‘Not all products are great for everyone. Torch believes in personalised beauty.’ Dina gestured towards the Elizabeth Arden stand. ‘Eight-hour cream? It’s a classic, but it’s not for you. Your skin would break out.’
‘I’ve tried it. It does.’
‘When women come to Torch, we will try to sell them what works. This isn’t just a store; it’s a retail beautician.’
‘Love it,’ the journalist said again, earnestly writing retail beautician on her little pad.
The reviews came out in the next few days. Dina watched at home, on her computer.
Torch has the Spark.
Try their free makeovers – the store has bussed in true experts. Not your normal push for products!
Dina Kane brings in finds – this is Aladdin’s cave.
They know what works. Get on the subway!
But would it translate? She’d spent every last penny on the staff, the best makeovers, the goodie bags. All new customers had to do was give out their email address . . . Dina was going to capture a database: what they bought, how old they were. Targeted mail.
She felt as nervous as she’d been in her entire life. This had to work, or she was dead. Ludo Morgan would not give her another chance.
But she had placed her bets, and now she was all in.
Chapter Eleven
‘Excuse me; excuse me.’ Ludo struggled through the crowd. He couldn’t believe it; only ten fifteen and the ground floor was packed. Women, girls, teenagers were shoving him aside, thrusting forwards. The route to his office was blocked. The staircase entrance was thronged with chicks.
He glanced upstairs; the store there looked the same as normal – a few scattered shoppers.
‘Christ! What is this? Some kind of fire drill?’
‘No, sir,’ a shopgirl said. ‘These are customers. It is kind of crazy.’
‘Customers for what?’
‘The beauty department. Miss Kane’s promotion.’
Ludo looked at the women in disbelief. ‘Is she handing out free Chanel lipsticks?’
This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t Torch. He was fearful Dina Kane had gone nuts ‘No, sir. Just little samples, like normal. And the makeovers. Excuse me, they need some help.’ And the woman vanished.
He fought his way through to the staircase, panting, and climbed up to the first-floor balcony for a second look.
Hell. It was true. The women looked a nest of termites, swarming over his beauty department. There was jostling, and big lines at the cash registers. He could see several of the new product stands totally empty, with sold out signs on them. Instead of standing around, his staff were right in there, talking to the women, showing them things. Girls were perched on stools, five or six of them, being made up. The hubbub reached right up across the store, to the other, empty floors.
Ludo Morgan went into his office and shut the door. Then he wrote a little email to his father.
‘Dina.’
She jumped out of her skin.
It was quarter to nine, and the store had just closed. Dina Kane was wearing a red shift dress and an air of exhaustion.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Since seven a.m.’
An hour before opening.
‘It’s been a long time since lunch,’ Ludo said.
She smiled. ‘I didn’t eat lunch.’
‘Lunch is for wimps?’
‘Something like that.’ She rolled her head on her neck, stretching the muscles. ‘I need to eat now, though, I’m feeling a little dizzy.’
‘Low blood sugar. Let’s go to Chiang Mai Thai; it’s not the best, but it is right next door.’
She just nodded, too tired to argue.
Ludo ordered champagne and Dina drank a glass. She needed the energy, needed to relax. Besides, it had gone well. No denying that.
She was too tired to look at the menu; she ordered a simple chicken curry and an iced tea. Anything. She was starving.
‘That was excellent work, today. I admit it: I’m impressed.’
Simple praise. She glowed a little. ‘Thanks. It won’t be like that all week; that was first-day stuff, after the reviews. But we should get a steady stream. I’m ordering new products from Europe. It’ll be a couple of days.’
‘Dina, don’t get too hung up on this. I don’t see a future for Torch, not like you do. The highest and best use of the building isn’t a creaky department store. I want to convert it into luxury apartments, then sell it.’
‘Ahhh.’ She lifted a brow. ‘Now I see your plan. I couldn’t understand why you didn’t want to make money.’
‘My father has a sentimental attachment.’
