“Barbara!” Epifania said as she walked toward us. “How you always look so pretty?”
Blackwell patted her bob. “Wheatgrass,” she said.
“Wee-Wha?”
“Health foods, Epifania. Ice. Roughage. Look into it.”
“How about the Cheeken Nugget? Epifania love the nugget—pink slime and all. She no care. Where Epifania come from, you eat every part of the animal, so why not the beak, the eyeball, and the asshole, too?”
“Epifania!” Immaculata scolded.
“Well, it true. I haven’t gone belly up yet.”
“You should consider a more healthy lifestyle,” Immaculata said.
“This from the woman whose head I pulled out of a toilet last week. Too much of the Goose. She got drunk, but Epifania and Mama Guadalupe help her out, so it all good—even when it was really bad.”
I watched the horrified expression that overcame Immaculata’s face as Epifania extended her arms to Blackwell, apparently oblivious to the tension thrumming between us. “I didn’ know you come this morning,” she said to Barbara. “What surprise. It been too long. Give Epifania a hug and a kiss.”
“I don’t hug. I don’t kiss. Ever.”
“Oh, come on. That right. Each cheek. We all better, no?”
“We’re fine, Epifania.”
“Good, because I can tell you this. You never know which way fart gonna blow when Epifania in the room.”
Blackwell blinked. “What does that even mean?”
“You don’ wanna find out. Mama Guadalupe make the beans for dinner last night. I still not past the rumbling.”
“Where is your mother now?” Blackwell asked.
“She peeking up one of my messes.”
“You don’t say?”
“That what Mama Guadalupe paid to do. Good work if you can get it.”
“Can I ask you a question, Epifania?” said Blackwell.
“Sure.”
“Who picked that dress out for you?”
“Immaculata. She always have my back.”
“Or she’s stabbing it.” Blackwell turned to Immaculata, who suddenly looked on edge. “You chose this for her?”
“It’s one of many dresses I’ve chosen for her. This just happens to be the one she’s trying on now.”
“I can only imagine what the others look like. So, why this one?”
“I actually think it flatters her.”
“You and I both know better, girl.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“When it comes to fashion, my opinion rules in this city.”
“No ego there.”
“Oh, but it is there. And it’s been well earned. We’re about to see how powerful my opinion is.”
“What going on between you two?” Epifania asked. “You look like you going to get into a cock fight. Epifania see a few of those. They horrible. The blood and the heads being hacked off. They suck the big time.”
“We’re just talking about deceit, Epifania,” Blackwell said. “It’s nothing to worry about—and certainly nothing I can’t handle.”
“OK. Whatever.” She turned to me, and when she did, it was as if her face filled with light. “And look who else is here, Immaculata. Yennifer Wenn! She so pretty. Always so pretty. You know, Yennifer, I see you on the TV last night. You going through the hell right now, and Epifania feel bad about all of it. Sorry, cookie—but it sometime happen. But, hey, you look more pretty now than you did on the TV, so, you know, there’s that. What you here for?”
“Things,” Blackwell said, obviously wanting to put an end to this. “It was nice to see you, Epifania. But, please, allow me to do you the favor Immaculata is denying you.”
“What favor?”
“Give some thought to that dress. The white doesn’t suit you. Dior is good for you because Dior understands your curves, but my suggestion is that you go for black for a sleeker look. Straighten your hair. Have your makeup done professionally. And don’t listen to a word Immaculata says about any of it, because she’s not your friend. You may think that she is, but she isn’t. She’s probably only using you for your money.”
“Excuse me?” Immaculate said.
Blackwell ignored her. “That’s all for now,” she said to Epifania. “But heed my advice. When Chloe is finished with us, seek her out to help you find the right dress.” Blackwell looked at Chloe, who had remained silent on the sidelines throughout all of this. “You will help her, won’t you, Chloe?”
“Of course.”
“And you’ll have an influence?”
She glanced fleetingly at Immaculata. “I’ll try my best.”
“And I understand the challenge,” Blackwell said. “But do try. And when you do find her the right dress, put it on Wenn’s account—but don’t you dare make her look like a fool. Find something stunning, and have it properly fitted to her. She deserves that.”
Epifania just shook her head at Blackwell. “Why you being so nice to me? I just call you wicked witch and a beetch.”
“Because I know that I can be both. But I have a good idea that your impression of me came from someone else.” She looked hard at Immaculata, whose face had fallen into a seething pit of hatred. “Somebody has to be kind to you, Epifania. Somebody needs to tell you the truth. I just did. Do not, under any circumstances, take any advice from your frenemy, Immaculata.”
“What does ‘frenemy’ mean?”
“Someone who wants you to believe that you’re her friend, but who wants nothing but the worst for you.”
“That no Immaculata. She a queen in my world.”
“Unfortunately, you’ll learn better before you know it. Look, just let Chloe take over, and you will arrive at tonight’s party looking lovely. You are going, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes. They always ask Epifania to come. They know she write the big checks.”
