It didn’t add “unfortunately she has not one brain cell.”
“Diffusion…designer…” The first consultant is scribbling in his little book. “We should speak to Brianna about that. She’ll have the right connections.”
“I believe she’s on holiday at the moment,” says Eric. “With Mr. Laszlo.”
“Well, when she gets back. We’ll progress that idea.” The consultant snaps the book shut. “Let’s move on.”
They all stride off again, and I wait till they’ve rounded the corner before giving a harrumph of frustration.
“What’s up?” says Jasmine, who has slumped back down on the sofa and is texting something on her phone.
“They’ll never get anything off the ground! Brianna won’t be back for weeks, and anyway, she’s hopeless. They’ll just have meetings and talk…and meanwhile the shop will go bust.”
“What do you care?” Jasmine gives an indifferent shrug.
How can she just watch a business collapse and not try to do something ?
“I care because…because this is where I work! It could be a success!”
“Get real, Becky. No designer’s ever going to want to do an exclusive range here.”
“Brianna could call in some favors,” I protest. “I mean, she’s modeled for Calvin Klein, Versace…Tom Ford…. She could persuade one of them, surely? God, if I had a famous designer friend—” I stop, midflow.
Hang on. Why didn’t I think of this before?
“What?” Jasmine looks up.
“I do know a designer,” I say. “I know Danny Kovitz! We could get him to do something.”
“You know Danny Kovitz?” Jasmine looks skeptical. “Or, like, you’ve bumped into him once?”
“I really know him! He used to live above me in New York. He designed my wedding dress,” I can’t help adding smugly.
It’s so cool, having a famous friend. I knew Danny when he was a nobody. In fact I helped get him his first break. And now he’s this international fashion darling! He’s been in Vogue and had his dresses worn to the Oscars and everything. He was interviewed in Women’s Wear Daily last month about his last collection, which he said was based on his interpretation of the decay of civilization.
I don’t believe a word of it. It’ll have been something he threw together at the last minute with lots of safety pins and black coffee and someone else sewed up for him.
But still. An exclusive Danny Kovitz line would be fabulous publicity. I should have thought of this before.
“If you really know Danny Kovitz, ring him up,” says Jasmine challengingly. “Right now.”
She doesn’t believe me?
“Fine, I will!” I whip out my phone, find the number for Danny’s mobile, and dial it.
The truth is, I haven’t spoken to Danny for quite a long while. But still, we went through a lot together while I was living in New York, and we’ll always have that bond. I wait for a while, but there’s no reply, just a bleeping sound. He probably lost his phone and canceled it or something.
“Problem?” Jasmine raises one immaculate eyebrow.
“His cell phone isn’t working,” I say coolly. “I’ll call his office.” I dial international directories, get a New York number for Danny Kovitz Enterprises, and dial. It’s nine thirty A.M. in New York, which means there’s not much chance of Danny being up, unless he’s had an all-nighter. But I can leave a message.
A male voice answers. “Danny Kovitz Enterprises. May I help?”
“Oh, hi there!” I say. “It’s Becky Brandon here, née Bloomwood. I’d like to speak to Danny Kovitz.”
“Please hold the line,” the voice says politely. Some kind of rap blasts my eardrum for a few moments, then a bright female voice comes on the line.
“Welcome to the Danny Kovitz fan club! For full membership information, please press one—”
Oh, for God’s sake. I switch off and dial the main number again, avoiding Jasmine’s gaze.
“Danny Kovitz Enterprises. May I help?”
“Hi, I’m an old, very close friend of Danny’s,” I say briskly. “Please put me through to his personal assistant.”
The rap booms in my ear again, then a woman is saying, “Danny Kovitz’s private office, Carol speaking. How may I help?”
“Hi, Carol!” I say in my most friendly manner. “I’m an old friend of Danny’s and I’ve been trying to contact him through his cell number but it doesn’t work. Could you possibly put me through to him? Or leave a message?”
“Your name?” says Carol, sounding skeptical.
