“He said it was superb work,” Janie answered finally. “He told Michael we had his permission to proceed to the mechanical stage. He wants to okay blues before we print, though.”
“That’s all?” Louella asked, clearly disappointed. “You make it sound so … humdrum, so businesslike.”
“It was a business meeting, Lou,” Janie answered abruptly.
“You know, I get the feeling that you didn’t think all that much of Alain,” Louella replied in hurt tones.
“Oh, no, I did, Lou,” Janie reassured her, just enough to seem sincere. “He’s a very … elegant man.” She wasn’t about to share with her friend the tidal wave of emotion that had struck her that afternoon, that had washed through her, that had changed her forever. For Janie, Alain was much more important than a mere idol. He wasn’t just a pipe dream, a romantic lead in a lonely woman’s daydream, interchangeable with any number of Hollywood’s celluloid mini-gods. Alain was real. Alain was alive. Yes, it seemed insane. Perhaps she was going a little crazy. But, no, she knew, down to the marrow of her bones: Alain Chanson was Janie’s fate.
Chapter 6
Janie saw Alain exactly seven times over the course of her first three years in New York. And she vividly remembered each occasion she met him at a creative session or ran into him in the corridor at Dorn & Delaney. At most, he addressed a dozen words directly to her. And yet during that time her love for him grew. And strengthened. It became the dominating force of her life. Alain Chanson was the first thing she thought of each morning … his was the last lingering image she saw before drifting off to sleep each night. Her love for him was a burden. And a joy. And her most closely guarded secret. It was also the main fact of her existence, though many other things happened during that time.
Janie became an aunt twice over, as her older brother Henry II and her sister Victoria started their families. She dutifully flew up to Baldwin for the christenings. Time and distance had, unfortunately, only deepened the chasm between youngest daughter and parents. It didn’t help that all of Janie’s other siblings had set up houses far away from their New England home. Everyone but Janie was married, was starting to have children, had little time for aging parents. So it fell on her—the least likely and the least loved—to spend long, awkward weekends with Henry and Faith over Christmas and Easter and for a week during August. She got through those times by daydreaming of Alain almost constantly.
“What are you thinking about, dear?” Faith demanded querulously as another Easter dinner passed in near silence.
“Oh, well, work, I’m afraid,” Janie stammered, as Alain’s glorious features receded and Faith’s frown came into focus. Why do we keep up this charade? Janie wanted to scream at moments like these. What do you care what I think? What I want? Who I am?
“Your father and I worry that you work too hard, dear,” Faith replied. “That’s why we would very much like you to join us on the trip to France next month. We’ll fly first to Paris to visit Cindy and André for a week or so, then drive down through the Loire…”
“Impossible, Mother,” Janie interrupted her. “The agency’s just overloaded with work. And spring is our busiest time.”
“Every season seems to be your busiest,” Henry observed dryly. “You know, Jane, it’s absolutely unnecessary for you to drive yourself in this manner. Your mother and I are perfectly well aware that you’re not touching your interest payments. It’s ridiculous the way you work like a slave … and live like a pauper. Just what is it that you’re trying to prove? What’s the point?”
“The point is, Father,” Janie retorted, her back straightening with anger, “that I enjoy what I do. And I’m damn good at it. If I’m trying to prove anything, I guess that’s it: I can be very, very good at something. And if you find that absolutely unnecessary, I’m sorry. I don’t.”
And the truth was, Dorn & Delaney was busier that spring than ever before. Ramona Cosmetics was launching a new sunscreen product line. Chanson Wine was investing a third of its annual budget in a prime-time television campaign. And, in rapid succession, two more clients were added to the D&D roster: the Magic Moments costume jewelry firm Zach and Michael had been wooing for months, and a woman’s sportswear company that had been impressed by the work the agency had done for Ramona.
“How’d you like a new office, Janie?” Zach asked one night as he stopped by her cubbyhole to say good night. “Michael and I have been thinking.”
“Always a dangerous sign,” Janie retorted, turning to face him. He needed a haircut, and his face looked washed out. But then, everyone at the agency had been putting in marathon hours.