‘It may not be as easy as all that, though. The building is zoned commercial. There are lots of fancy condo buildings round here, and not enough stores. And Torch is the only big department store north of Bergdorf’s.’
He tilted his champagne flute towards her. ‘At the moment, that is true. Our architects are having no joy with the building department. But permissions like this take years. You have to build relationships with politicians . . .’
‘Bribes?’
‘Campaign contributions.’
‘Your father might not want to dismantle.’
‘The family has a majority of the stock, it passes to me and my sister . . .’ Ludo shrugged. ‘Eventually he will see sense. Meanwhile, I work on City Hall. It’s a medium-term project.’
Dina thought about this.
‘You know, Ludo, you could have both.’
‘What?’ he said, draining his glass and pouring another. Goddamn, she was a pretty girl, hick or no hick. What if he could spruce her up? Get her cultured? If they were dating, maybe she wouldn’t be so in his face. He was bored of Caroline already – just another Identikit blonde. None of them had one interesting thing to say. At least the girls out in Cali had big fake tits and a sense of fun, not like these society ball darlings whose personalities were ironed as flat as their flaxen hair.
‘You could have both. I mean, if you turned Torch around. You see, then you’d be known as a retailing genius, and the brand would be worth something.’
‘The brand? We’re a store.’
‘Saks was a store. Now there are branches of Saks in malls across the country, and they have a website. Saks Fifth Avenue is the flagship, but they don’t need it. With Torch, the uptown store isn’t as well known. So you establish the brand, open new branches and head into online sales. And then your father lets you convert the building here, and he hasn’t really lost anything. You cut down the apple tree and plant an orchard.’
‘My God.’ He stared at her. ‘That’s poetry, honey. Apples and orchards.’
‘It’s smart business.’ She gave herself a second glass, too. What the hell? She deserved some relief from the endless tension, the workaholism. ‘It’s what I would do, if I owned Torch.’
Ludo raised a finger. ‘You had a good day in the beauty department. I own Torch, don’t forget.’
‘It’s your call.’
‘See what happens this week. If sales stay strong, you can double the beauty department. Lose some of those accessory tables. We have too much old stock out.’
‘You can say that again.’
He lifted a brow. ‘Can you revamp the rest of the store? The same way?’
‘Maybe, but I’d need a couple of years to study. Beauty is my passion; I don’t know about table lamps and hosiery.’
‘You can at least redesign the surrounds.’
‘Yes. Of course. You need that desperately. The place looks like an abandoned theatre, all moth-eaten carpet and frayed velveteen. Ugh!’
‘Done. Come to me tomorrow with a budget.’
She smiled, a broad, real smile that reached her eyes.
‘You really are stunning,’ Ludo said, idly. ‘Who’s the lucky boyfriend?’
‘I haven’t had time.’
‘What, ever?’ He was liking this more and more. There was something strange, somethi
ng isolated about Dina Kane. She was rough clay and would be malleable.
‘Of course I’ve had a boyfriend, just not one at the moment.’
So not a virgin, then. Pity.
‘I think we should go out,’ Ludo announced. ‘Let’s face it – you aren’t going to have lots of time on your hands from now on. I’m in reasonably good shape; you know, a few careful drivers . . .’ He smiled at his own joke.
‘Am I fired if I say no?’ Dina’s eyes narrowed.
‘Not at all. And you still get your budget.’
Her shoulders slumped a little, releasing tension. ‘And you’d take me out? In public?’
‘If we hide it, people will talk. They say you shouldn’t date at work, but where the hell else can you meet people these days? Church? A nightclub? Please!’
Dina smiled back. He was a little smug, but not unpleasant, and at least he was asking her out, straight, with no blackmail. Come on, sweetheart, Joel Gaines is taken. Are you going to be one of those desperate obsessives who pines over a guy for forty years then dies alone with her cats?
