathy invited Rhoda to come up to Greenwich with Frank the following weekend. Why not? Phil would be flying to the Coast early Saturday morning to discuss a concession in a prestigious San Francisco store. It would be good to spend time with Rhoda and Frank. It would be like reliving those days in Hamburg, she thought sentimentally. But David was in Berlin.
Phil enjoyed these trips around the country, Kathy thought while she saw him off from the local airport for the flight to New York. He enjoyed flying around the country, entertaining important merchandising people out of town. It gave him a sense of power.
She waited until his plane lifted off the ground, then slid behind the wheel of the new Cadillac that Julius had presented to Phil as a “company car.” She had hoped to inherit the old one as her very own—because she lived in fear of even the smallest dent on the Cadillac—but Julius had taken it to give as a bonus to his publicity woman.
Kathy drove away from the airport with a guilty sense of freedom. For eight days Phil would be away from Greenwich. And in an hour she’d be picking up Rhoda and Frank at the station.
At Idlewild Phil checked his luggage, then jumped into a taxi and headed for the city. He was taking a westbound flight tomorrow morning. Kathy wouldn’t phone the Mark Hopkins to see if he’d arrived, he told himself with confidence. She’d be all wrapped up in her stupid houseguests.
Leila was still in bed when he used his key to let himself into the apartment.
“Hi,” she drawled, naked beneath the blanket, sure Phil would be ready to jump into bed the moment he arrived.
“Any coffee?” he asked, shedding his jacket.
“Now?” she pouted.
“Now,” he said. “Go on, don’t be so lazy.”
“All right,” she said aggrievedly and tossed aside the blanket. Phil swatted her across the rump as she headed toward the closet kitchenette.
Leila had been a great lay at first, he thought while he watched her move with deliberate provocativeness about the kitchenette, a minuscule apron making a parody of her nakedness. Now she was beginning to irritate him with that constant yammering about introducing her to people in theater. He’d told her that Derek was his main connection, and right now Derek was out in Hollywood.
He undressed and sprawled on the bed, still warm from her body, exuding the heavy scent she favored. He’d leave the keys here today, seemingly accidental. He’d phone from San Francisco and tell the old man to fire her while he was away. Dad was trying so hard to get into the new publicity gal’s pants. Maybe he could do what the old man couldn’t.
“Coffee, sir,” Leila flipped.
Phil reached for the cup, took a few sips, then set it down on the night table. Just thinking about that sexy publicity gal got him hot.
“Come on, baby. Show me how good you are.”
On June 24th the civilized world was alarmed to learn that Stalin had imposed a blockade on Berlin. Earlier the Communist nation had tried to induce inflation in the western zone of Germany in an effort to thwart recovery. The Russians had interrupted rail traffic between Berlin and West Germany for two days, stopped highway bridge traffic, and now this.
“Phil, what’s going to happen now?” Kathy asked him anxiously when he came home from the city that evening. How would this affect David?
“Truman will be afraid to make a move,” Phil guessed. “He doesn’t want to start another war.”
“But if Berlin is blockaded, how will the people get food? How long can the city survive?”
“They’ll find a way to fly in food.” Phil was impatient with her. “West Berlin has two airports. It may be tough, but the Allies will figure a way out.”
Two days later all the Kohns moved into the spectacular fifteen-room house in Southampton for the summer. Bella had insisted that the decorator be given a freehand, and Kathy was enchanted by the results.
Brenda and Gail’s older daughters went off to camp. A summer nursemaid was hired to take care of the two younger daughters and Jesse, though Kathy took on most of his care. Jesse was the focal point of her existence, the source of her joy in life. Her reason for being, she told herself.
Kathy relished her early morning strolls along the beach while the others slept. To her the ocean was mesmerizing, to be worshipped afresh each day. It was as though, for a little while, she walked alone with God, she thought.
