“Cass? Spes tutissima coelis. The safest hope is in heaven.”
Cassie almost called Fr. B twice. But between tracking the results of the market test, doing interviews and photo shoots, overseeing the design and execution of new print and electronic media ad buys while Mark attended to the bedridden, and combing the most exclusive shops for the perfect gown for the coronation, she barely had time to eat.
“It’s ludicrous!” Cassie complained to Nick at a rare late-night ice cream binge on a couch in the family room. Between them was a quart of sugar-free Chocolate Chunk Madness. “It’s all you and Mark can do to hold back the mounting tide of licensing proposals before Cassandra’s official rollout.”
“What none of the pitchmen understand is that Cassandra is no common fragrance. It’s Old World luxury in a fast-food nation. America is just going to have to realize that Cassandra is one of a kind and treat it as the rare find that it is.”
Nick carved out a round lump of Madness and fed it to Cassie.
Cassie rolled the creamy cold over her tongue and swallowed. “The tag price should send one of the loudest signals: $225 per ounce. The 1.7 fluid ounce cruet will retail for $382.50. That should help supply keep pace with demand.”
Nick stared at the ingredients on the ice cream label. “How do they make this sugar-free? It’s delicious!” Nonetheless, he waved away the next spoonful Cassie served up. “Can’t. Gotta stay focused. Our early indicators are that Cassandra eau de parfum is intoxicating beyond earlier estimates. The Queen of England has ordered a cruet for every female employed or in residence at Buckingham Palace. The Miss Universe Pageant ordered one for every contestant. One of the wealthiest women on the planet requested — and was denied — enough Cassandra to fill her private bathing spa.”
“Whoa, whoa! If that’s the wealthiest woman I think you mean, she’s worth more than some countries. How about we at least fill her birdbath?”
Nick laughed. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep her number handy. Remember, we are sponsoring her next network giveaway show, but it will take a while to get inventory up, so for now we can’t overextend.”
Cassie hugged him just as he was aiming for her mouth. She took a chocolate smear from chin to ear. Dabbing it away with a napkin, Nick said, “Did you ever think we’d be concerned about overextending anything but our credit?”
Cassie grinned, gloriously happy. “Twenty years, darling! We let the Liz Claibornes and Paul Sebastians hire outside fragrance formulators, but we kept control. We beat them, Nick; we beat them at their own game!”
He turned serious. “And now we need to once and for all put Brenda behind us. Can we?”
“I want to.”
“Then let’s do it. Out of spite, she has tried to embarrass us and get you to doubt me. But she’s just the smallest of footnotes now. The Nicky and Brenda stories will no longer circulate. I’ve talked with a couple of journalists I know, and their media want to curry favor with us, and if it means squelching the rumors, they are only too happy to ignore her. Brenda is passé. I’m telling you, Cass, we suddenly have a great deal of currency in this town and beyond.” He studied her. “I know a fresh Brenda story. Want to hear it?”
She wished they could talk about something or someone — anyone — else. But he was so pleased with himself, she couldn’t bear to tell him no. “Sure, let’s hear it.”
“Well, you know how she rarely meets suppliers outside the office. There aren’t many who have what she wants, and seldom does anything they present make it into her polished glass-and-chrome showcases. So what does she do? She forces them to take the elevator to the sixty-fifth floor of the Gateway Tower so she can ignore them in style.”
He paused. “Go on,” Cassie said. “You’re dying to tell.”
“So the other day she’s standing at her floor-to-ceiling windows watching the international shipping lane and probably thinking about the good stuff from Ceylon and Sri Lanka, when this diamond importer from Antwerp who hand mixes his own cologne and hopes to gain a deBrieze endorsement comes in and throws his fine scent around and does everything within his power to impress. But the longer he hangs around, the more her indifference reduces him to a stammering fool. She shows him the door, tells him his aromas are too European, but says she will buy a five-thousand-dollar diamond collar for her cat! Mr. Antwerp flees the six hundred fifty feet to the street.
