Zachary Dorn was ten minutes late.
Dammit, she thought, getting up and striding nervously over to the full-length windows that opened onto the canyons of glass and steel that made up midtown Manhattan. She should never have given in to this meeting. What in the world had she been thinking of? Why in God’s name had she agreed to take his call in the first place? But yesterday, when one of her secretaries said that Mr. Zachary Dorn was on the phone, something leapt within her and she had reached for the receiver without thinking.
“Madame,” Zach had said pleasantly. “How have you been?” She had been braced for his usual cutting humor, and she realized now that she had been hoping to use this call to explain her actions somehow. But what could she explain? In any case, she was glad for the unexpected gentleness and concern in his voice.
“I am fine, Zachary,” she had replied rather helplessly. “And you? Michael? I read that your agency is booming … even without me.” She tried to keep the tone of wistfulness from her voice, but she was afraid it came through anyway. Dorn & Delaney had recently been cited as one of the hottest midsized shops in the city. They were applauded by several new clients as being both creative and effective. And Melina? These days Bliss Enterprises only provided Madame with one thing: heartache.
“Yes, it’s true,” Zach had replied. “We’ve had a great second quarter. But I’m not calling to talk about our business, Madame. I want to talk about yours.”
“Impossible, Zach,” Madame replied immediately. “I made up my mind. And you know how I am when I make a decision. It’s final.”
“You mean the advertising stuff?” Zachary laughed. “Oh, no, that’s not it. I respect your need to make creative changes from time to time. But there’s something else I wanted to discuss. A sort of brainstorm I had over the weekend. I know how interested you are in expanding your market share, diversifying brand labeling … and I don’t know, but you might just find my crazy idea halfway interesting.”
Surely Zachary couldn’t know, but if there was one thing guaranteed to stir Madame’s interest, it was a new concept for enlarging Ramona’s market base. The corporation had already implemented extensive research and development—from body lotions to home fragrances—to spread the original Ramona perfume into as many products as was possible. In the last five years their expansion efforts had proved wildly successful, doubling Ramona’s gross revenues. But then suddenly all the ideas seemed used up. In the past six months, with no new products to introduce, Ramona’s growth curve had begun to sink. Madame, already depressed by Melina’s blackmail, could think of nothing to reverse the downward trend. Of course, Madame argued to herself, Zachary wasn’t aware of this, but his call could not have come at a better—or from Madame’s point of view, worse—time. She would see Satan himself if he could bring her a surefire new product idea.
Now, however, as she paced her beautiful penthouse office, she regretted her impulsive decision to see Zach again. She was just on the verge of telling her executive secretary to cancel the meeting when the double doors leading to the corridor opened, and Zachary Dorn and Janie Penrod walked in.
“I thought you were coming alone,” Madame snapped. She knew Janie had left Melina, though she had no idea why. And she realized now that it was Janie—not Melina or any of her freelancers—who had given Bliss & Penrod the creative fire that had lured Madame into the mess she was in now. She blamed Janie for this and feared her because she had no idea if Janie knew what Melina did about her past. “I deeply resent you bringing someone else with you, Zachary. Consider this meeting canceled.”
“You remember Miss Penrod,” Zachary replied smoothly as he advanced across the room. “Soon to be Mrs. Chanson. Regrettably, she’ll be leaving us shortly to move to your beloved Paris, Madame. But we’ve been lucky enough before she goes to have her contribute her creative thinking on this new product idea I mentioned to you yesterday.”
