Fashionably Late

by Olivia Goldsmith

  Defina returned alone to Karen’s stripped office. ‘Aren’t you ready yet?’ she asked. ‘I got a security guard down there who’s asking for a private visit to the Oval Office.’

  ‘We’re done now,’ Karen said, and handed the letter Janet had just finished over to Defina. Karen read it over Defina’s shoulder.

  Dear Bill,

  I wanted to thank you for the trip to Bangkok and the Marianas. It has given me a lot more than either one of us ever bargained for.

  I also want to say that you did an excellent job of duping me, just as you have fooled other women in your private life and all the women customers of NormCo. You’re very good at selling dreams and playing to a woman’s weakness. I know it makes us look foolish, and that you have no respect for any of us. You exploit the lowest of us, from the slave girls in your factories, to your customers who don’t know what they’re buying, to me, a woman whose work you will steal.

  You’ve won, as men like you always do.

  I’d just like to point out that even men like you have to live with women, and when you have made all of us into fools you may find yourself very lonely.

  Very truly yours,

  The Ex-Karen Kahn.

  Defina opened her eyes wide, nodded her head, and smiled.

  ‘It’s okay?’ Karen asked.

  ‘All except for the PS. You forgot to call him a dickweed. Are you leaving a note to Jeffrey?’

  Karen smiled grimly, reached into her schlep bag and pulled out the can. Then, starting at the left-hand side, she spray painted her goodbye across the office walls and windows, ‘ALL MEN ARE PIMPS’ she wrote in letters six feet high.

  If it wasn’t completely true, it was true enough.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  A Friend Indeed

  Arnold was closing his practice, but Karen reached him at his office and he told her to come right out.

  She hadn’t been to the two-storey brick building in Hauppauge since they had first incorporated KInc. It was as messy and cluttered as usual. Inez buzzed her in and smiled, perhaps shyly. Karen said hello, and then Arnold called out to her.

  He was sitting at the big scarred gray metal desk that she remembered. Arnold was a no-frills guy. She sat down in the chair in front of the desk. ‘I’ll just be a minute,’ he said. ‘I’m separating the cases that might be active from the rest,’ Karen nodded and looked up at the wall, where the same poem she remembered still hung in its tarnished frame: I have shut my little sister in from life and light/(For a rose, for a ribbon, for a wreath across my hair). It reminded her of the nightmare of the Marianas. Karen looked away.

  Arnold dumped a few file folders into a box and threw another into a garbage bag. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you gave away your majority. Belle told me this morning that she signed the stock over to Jeffrey. It was unconscionable.’

  Karen nodded.

  ‘I’ve always tried to see your mother’s point of view. I’ve always known that she operated out of fear, not hate. At least, that’s what I always thought.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Karen. Any mistakes I made that hurt you I regret most deeply.’

  Karen felt her throat close, but she wasn’t going to cry anymore. Did her father know she was Belle’s real daughter? Should she tell him? Did it really matter in the end? Best to stick to business, ‘I just wanted to ask you one thing,’ she told Arnold. ‘You incorporated us. Is there anything I can do to hold on to the company?’

  Arnold shook his head. ‘I didn’t know you transferred the stock. I would have advised you against that, but it was a generous gesture. Maybe it was even the right thing to do. You’re a good girl, Karen. I got a fax from Lars Dagsvarr. He thinks you walk on water.’ He put his hand on her shoulder, ‘I’m proud of you,’ he said.

  ‘Are you really? It feels as if I’ve really screwed up.’

  ‘You’ve been brave and hardworking. And you were working in a bad man’s game. There’s nothing tougher than the garment industry, Karen. You know that. We’re talking fifty billion dollars a year, bigger than the auto industry. It’s controlled by men and it feeds into a sickness in women. I used to watch Detroit pull that planned obsolescence on men in the fifties and sixties. I had nothing but contempt for guys who got sucked into the “new model,” and I thought that women would never be so stupid. But they are,’ he sighed. ‘You did good. You tried hard. You have nothing to be ashamed of.’

  He sat down slowly, holding the arms of his swivel chair. ‘So, what are you going to do?’ he asked.