“I mean, a room that actually had closets, windows, an extra chair for people to sit down in,” Zach continued expansively. He needed a shave as well, Janie noticed critically.
“Are you feeling all right, Zach?” she demanded. “This doesn’t sound like you at all. Whatever happened to Mr. Low Overhead? I mean, it almost seems like you intend to buy new furniture or something.”
“That, and lease the floor above, and add about six new people to the staff,” Zach explained. “What do you think?”
“I think we must be doing okay,” Janie replied, “so I suppose it’s time I asked for a raise.”
“You got it,” Zach answered. “And Michael and I are hiring someone who’s going to make your life a whole lot easier.”
“I don’t believe it,” Janie cried. “You’re really going to put on another mechanical person?”
“No,” Zach answered. “We’re bringing on an account person for Chanson and Ramona. She’s also going to help spearhead our new business drive.”
“Spearhead? She?” Janie asked, crestfallen. This was clearly not someone who would help her with pasteups. “She sounds like some kind of amazon.”
“Hardly,” Zach answered, laughing to himself. “Her name is Melina Bliss. You’ll meet her tomorrow.”
“Ten to one they’re sleeping together,” Louella hissed the next morning as she and Janie watched the new woman’s well-tailored derriere sway down the corridor to Zachary Dorn’s corner office.
“I doubt it,” Janie said. “Zach likes ’em sweet and cuddly.”
Janie could tell by the way Melina carried herself—as if she were precious cargo the natives couldn’t wait to ravage—that she was not the kind of woman to curl up easily in a man’s arms. Everything about her seemed shiny and overly shaped. Her perfectly coiffed hair didn’t bounce when she moved, it rode along with her like a helmet. Her neatly tailored suit clung in all the right places, showing off a nipped waist here, a dainty kneecap there.
“Her complexion isn’t so hot,” Louella added as Melina’s stiletto heels continued their staccato beat down the hallway. But Janie understood, as poor, plodding Louella couldn’t, that Melina’s complexion didn’t matter. Janie herself had absolutely beautiful skin. Silky and smooth as Devonshire cream, given to sweet blushes. And yet nobody yearned to reach out and stroke Janie’s perfect epidermis … and every single breathing male in the office that morning was plotting a way to get within touching distance of Melina’s.
“And she’s short,” Louella went on, hovering outside Janie’s door. “I mean really short. Those heels make up about half of her legs at the moment.”
“You work fast, Lou,” Janie replied as she pried the plastic top off her first cup of coffee. She neatly smoothed down the wax paper that clung to her French cruller, and eyed its sugary, crenellated form with longing. “The woman hasn’t been here thirty minutes,” Janie continued, ripping off the corners of two sugar packets, “and you probably know her shoe size already.”
“Six and a half!” Louella crowed triumphantly, and then proceeded to fall into one of those spasms of snorts and laughter that Janie was beginning to find increasingly bothersome. Louella would lose all sense of decorum at these times and end up with lipstick all over her chin and mascara dribbling into her crow’s-feet. God, I probably don’t look muc
h better than that myself, Janie would tell herself, trying to drum up sympathy and understanding. In fact, I probably look worse.
“I … I followed her into the ladies room before,” Louella gasped between ebbing sobs of laughter. “She had a snag in her stocking or something, and took off her shoe. That’s how I know she’s a six and a half. Pretty fast footwork, huh?” Louella collapsed into giggles again, and Janie had to work hard to keep from slapping some sense into the woman who at the time was still considered her best friend. Companion in loneliness was more like it. Friday night movie buddy. Sunday afternoon brunch mate. But ever since Janie had fallen in love with Alain, Louella began to seem less a friend and more a necessary convenience. Maybe things would have been different if Janie had confided in Louella how she felt about Alain. But that secret was too sacred, too deep. Janie knew that Louella sensed the strain on their relationship, and that it was in trying to make up for it she seemed loud and suddenly loutish.