“Becky Brandon. Née Bloomwood.”
“And will he know what this is in regard to?”
“Yes! We’re friends!”
“Well, I’ll pass your message to Mr. Kovitz….”
Suddenly I hear a familiar voice, faintly in the background, saying, “I need a Diet Coke, OK?”
That’s Danny!
“He’s there, isn’t he?” I exclaim. “I just heard him! Could you quickly put me through? Honestly, I just want a very quick—”
“Mr. Kovitz is…in a meeting,” says Carol. “I’ll be sure to pass your message on, Ms. Broom. Thanks for your call.” The line goes dead.
I switch off the phone, seething. She’s not going to pass anything on, is she? She didn’t even take my number!
“So,” says Jasmine, who’s been watching all along. “Close friends, are you?”
“We are,” I say furiously.
OK. Think. There has to be a way to get through to him. There has to be….
Wait a minute.
I scrabble for the phone again and dial international directories. “Hi,” I say to the operator. “The name is Kovitz, the address is Apple Bay House, on Fairview Road, if you could put me straight through….”
A few moments later a voice answers. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mrs. Kovitz,” I say in my most charming manner, “it’s Becky here. Becky Bloomwood? Do you remember me?”
I always liked Danny’s mum. We have a good old chat, and she asks all about the baby and I ask all about her award-winning gardens in Connecticut, and the conversation ends with her expressing sympathetic indignation at the way I was treated by Danny’s staff, especially after I was the one who first introduced his work to Barneys (I reminded her about that, just casually), and promising to get Danny to call me.
And literally about two minutes after we’ve finished talking, my cell phone rings.
“Hi, Becky! Mom says you called?”
“Danny!” I can’t help shooting a triumphant glance at Jasmine. “Oh my God, it’s been ages. How are you?”
“I’m great! Except my mom just gave me a total rocket. Jesus!” Danny sounds a bit shaken. “She was like, ‘Don’t you stop appreciating your friends, young man.’ And I’m like, ‘What are you talking about? ’And she’s like—”
“Your assistants wouldn’t put me through,” I explain. “They thought I was a fan. Or a stalker or something.”
“I do get stalkers.” Danny sounds quite proud of himself. “I have two at the moment, both named Joshua. Isn’t that wild?”
“Wow!” I can’t help feeling impressed, even though I know I shouldn’t be. “So…what are you up to at the moment?”
“I’m taking some time to work on my new collection,” he says with a practiced smoothness. “I’m reinterpreting the whole Far Eastern vibe. Right now I’m at the concept stage. Gathering influences, that kind of thing.”
He doesn’t fool me. “Gathering influences” means “Going on holiday and getting stoned on the beach.”
“Well, I was just wondering,” I say quickly. “Could you do me a massive favor? Could you do a little diffusion line for this shop I work for in London? Or even just one exclusive piece.”
“Oh,” he says, and I can hear him opening a can. “Sure. When?”
Ha! I knew he’d say yes.
“Well…soon?” I cross my fingers. “In the next few weeks? You could come to London
for a visit. We’d have a blast!”
“Becky, I don’t know….” He pauses to slurp at his drink, and I imagine him in some trendy SoHo office, lounging on an office chair, in those ancient jeans he always used to wear. “I have this Far East trip lined up….”
“I saw Jude Law in the street the other day,” I add casually. “He lives quite close to us.”
There’s silence.
“Or I guess I could swing by,” Danny says at last. “London’s on the way to Thailand, right?”
Yes! I have total R.E.S.P.E.C.T.
For the rest of the day Jasmine barely says a word, just keeps shooting me awed looks. And Eric was totally impressed to hear that I’d made some “proactive advancement on the project,” as he put it.
If only we had some customers, this job wouldn’t be too bad after all. And on the plus side, the fact that we don’t have anything to do has given me time to read my new issue of Pregnancy magazine.
“Hey, your phone’s ringing in your bag,” says Jasmine as she comes from the reception area. “It’s been ringing all day, actually.”
