Wolves in Chic Clothing

by Carrie Karasyov

  “Once again, fashion saves the day,” said Doug, breathlessly.

  “We’re like reverse Annie Hall. Minus the sex,” Julia observed.

  “And the lobsters. Thanks, girl. What would I do without you? Lewis screams even louder than I do when he sees insects or rodentia.”

  “That’s not possible, judging from my eardrums right now. What time are we meeting the new Vice Prez, by the way?”

  “Let’s chow first, then we can go dance on tables and make mischief.”

  After the takeout containers from the Indian joint a block away were cleared, Julia went with Douglas and Lewis to The Cock, their favorite local gay bar. She always felt free—to shimmy, laugh, and fully be herself, without worrying about gold-chain-wearing cheezoids making a move on her.

  After a couple of shots toasting Lewis’s big promotion at work, Julia knew it was time to say good night, but Douglas, always the partier, coaxed her into another quick drink. And another.

  When she woke up feeling as if someone had just chucked a cinder block at her forehead, Julia thought of calling in sick. But Douglas was all dressed and blaring his morning combo of Nine Inch Nails and Howard Stern.

  “Come on, sweets, we’re gonna be late, get up!”

  “My head feels like a New York City manhole cover.”

  “No, sweetie,” he teased. “I’m the manhole expert.”

  “Por favor. It’s really too early for analmania.”

  Julia hauled her carcass out of bed, shoved a brush through her hair, threw on her black suit and high heels, her mother’s old coat with a fur collar, and announced she was ready.

  “You make me sick. What, did you spend like all of three minutes this morning? You look stunning!”

  “I love you,” Julia replied, bleary-eyed, giving her roomie a squeeze.

  Back on the floor of Pelham’s Julia was unwrapping a new shipment, when Douglas jabbed her in the side.

  “Ow!”

  “Colin Firth, two o’clock. Approaching.”

  By the time Julia looked up, a tall gorgeous man in a blue button-down was standing before her. Although obviously moneyed and attractive, he seemed uncomfortable and shifted uneasily, as if his own body made him feel awkward. She gave him a small smile of encouragement, which seemed to only heighten his embarrassment. She knew these types; they were totally unaccustomed to purchasing jewels for the women in their life, and just wanted to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible. She could handle that. In fact, this was her specialty.

  Oscar Curtis was indeed in a rush. He had only ten minutes to jam down lunch and buy a birthday present for his mom. He had no clue what to get, figuring he’d seek advice from an employee. From a distance he saw two Pelham salesclerks who seemed to be free, so he walked over, thinking he’d ask for gift tips, but as he approached, he realized how beautiful the blonde was. He got too nervous to ask her even a simple question.

  “Hi, um, so sorry to bother you—”

  “Not a bother! What can I do for you?” she asked with a smile.

  “Uh, my mom, it’s her birthday tomorrow . . .”

  His mom? That was sweet. Julia couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. Even better, he seemed intriguing.

  “I’ve been working like a dog and forgot to buy anything—what do you think I should, maybe, get her?”

  “Hmm, well, we have sterling on five, bracelets, maybe a simple initial necklace. Or china, maybe a Limoges-style box or a vase—”

  “Oh, she loves flowers, that’s a great idea.”

  “There are a whole bunch upstairs on the second floor, including the new Frank Gehry collection, very cool.”

  “Thanks, thanks a lot.”

  With a nod of gratitude, Oscar left for the elevators, while Douglas looked on in a daze.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “What?”

  “That guy.”

  “Cute, huh?”

  “I mean, beyond. Girl, he is to die. Kill me now. He was fully into you, too!”

  “What? No he wasn’t. He was into mommy.”

  “Oh come on, he’s a good son. I love those smoking-hot types who don’t even know their power.”

  “He was probably dorky in high school and blossomed late.”

  “I love that! Ugly duckling turned fox. The hottest.”

  Gisele Beauvoir stepped out of the elevators, looked around, saw the pair, and walked over at a brisk pace.