Julius was furious when he discovered that, despite his space-grabbing publicity woman and the prestige of Julius Kohn Furs, he was not likely to be invited to join the choice clubs. The anti-Semitism of earlier resort society still lingered in Southampton’s “Old Society.” Families that had reluctantly survived without footmen during World War II and recognized that it would be impossible to replace them in the postwar era had not opened their minds—or their homes—to Jewish arrivals. A Pulitzer, a Belmont, an Otto Kahn might be welcomed in their sacred enclaves. Not a Julius Kohn.
When the Southampton household assembled on their third Saturday for what was becoming a ritual brunch, Brenda and Gail announced that they were taking off for Europe for three weeks. Their husbands exchanged a glance of resignation. They’d obviously fought a losing battle.
“We’ll arrive in Paris in time for the couture shows.” Brenda’s usual petulance had given way to a glow of triumph. Brenda and Gail would have been attractive if they weren’t forever sulking over some grievance, real or imagined, Kathy thought. “Our travel agent managed to get us reservations at the Ritz. Then we’ll spend some time in Cannes. At the Carlton. They have an exciting summer season there now.”
“How do you expect to spend time in Paris and Cannes?” Phil challenged. “Each way by ship will—”
“We’re flying,” Gail announced. “We’ve never flown to Europe before. Everybody’s flying these days,” she forestalled her mother’s objections. “Air France has nine flights a week between New York and Paris. We’re taking the Golden Comet—it’s an all-sleeper flight that leaves every Saturday.”
“We make way-stops at Gander, Newfoundland, and Shannon, Ireland,” Brenda picked up. “Then we’ll fly from Paris to Nice. It’s much more chic than spending the summer here.”
At Phil’s advice—derived from a sarcastic remark about Southampton anti-Semitism made by Kathy—Julius ordered Bella to give one of the most extravagant parties of the season. Phil realized—as Kathy had said—that “Old Society” might not come calling, but monied café society would rush to socialize where champagne and caviar were lavishly offered them. Already Phil was negotiating through their publicity woman with post-debutantes to model in the fall charity show.
Julius viewed the horde of expensively garbed guests with savage pleasure. He was especially pleased by the presence of syndicated columnist “Cholly Knickerbocker”—in private life Igor Cassini—which meant a column item about the party. A chauffeured limousine had been sent to bring the columnist to Southampton and to return him to Manhattan. Roz had arranged this coup. Their publicity gal was a smart little bitch, even if she was a gonif. Every month he flinched at her expense account billing.
Kathy would have liked to invite her parents and Aunt Sophie to spend a weekend at the Southampton house, but
there was no communication between her family and Phil’s. Instead, she took Jesse and went to Borough Park for a weekend in early August. She had forgotten how oppressively hot the city could be; but Jesse didn’t seem to mind, she realized gratefully. He was fascinated by the train, the bustle of the city, their taxi ride from Grand Central to Borough Park. And he adored being fussed over by her family.
“So,” Aunt Sophie demanded as they settled at the table for Friday dinner while Jesse slept in Kathy’s old room in the crib kept for such times. “What do you think of Southampton?”
“The beach, the ocean, they’re breathtaking,” Kathy’s face reflected her love. “The house is like a movie set.”
“Good movie set or bad?” her father asked.
“Beautiful,” she emphasized. “I’m sure Julius is disappointed, though. For what he spent he probably expected a replica of the palace at Versailles.”
“What about anti-Semitism?” Aunt Sophie’s smile was wry. “Has that changed on the fancy resort circuit?”
“Not in what is known as ‘Old Society,’” Kathy told her aunt, for whom she knew this was ever a vital issue. “And Jews are not welcome at the Beach Club or the Meadow Club. But some very socially important—very wealthy—people came to Bella’s party. I know she was nervous that it would be a fiasco.”