“Thanks for telling me!” I say sarcastically. I hurry to my desk, grab the phone, and click it on.
“Becky!” comes Mum’s excited voice. “At last! So, darling. How was the famous celebrity obstetrician? We’re all longing to know! Janice has been in and out all day!”
“Oh right. Let me just…” I close the door and sit down on my desk chair, marshaling my thoughts. “Well…it was amazing! Guess what, I met a Bond girl in the waiting room!”
“A Bond girl!” Mum draws in breath. “Janice, did you hear that? Becky met a Bond girl in the waiting room!”
“And the place is lovely, and I’m going to have a holistic water birth, and they gave me this lovely welcome pack all full of spa vouchers….”
“How wonderful!” says Mum. “And she’s a nice lady, is she? The doctor?”
“Very nice.” I pause for a moment, then add casually, “She’s Luke’s ex-girlfriend. Isn’t that a coincidence?”
“Ex-girlfriend?” Mum’s voice sharpens a little. “What do you mean, ex-girlfriend?”
“You know! Just someone he went out with ages ago. At Cambridge.”
There’s silence down the phone.
“Is she attractive?” says Mum.
Honestly.
“She’s quite attractive. But I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Of course not, darling.” There’s a scuffly sort of pause, and I’m positive I can hear Mum whispering something to Janice. “Do you know why she and Luke split up?” she suddenly asks.
“No. I don’t.”
“Haven’t you asked him about it?”
“Mum,” I say, trying to keep my patience. “Luke and I have a very secure, trusting marriage. I’m not going to quiz him, OK?”
What does she think I should do, issue Luke a questionnaire? I mean, I know Dad turned out to have had a slightly more colorful past than anyone might have suspected (affair with train stewardess; secret love child; handlebar mustache). But Luke’s not like that—I know he’s not.
“And anyway, it was all ages ago,” I add, sounding more defiant than I mean to. “And she’s got a boyfriend.”
“I don’t know, Becky love.” Mum exhales sharply. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Pregnancy can be a…tricky time for a man. What about going back to that nice gentleman doctor?”
I’m starting to feel a bit insulted here. What does Mum think, that I can’t hold on to my husband?
“We’re with Venetia Carter now,” I say obstinately. “It’s all signed and sealed.”
“Oh well, darling. If you’re sure. What’s that, Janice?” There’s another scuffling at the other end. “Janice says, was it Halle Berry you met?”
“No, it was the new one. The blond Rollerblade champion. Mum, I’d better go. I’ve got a call waiting. Give my love to everyone. Bye!” I switch off the phone, and a second later it rings again.
“Bex! I’ve been trying you all day! How was it?” Suze’s excited voice peals down the line. “Tell me everything. Are you having the Thai water birth?”
“Maybe!” I can’t help beaming. “Oh, Suze, it was fab! You get massage, and reflexology, and I met a Bond girl, and there were paparazzi waiting outside and we got photographed together! We’ll be in Hello!”
“That’s so cool!” Suze’s voice rises to a squeak. “God, I’m so jealous. I want another baby now, and have it there.”
“You don’t actually have it at the center,” I explain. “You have all the appointments there, but she’s linked to the Cavendish Hospital.”
“The Cavendish? The one with all the double beds and wine lists?”
“Yes.” I can’t help a smirk.
“You’re so lucky, Bex! And what’s Venetia Carter like?”
“She’s fab! She’s really young, and cool, and she has all these really interesting ideas about childbirth, and”—I hesitate—“and she’s Luke’s ex-girlfriend. Isn’t that amazing?”
“She’s…what?” Suze sounds like she can’t believe her ears.
“She’s Luke’s ex. They went out at Cambridge together.”
“You’re having your baby delivered by Luke’s ex-girlfriend ?”
First Mum, then Suze. What’s wrong with everyone?
“Yes!” I say defensively. “Why not? It was years ago and it only lasted about five minutes. And she’s attached to someone else now. What’s the problem?”
“It just seems a bit…weird, don’t you think?”