“I thought so.”
Blackwell snapped her fingers at Chloe, which gave her a start, and then she took me by the arm as the three of us walked past them.
“Goodbye, ladies,” Blackwell said. “And good luck. At least one of us will see both of you tonight. And I, for one, can’t wait to hear how things turn out for all involved.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hours later, when we left Barneys with the fitted, deep red Oscar de la Renta dress Barbara and Chloe had chosen for me, which was at once impeccable and poignant, especially since the iconic designer had only just recently died, I checked my SlimPhone—and saw the worst possible news. Wenn’s stock was down another twenty-seven points, and it was only just past one in the afternoon. I showed the screen to Blackwell, whose expression darkened before she turned away from it and looked out the window that was to her right.
“The interviews he gave this morning must be online by now,” I said. “So why is the stock down?”
“It’s only one-twenty. It takes time to write a story. And even if one or two stories are live right now, that doesn’t mean people have found them and read them yet. Obviously, it’s going to take more time than we’d hoped.”
I tapped out Alex’s number, but it wasn’t he who answered. Instead, it was our executive assistant, Ann.
“I need to speak with him,” I said.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Jennifer.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s meeting with the board again.”
“The board? He never meets twice with the board in two days. What’s this about? He has other interviews to give this afternoon.”
“Those have been pushed back by at least an hour.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I wish I knew more. All I know is that the board members looked unhappy when they arrived here. It was Stephen Rowe who demanded the meeting.”
“Demanded? But he and the rest of the board must know that those interviews are critical to lifting our stock. Why would they delay them now when we need them most?”
“I don’t even want to think about
it,” she said. “I don’t even want to know.”
“Please tell Alex to call me the moment he’s free.”
“I will.”
“We’re going to Cartier now. Later tonight, Bernie and Barbara will style me for the evening. But I hope to hear from him before then. I’ll be home by four at the latest, and I’ll see him there when he returns.”
“I’ll let him know,” she said. “If he has even a moment, I’m sure he’ll call.”
But he didn’t.
By the end of the day, Alex hadn’t returned my call yet. My mind was in overdrive, reaching out for ways to help my husband. For several moments, I thought through what I had in mind, and decided that, even if nothing came from it, it would be best to find out rather than do nothing at all.
And so I called Tank, who answered on the first ring.
“Jennifer?” he said. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m wondering if you’d be willing to do me a favor?” I asked.
“Anything.”
“You might not want to say ‘anything’ so quickly.”
“All right…. So, what can I help you with?”
“Do you know Stephen Rowe?”
“Of course I do. He’s on the board. And, by the way, he’s a sonofabitch.”
I ran my hands through my hair. “Do you know anything about him?”
“What are you really asking, Jennifer?”
“Alex is in trouble. It’s become clear that Rowe wants to do him harm, and I can’t accept that. He’s actively trying to take Alex down as CEO. I think he wants to try to oust him from Wenn.”
“Because of the falling stock?”
“Among other things.”
“What do you need?”
I told him what I had in mind. It was a moment before he spoke.
“If you need this information before you leave for the party tonight, that won’t give much time to get it. And if I can’t get it, it’ll be either because I can’t get in touch with my guy, or because he refuses to talk.”
“Do you mind if I ask whom you’re referring to?”
“I’m friends with Rowe’s chief of security. A lot of us guys in the security trade hang out every now and then. Beers, pool—that sort of thing. Rowe’s man is one of my better friends. I can give him a call and root around, but I can’t promise you anything.”
“I’d be grateful if you would try something, Tank.”
“All of us work by a code. We never share confidential information. It’s a long shot, Jennifer, but I’ll try.”
“You never know what he might say. Thank you for at least trying. And please reassure him that if he shares anything he has on Rowe, it will never come back to him. Do what you can. At this point, I’m afraid the situation is fairly desperate, Tank. Alex is under siege by that man. Rowe wants to crush him, and I think he’s about to do just that.”
* * *
When Alex finally returned home to our apartment, Wenn’s stock was down a full seventy-three points for the day.
The moment I heard the door click shut, I shut off CNN and hurried out of the living room and into Alex’s arms. For a long moment, we just stood still in the entryway, holding each other in a tense kind of silence.
Alex reached up a hand to stroke the back of my hair, and when he did, I felt a little of that tension fall away. He was home now. He was where he needed to be. I held him tighter against me, and he let his briefcase fall to the floor so that he could embrace me freely with both arms.
“I’m so sorry,” I said in his ear.
“For what?”
“For the day you’ve had. None of it could have been easy.”
He pulled away from me and made an effort to smile, but that smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You now what was great about today?” he said to me.
“What?”
“Whenever things got tough, I just thought of you, and everything got easier.”
“Oh, Alex,” I said.
“I love you, Jennifer.”
“I love you more. You’ve been in my thoughts all day.”