“Because everything he planned has been turned upside down, he rushes across the street to the Pearl Diver Lounge, owned, naturally, by Brenda, and gets into a private high-stakes card game. He loses badly — his business, in fact — until all he has left is Brenda’s check for the cat collar. Based on his personal line of credit, he bets the farm, using the check and her good name as collateral, and wins it all. He promptly goes back to the Gateway and leases the entire ground floor for his first diamond outlet — and perfume boutique — in America. Not only did Brenda not get rid of him, he’s now one of the building’s most influential tenants, and every time she enters or exits, his success without her help stares her in the face. Isn’t that rich?”
Cassie smiled. “I might do a little shopping of my own at Mr. Antwerp’s diamond emporium. I’ve settled on my dress for the gala. It’s a pale-pink satin evening gown by Luisa Beccaria. Mags’ style consultants urged something sophisticated yet understated. ‘It should become your frame, not your fortress, dear.’ ” She exaggerated her voice to sound pompous. “ ‘You’re looking for elegant, not pretentious, something that envelopes, not imprisons. Avoid either showy embellishments or the torn butterfly look. Keep the sexuality on a short leash. If in doubt, edit, edit, edit.’ ”
Nick hooted. Cassie went on. “The Beccaria, they said, is a beguiling statement of fairy tale come true. All I know is that it makes me feel more beautiful, more desirable, than I’ve felt in a very long time. I can’t wait for you to see me in it!”
“If it makes you happy, sweetheart, that’s what matters.” The love in his eyes completed her joy.
Oh, Mags, the launch is coming at us like a stampeding bull,” Cassie said, hanging up the phone in the kitchen. Mags sat at the dining room table surrounded by press clippings. Cassie had been perusing them with her, but her heart wasn’t in it. The strain was becoming too much. She had borrowed Beth’s Miata to run errands and to make a series of meetings at the office. She and Beth had agreed to rendezvous at the mall. But Beth had not showed and could not be reached.
“A step at a time, dear girl,” said Mags, admiring a full-page photo spread in the Chicago Tribune. “You are surrounded with competent people. Stop worrying and delegate. Delegation is what saved this girlish figure.” She got up and strutted to the kitchen, hands on saucy hips.
“Thank goodness you and Gretchen are a pair, and thank you for looking after this place. If you didn’t live here these days, who would?”
“You and that fine man of yours just make sure you finish each day back here,” Mags said with a wag of an index finger.
“Sorry we’ve had to forego trapeze for a while. We’ll get back up there, I promise.” The phone rang and Cassie snatched it to her ear. “Beth? Oh, Beth, thank goodness. I’ve been frantic! Where are you?”
“Mom, I’ve been waiting this whole time at the Art Galleria in Westfield Centre, like we agreed.”
Cassie gulped. “Westfield? I was in Union Square at the Funky Easel. Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Did you have your cell with you?”
Beth was slow to answer. “I loaned it to Andre. Now, before you freak out, he’s negotiating for another shop, Mom, and didn’t want those calls coming into J. Primo’s. You know how his employees gossip.”
“And the man can buy another shop but can’t afford a cell of his own? We bought you that phone for the express purpose of being able to contact each other anytime. What on earth were you thinking?”
“What were you thinking, Mom?” Cassie could hear the tears in her daughter’s voice. “I told you I worked out a package price with the manager of the Galle
ria. We haven’t bought anything at the Funky Easel since you got me those bathtub paints when I was, like, five.”
Cassie wanted to say, “You weren’t like five; you were five” but held her tongue. She remembered like it was yesterday: Beth smearing her eyelids red, her face bright green, her chest and arms navy blue, and her tummy yellow, then grinning for the camera. “Okay, all right, I’m sorry. We’ll talk more about this when you get home. Right now I have an important meeting at Azure. We’ll have to try again on the weekend. Can I send a cab for you?”
“No, Mom, I have cheer practice back at school. You were supposed to drop me there.” The growing frustration in her voice stabbed Cassie to the quick. “Can’t Daddy come get me?”