Zach had warned Janie not to respond if Madame should turn nasty, but she still found it difficult to move with Zach’s unflappable ease toward the obviously outraged woman. In truth, she had found it difficult to do anything with ease over the last few days. She lived with uncertainty and hesitation, longing to break free of the self-doubt that engulfed her. The problem was: Alain refused to take Janie’s decision to call off the wedding seriously. He told her she was overtired. Not thinking straight. He blamed the long hours she was putting in at the office … and the fact that he himself had been away on business for too long. He chastised himself for not paying more attention to their relationship. He vowed everything would change. He promised her that she would be the happiest, most beautiful bride on the face of the earth. He was so sure of himself, and Janie felt so guilty that she finally caved in to his demands:
“Please, Jane,” he had pleaded, “do not be so rash. We have come this far, no? Give me more time. At least until I am elected to the board next week, yes? Allow me that courtesy, darling. Then let us see how you feel. I believe all this prewedding nervousness will—poof—evaporate like a silly rainstorm.”
And so she had told no one that she had woken up just in time to the knowledge that she couldn’t marry Alain. It was like a fairy tale with a sad twist: at the penultimate moment the prince’s own kiss broke the spell of love that had kept her in his thrall. The more Alain tried to possess Janie, the more she felt the need to break away. Until, at last, with a move that would have made her his completely, she saw her prince for what he really was. An arrogant and ambitious man who arrayed himself in all the trappings of glamour and romance. How blind she had been! How foolhardy! And yet how—having given herself over to Alain so completely these past months—could she break away from him now? Confused, embarrassed, in many ways angered by her cowardice, Janie had given in to Alain’s plea for more time. The elaborate marriage preparations continued. She had a fitting for her gown that very afternoon.
Nothing appeared to have changed, and yet in her heart everything had. For months she had allowed her feelings to lie frozen beneath the calm surface she had created for Alain. Now she felt each pinprick of emotion: the sharp, quick jab in her chest, for instance, that occurred whenever Zach mentioned her going. While Michael had almost wept when he heard the news, Zach had seemed undisturbed by what he assumed was Janie’s imminent departure. Janie was beginning to think he even welcomed it, or would at least not mind seeing the end of her after they got City Slickers and Ramona back from Melina. Zach was only using her, she told herself, handling her with the same cool, almost military dispatch with which he was currently handling Madame Ramona.
He almost smiled when Madame angrily declared, “Zachary, I want you to leave this very second, or I will be forced to call security.”
“This won’t take a minute,” Zach replied pleasantly, sitting down in one of the two overstuffed armchairs facing Madame’s enormous, ornate desk. He pushed a pewter bowl of roses to one side and laid the portfolio down on the desktop. Zach added, “Madame, I think you’ll see better from behind your own desk.”
“This is outrageous,” Madame sputtered as Zachary snapped open the black leather presentation case. She tried to peer into the portfolio, but Zach turned it sharply so that its open end faced Madame’s empty chair. “Just outrageous. But if this is the only way to get you out of here quickly, then I see I have no choice. But I warn you, Zachary, you’ve already used up my entire supply of patience.”
When Zach and Janie first sat down together to try to figure out what had prompted Madame to switch her account to Bliss & Penrod so suddenly, Janie had described in detail the eerie meeting she had run in Melina’s stead when Madame had approved an entire campaign without changing a single word or Pentel stroke. She also told him about her later meeting with Anna at the coffee shop and her warning to Janie to find out what was going on between Madame and Melina.
“What did Anna think was up?” Zach had demanded. “Did she give you any clues at all?”
“Not really…
” Janie had replied, trying hard to think back on what had been said that rainy afternoon. “Just that Melina had approached Madame, not the other way around as Melina had assured me. That she had gone up to Madame’s executive suite unannounced one afternoon and demanded a private meeting with her.”
“Gutsy,” Zach muttered.
“Oh, yes,” Janie went on, “there was one other thing. Apparently Madame was about to throw Melina out when she mentioned some name … I forget what it was … but I think, yes, I’m sure it began with a P.”
“Piedmont!” Zach cried. “Of course! That conniving little bitch. I should have put it all together a long time ago.”
“But what does it mean, Zach?”
“Olivia Piedmont,” Zach replied, “was born about seventy years ago in a dirt-poor little backwater of Alabama.”
“So?” Janie demanded. “What possible interest could Madame have in her?”