  ‘I have an idea,’ Karen told him. ‘Another business venture. But there’s something more important. I’ve been thinking about a baby – adopting a baby.’ She paused. She wasn’t used to talking to Arnold like this. She took a deep breath. ‘Do you think it’s a good idea?’ she asked. ‘Belle said that I …’

  ‘Let me tell you this, Karen: I’ll never regret marrying your mother because through her I got you. And I think you’d be a wonderful mother. Does that answer your question?’

  Karen nodded her head.

  ‘I’m leaving Belle, Karen.’

  Karen nodded her head again. ‘Will you handle my divorce?’ she asked.

  It was Arnold’s turn to nod silently.

  Once again, Karen thought of Madame Renault and her prediction. Now, after her talk with Arnold, Karen knew exactly what she was going to do. She was going to find the baby in the Marianas who was meant to be hers. And she was going to call Bobby Pillar, because he was a no-bullshit kind of guy, and they needed each other right now. He needed her class and she needed his clout to cope with Bill Wolper and restructure her life. After sitting there for a time, she dialed Bobby’s West Coast number and, amazingly, he was not only in but he took her call. It took her only a few minutes to explain the situation. Bobby seemed to know a lot of it already. And when she was finished talking, he laughed.

  ‘The momzers!’ he exclaimed. They think they can fuck with you like that? Listen, mammela, I have several ideas, but the neatest one is for you come on my channel with a new line of stuff. Good stuff, but moderately priced.’

  ‘But I can’t use my name,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Who needs it? You got something better than your name: you got you. And you’ll be unbelievable on TV. No, that’s wrong. You’ll be believable. We do a whole fashion show, show ’em all kinds of stuff – stuff you like and stuff you don’t. And you talk about what you like and why, and then you sell your designs. Not to the rich bitches you’ve been catering to, but to real women, regular working women who will recognize not just your name but your good design. Why don’t you stop with the fancy-schmancy for the ladies who lunch and dress America?’

  Karen smiled. She liked the idea. ‘Designs that will look good on women who weigh more than a hundred pounds?’

  ‘Yeah! You might even put a few of those anorexic models out of business. Can’t you see them now, holding cardboard begging signs on Seventh Avenue that say WILL WORK FOR VERSACE.’

  ‘But my name. I’ve lost my name.’

  ‘Hell, we can call you Madame X! We’ll tell the world how your husband done you wrong. Stole your company. Stole your name. Anyway, you got your name – you just can’t use it on the same product. The Gallo case set the precedent. You know, the brother of the wine guys who wanted to sell cheese or something. They can’t keep you out of all businesses. Plus, I’ve got a file on Wolper I’ve been dying to use since he fucked me on that cable TV deal. Hey, we’ll get backlash power! Look what it did for Loni Anderson. Look what it did for Ivana,’ he paused. ‘And think what it will do to Jeffrey and NormCo! Nice acquisition, Bill. You think you’re buyin’ class, but all you’re getting is backlash and bullshit.’ He paused and laughed. ‘Don’t you love it?’

  She did.

  Her next call was to Sally at Harvey Kramer’s office. Sally was supportive, but cautious, it could be done,’ she said. ‘But not without pulling a few strings. Technically, you are married and you have been approved
as adoptive parents. But with this breakup, I’m not positive about where the court will stand. On immigration I can help you.’

  ‘Two senators’ wives are good clients. Call them,’ Karen told Sally. She wasn’t above pulling strings for this. ‘And I’ve dressed Ambassador Scranton since she first ran for councilwoman. She’s in China. Pull out all the stops.’

  Karen had made a few more calls, one of them to Carl, who had changed her reservations and arrived to help her finish packing. He had even taken the car with her to the airport. ‘Don’t you think I’m crazy, Carl?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at all. I think you know what you want and you’re going to get it. This didn’t happen overnight, Karen. It’s not just a whim.’

  ‘Carl, there’s something else I want you to do for me,’ she paused, trying to put it delicately. ‘Look, I’ll be getting some money because of the sale. And I want something good to come out of it. So I want you to open up a shop in Manhattan. Since Paris, all the models love you. You’re hot. Do it, Carl.’

  He shook his head. ‘I can’t take the money from Jeffrey’s deal. It makes me sick.’