“Daddy’s with Mark doing color corrections on the Cassandra typography. It’s critical we get it right.” She could have slapped herself. Weren’t Beth’s needs critical?
“Then I’ll just have Andre pick me up again. You go to your meeting and I’ll grab a burger somewhere. Don’t worry about it. Andre’s used to it.”
That hurt. Cassie shot a glance at Mags, who was basting a chicken. Her friend nodded. “I can put the oven on timer and go pick her up.”
“Hear that, honey? Maggie will come down and get you.”
“No, Mom, that’s fine. Andre’s closer and Mags is making dinner. Not all of us forget what’s supposed to happen.”
Cassie let the dig go. “Did he get the fan belt replaced on his car? That thing whines like a wounded animal, and it’s bound to snap any day now.”
“It’s fine, Mother! I’m fine, Andre’s car is fine, this whole messed-up day is fine. I’ve got to get off now; the store manager wants the phone back.”
For some reason Cassie didn’t want to let Beth go. “Right, sweetie. I’m really sorry for wrecking our plans. You and me, we okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Bye.”
Cassie hung up the phone and leaned both hands on the counter. Children, the only beings capable of filling your heart one second and dropping it from the freeway overpass the next.
“Everything good?” Mags slapped the chicken before covering it in tinfoil.
“Just fabulous. You don’t need to get Beth after all. Andre comes through again.”
She watched the two people on the screen in her living room —happy, healthy, flowing, she gorgeous, he handsome — and wondered again who they were. The woman looked like her, the man like Nick. They were called Nicholas and Cassandra and were CEOs of a company named Azure World. Strangely, though, they were different in a way she could not name.
And she was afraid.
“You two look scrumptious.” Mags was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, wearing her TV glasses.
“The preliminary response has been beyond belief,” Nick told the entertainment reporter at the Metrofashion Show that afternoon at the Disney Concert Hall in L.A. Behind them, people cheered and pressed in close to share the camera frame with the instantly famous. “We are pleased to bring to the world a fragrance so beguiling, it defies explanation. Who can explain how it captures the senses, the chemical reaction it sets in motion?”
Cassie rubbed her temples. He had followed the agreed script perfectly, touting the mythical, enlarging on the perfume’s mystique with every word. If the glittering perfumers were sore pressed to explain, who were mere mortals to resist its allure? They didn’t need to understand. They were only asked to buy.
“Women were created in similar fashion,” the prerecorded Cassie said, further embroidering the legend.
Mags clapped and cheered. “Honey, you’re on message!”
Cassie shushed her and looked back to the TV images.
“Sensual. Captivating. We’re a beautiful force of our own. It is an honor to put woman and scent together. Cassandra reveals the enchantress in every female!” Nick was all teeth, and she smiled at him with just the right mix of warm and tart.
The crowd roared and the Dixons waved.
On the couch, Cassie bit her lip. “I hope we’re not setting people up for shattered dreams, Mags.”
“Of course you are, but that’s how the game is played. You’re responsible to make the best perfume you can, not for the irresponsible ways people behave under the influence of that fragrance. Perfume cannot make people kind and caring, but it can mask their brutishness. Some of civilization’s most loathsome overseers have been among its best-smelling.”
Cassie’s head throbbed.
Mags switched the TV off and regarded her appraisingly. “I thought you put that worry to rest long ago, kid. God gave Cassandra to you and to Nick and to Beth. It’s your namesake and your future. Now you live it up and don’t think twice about it.”
Cassie squeezed Maggie’s hand and went in search of the ibuprofen.
Later that evening, the Dixons went to the hospital to visit Royce. They left the parking garage and had not yet reached the automatic doors leading to the inpatient surgery wing when Cassie’s cell phone rang. She snapped open the phone and motioned for Nick to stop.
“Cass? Mark here. I’ve some bad news. Joy Spretnak is in intensive care at Mercy General.” Mark explained the horrible attack at Joy’s home.
“Joy’s been badly injured,” Cassie told Nick.
