by Lynn Steward
Jack was about to speak, but Brett held up the palm of his hand, silencing the CEO.
“I’m not doing this for you,” Brett continued, “but for your father. I intend to protect his business interests, which include Hartlen Response, because they coincide with mine and the firm’s. Finally, you’re going to sign the consortium agreement. This goes way beyond you and Andrew now. I can cause you a lot of trouble on any number of fronts, but I’d rather not.”
Jack was visibly upset and had swiveled his chair sideways so as not to face Brett. His tone of voice was now subdued, somber. “What gives you the right to interfere in my life?”
“Right? I have no right. I simply do it because I can and, more importantly, because it furthers my career.”
Brett softened his approach and stood, leaning forward so that both of his arms were braced against the desk.
“Listen, Jack. The terms I originally laid out for you last year will protect your proprietary technology for several years. After that, Hartlen is established as an environmental leader, and you’ve made a bundle of cash for the company while your competitors develop their own response technology, which, as we’ve discussed, is going to happen long before you’re granted a patent. You’re a smart businessman, so let’s get this done. Don’t lose profits just because you dislike me personally.”
Jack once again faced Brett and attempted to compose himself. “I don’t know what to do. I—”
“Where’s the money, Jack?”
Jack scribbled two words on a memo pad and shoved it silently across the desk. Brett picked it up and read “Cayman Islands.”
“That a boy. My lead investigator has been granted access to your books, and he’ll make sure that everything I’ve laid out goes off without a hitch.”
“You can wipe the smirk off your face now, Brett. You got what you wanted. Now leave Andrew and me alone.”
“And the consortium?”
“Just tell me when to show up and sign the papers,” Jack said with resignation. “I’ll be there.”
“Thursday morning. Ten o’clock.”
Brett turned to leave, but stopped. “Jack, out of curiosity, what the hell were you thinking? How could you put your company at such risk? The federal government is breathing down your neck, for God’s sake!”
Jack cleared his throat. “For what it’s worth, the environmental partners were eventually going to get their money, but … “
Brett smiled knowingly as he suddenly realized how simple it all was. “But you were going to skim some of it for you and Andrew. A little nest egg as you transferred the money back into legitimate accounts. That’s why the letters of intent are so vague. If done discreetly and slowly, you could have written off millions as operating expenses or created a dummy environmental corporation and deposited some of the funds there. I suppose living a double life is a bit dangerous, so you were hedging your bets. Does Andrew know about this?”
“No,” Jack said, tapping his index finger nervously on the edge of his desk. “Are you going to tell him?”
Brett shook his head. “Just be in my office on Thursday morning. As long as you give my firm what it wants, I’m not interested in your personal life.”
“What about my father?”
“Once the wheels are in motion and the feds are off your back—and you’ll have me to thank for that—he’ll be none the wiser. You’ll be in the clear, and dear old dad in Houston will continue to think you’re the salt of the earth.”
Jack simply nodded.
“Just remember that I’ll always be watching you,” Brett said. “As long as the consortium can use the technology, Richard is happy. And when Richard’s happy, so am I.”
Brett left the office feeling exhilarated. He hadn’t lost his touch.
• • •
Brett arrived at Davis, Konen and Wright an hour later. He wasn’t expecting to see Janice Conlon sitting in his desk chair when he opened the door to his office. He stood perfectly still, his mouth open. The tall blue-eyed blond stared back at him.
“What are you doing here?” Brett asked. “I mean, San Francisco and the asbestos case and …”
“It’s nice to see you too, Brett,” Janice said, folding her arms and staring at her lover. “Your warmth is overwhelming. No wonder Dana got fed up with you.”
“Uh, I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, I’ve been busy all morning, and my secretary didn’t tell me you were here.” Brett had no vestiges of the confidence he’d displayed at Jack Hartlen’s office.
“Because she doesn’t know I’m here. I waited until she was away from her desk and let myself in.”
“Come on,” Brett said, approaching his desk. “I’ve missed you. How about a more proper greeting?”
“Not just yet,” Janice said coolly. “Why didn’t you tell me it was Dana’s birthday when we spoke on the phone the other day?”
“Birthday? Why should I?”
“Listen, Brett, I always had access to your office, so I know where you keep things.” Janice produced several stacks of papers from a desk drawer. “You had a private investigator look into Dana’s comings and goings. What am I to make of that? Don’t tell me that you’re longing to know about that boring little life of hers.”
Brett sighed and raised both arms in the air like a frustrated, innocent man. “I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t asking for anything else,” Brett lied. “She pretty much dictated all the terms of the separation, so I thought it prudent to see what she’s been up to. And to make sure she wasn’t spreading any gossip about you and me.”
“I see she’s going out with a man by the name of Mark Senger.” Janice looked up at Brett, searching his expression for the slightest hitch. “Does that bother you? Make you jealous?”
“Absolutely not. It’s just a detail that my investigator turned up.”
Janice remained silent as she looked through another sheaf of papers. “And why didn’t you ever tell me that you’ve been blackmailing Jack Hartlen?”