Hell no. She wanted family. Some friends. To be normal, for once. And Ludo Morgan was a rich, goofy kind of normal. Maybe, with him, she could watch her troubled childhood disappear in the rear-view mirror. Along with Ellen, and Edward, and every other man who’d ever leered at her.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘You can pick me up Friday night at eight. But first you have to ask your dad’s permission. I need the job.’
‘Sure.’ He nodded.
Sweet. If she worked out, her job was going to be looking after him. But Ludo was happy with taking things one step at a time.
He got her into a cab, then went back into the store and rode the elevator to the penthouse floor, already the owner’s apartment. It was the best thing about living in this city. Beverly Hills was sun-drenched, laid back, but Ludo liked to see the city and the park spread out around him through the pre-war windows on every side, like it all belonged to him.
One day it would. He wanted a life of ease and wealth, but also success – the heir who built his father’s fortune up, greater than it was before. He wanted a pretty, sexy wife, well-behaved kids, the respect of his peers, the best of everything.
And the key to life was taking your opportunities.
He walked into his office, designed as a small library, with a flat-mount TV, speakers in the walls and the best gaming computer known to man. The monitor jumped to life and he sent his father an email.
Beauty expansion going well. My programme will revamp the entire department and store. Dina Kane contributing a few ideas, too. A smart hire. I’d also like to date her, and she wanted your permission first. Seems like a sensible girl. A hard worker. I plan to expand our business once the brand is revitalised, to online and outlets. There will be a full year programme. Hope you’re well, Dad. Love, Ludo.
That would hit the sweet spot: Sensible. A few ideas. Hard worker. His father hadn’t taken to any of the women he’d got as far as introducing; found them dull and venal.
Dina would come up with her ideas, he would cherry pick and execute. Which meant he got the credit – the commander, not the sergeant major. She would be happy enough with her creative freedom, a big salary rise, bonus . . . As long as she didn’t tread on his toes. Besides, once he picked up her rules, he could do it all himself. Dina would have other, more pleasant things to do by then: shopping – for herself; lounging by the pool; travelling with him. He wondered if she even had a passport. Probably never crossed the state line, unless it was to Jersey.
There was a whole world out there, and Ludo was prepared to show it to this girl.
As long as she understood the rules of the game. He was first; that wasn’t even a question.
‘Dina Morgan,’ he said to himself.
It sounded good.
‘Edward, you’re sitting over there.’
Edward stared blankly at his mother. He had pulled out the chair at the top of the table, where he sat, where his father used to sit. It might be Momma’s house, but he was head of the family now.
‘No, Mother, this is my seat now, remember?’
He hoped it wasn’t stress again. Wasn’t any kind of crash. It wouldn’t do for Penny Johnson to swap alcohol for pills, not when she was doing so well.
‘Philippe is going to sit there.’
Edward almost laughed. ‘What?’
Philippe Leclerc was his mother’s boyfriend, if you could call it that. A Frenchman, a former violinist in the New York Symphony Orchestra, slim and dapper, if you liked pale grey suits. He was talented as a musician, but not first rank. Edward had no idea what he did for a living.
Philippe had been round far too often – laughing with Penelope in the dining room after dinner, playing bridge with her till all hours, taking her to the opera, the theatre, paying extravagant compliments. He gave enough bows and kisses on her hand for a Renaissance court.
‘Yes,’ said his mother, her eyes flashing unusually. ‘I’ve asked Philippe to move in with me. So, while we’re courting, I would prefer him at the head of the table. You do understand, darling?’
‘Mother, I really think—’
‘No, Edward.’ His mother’s voice was firm, even a little strident. ‘I’ve been thinking hard, and you know I’ll always be grateful to you, darling, but it’s time I stepped back into life on my own. It’s not healthy for you to be so tied to me. I know you’ll be wanting your own place. You can move out now, because Philippe will take care of me.’
‘Mother.’ Edward saw the danger he was in. ‘Philippe has no money – none at all.’
‘Oh, I know that, dearest. But money isn’t everything. He’s a highly accomplished man.’
