by Gail Hewitt
Martha looked at Maggie's outfit, surveying the blazer, jeans, white shirt, and boots with a shrewd eye. "That becomes you, my dear, but there's no denying the others will be dressed differently. Perhaps we should go shopping. Luckily, almost everything in town seems to be on sale. Just let me give Tom a call and make sure we're heading in the right direction."
Maggie had not been shopping with another woman since college, when her mother had finally stopped accompanying her, much to Maggie's relief. Today's excursion, she thought, should be interesting.
The driver deposited the two women and their security details at the door of Bergdorf 's, where Maja, Martha's personal shopper, was waiting for them. Maggie didn't know what to expect. Shopping with her mother had always been a nerve-wracking and drawn-out experience, with Elizabeth McLaurin making few suggestions of her own but assessing every choice Maggie made with a suspicious eye and sharp tongue. Shopping with Martha Evans, on the other hand, turned out to be a hurricane of possibilities.
"I've set aside some outfits on four that fit the description you provided," Maja said, "but now that I've seen Miss McLaurin I think I'll get a few other things. I know you're in a hurry, so why don't you start while I go to three? Also, the hair and makeup person you requested will be at your address at five p.m."
Upstairs, Martha was decisive in her preferences, and Maggie — having little idea of her own as to what Tom Scott would find acceptable for this purpose — let the older woman be her guide. Most of the ensembles were dismissed as being too fussy, too revealing, or otherwise unsuitable when Maggie held them against her body. A handful that Martha had her try on were deemed acceptable. A Nina Ricci jacket and skirt in black wool with beige and orange print piping and a black and orange leaf print silk blouse made the cut, as did an Oscar de la Renta hound's-tooth suit, and a black Stella McCartney suit with belted wool jacket over a cutout blouse and tulip skirt. From the shoe salon the shopper produced a stack of boxes, from which Martha selected one pair of Jimmy Choo Mary Janes and another of Prada patent peep-toe pumps. Several pairs of Wolford tights and La Perla and Hanky Panky lingerie items were added to the assortment. When Maja presented the total — $6,997 — Maggie knew she looked surprised.
"I know," Martha said, misinterpreting her expression, "the values at the sales are amazing. Just put this on my account, Maja." She took the ticket, explaining to Maggie, "Tom's instructions. He says it's a company expense and you probably haven't received your TTI Amex yet. Don't think anything of it — it's just the way Tom does things."
"Tom's world, Tom's rules," Maggie said. "I know."
Back at the house, a stack of boxes and garment bags sat in the middle of the floor in the library, where the two women were drinking a cup of tea and having a scone, Tommy Cat hovering to catch any crumbs.
"I can't tell you how much I appreciate all this," Maggie told her. "I'd have still been standing there, trying to make a decision. I'm not much of a shopper."
"It has been a pleasure, my dear. It's nice to know I'm helping Tom to do something that matters to him because he's been wonderful to me. We're the last of the family, and — as he says — we must stick together. Of course, he's totally absorbed in TTI now, as you have probably gathered."
"I'll admit I'm surprised at the interest he takes in details like this," Maggie nodded toward the pile of clothing.
"This is typical," Martha told her. "He involves himself in many ways. He's managing a revamp of the web site. He worked with the designers on the logo — he even selected the paper for the stationery. He's determined that TTI make exactly the right impression in every way."
"That's commendable," Maggie said slowly, "but . . . "
"You don't approve?" Martha asked.
"It's not that I don't approve. I'm just surprised that he has time."
"He never stops," Martha said. "He's driven. I wish he'd slow down a little and have some fun with it. Perhaps you can help him."
Maggie was trying to decide how to respond to that when Sari appeared at the door. "Cindy Arnold, the person who's doing Miss McLaurin's hair and makeup, is here."
Maggie looked questioningly at Martha, who shrugged. "Tom said to do the works."
The personal stylist had Maggie try on each of the three outfits. "So you aren't sure which one you'll be wearing? Then, let's devise something that'll look appropriate with all three. Where do you want to work?"