“To protect you! I can’t imagine that you’d disapprove of my methods, but I didn’t want to risk getting you involved in case anything went wrong.”
Janice frowned and shook her head. “I thought we were partners, Brett. Both in and out of bed. I thought you trusted me, but maybe I’ve been naïve.”
“What are you accusing me of?”
“It appears you have agendas you’re not telling me about, one of which might be getting your darling little figurine wife back.”
Brett backed up several steps. “No, no, no. I’m being honest with you. I just wanted to keep Dana from seeking further financial gain from the divorce. And to protect you. Nothing more.”
“I’ll see you at my apartment,” Janice said, rising to leave. She made no attempt to hug or kiss Brett, who simply watched her leave the office.
Brett slumped in the chair Janice had vacated, reminding himself that she was sharp and not to be underestimated. Looking into Dana’s life had been a miscalculation. As for not telling Janice about his blackmail scheme, he’d done it to protect himself, not her.
He would take her out to dinner when he got home. She now knew about his vice-like grip on Jack, so he would tell her everything about what had been happening with Hartlen Response and make her feel a part of his triumph. If he succeeded in doing so, the evening might yet end on a very pleasant note.
Chapter Seventeen
Dana heard from Mark throughout the weekend between his activities with Amanda, which included a spur-of-the-moment decision to drive to Muttontown for a lesson with her riding instructor. The timing of his daughter’s visit wasn’t ideal, but even if Dana had been dating Mark for months, she knew they would still want private time when Amanda was home from college. Dana looked forward to joining them for dinners, however, and perhaps for rides on the trails in Central Park. She was excited about meeting Amanda, for whom she already had a special place in her heart.
The rest of the weekend was relaxing and non-e
ventful: Saturday errands, a run in the park, a quiet evening of reading and phone calls, Sunday Mass, and brunch with volunteers from the Costume Institute. Through it all, she enjoyed thoughts of Mark and the changes he was bringing to her life. Dana was again reminded that the course of a life can be altered radically and quickly, only this new state of affairs was one she welcomed. Mark was Jewish, twelve years older than she, and the father of a college-age daughter. How in the world could they fit in each others’ lives? Surprisingly, Dana found that she wasn’t concerned. Maybe Mark didn’t check all the boxes as perfectly as Brett had, but she was no longer interested in a scripted life. She would leave her future to Fate, trusting her instincts to know what she needed to be happy and fulfilled.
She suspected that her family and friends would be surprised by her unconventional choice of Mark, and her mother, most of all, would have plenty to say about it. But Dana knew that, above all, they loved her and wanted her to be happy. Her father would be the one to remind them that the latter was what truly mattered. In fact, Dana couldn’t wait to introduce her parents to Mark. She knew that he and Virginia would enjoy each other’s quick wit and, in spite of her mother’s concern about her seriously dating a Jewish man, Virginia would soon be challenging him to a game of mah-jongg, reminding him that he better be good to her shaineh maidel. Dana hadn’t expected her heart to be awakened so quickly after the separation, although the impending divorce wasn’t necessarily the only reason for her openness to a relationship. For at least a year she’d been going through the motions of married life. Presently, her only thought was of Mark and of the next time she would see him.
• • •
Dana’s optimistic mood was still in evidence as she entered her office at B. Altman on Monday morning. After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she’d immediately asked Helen’s secretary if she could have a few moments with B. Altman’s feisty divisional manager. She would normally have been nervous to make a major request of Helen so soon after being summarily rebuffed, but she was actually eager to pitch Mark’s idea for a private label, an idea that might yet save the in-store boutique. There was no point in being afraid of presenting a solid business model that Dawn and Ira would have applauded in an instant.
Dana entered Helen’s office on the fifth floor at ten o’clock. As was so often the case, Helen looked up briefly to acknowledge Dana’s presence and then returned her attention to the mountain of papers on her desk.
“I’d like to talk with you about umbrellas for a moment,” Dana said, sliding into the chair across from Helen. She thought the unusual statement was a better strategy than launching directly into her pitch, and it worked better than she’d hoped.
Helen removed her glasses and looked at Dana. Helen seemed relieved that the word “boutique” hadn’t been uttered and appeared open to hearing about accessories. “Okay, what miracles are you going to work with umbrellas?”
“I was at the Mespo Umbrella Company the other day,” Dana began, “and an advertisement for The Decoy Shop in Connecticut caught my eye. It occurred to me that we could replace those boring umbrella handles with wooden duck heads. I suppose it’s a small change in the larger scheme of things, but I think they would be unique and fun and could be displayed as novelty items in other departments. They’d be good impulse gifts.”
“I like it,” Helen said, nodding. “What’s involved in making this happen?” Her curiosity had obviously been piqued.
“Marvin at Mespo contacted The Decoy Shop and will have samples for me in a week, as well as nylon fabrics in taupe, hunter green, and brown plaid.”
“Good work. Simple enough.”
“It is. We could market them as B. Altman exclusives. The umbrellas would carry our logo. It’s that simple.”