“It’s not weird! Suze, we’re all grown-ups. We’re all mature, professional people. I think we can get past some old, meaningless fling, don’t you?”
“But I mean, she’ll be…you know! Poking about.”
This thought had crossed my mind. But then, is it any worse than Dr. Braine poking about? To be honest, I’m in denial about this whole birth business happening at all. I’m half hoping they’ll invent some new labor-substitute device by the time I reach my due date.
“I’d be paranoid!” Suze is saying. “I once met this ex of Tarkie’s—”
“Tarquin has an ex ?” I say in astonishment, before I realize how this sounds.
“Flissy Menkin. Of the Somerset Menkins?”
“Of course,” I say, as though I have a clue what the Somerset Menkins might be. They sound like china pots. Or some kind of galloping disease.
“I knew she was going to be at this wedding last year, and I practically spent the whole week getting ready. And that was with clothes on!”
“Well, I’ll get a really good bikini wax,” I say airily. “And maybe I’ll have a cesarean. And the point is, she’s the top baby-deliverer in the country! She should be used to it by now, don’t you think?”
“I s’pose.” Suze still sounds doubtful. “But still. Bex, if I were you, I’d steer clear. Go back to your other doctor.”
“I don’t want to steer clear.” I feel like stamping my foot. “And I totally trust Luke,” I add as an afterthought.
“Of course!” says Suze hastily. “Of course you do. So…did he chuck her, or the other way around?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Hasn’t he told you?”
“I haven’t asked him! It’s irrelevant!” Suze is starting to rattle me with all her questions. “Guess what? I got Crème de la Mer in the welcome pack,” I say to distract her. “And a voucher for Champneys!”
“Ooh!” Suze perks up. “Can you take a guest?”
I’m not going to let Suze and Mum freak me out. They don’t know anything about it! Luke and I have a totally stable, trusting relationship. We’re having a baby together. I feel totally secure.
On the way home that night I pop into Hollis Franklin quickly, just to look at baby linen. Hollis Franklin is such a gorgeous shop, it’s got a Royal Warrant and apparently the Queen herself shops there! I spend a happy hour looking at different thread counts, and by the time I arrive back
home, it’s seven. Luke is in the kitchen, drinking a beer and watching the news.
“Hi!” I say, putting down my bags. “I got the baby some sheets from Hollis Franklin!” I pull out a tiny crib sheet embroidered with a tiny crest in each corner. “Isn’t that adorable?”
“Very nice,” says Luke, examining it. Then he catches sight of the price tag and blanches. “Jesus. You paid that for a baby sheet?”
“They’re the best,” I explain. “They’re four hundred thread count!”
“Does the baby need four hundred thread count? You realize it’ll throw up on these sheets?”
“The baby would never throw up on a Hollis Franklin sheet!” I say, indignant. “It knows better than that.” I pat my bump. “Don’t you, darling?”
Luke rolls his eyes. “If you say so.” He puts the sheet down. “And what’s in the bigger bag?”
“Matching sheets for us. The duvet cover’s coming separately, and the pillow shams as soon as they’re in stock—” I break off at his appalled expression. “Luke, we’ll have the crib in our bedroom! We have to coordinate!”
“Coordinate?”
“Of course!”
“Becky, really—” Luke’s attention is drawn to the TV screen. “Hold on, it’s Malcolm.” He turns up the volume and I take the opportunity to shove the Hollis Franklin sheets behind the door, where Luke might forget about them.
Malcolm Lloyd is the chief executive of Arcodas, and he’s being interviewed in the business slot about why he’s planning to make a bid for some airline company. Luke watches intently, beer in hand.
“He should stop doing that jerky thing with his hand,” I say, watching the interview too. “He looks really awkward. He should go on media training.”
“He’s already been on media training,” says Luke.
“Well, it was rubbish. You should get someone new.” I take off my jacket, dump it on a chair, and massage my aching shoulders.
“Come here, sweetheart,” says Luke, noticing me. “I’ll do it.”
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