  ‘It would make me happy. Please?’

  Carl considered. ‘A business loan. Strictly business.’ She nodded. Thank you, Karen.’ She took his hand, gratefully, and held it all the way to JFK International.

  With the help of Carl’s Valium she slept most of the way to Hong Kong, where she had an hour to wait before catching the flight to the Marianas. She used the time to call ahead, check in with Sally, and continue the arrangements that she and Carl had started back in Brooklyn. Then she got on the plane for the six-hour leg of the flight, but she didn’t sleep. She was too excited. In the six hours she probably changed her mind more than a dozen times: this was a great idea, an inspired idea; no, it was total foolishness. It was sentimental, stupid, and not thought-out. She’d always regret it; she’d never regret it. Each time she felt as if she might jump out of her skin. Each time she felt that it was impossible – that going forward was impossible – she remembered that turning back was impossible, too. Always, each time she came to a dead end, she would remember the eyes of the baby, the baby that was meant for her.

  She and Bobby Pillar had agreed not to make their deal public until after she collected the Wolper money. But then they would go public in a big way. It meant that she would have to give up her snobbery: she wouldn’t be dressing the wealthy anymore. But when she thought of some of the sad and desperate women who bought her couture line, she couldn’t feel too bad about it. She would regret giving up the luxury of buying any fabric she wanted, and she felt regrets that she would never design for the French and Italian mills. Hey, but what the hell, Yves Saint Laurent always got Gustav Zumsteg’s best cuts anyway. Karen thought of all the women she saw on the street, on airplanes, and in the malls. It would be an exciting challenge to come up with good designs in fabrics with integrity at a price the mass market could afford. A whole new world. The hell with Paris, France. Let’s sell Paris, Texas!

  Would the mass market understand her clothes? she wondered. Would they reject things that didn’t have extra flowers or flounces tacked on? Karen was gambling on the fact that they wouldn’t, and Bobby was willing to put his money where her mouth was. Plus, it would be such a joy to show bad designs like Norris Cleveland’s and tear them apart on screen. She might not make new friends in the fashion industry, but she just might become a heroine – a kind of Everywoman’s Elsa Klensch.

  And she could adopt this child and raise it. She prayed she would do a better job than Belle had done. It wasn’t easy to be a single mother and raise a child alone, but what was easy? She had been raised by Belle and Arnold, and so had Lisa, and look what a fiasco that had been! Karen thought of Marie Botteglia: Marie had loved her; Marie had cuddled her and touched her and looked at her and kissed her. Thank God for that! It must have been what made the difference between herself and her sister. As a child, she had basked in Marie’s love and approval. In a way, I’ve been lucky, Karen thought. I didn’t get enough and I didn’t get it for as long as I should have, but at least I got it some time. At least I got something. The thought of Marie, back in Chicago Heights, even now made Karen smile. In just a few hours, I’m going to make you a spiritual grandma, she thought.

  And what about Lisa and Belle? Could she forgive them? Should she forgive them? Karen wasn’t sure. Was blood so important that it tied knots that should never be untied? What had Madame Renault predicted? That she would tear away the web, but that the strands would bleed? Now she smiled. Hadn’t the fortune-teller also told her that she had a dark child waiting? Madame Renault had been right about everything.

  Karen thought of the feathery black hair of the baby, of the black, black eyes that had stared up at her. She didn’t care how young the infant was. The baby had seen her. The baby had chosen her, and in the years to come when Lily – that would be her name – when Lily asked how she had been adopted, Karen would tell her all of the truth. Karen would tell her about her poor mother and about the way the world was made. She would tell her how women and children sewed cheap clothes in the dark, in filth, so that other women half a world away could spend money on but never satisfy their vanity. And how men controlled it all: the women who slaved and the women who were manipulated by photos in magazines and store windows and catalogues. She would tell Lily how and why her mother had died, and how Lily had picked Karen out.