"Tom said we could use his bathroom," Martha said. "It's the largest in the complex," she explained. "Just follow me." She led them across the way, through Tom's anteroom and to a door that opened into a large dressing room that in turn opened into an even larger bathroom. It was then that Maggie realized this was not just Tom's office but his New York pied-à-terre as well. Somehow the thought made her uncomfortable. She found herself wondering where the bedroom was, which made her even more uncomfortable. As the stylist Cindy set up, she and Martha stood in a somewhat uneasy silence in this well-organized room redolent of the scent of expensive clothing, underlaid by the unmistakable fragrance that Maggie now associated with Tom. Then Cindy draped Maggie in an oversized smock and prepared to set to work. "Am I correct in assuming that you're not looking for an entirely new look, just a freshening up? That is, you don't want a drastic hair change? Okay, then let's do it."
"I'll be across the hall," Martha told them.
When the stylist finished Maggie's hair and brows, she began her makeup. "You don't need much, although I would suggest a darker, more vibrant lip."
When she was done, Maggie surveyed herself in the mirrors that lined the walls. The difference was not overt, but it was impressive. The line of her hair was shapelier, as were her brows. Her skin looked fresher with a becoming glow. Her eyes seemed even larger than usual and of a deeper brown. Her lips looked . . . well, luscious, she admitted.
"Is it all right?" Cindy asked somewhat anxiously.
"It's amazing," Maggie told her with sincerity. "I love what you've done. Do you work for Bergdorf 's?"
"No, I'm a private consultant. They send me to special clients. Would you like a referral card?"
Maggie took the card. "I really do like your work," she told the girl. "I'll be calling."
"I'll look forward to it," Cindy said with enthusiasm. Back across the hall, in the library, while Martha was seeing the stylist to the door, Maggie noticed that the aroma of Tom's cologne seemed to linger around her as she removed the styling robe. It was odd, she thought, how bizarre all of this was and yet how natural it seemed. She had slipped into Tom's world with almost alarming ease. Miles' prediction prickled at the edge of her consciousness. But that was just silly, to think this was being done for any other than reasons of business. It was clear that Tom adored his aunt. It was unlikely that he would involve her in anything underhanded. Martha returned and assessed what the stylist had done. "You look charming, my dear. Do you like it?"
"Very much," Maggie assured her. She looked at her watch. It was almost eight. High maintenance obviously required lots of time.
"I've told Sari we'll eat downstairs," Martha said. "Just something light. I know Tom said nine, but he could show up at any time."
"It's interesting," Maggie said, "how everything always remains centered around Tom."
"Don't think he's one of those dreadful men who demands total attention," Martha told her. "But we all know how busy he is. He lives by the second, always focused on the next thing, but you've probably noticed that."
Maggie nodded, but the truth was that she hadn't. Tom had seemed relatively relaxed to her, no more a workaholic than she was herself. Downstairs, she and Martha had just begun to eat the sandwiches set out by Sari when Tom appeared, this time wearing a dinner jacket, which he promptly took off and tossed over the sofa in the living room before joining them even as he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt.
"God, it's good to be home," he announced, ruffling his hair. He stopped and looked at Maggie, which was somewhat disconcerting as she was chewing a
rather large bite of sandwich. "Well, did Martha take good care of you?"
Maggie swallowed abruptly and promptly began to choke as Tom surveyed the table and took a fudge wafer from the plate of sweets provided by Sari. Martha patted her briskly on the back. Embarrassed, Maggie took a sip of water and answered his question. "Martha took me to Bergdorf's, and it was very interesting."
"I'll bet," Tom grinned. "You wouldn't think it to look at her, but she probably holds the speed-shopping record. I look forward to seeing the results, but first I need to go upstairs and make a couple of calls. Just give me about fifteen minutes, and I'll be in my office whenever you two want to come across. Let's start with the clothes. Then we'll do the presentation run-through."
Upstairs, Martha told Maggie she'd go ahead. "Just come across when you're ready to show the first outfit."