“Free food, free liquor?” Her father chuckled. “They come. But we all know the other side.” Now he was serious. “The private clubs all over the country. Right here in New York, in Minneapolis, Dallas, Atlanta, San Francisco—all over.” He waved a hand in contempt. “Kathy, you’ve heard the stories about Saratoga and Palm Beach and other fancy resorts where Jews are not welcome in certain hotels. I always say, ‘Who needs them?’”
“You love the ocean,” Aunt Sophie said. “Forget about the Beach Club and the Meadow Club. Walk on the beach, swim in the ocean. Enjoy, darling.” She glanced about the table with an air of satisfaction. “We watched while you built sand castles at Coney Island. Now Jesse will learn to build sand castles on Southampton Beach.”
Chapter 13
IMMEDIATELY AFTER LABOR DAY the company presented its first designer furs collection at a lavish fashion show, where the models were last season’s top debutantes and three expected to be the top debutantes of the coming season. Phil gloried in hosting the event. Kathy was unable to attend because Jesse was down with a bad cold. She refused to leave him in the care of a baby-sitter.
Phil’s stock with his father was riding high. Now he was away from home more than he was there. Reluctantly Julius agreed to heavy advertising, but was pleased when he saw this bear results. For Christmas Phil received a huge bonus, which he immediately spent on furniture for the house. Kathy went with him on shopping expeditions, but it quickly became clear that he would make the decisions.
In the beginning of the new year—again at Bella’s insistence—Julius gave Phil a raise that permitted the hiring of a live-in nursemaid for Jesse.
“How does it look to the neighbors to see Kathy with so little domestic help?” Bella had reproached her husband in Phil and Kathy’s presence, knowing this approach would elicit results. “Do you want them to think you’re too cheap to pay your son a decent salary?”
Marge flew home for a week in March. Kathy was impatient to see her. She invited her to come out for a weekend and then extended the same invitation to Rhoda and Frank. Two of the bedrooms had been furnished as guest rooms. Twin beds in one of them—Marge and Rhoda could share. Phil would be out of town so there had been no need to consult him.
Kathy arrived at the Greenwich station twenty minutes early in her eagerness to see the arriving trio. By the time they were at the house, Alice would have put Jesse to bed, she realized as she waited in the car. But they’d see him in the morning.
Then the train was pulling into the station. Kathy hurried from the car. In moments she was exchanging warm embraces with Marge and Rhoda and Frank. Oh, it was good to have them here!
“Look at that car!” Frank whistled in approval. “We’ll live in style this weekend.”
Now they were caught up in a lively discussion of Marge’s job in San Francisco. It was a stop-gap, Marge admitted; but she felt she was learning.
“One of these days I’ll have my own collection,” she bubbled. “It may take a while, but all good things take time.”
Kathy had prepared dinner earlier in the evening, and it was being kept warm in the oven. A log was crackling in the fireplace of the recently furnished den. Of all the rooms in the house this was Kathy’s favorite because of its casual air, in such contrast to the ornate decor of the rest of the house. Tonight, Kathy thought as they sat down at the dining room table, the house was alive with friendship and affection.
Inevitably table conversation turned to reminiscences about Hamburg. While Marge had not been there, she’d heard much about it. Like Kathy, Rhoda and Frank had lost touch with other members of the group except for Brian, who always sent greeting cards on every holiday and included a gossipy letter about his latest activities.
“What about David?” Frank asked when they had transferred themselves into the den for coffee and liqueurs. “You ever hear from him, Kathy?”
“Not since he was here last February.” It seemed so long ago. “He drops a note to my in-laws a couple of times a year. He seems all wrapped up in his research.”
“Even with the airlift, it can’t be too comfortable living in West Berlin,” Rhoda said somberly.
“The first months of the blockade must have been awful.” Kathy remembered her anxiety as the newspapers reported on the city’s lack of food, the prospect of starvation hanging over the heads of West Berliners. Electricity, she recalled, had been rationed to two hours a day, and the population worried that the rain-filled summer would give way to an autumn and winter without fuel. “My mother-in-law told me David wrote that the airlift is preventing starvation, but there’s still much malnutrition despite the food that gets through.”