  The time might come when Lily felt angry, different and separate. The time might come when Lily would regret being taken from her culture. But Karen had to believe that she wasn’t making a mistake. She would let Lily go to do whatever she needed to do, and she would help her in any way she could. And, meanwhile, Karen would stop feeding the status machine, the inexhaustible appetite women had for fashion. She’d build good clothes that lasted and they’d be made by women who were paid a decent wage and bought by women who worked hard for their money. No more glamour, no more exclusivity. She’d work for a new clientele. Karen hoped she wouldn’t disappoint any of them. Or Lily. In the meantime, all she wanted was to be granted the privilege of loving her.

  Mr Dagsvarr met Karen as soon as she had moved through customs. ‘Are you surprised to see me?’ she asked. He shook his head and smiled.

  ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Can we go right to the hospital?’ she asked.

  Mr Dagsvarr shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that the baby has been moved. She isn’t at the hospital anymore.’ Karen opened her eyes wide.

  ‘Why not? Is she all right?’ Unlikely as it was, had some family member shown up to claim her? Fear clutched tightly at Karen’s chest. She couldn’t breathe. Was she destined to lose yet another baby?

  They have removed the infant. She wasn’t ill, so she had to be released from the hospital. She was supposed to be transferred to the United Marianas Orphanage.’

  ‘So? Is she there? Is she all right?’

  ‘Well, she never arrived there. There was some up-mix in the paperwork. She is being located right now.’ They had already walked out of the airport. The heat and humidity hit Karen like a wall and, heavy as bricks, it seemed to gather and weigh her down. She felt as if she were walking under water.

  ‘How could that happen? How could they lose a baby?’

  ‘Babies are something we have a lot of here,’ Mr Dagsvarr said with a sigh. ‘I wish I could tell you that they are reared carefully.’ He sounded tired.

  ‘Let’s go to the attorney general’s office,’ she said. ‘I’ve already spoken to them.’

  ‘Perhaps we could just start with your attorney,’ he said. ‘Have you got his address?’

  Karen pulled out her Fil-o-fax and gave him the card. She couldn’t believe it! Lily was lost! She bit her lip. She had come almost ten thousand miles, halfway around the world, and these idiots couldn’t even keep track of one infant. Well, if she had to comb the entire island, she would find her baby.

  They drove by some
of the factory buildings, and some of the slums where Karen knew there were other girls suffering, as Lily’s mother had suffered. She hoped that the NormCo check would be a big one, because half of it would come back here, to the women who had been robbed. She’d talk about them on television, too. It wouldn’t do enough, but it would do something.

  When they hit the main business street, Mr Dagsvarr turned his rattling old car at an intersection and managed to wedge it between a new Toyota and a truck made of so many tied-together rusty parts that it was impossible to tell what make it was. He helped Karen out of her seat and the two of them made their way up to Mr Ching’s office.

  They didn’t have to wait long. Mr Ching, a pleasant-looking man with graying hair, ushered them into his office. ‘I have some good news,’ he said. The baby has been located.’ Karen looked from him to Mr Dagsvarr. Was it true? Could she relax? Or were they afraid that she would make a fuss, and had they found another baby, any baby, instead of Lily?

  ‘May I see your papers?’ Mr Ching asked.

  Karen took out her passport, the home study that had been done in another lifetime, the application that she had made to the State of New York, and all of the information that Sally from Mr Kramer’s office had provided. ‘I will have to contact Immigration, of course,’ Mr Ching said.

  ‘Why?’ Karen asked. ‘The child is an American. She was born here. Isn’t this a part of the good old USA?’

  ‘Well, she was born of a Chinese mother. We do not know the nationality of her father. I think it would be best to cover every eventuality.’

  ‘Do whatever you think is necessary,’ Karen told him. ‘I just better be able to take home my baby. Now I’m going to her. Where is she?’

  Karen strode down the hallway of the Marianas Methodist Hospital. They had sent Lily to this hospital because she was running a slight fever. At least that was what Karen had been told. It was the only way the child had been found. Otherwise, she might still be in the place she’d been sent off to, on the other side of the island. Now she and Mr Dagsvarr walked up the stairs to the maternity floor. Kindly, he was carrying her bag for her, since it couldn’t be left in his car with doors that didn’t lock and windows that didn’t quite close. Karen was grateful for his help. But not so grateful that she would slow down and let him keep up with her. By the time they reached the nursery at the end of the hallway, she was flat-out running.