‘He’s a retired middle-chair violinist. Ten years ago he was accomplished. Now what does he do?’
‘He lives simply,’ his mother said. ‘He’s quite open about all that.’
‘He’s after your fortune.’
‘Please don’t be crass, Edward. You speak as though he couldn’t be attracted to me on my own . . . His focus has been in music; not every man can be a banker.’
The doorbell rang.
‘I know I can trust you not to make a scene,’ Penelope Johnson said.
Edward reluctantly got up and moved to the side.
‘Monsieur Philippe Leclerc,’ the butler said.
Monsieur, my ass. He’s about as French as a burger and fries. Probably born here.
Philippe entered the room, beaming, in his elegant suit, with a Louis Vuitton luggage set being received by the servants in the hall behind him.
‘Penelope. Chérie. What a happy day.’ He drew close and kissed her softly, on both cheeks. ‘And the wonderful Edouard. Salut. I am so happy you could join us on this special evening.’
‘I believe you’re joining us, Mr Leclerc.’
Penny shot a look of daggers at him.
‘Bienvenue,’ Edward said.
‘How charming! He speaks French. You have certainly raised a wonderful young man, Penelope. I look forward to getting to know you, Edward, as we live together now.’
‘Isn’t this wonderful!’ Penny said. She looked eagerly at Edward. ‘Aren’t you two going to be such friends?’
‘Ah! God! Not so rough! Angel! Angel!’ shrieked the girl.
Edward looked down at her, splayed and tied over the table. Her buttocks were red – lacerated with the whip. Angel was her safe word.
He lashed her again. And again. The rage was thick in him. She was a hooker, undocumented; he could have her deported. His fury was all that counted. His fury at Dina, at his mother.
Strike.
Scream.
She was sobbing, begging. ‘No more! No more! Please, I’ll do anything. Anything …’
‘You’ll do anything, anyway,’ he snarled, and hit her.
The girl moaned, then her head lolled as she fainted.
Edward Johnson unbuttoned his fly, and started to rape her.
The feel
ing subsided a bit, after that. It worked every time. But it always came back. He liked it, liked giving money-hungry sluts what they deserved. He would dress, drop a few hundred on the bed and leave.
Some men in the scene were dumb. They stuck with the same girls and the same places. They got caught – lawyers, police, lawsuits, names in the papers.
Edward bounced around – fake names, new clubs, paying only in cash. He went to motels, not the women’s apartments. No cameras. They were hookers and they got money, enough for some quack to stitch them up.
Tonight, though, as he showered in his room in the hotel across the street, he already knew it wasn’t enough. He wanted control, real control. Philippe Leclerc was sitting in his house, drinking his father’s wine, fucking his mother, and all without a cent to his name.
The guy was dead meat. And he meant that literally.
‘I think you should consider a prescription,’ Dr Summers said.
Edward stared at him. ‘What for? I’m not ill.’
‘For anxiety. I’d like to put you on a course of Klonopin.’
Edward rolled his eyes. ‘Please. Sedative pills? Do I look frightened?’
Yes, Dr Summers thought. Very.
‘Edward, you have many issues to work through. They go back beyond your fling with the waitress, beyond the divorce. Your early behaviours with women . . . You have esteem issues, anger issues. This runs deeper than you know. I feel strongly that you need calm to begin the work.’
‘I am calm, doctor. I’m just worried for my mother.’
‘You’re not sleeping, Edward. You’re erratic.’
He sat on the couch, head bowed. ‘OK, doctor, you can give me the prescription. Thank you.’
Always important to keep them happy. What the fuck did this guy know? Edward’s mother insisted on this therapy, when she was the one who was insane.
Edward went to a pharmacy to fill the prescription. Who knew? It might come in useful. He wasn’t sleeping, but then sleep was overrated. Besides, he had other ideas for those pills.
‘Faustina?’ His secretary was waiting in the little office space, sitting there, reading a magazine. ‘What are you doing?’
Beauty Page 19