  “Julia—can you come with me upstairs, please?”

  The small white hairs on the back of Julia’s neck stood up. Why did she need to see Gisele today of all days, when she looked like hell. She should not have had that last drink last night.

  “Am I in trouble?” she asked, half joking, half worried.

  “No! Why, should you be?”

  Julia looked at Douglas and followed Gisele upstairs. But on the sixth floor, instead of making a left to the PR area, the two made a right and headed for the luxurious executive offices. Holy shit, thought Julia. I must have done something wrong. This is a big deal, going to the Big Boss’s office. Julia gulped. She and Douglas had been invited to the wedding, hadn’t they? They had all said come, bring a date, be part of the B group that comes later, right? Now Julia was in a panic that maybe she had heard incorrectly. Maybe she and Douglas had been supposed to be taking coats at the party or hovering at Lell’s feet under the table to make sure no one scraped their chair on the train of her gown. Shit, shit. As Julia floated by Warhols and Lichtensteins on top of beautiful priceless Persian carpets, her head pounded. Every time she passed assistants speaking in hushed tones she was certain they were talking about her, and she felt like she was being led to her execution.

  Gisele headed to the end of the corridor, pushing the grand door open. And against the snowy backdrop of Central Park, Gene Pelham was lounging back in his desk chair, swiveling around from the glorious view to face Julia.

  “Well, here she is! Have a seat.”

  Gisele left the room, while Julia sat in the leather studded club chair her CEO was gesturing toward. Did she need a lawyer?

  “Just got off the phone with Lellie—she’s loving the honeymoon—and as you may know from our company memo, she’s going to be my little right hand this year.”

  “Oh, yes—”

  “So, as our new creative director, her first order of business is a new staff around her, and from the beach, she has asked me to bring you in to join our team up here.”

  No way! Julia was stunned. “Wow, really? I’m so honored—”

  “Great. So we’re doubling your salary and you’ll start Monday when Lellie’s back in the saddle. You’ll have an office up here and Gisele will get you up to speed and all set up.”

  With a thousand fountain-coin tosses, stray blown eyelashes, and extinguished birthday candles, she never would have dreamed this could happen so easily. She was moving up. Moving from ribbon-tying drone to the rainbow world of Creative. “This is . . . amazing, thank you.”

  “Hey, kiddo, I’m thrilled. You’re what we need at this company, you’re the whole package. But don’t thank me, thank my daughter.” Gene got up to shake Julia’s hand. “She’s your new best friend.”

  chapter 8

  Lell and Will both sighed with relief as the doorman unloaded their T. Anthony luggage from the cart and placed it gently on the Persian rug in the foyer of their apartment. Will immediately disappeared into his office to listen to the hundreds of voice mails that had been left by thrilled and wistful wedding guests, while Lell grabbed the pile of magazines that had accumulated since her departure and curled herself into a ball on the white sofa in the living room, tucked under a plaid Ralph Lauren throw. They were both glad to be back.

  The honeymoon had been lovely; beautiful tropical weather, plush accommodations, and fantastic food. They played tennis, read the latest must-read bestsellers on the beach, danced the tango, even snorkled. But Lell and Will both craved the company of others more than the average newlyweds
. Sure, there were some Australians passing through who they had a laugh with one night at the Tiki bar while tossing down blended drinks, and there was the couple in their forties from Chicago who were reasonably amusing for a day or two. But as the weeks wore on and the pace slowed, none of the sort of jet-setty glamorous crowd that Lell and Will were accustomed to arrived at the hotel. And intrinsic to both of their characters was the need to see and be seen by people whom they deemed worthy. Otherwise, what was the point? As a result of the dearth of boldfacers (even the Euros were conspicuously absent), ennui set in.

  After a week and a half, Will became a champion backgammon player, challenging a local fisherman at every turn, and Lell started calling the office, becoming more and more interested in what was transpiring in her absence, putting on a faux-concerned voice at every turn. She never would have called one of her dear friends to check in, lest they think she was not having the most amazing time of her life, but work was a different story. She was now creative director, so of course she had to be concerned with what was happening at Pelham’s. But because hers was a newly created post with still somewhat vague responsibilities, nothing was really happening that needed her attention. So, in an effort to battle boredom, she sat under her umbrella on the snow-white beach in front of the gleaming water, and turned her attention elsewhere.