Feeling rather foolish, Maggie changed into the McCartney. It was not her favorite although it was definitely the most current of the ensembles. She crossed the hall and walked into the office anteroom, the high heels of the Mary Janes loud against the wooden floor, making her feel oddly off balance. When she went through the door into Tom's office, he was on the phone at his desk. He looked up and frowned, whether at her or something being said at the other end she had no way of knowing. Martha, who sat in one of the chairs opposite Tom, smiled encouragingly. Not sure of what to do next, Maggie took the chair next to Martha, who leaned across to whisper "You look lovely, my dear, absolutely lovely."
Maggie glanced at Tom, who seemed to be staring at a point above and beyond her head, a faint crease between his eyes. She remembered that look – it meant he was really focusing on something. It was odd, she thought, how in some ways he was totally familiar to her, even now, and in others he was an unknown quantity. She realized that his gaze had dropped, and he was now looking directly at her as he concluded his conversation in a way that she guessed made the person at the other end less than happy. His gaze was intense, and she felt herself blushing as she looked away.
When he was done with the call, he wasted no time getting down to their business.
"Which one is this?" he demanded of his aunt.
"The Stella McCartney," Martha replied.
"Walk across the room and turn around and come back here," he said to Maggie. Feeling more than a little strange, Maggie did so. As she returned to face him, he was already shaking his head. "Not that one."
"But it's charming on her," Martha protested, while Maggie stood mute, like an inanimate product being assessed by a potential buyer.
"Granted," Tom admitted. "Anything is going to look good on her, but that one is too young."
"Tom! What on earth are you talking about?" Martha protested again. "She's hardly mutton dressed as lamb."
"Any one over twenty-five wearing that shape skirt is going to look as if she's trying too hard to be trendy," Tom said decisively. "Let's see the next one."
Maggie felt his eyes on her back as she walked carefully from his office, across the anteroom and back to Martha's library. There, she changed into the hound's-tooth suit and the Prada peep-toe pumps.
Tom's reaction to the Oscar de La Renta outfit was no more favorable than it had been to the Stella McCartney.
"Now that I see it here, I think it might be too much ladies-who-lunch," Martha said.
"She looks like a little girl wearing her mother's clothes," Tom pronounced. "Definitely not that one."
This time, walking from the room, again feeling Tom's eyes on her, Maggie realized why his saying that sounded so familiar. It was what he'd told her when she'd tried on what — at age seventeen — she'd thought was sexy lingerie in his apartment. She wished she could forget some of what they'd shared; it would make it easier to sustain a business relationship. She couldn't spend half her time around him blushing.
Her face was still bright red as she removed the Oscar de la Renta suit and put on the Nina Ricci. She looked at herself in the mirror in the bathroom adjacent to Martha's library. She hadn't been that crazy about the other two outfits, but this one she really liked. It was as close to transformative as anything she'd ever worn. In it, she felt sexy, she felt competent, she felt exactly the way she'd always wanted to feel. If this was the difference that fashion made, she could see the point of it.
Tom stared at her fixedly as she walked into the room.
"This is the Nina Ricci," Martha told him. "It's my favorite."
"Do the walk," Tom commanded, and Maggie moved from one end of his office to the other and back. He nodded slowly. "It has possibilities. Do you like it?" he asked Maggie.
"Very much," Maggie told him, irritated at the inadvertent note of approval-seeking in her voice.
"Then, let's see the presentation," Tom ordered.
Maggie opened the portfolio that she'd stashed here earlier and began to take out materials.
"Whoa," Tom said, holding up his hand. "What's all this?"
"Just some collateral materials," Maggie started to explain.
He shook his head and opened a binder at random, reading a few lines before tossing it aside. "These aren't those kind of people. These are high-concept people. You have to be the same."
"But isn't my role to help all of you translate those concepts into some kind of action in a real-world setting?" she asked, puzzled and annoyed.
"More or less," Tom conceded, "but you can't lose sight of the big picture. This is about the big picture."