“I’ve got to get to work here, Lou,” Janie replied. “I’m supposed to be packed and ready to move by the beginning of next week. Plus, I’ve got that Ramona presentation this afternoon.” That was another thing that Janie felt drove a wedge between the two women. While Janie got promotion after promotion, while Janie moved to a new, bigger office, Louella remained stuck in her prefabricated module by the elevator banks. Not that Louella seemed to mind. If anything, she seemed genuinely pleased by Janie’s success.
“I can help you with some of this later,” Louella answered, looking around Janie’s office. “I’d be glad to give you a hand. Then we can have dinner after.”
“Yeah, okay,” Janie answered unenthusiastically. “I guess that’ll be fine.”
About a half hour later, Janie heard a sharp knock on her door, and a smoky soft voice asked, “Where’s the stuff for this afternoon’s meeting?” Melina Bliss sounded a little like Lauren Bacall. Her words were tinged with a Southern honeyness. Men swayed and opened to such a voice, flower heads turning to the bee’s bright hum. Women were more quick to hear its hidden danger, the sting muffled in its busy sweetness.
Janie swung a half-circle in her art director’s chair to face Melina, and said; “May I ask who wants to know?” Janie’s flat New England accent was clipped and cool, a nearly perfect imitation of her father’s tone with unwelcome strangers.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” Melina countered, taking a step back and reconsidering her approach. “I guess Michael and Zachary haven’t told you yet. I’m the new account person on Ramona and Chanson America. Melina Bliss.”
A delicate, manicured hand was offered, two silver bracelets clinking like wind chimes at the wrist. Janie squeezed it quickly, all too aware of her own damp and fleshy palm.
“Zach told me he was putting someone new on the account end,” Janie said, taking close-up inventory of Melina. Her hair was auburn, shoulder-length, a glossy mane that she often touched with a free hand, or tossed in a moment of impatience, but always with the result of showing off its richness and shine. The eyes were dark brown, quite large, slightly protuberant, a fact that was artfully corrected with eyeliner and shadow. The mouth, small but full, was of an old-fashioned cupid’s bow design. As Louella had pointed out, the skin was not first-rate, but makeup did wonders, and a general aura of pride and confidence did the rest. Melina Bliss was a self-made beauty, Janie realized.
With a slight softening of tone, she added; “About time we had some more help around here. Zach and Michael have been running themselves ragged.”
“And you, too, I imagine,” Melina added sweetly. “Now, if you’ll be kind enough to go over your ideas for the meeting this afternoon? I don’t want to look like a dim-witted fool when I present them.”
“Don’t worry,” Janie replied, “you won’t. Because Michael is presenting the concepts. He always does.”
“But…” Melina was on the verge of saying she intended to make it her job now when she thought better of it. It was her first day, after all, and she didn’t want to make waves. There would be time enough for that. “Okay, thanks. See you later, then.”
The meeting went well considering Madame Ramona was in one of her “moods.” Though everyone, including Madame, knew the work was good and right on strategy, she still found fault with unimportant details.
“I hate that background color,” she declared, pointing imperiously at a layout for an in-store promotion that the group had decided not to go with. The background was an eggshell blue, reminiscent of Tiffany’s famous packaging.
“But we’re not producing that one,” Michael corrected her quickly.
“I know that!” she shot back furiously. “But I still hate it. I never, ever want to see it in any of my work again. Do you understand that, Michael Delaney? Never!”
Michael, never good at handling Madame Ramona’s hysterics, started to sputter, but then a gentle, new voice interrupted him.
“Of course, Madame.” Melina spoke up from a far corner of the room. “I’ll make a note of it here. We’ll certainly avoid that color in the future.”
Twice more during that session, Melina artfully soothed Madame Ramona’s temperamental outbursts.
“Of course, Madame,” Melina would reply, scribbling in her little notebook. “We’ll take care of it this afternoon.”
Afterward, Janie heard Madame Ramona tell Zach, “I like that new girl, Zachary. She seems on the ball.”
And later, when Janie met Melina in the hall, she said approvingly, “You did good with the cormorant of the cosmetics industry today. How did you manage it?”