“A great deal, I’d say,” Zach responded, smiling to himself, “considering she is Madame Ramona.” Zach went on to give Janie the full story, right up to the time when he and Michael had built their first full campaign for Ramona around a model who looked just like a young Olivia Piedmont.
“But she never guessed that you knew?” Janie asked. “And you two never let on?”
“What would be the point?” Zach sighed. “Listen, Madame firmly believes that the success of Ramona International is based on the allure of Madame as the sophisticated French noblewoman. I’m sure that she’s convinced herself that the company would collapse if the truth about her origins were known. Somehow Melina found out about this, probably went through my personal files before she took off. That’s got to be the basis for Melina’s hold over Ramona. Madame’s terrified that if she steps out of line with Melina … the story will hit the press.”
“And you?” Janie asked. “Do you think it would make much difference?”
“I … don’t know,” Zach had replied slowly. “Consumers do identify with people like Madame Ramona. Rich, powerful, strong … it could really hurt her if the facts came out.”
“But think about it for a second, Zach,” Janie said. “Just think about those facts. In a way, it’s really a wonderful sort of fairy tale. I mean, here’s this beautiful little nobody who re-creates her past and background, takes on a new self-invented identity, and goes on to create one of the most successful cosmetics corporations in the world. I think it’s inspiring. I think women would be thrilled to learn that the great Madame Ramona is really just one of them. I think it could be sensational!”
Zach had stared at Janie for several seconds, and then for the first time in weeks he had actually smiled at her. In a voice devoid of feeling, he had told her, “I think you’re sensational, sweetie. And I hate like hell to see you go.”
“You have five minutes, Zach,” Madame announced now as she regally sat down behind her desk. She glanced at a diamond-encrusted Cartier watch, and added, “I suggest you talk fast.”
“The overwhelming majority of Ramona products are currently being sold at fashionable retail outlets, primarily in upscale department stores,” Zach began, standing the portfolio upright and showing Madame a glossy four-color photo of one of her in-store retail counters.
“Don’t waste my time, Zach, with things I already know,” Madame snapped.
“And the primary Ramona customer,” Zach went on unperturbed, “is the middle-class working woman and mother with a disposable income averaging in the mid-to-upper twenties.”
“This is ridiculous!” Madame exploded. “My lowliest assistant sales manager could tell me that. What’s the point, Zachary?”
“The point,” Zach said, flipping over the leaf to the next acetate-covered page, “is that you’re ignoring a huge, untapped marketplace.” The next color photo showed supermarkets, drugstores, and five-and-ten stores. It showed women standing in front of racks of inexpensive cosmetics with shopping baskets piled high with perfume and blush, fingernail polish and body powder.
“If you are suggesting,” Madame gasped, “that I sell my Ramona product lines into such down-market retail outlets, you are crazier than I think you are.”
“I wouldn’t dream of advising you,” Zach replied with his most sincere smile, “to dilute your current brand lines by selling them to discount chains such as these. Of course not. What I am proposing is that you develop a whole new line of products geared specifically to this marketplace, and priced accordingly. They will be called ‘Recherché Ramona.’ We have prototypes here to show you, Madame. And in fact, we even took the liberty of devising a promotional campaign as well.”
“Then you’ve wasted your time, Zachary,” Madame announced abruptly. “This sort of thing”—Madame waved disdainfully at the photo of a supermarket checkout line—“is just simply beneath me. It does not fit my image. It is vulgar and unrefined. I would never stoop so low as to even go into one of these dreadful places, let alone sell my luxurious goods there. It’s out of the question. Absolutely.”
“I understand,” Zach replied easily, “but I’d just like to show you Janie’s stunning idea here for a trade promotional piece.” Zach flipped over the next leaf. And there, reproduced in soft tones of pale gray and green was an old photo of a sleepy downtown street scene. It was Livingston, Alabama, 1912. And across the bottom of the page in ornate silver foil type were the words Recherché Ramona.