"It seems to me that the big picture pretty much dominates everything," Maggie told him. "Do you even plan to turn TTI into any kind of action, or is this just a tax thing?"
The second she said it, she was sorry. Tom's face literally fell.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I know you're sincere. I'm just frustrated that you hired me but I don't understand how my being here is going to benefit TTI in any way. How do you see my role?"
"Well, it isn't insulting your fellow team members by asking them questions about their part of the TTI effort that might make them feel they've been deficient in some way. And it isn't handing out binders," he said, pushing her materials to one side.
"Then what is it?" She had instinctively moved closer and was now standing over him, hands on hips.
"All you need to do at this meeting is to give them a quickie intro to you and your role so they can put you in some kind of context, something like this . . . " He pulled a sheet of paper toward him and wrote down a large 1-2-3. In block print next to "1," he put "I'm Maggie McLaurin. I'm an award-winning trainer and motivator with a background in meshing corporate goals with social initiatives." He shoved the paper toward her. "Say it."
She glared, but recited what he'd written. Her tone sounded phony, even to her. He shook his head.
"Not like that. Say it as if you're simply stating a fact that they need to know in order to understand what you're going to say next. Try it again."
She tried it until she got it the way he wanted. Then he had her repeat it several times in exactly the same way, then he recorded it on an Edic-Mini Cricket he pulled from his pocket.
"As for two," Tom continued, "this is all you need." He slid the paper back to him and printed next to "2" only one brief sentence: "My goal at TTI is to empower your concepts in the community that TTI will serve."
He shoved the paper toward her. "Practice it. Keep the tone neutral. The effect you're aiming is 'of course I'm here doing this, who else?' Do you see what I mean?"
He listened as she read it through until he was satisfied, then recorded it.
"All right," she said sarcastically. "Now that you've taught me to introduce myself at business parties and how to turn English into code, I assume you've got something in mind for number three?"
He pulled the paper back toward him. "Three's easy," he said. "This is all you need for three." Next to "3" he printed, "I've read your analyses and found them extremely helpful. I'll be in touch with each of you to get further input."
As before, Maggie practiced until she got it t
he way he wanted, and he recorded it.
"And that's it?" she asked, her voice more sardonic than she'd intended. "How do I get off – drop through a hole in the floor? Or does an angel of bullshit lift me from above and fly me away?"
"Good point," he said thoughtfully, ignoring her tone and addressing the issue. He printed a final line and shoved it to her: "It's a pleasure to be part of the TTI team. I'm looking forward to working with all of you."
Again, she practiced, and again he recorded. When he'd done, he replayed the entire recording. "Works for me," he said. He turned to his aunt, who said, "She sounds very professional." Then he turned to Maggie. "Are you satisfied?"
"Could I hear it again?" She had to admit she sounded like an authority, someone barely willing to identify herself, but whose professional courtesy is such that she recognizes the appropriateness of the gesture. "It sounds fine," she told him.
He handed her the Edic-Mini. "Listen to it until you're totally confident this is the tone that'll come out of your mouth at the meeting. At the meeting, once you've said your piece, smile, sit down, and look at me. I'll take it from there." Sensing her resistance, he gave her a stern look. "Don't interact in any other way unless I ask you to. I don't want you too available to them right away. And, trust me, neither do you. These people can be barracuda."
Tom's cell rang. Martha stood up as he answered what was obviously a personal call. Maggie hesitated for a moment, waiting for a gesture of dismissal, but he'd turned his chair around and was speaking in a lower tone into the phone.
"I think we should go," Martha whispered to Maggie, and the two women left the room.
Later, in the ornate bed niche in the Herter Bedroom, Maggie lay on her back and looked at the star-strewn ceiling. Tom had treated her like any ordinary employee. But wasn't that what she wanted? She was a professional. She didn't have to be cosseted and patted on the head like a pet. All she wanted was sensible guidance, which he'd tried to provide. Tom knew this situation much better than she, and he'd chosen the team members. He ought to know how she should present herself for maximum effect.