“That’s my specialty,” Melina replied, her laughter low and confiding. “The care and feeding of dragon lady CEOs. The pampering of spoiled vice presidents. The humoring and cajoling of frustrated marketing directors.” They stopped at Janie’s door, and Melina glanced around at the chaos of half-filled boxes. “That’s what account people do, you know.”
“Excuse the mess,” Janie apologized, “but I’m getting ready to move upstairs.”
“Yes, I know,” Melina replied. “Zach was giving me a tour of the new space before. I’ll be up there, too, down the hall from you.” Melina hesitated a moment, and then continued. “Listen, I apologize if I came on a bit strong this morning. I don’t make any bones about the fact that I’m pushy. I’m hardheaded, too. And determined. I know that sometimes translates into rudeness. Well, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. In fact, I hope we can be friends.”
Janie was surprised … and flattered. She was impressed by Melina’s performance that afternoon and by her style and self-confidence. She sensed she may have misjudged her. That, prompted by Louella, she’d let more than a little envy over Melina’s looks dictate her original distaste. So she didn’t think twice when Melina suggested they have dinner after work—to get to know each other better.
She said yes, and only much later, when she came home and heard Louella’s hurt message on her answering machine, did she remember that she had made other plans.
Chapter 7
You could tell just by looking at Melina Bliss that she would be hard to handle. Petite. Compact. “A mean machine,” one of her ex-boyfriends had called her, and it was an image she secretly nurtured. She was a luxury model, she would tell herself, turbo-powered. She moved in high gear, fueled by pure energy. Men saw her speed, felt the sparks she gave off, and thought her beautiful. Women, whose standards were generally stricter in such matters, took a closer look and saw otherwise.
“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Louella told Janie as she helped her carry her books and art equipment up the stairs to her new office that following Sunday afternoon. The movers were coming the next day to transport the furniture and heavy boxes that the two women had carefully stacked in the center of the little room. “I mean, Melina’s sort of pretty, I guess. But she’s hardly beautiful … do you think?”
“She has style,” Janie replied, “and in some ways I think that accounts fo
r more than just regular good looks. She knows how to make the best of what she’s got. And I guess—I mean I have to assume from the way all the men around here have been behaving—that she’s pretty sexy.”
“Probably gives it away,” Louella mumbled darkly.
“Oh, Lou, what makes you say that?” Janie asked, feeling sad. She knew perfectly well that Louella was still stung by Janie’s desertion the other night and that she resented the friendship that seemed to be springing up between Melina and Janie. It didn’t help that Louella was going to stay down on the old floor, while the two other women moved into the new, freshly painted and furnished offices.
“I hear things,” Louella answered evasively. “I keep my ear to the ground. All I’m saying is, well, I don’t know what the big deal is about her. She’s not a nice person, Janie, and I don’t trust her farther than I could throw her.”
Janie couldn’t help but conclude that Louella wished she had an opportunity to do just that. She chalked it off to petty jealousy and thought less of Louella for it. But then Janie had no idea of the high-handed way Melina treated Louella when no one else was around to hear.
“Get me Horizon Studios on the phone immediately,” Melina had ordered Louella that past Friday morning.
“Don’t you ever say ‘please’?” Louella asked at the switchboard, tears of hurt rimming her eyes.
“Only when I have to,” Melina retorted. “Now move it.”
Janie had been shown a different side of her the evening they had dinner together. They’d gone to a small Thai restaurant in Chelsea that Melina had discovered a few weeks before. Melina seemed to know all the latest in places to eat, drink, shop, and dance. And Janie had to admit that the food was delicious; the crowd was hip, well-dressed, a world away from the loud-voiced tourists who frequented the Mexican joint she went to with Louella.
“God, I still get so excited by this city,” Melina had confided with a contented sigh after they’d put in their order. “I’m still amazed by it all. I’m just a country hick, you know. A regular Southern cracker.” Janie found it impossible to square the sophisticated, elegantly dressed woman sitting across from her with a small-town upbringing—and she told Melina so.
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