“What?” Nick said, his expression alarmed. “What hap — ”
Cassie held up her hand. To Mark she said, “Do they know what would cause that kind of freak behavior? Were the raccoons rabid?”
Nick’s eyes showed questioning concern. “Wild animal attack,” Cassie said to him as he pushed the elevator button. “Her condition is guarded. Yes, Mark?”
“I was just saying that I will do everything to keep this out of the media. You put Royce’s accident together with Joy’s, and you’ve got a press circus. The last thing you need is something weird to distract people from the focus on Cassandra. I’ve got Joy’s station covered with a temp. Also ordered a giant get-well floral arrangement from the management team, and a separate planter from you and Nick. Begonias, one of her favorites. You let me know the status on Royce. Don’t mean to sound callous, but all things considered, the sick will keep while the well need all the help and concentration they can get.”
“Bless you.”
Mark hung up, and Cassie filled Nick in on the details as they passed through the entrance doors and hurried toward the elevators. “What’s with the animals in this state? It’s like some crazy virus in the air or something.”
“Good question. It’s creepy what’s going on. Poor Joy, such a sweet lady. She’s the voice of Azure corporate.”
Cassie felt again the stab of apprehension she experienced when watching their performance on TV. “Let’s do all we can for her. She’s as much a part of our team and the launch as anyone.” She watched the floor indicator change from P to L to 2. The car slowed to a halt. They stepped out and headed for Room 207. In its own way, Royce’s accident was even more serious. How could he ensure quality control over production with a nose covered in gauze and adhesive tape? What was it Mark said? “The last thing you need is something weird . . .” She prayed Royce’s sense of smell had not been compromised.
Cassie was shocked to see The Nose sitting cross-legged on the bed, smiling despite the bandaged bulb stuck to his face, and swiftly writing on a clipboard, his gown exposing two knobby knees. She stared at him. Was that a happy sparkle in his black-and-blue eyes? His greeting was positively debonair.
“Nicholas! Cassandra! So good of you to come. I have capital news. Sit. Sit!”
They sat. “My specialist feared the worst, but no sooner had he started rooting about in my nasopharynx than he discovered the most remarkable thing. Will you hazard a guess what in the world he found?”
Before either of the Dixons could answer, Royce said, “Of course you can’t guess. Let me enlighten you!”
Cassie was stunned. The Nose, crippled though his God-sent nasal organ appeared to be, was actually enjoying himself. And he sounded as if he were able to breathe j
ust fine.
He gave a gleeful clap. “The good doctor shone a light up my left nozzle, and what did he see but a polyp the size of a pea! For some time I have feared — without wanting to worry you —that I was losing some of my powers of smell, when in fact a benign blockage had the audacity to park in my beak. The odor molecules were beginning to back up against this fleshy dam; many were prevented from entering at all. A single clear nostril is all but useless to me, as you know. One requires stereo olfactory for accuracy. Thankfully, I have such prodigious receptors, it did not prevent me from birthing my darling Cassandra! But a polyp up there is an affront to my profession.
“Glad to say, the devil is now removed and on display in the drawer in my tray table should you wish to view it. Best news? I can again breathe fully free and am able to identify seventy-seven distinct smells thus far in this room alone.” He rapped the clipboard with the pen. “I can name them if you like.”
Nick said swiftly, “This is such great news, although I’m troubled we weren’t informed of the time of your surgery.”
Royce waved a dismissive hand. “Tut. Butterfield took care of it; that’s what you pay him for. He saw me into surgery and was here when I emerged. Forty minutes, in and out. But I am most anxious for word of Miss Spretnak.”
He appeared momentarily nonplussed by the emotion with which he had spoken her name, then quickly recovered. “I mean that I can imagine she feels awful about the accident, and I want to allay her fears. She’s not returned my call.”
A Dr. Fleming was paged over the hall intercom. A pill cart collided with an IV stand just outside the door, and while loud apologies were exchanged, Cassie gave her husband a meaningful look. Nick cleared his throat. “Well, Royce, about Joy. I’m sorry to say that after she left you that night, she was herself injured.”
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