We kissed deeply for a moment, and I nuzzled my head into his chest. I had a million questions I wanted to ask him, but now wasn’t the time. Now, I needed to take care of my husband. When he wanted to talk, it would be at his own pace, and I’d be there to listen to him. That’s what my man needed now. Still, to show him that I cared, I at least had to open with an offering.
“Do you want to talk about any of it?” I asked.
“I’d like to discuss a few things with you, but how about if we have a drink first?”
“Martini?”
“Please.”
“Take off your jacket. Sit in the living room. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll make you the best martini this girl can make.”
“That’s going to be a pretty sweet martini,” he said.
“Given the day you’ve had, let’s just say that I plan on going light on the vermouth.”
* * *
A few minutes later, I returned with our drinks, handed him one, and sat next to him on one of the white sofas. Beyond the windows to our left, Manhattan was still bright with sunlight. Though with day’s end at hand, shadows were beginning to stretch across the city and encroach into our apartment.
“You can say nothing or anything,” I said. “I’m only here to support you. If you’d like, we can just sit in silence, or chat about my time at Barneys with Blackwell—which was kind of epic—or watch a bit of television before we get ready for tonight. Whatever you want.” I lifted my glass to his. “But first, here’s to us.”
He touched glasses with me, and each of us drank.
“Let’s talk about your day,” he said. “Did you and Blackwell have any success?”
“We did. And it was as adventurous as it always is with her, though not in ways that I’ll bore you with now. Let’s just say that she was right—black was the wrong message to send tonight. I now have a lovely new red dress that will send the correct message. Oh, and I might have bought a few new baubles.”
“You deserve it all.”
“Are you sure you want to go out tonight, Alex? I’m worried sick about you. You look tired.”
“I just need to drink this martini, close my eyes for a good hour, and take a hot shower. Then, I’ll be ready to go. Promise.”
“Earlier, you said that you wanted to discuss a few things with me.”
“I do. The board demanded a second meeting after the stock started to slide,” he said.
“Ann told me. What did they want?”
“Answers. Solutions. We’re now down over two billion in market share. Today, Stephen Rowe was the most aggressive he’s ever been. Of course he was—he was the one who demanded the meeting. He challenged me on every decision I’d made leading up to this day.”
“What does he want from you, Alex?”
“My job.”
“How did the other board members react to that meeting?”
“Those who have been with Wenn for years—the men my father brought on board—said nothing. They just listened to Rowe and his rant. The other two board members I brought on myself—Mike Fine and Diana Crane—also were mostly silent, though they did have some questions for me, none of which were as hardcore as Rowe’s. What they want is a quick fix, but I can’t offer them one. I may have voting rights, but if the pressure builds for me to step down—and if the board demands it—I might have no choice. Rowe would go public with that information. He’d use it pressure me, and our investors would likely agree with him. With this phone, I may have made a grave mistake, Jennifer.”
“We’ve sold over two million units. Wenn is nothing if not diversified. I’m sure you talked to the press about all of that today. So, what’s the issue here?”
“The numbers,” he said. “It always comes down to the numbers. We’ve lost a hell of a lot of money. Nobody can seem to get past that—especially Rowe. He’s out for blood.”
“Numbers rebound. Even i
f he’s against you, the rest of the board knows that. Already, some are starting to call Wenn a ‘buy’ at this point. By the end of the week, this could be behind you.”
He looked at me. “What if it isn’t?”
“Historically, it can take time. But even the hardest hit corporations have risen to new heights just when it looked as if they’d reached new lows. Look at Apple, for God’s sake. Do you remember when they were trading at just seven dollars a share? That wasn’t so long ago. And then came the iPod. And then the iPhone. And finally the iPad. Now, they’re trading at about one-hundred-fifty dollars per share. And they’re hardly alone—many other corporations have gone through the same growing pains. Why isn’t this just being treated for what it is—a temporary situation?”
“Because Rowe wants me out. I’m convinced that he does. If he goes public with his concerns about my leadership, I could be finished, regardless of my voting rights. Everything my father and I have built will fall apart. To save that legacy, I’ll need to do the right thing and step down.”
“I’m going to ask you something.”
“What’s that?”
“Will you do me that favor tonight?”
“Which favor?”
“Introduce me to Rowe. And to the rest of them.”
“Why?” he asked.
I took a sip of my martini, and felt a slow boil start to grow in my gut. Nobody did this to the man I loved—at least not if I could do anything about it. And if I was lucky, if I could do what I had in mind, I might be able to get in front of this and turn things around in Alex’s favor. But I’d need to be clever about it. I’d need to choose my moment, and act upon it with sheer aggression. I’d need to be at my very best if I was going to pull any of this off.
“You’ll see,” I said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Later that evening, after Blackwell and Bernie had had their way with my hair, makeup, jewelry, and dress, I looked into the mirror of our makeshift dressing room outside of Barbara’s office, turned my head from side to side, and smiled up at Bernie.
“You’re a master,” I said. “How in the hell did you get rid of those dark circles beneath my eyes?”
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