Helen tapped her pencil on the desk for a moment and raised her eyebrows. “Cute idea. Let me know when the samples arrive.”
“I will,” Dana said, beaming. “Also … “ Dana paused before beginning her description of the much grander idea she and Mark had hatched.
“Is there something else?” Helen asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes. Speaking of private labels, did you know that Brooks Brothers is opening a women’s department with totally exclusive merchandise? They’re even coloring the fabric patterns for shirts they’re designing. Imagine—even the shirts! They want a tailored Brooks Brothers look for women, and the only way to achieve that is to make the clothes themselves. It’s brilliant!”
Dana paused to gauge Helen’s reaction thus far.
“What’s the point you’re trying to make?” Helen asked warily. “I sense that this is leading somewhere.”
“It dawned on me that we could do the very same thing. In fact, the British separates boutique would be the perfect place to market our private label. It’s no different from the umbrellas. We design the samples, buy the fabrics and trims, and have the garments manufactured. Since Senger Display hasn’t dismantled the frame for the Nantucket boutique, they could quickly and easily insert the appropriate fixtures and cabinets.” Dana put her palms together and looked intently at her boss. “I know you didn’t like the idea of an in-store boutique, and I respect that, but if we can sell our own private line, I think it’s an idea worth reconsidering. The boutique would give the private label a backdrop and provide a good marketing tool.”
Surprisingly, Helen didn’t look frustrated, nor did she become irritated with Dana, who quietly studied Helen’s features.
“I suppose the idea is not completely without merit,” Helen sighed, “but where would we get the fabrics? Who would design, manufacture, and price the line? I’m afraid it’s all a bit too involved for me. You’ve given me an idea without any specifics as to how we could implement it.”
“But we could work out the details, Helen. I’ll handle it all. I can do this! A private B. Altman line would lend enormous prestige to the store. Look at Peck & Peck. Their success was built exclusively on its private label.”
“Why are you always trying to reinvent the wheel, Dana?” Helen said, growing impatient. “Even if you could answer every one of my questions, what’s the point in going to so much trouble?”
“Because the store—”
“Let me finish,” Helen interrupted. “B. Altman already carries all of the top designer lines. Just look at the excitement being generated by Donna Karan’s new sportswear collection. Everything we need is already hanging in the showrooms on Seventh Avenue.”
Dana had come this far, so she attempted to drive home her point.
“Helen, all of the major department stores carry the very same designers as we do. With an exclusive line, however, we could create our own excitement in a way that could never happen simply by offering someone else’s name, no matter how well known it might be. Our own line of clothing would almost certainly create a buzz, especially if it’s sold in the boutique. It’s a win-win situation.”
Helen’s patience was now clearly wearing thin. “Dana, even if I were inclined to let you try this, which I’m not, it would take you away from your regular duties. You’re an accessories buyer for the junior department, not a one-woman act. Your idea entails entirely too much work. Designers? Manufacturers? Brooks Brothers has been manufacturing exclusive men’s clothing for years, so it’s no wonder they’re using the men’s factories. But I’m not going to ask B. Altman’s menswear manufacturers to make room on their cutting tables for women’s clothing! Dana, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. The whole idea is absurd. I wish you could keep your feet on the ground for more than a week.”
“Could I at least gather some sample fabrics and look for manufacturers on my own time?”
“Absolutely not. We don’t need our own line of clothing. And certainly not an in-store boutique, which is a concept I’m not going to keep revisiting. I don’t want to hear about this ever again. If you want to proceed with the umbrellas, fine. But that’s as far as it goes. Do we understand each other?”
Dana smi
led. “Perfectly, Helen. Thanks for your time.”
In the hallway, Dana didn’t experience the emotional downward spiral that was all too common after leaving Helen’s office. It was par for the course and, by now, Dana had grown toughened to Helen’s abusive responses. Helen was certainly entitled to her opinion after many successful years in the industry, but her harsh tone and deaf ear were inappropriate. Still, unlike five months earlier, the dressing-down rolled off Dana’s back. More than ever, she was determined to carry private label separates in The British Shop. Mark had indicated that he might know people in the industry who would be willing to help, although he hadn’t provided any specifics. But Dana knew Mark well enough to understand that he wouldn’t have floated the idea of a private label without having some way of realizing its implementation.
Dana, therefore, remained optimistic. She’d gone around Helen before, and she was prepared to do so again. Helen didn’t have the final word on all matters in the store, and Dana was prepared to talk to others on the fifth floor when her plan was in place.
A B. Altman line of classic women’s separates? It would definitely fly. Sold from a British-toned, wood-paneled in-store boutique? Even better. The idea wasn’t dead yet.
• • •
Dana proceeded to her office, closed the door, and called Mark right away. She related Helen’s response, which they both found humorous more than troubling.
“I didn’t want to share you with anyone tonight,” Mark said, “but I’ve invited friends to join us for dinner. Irwin’s wife is in town, and they were planning to have dinner before driving back to their home in Cedarhurst. I have to run into a meeting now, but why don’t you pack up Wills and come for a sleepover? Can you be ready at five thirty?”