“But that’s…” Madame leaned forward nervously. “Where did you get that?”
“This is a truly lovely piece,” Zach went on, taking out Janie’s mock-up and holding it tenderly in his hands. “And it tells a beautiful story, an inspiring story, really, about a young girl who started out with nothing in this world but her own beauty and intelligence … and who through sheer willpower and hard work transformed herself … and her fate.”
Zach opened the layout. There was the duotone photo of Olivia Piedmont that Zach had discovered years before, as well as a dozen or so other photographs, reproduced in soft-focus duotone: Ramona’s first line of perfume, the opening of the Ramona London office, a shot of the Philippine plant. Zach turned the page to the second spread. A headline banner read, “Madame Ramona is proud to announce Recherché Ramona: the fragrance for women who are not afraid to remember … and that men are not able to forget.”
Madame stared at the spread, then lifted her misted gaze to Zach. “How did you find out? Did Melina tell you?”
“Madame, Michael and I have known for years,” Zach replied gently. “Since we first started working together.”
“But why didn’t…” Madame looked from Zach to Janie and then back to the layout in front of her. “Why wait until now?”
“Because now you need to tell the world,” Zach told her emphatically. “Tell everyone that working hard and being a success is nothing to be ashamed of. That wanting to be beautiful, or different, or exotic, that longing for wealth and prestige … and then doing it, making it … that none of that is anything to hide. Don’t run from this, Madame. Don’t let it scare you. Don’t be afraid. Turn back toward your past and embrace it.”
“Recherché Ramona,” Madame murmured. “Remember Ramona … Oh, Zach.” She turned watery eyes toward him and held out her arms. “I’ve said it before. I will say it again. You are a genius.”
Chapter 46
Melina stretched and rolled over. It wasn’t until her right arm touched something warm and slightly hairy that she remembered someone else was in bed with her. Oh God, it was the boy from the bank. Arnold.
She had gone to see him the day before to plead for an extension on her overdraft privileges. His wasn’t an actual office, rather a plastic-partitioned space between the bank’s assistant manager and the head of customer service. Arnold had done his best to make it look more than it was. A cheaply framed Renoir poster hung on his allotment of wall, and a glossy photo of a dimly smiling woman and sulky-looking baby took a prominent position on his desktop. But mostly it was his a
ttitude, one of stiff superiority, that gave Melina the feeling that Arnold was trying in his own way—just as she was—to make an impression.
“Ms. Bliss,” Arnold greeted her nervously, “this is truly unnecessary. Coming up here in person will not alter one iota what I told you on the phone. Unless your client comes through with payment by the end of office hours tomorrow, we will be forced to cut back your credit line to zero.” She had forgotten how ungainly he was: tall and lean and rawboned. His scrawny neck looked chafed and stretched; it swam inside his cheap white button-down collar. His hands were huge, the fingernails bitten down to the nub. There was a Band-Aid on his right thumb. Melina let her gaze rest on his face. His large-pored features hadn’t quite jelled into a semblance of adulthood. A small nose drifted above his wide mouth, close-set eyes moved suspiciously under a forehead that seemed far too broad and brooding for his otherwise boyish face. His hair, damply parted and carefully combed, was the dull brownish color of store-bought shoe polish. She lowered her gaze to his full, wet lips and smiled.
“I know that’s what you told me, Arnold,” Melina purred, sitting down uninvited on the chair next to his desk. She now looked up at Arnold, and he was able to look down. She was wearing a white off-the-shoulder spandex tank top that cupped her breasts and just about thrust them into the viewer’s hands for inspection. Arnold’s right leg twitched. “But I’ve always believed that if you really wanted something done, well then, you should just go do it in person. And, Arnold, honey, I really want that overdraft to stay put for just another few short days.” Actually, she might need weeks. City Slickers, who now owed her for two full months of billing, had told her yesterday that they were dropping Bliss Enterprises.
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