  She had seen Julia Pearce around the office and was intrigued by her. There are some people, regardless of class, who just have an aura, a sort of glow that attracts people to them. Julia was one of those people. When Lell walked around the ground floor of Pelham’s, perusing the cases, making sure everything was in order, she’d spy Julia out of the corner of her eye: laughing effortlessly with tourists from Singapore or seriously advising a nervous groom-to-be. Something about Julia’s confidence was attractive to Lell, and although Julia was a little rough around the edges, Lell decided she wanted her on her team. She reasoned to herself that it was because she needed an outsider, someone who had no allegiances, no contacts; and could be solely on her side. But the truth was, she was curious about this girl. Especially after she saw how Julia impressed Polly on her wedding day. Polly loathed most people, especially those who didn’t have a 10021 zip code, and it was unusual that she paid any attention to an underling. So before Polly could swoop in and adopt Julia as her own, Lell called her father from Bali and had him put Julia on her team. She’d get to know this girl when she got back to the office on Monday.

  As Lell was making her way through a tedious magazine interview of Angelina Jolie while snuggled on her couch the phone rang.

  “You’re back!” screamed Polly from the other end of the phone.

  “And sooooooo bummed to be back. We didn’t want to leave!” lied Lell in a gloomy voice. Meanwhile, she was thrilled to be back on her home turf.

  “Well I am so psyched you are back. It’s been a total bore without you. Meredith is being the devil, literally, I can’t deal with her. Nightmare. And Hope is sweet but sometimes I think she has no edge. I mean, say something mean about people once in a while, will you? She’s like vanilla ice cream. I swear we need new friends. So how was the trip?”

  Lell launched into the details of her honeymoon, peppering every verb with glowing superlatives and embellishing every moment. Polly listened patiently for the appropriate amount of time, while tending to errant cuticles and stray lint on her skirt, then abruptly changed the subject.

  “So, what’s on the agenda? We need to shake up this town.”

  “Well, I’ve missed three weeks of work so I really have to get back into the swing of things for a while. No long lunches for at least a week.”

  “Boring!”

  “It is my family business. And I’m creative director now.”

  “So what does that mean? Do you like run the place?”

  “No, no. I just have to be more visible. I will be the face of Pelham’s.”

  “I thought Nicole Kidman was the face of Pelham’s.”

  “She does our print campaign, but she’s hired help. I need to be the ambassador, you know, at every important event and fashion show.”

  “Kind of what you do now.”

  “Sort of, except I’ll have a much larger team under me.”

  “Minions? Cool.”

  “Actually,” said Lell, bending to stir her chamomile tea, “I hired a deputy.”

  “Deputy? What are you, Boss Hogg?”

  “No, you know what I mean. Remember that girl Julia, who brought me the necklace?”

  Lell waited. She knew Polly would be jealous yet intrigued.

  “Julia? No.”

  “You remember, the pretty blonde who my dad invited to the wedding?”

  “Oh, yeah, her. Oh that’s good,” Polly said nonchalantly, through gritted teeth.

  Hmmm . . . thought Polly to herself. Lell has beaten me to the punch. Polly’s big plan—that she had been cultivating and nursing for weeks—had been to swoop in and take Julia under her wing. She wasn’t sure how to do this, but she saw potential in Julia, and wanted to see if she could turn her into a society darling, just for kicks. And now Lell had gotten to her first.

  “She’ll be my gal Friday, really coming with me everywhere. I think she has an appealing image that will work well for Pelham’s. She reads very well—people are taken with her style and she seems very savvy and cool. Fresh. She has that—”

  “Je ne sais quoi, mmmm-hmmm, I know what you mean,” said Polly thinking aloud. “But. There is the issue of her Downtown edge. I mean this is Pelham’s we’re talking about here.”