“It’s a miracle how the airlift has built up,” Frank said with infinite respect. “The Commies have to know they’re beaten.” He left the burgundy leather club chair to put another chunk of wood into the grate. “The end of the blockade can’t be far off.”
“It’s incredible how the Russians are dominating our lives.” Sharing the matching leather sofa with Kathy, Rhoda kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs beneath her. “Our Air Force, the RAF, and French fliers are all involved in frustrating the Russian blockade. And here in this country it’s the House Un-American Activities Committee craziness. To listen to them, half the Hollywood actors and writers are Commies, intent on overthrowing our government.”
“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Frank predicted.
“Frank, tell Kathy and Marge about your new job,” Rhoda persuaded.
“It’s not mine yet,” he hedged, then grinned. “Well, it’s mine except that some minor details have to be ironed out. I’m leaving the ranks of free-lance writers to become an editor.” He paused, mockingly dramatic, then named a prestigious national magazine. “With a weekly paycheck.”
“Frank, that’s great!” Kathy turned to Marge. “Now we’ll have to subscribe.”
“He’ll still find time to write an article now and then,” Rhoda said encouragingly.
Kathy sensed that something lasting was building between Rhoda and Frank, and she was pleased. They would have some problems to work out—Rhoda was Jewish and Frank, Catholic—but they had something special going for them.
On an unseasonably warm June afternoon, Phil sat in his father’s lushly furnished office with one leg thrown over a chair and listened while Roz Masters—their attractive and ambitious publicity woman—tried to make Julius understand that to tie in with a top-name French designer would cost high but would pay off.
“You’ve been working with a name designer, sure, but he’s not one of the six ‘greats,’” she pursued. “That’ll put Julius Kohn Furs on a level with haute co
uture, but you’ll be selling to a mass market. In volume,” she stressed.
“Why should I pay a royalty to this hot-shot French designer after I’ve paid for the design?” Julius was belligerent, but Phil knew he was weakening.
“Because that’s the only way you can get him,” Phil said bluntly.
“I can wangle a lot of newspaper and magazine space on the strength of that kind of tie-in,” Roz said. “Even some radio and television time. Phil’s good-looking and knows how to handle himself.” Phil suppressed a smile. The old man didn’t know he had got into Roz’s bed. “He’s a definite asset. And while we’re talking about assets, let’s move Phil and his wife into the Manhattan social scene. We’ll zero in on you and Bella on the charity circuit,” she said diplomatically to Julius. “Kathy’s a beautiful girl. Good figure. Not tall enough to be a model, but send her out with Phil, wearing a succession of Julius Kohn furs. Let Phil and Kathy be your ambassadors.”
Before they ended the meeting, Phil knew the business was entering a new era. Roz was sharp. Kathy might have been raised in Borough Park, but she had that Park Avenue gentility that his sisters strived for but never quite achieved. Roz would work with her. She’d be great.
His father was silent on much of the drive to Greenwich. Phil knew not to disturb him. The old man was savoring their new image. Instinct told him they wouldn’t battle on this.
“Phil, I want you to put out some feelers to a top-notch French designer.” Julius finally broke the silence. “Through his business manager or lawyer or whatever. We’ll sit down with Roz and figure out who’s our best bet, and if he says ‘no,’ move on to the next on the list. You’ll go to Paris to work out a deal,” he plotted. “Take Kathy with you. Your grandfather might turn over in his grave if he knew what this was costing, but he’d be damn proud to have a guy at the top of the heap designing for us.”
“I’ll give it top priority,” Phil said briskly.
Damn! The old man was already thinking of it as his idea. The great Julius Kohn hadn’t come up with a fresh idea in twenty years—he still ran the business on his father’s blueprints. But the time for change was here. Dad was sharp enough to realize that.
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