  “I know. That’s my one petite issue . . . the East Village factor.”

  “I mean, the girl’s got style, clearly. She’s just not—”

  “Refined.”

  Polly shrugged as if to say oui.

  Lell thought for a minute. “We could easily buff that right out of her—”

  “Totally!” agreed Polly. “We can beat the Alphabet City right out of her and clean her up. She could be an overnight social star.”

  “I think so,” Lell agreed. “After we spruce her up with some designer threads, give her some pointers, she’ll be a perfect reflection of Pelham’s.”

  “It’s true,” said Polly, lost in thought. Perhaps with a heightened title of “deputy” that was just as fraudulent as Lell’s title of creative director, doors would open a little easier for Julia, making Polly’s efforts to integrate her into their clan a bit easier. Yes, this could be a good thing. “It’s like at Polo,” Polly added. “Ralph surrounds himself with little blond clones of his ad campaign models, people who fit the part and seem cut and pasted from that world. Julia can definitely be that for you.”

  “This is going to be great,” Lell replied with rising excitement.

  “You know, Lell, why don’t we have lunch one day with your new deputy? I’d love to, you know, find out what’s going on downtown these days. Maybe it can inspire my next theme party,” said Polly with fake casualness.

  Lell knew she had Polly hooked. “Good idea. I’ll get it on the planner.”

  Both Polly and Lell were now of one mind. Winter Project equals Julia Pearce. Better than Mortimer and Randolph Duke themselves! This was their Henry Higgins opportunity to change someone’s destiny, re-create her, let her into their golden utopian world. It would be fun. A public service! Julia would officially be Eliza Doolittle. Who could it hurt?

  chapter 9

  Having dough is pretty easy to fake in New York. It’s all an ordered graph of mysterious tall buildings rather than visible squat mansions where one could estimate a neighbor’s square footage based on the site of a front lawn. No one’s vroom-vrooming around town in souped-up Porsches (except drug dealers)—even the wealthiest of tycoons often hop in a cab or arrive at black-tie functions in a discreet town car. You can spy a young social butterfly in a beaded dress that would cost upward of five grand on the rack, and never know she was returning it to the PR department the next morning. That Kelly bag? A knockoff bought fr
om a dealer in Sutton Place. Those emerald-cut diamond stud earrings? “Travel jewelry”—that is, cubic zirc from Erwin Pearl on Madison.

  Hope Matthews never really cared about money. She grew up in an upper-middle-class family in Connecticut, went to Williams, and never thought about material things. She married her husband, Charlie, for love and love alone, but his wealthy family’s miserly way of cutting off their son was getting Hope increasingly frustrated and nervous about their future. Loathing the trust-funded brats they spied running amok without careers, Charlie’s parents literally took out scissors and cut up his Amex on his graduation day, pronouncing he was “on his own.” With two young sons who would soon start private school plus a rental apartment with a noisy record label exec neighbor (who often had rockers and rappers chillin’ ’til dawn, yo), Hope was a ball of stress. She wanted desperately to move to a co-op apartment, but she and Charlie were constantly chasing the market, and even teeny classic six spreads where the boys would share a room were seemingly always out of their grasp. Plus the board package they needed would surely require proof of a liquid net worth three times the purchase price of the apartment, which simply was not possible. Hope’s parents would have given them the shirts off their backs, but after forty years of servitude at the office, her dad was living off his savings, having bought a modest second home in Sea Island, Georgia, where he and Hope’s mom could live out their golden years. With their generous help, they could maybe afford half the down payment. The Matthews family, her in-laws, were loaded, but gave them zilch. But Charlie didn’t want their help out of pride; he was eager to earn his own keep, which Hope respected.

  While many husbands came home with heavy wallets, Charlie came home with a heavy heart. He was Les Miz at his “I-banking” job and detested his alcoholic boss. He was always so run-down at the day’s end that he decided to take the bull by the horns and quit to seek work elsewhere, hopefully in private equity.