by Lynn Steward
He kissed Dana on the cheek and left.
Dana was momentarily confused since Mark’s comment seemed deliberately ambiguous. Did he intend to ask her on a date or was he simply going to apprise her of a good movie that was coming to town since they both had an interest in foreign directors?
“What are you thinking about?” Andrew asked. “You’re lost in thought again. Still contemplating Johnny’s offer?”
“Huh? Oh, not really. Just getting a bit tired.”
“Well, the crowd may be thinning, but as the guest of honor, you have to marshal on.”
“And I will, but I think I’ve seen the last of the dance floor.”
The DJ continued to work the turntable on his slightly raised platform, and more dancers headed for the middle of the room.
It hadn’t been a quiet evening but it had been thoroughly enjoyable, not to mention thought-provoking. Dana turned to the bartender and asked for a ginger ale as Meredith sought her out to talk about her work with the United Way and her possible move to New York.
It had been great connecting with old friends.
• • •
Dana arrived home at two in the morning, quite exhausted. She quickly removed her make-up, put on cotton pajamas, and climbed into bed. She stared into the darkness for a few moments, thinking about her short conversation about the theater and literature with Mark.
Her thoughts then turned to working for the House of Cirone. Maybe she should remain loyal to the store, or “keep Britain’s treasure in Britain,” as Henry James might have phrased it. Leaving B. Altman would represent a major change in her life, and she would be sorry to leave, assuming it came to that. But was there any point in staying where she wasn’t fully appreciated? She debated the change of employers for a few minutes, but her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep, having made no decision.
Chapter Nine
Dana awoke at ten in the morning, and far from being tired from the previous evening’s festivities, she was completely energized. She’d needed to be among friends and connect with people she loved and who, in turn, cared deeply for her. A life worth living, she realized, had to be shared with others. Quiet time was one thing, but being a recluse wasn’t who she was, something that Andrew and Johnny knew instinctively and hence Andrew’s insistence that she accompany him to La Grillade.
She thought of Brett, but this time she was not spontaneously moved to tears or unchecked emotion. She and Brett had reached a point in their marriage where they did not share the wondrous moments of life, large and small. Most of all, they had no longer shared themselves with each other with the kind of joy and trust she’d experienced with her friends at the party. They had married young, and there had been no maturation of love as they grew older. Brett had only one way to keep grounded, as Father Macaulay would have put it: his relentless career pursuits with the firm. It was a shame, for he was an intelligent man who at one time had enjoyed the simple pleasures of life with Dana.
After making coffee and a toasted bagel, Dana, still in her bathrobe, sat at the antique English secretary in her living room overlooking the ivy-covered courtyard. She wanted to tell Father Macaulay about life in New York since she’d returned from London.
Dear Father Macaulay,
I hope this letter finds you well. I wish I could leisurely stroll along Hays Mews to meet you in person for a conversation in Mount Street Gardens, but I suppose that this is the next best thing. I sometimes think that the art of letter writing, so prevalent in your country’s literature, is becoming a lost art. It forces one to think deliberately as opposed to quick conversations on the telephone.
One of my good friends from the store waylaid me last night and took me to dinner, which turned out to be a surprise birthday party—I’m officially thirty now!—with a disco party afterwards. Of all things! My friend Andrew forced me out of my comfort zone, which, I suppose, was the point of the whole evening. I had a wonderful time, even though I felt a bit foolish at first since I know as much about disco as I do about the Galapagos Islands. But it was a great deal of fun.
An old friend of mine, Johnny, offered me a job at his father’s company, which makes ladies eveningwear. I’m going to seriously consider the job and talk with them when I get a chance. One of my present bosses is a bit old-school and disapproves of my latest idea to have an in-store boutique, but I won’t bother you with the details. I’ll just say that I’m always struggling to have my creative visions implemented, and it’s getting more than a little frustrating. Working for my friend’s company—it’s called the House of Cirone—might be a breath of fresh air. I could have creative freedom without the distractions of office politics.
And yet I do love my present employer which, if you recall, is B. Altman. I don’t wish to be disloyal since I love the staff and management dearly despite the restrictions they impose on me. It’s not unlike the moment of grief I experienced in church when I thought of my eight-year marriage to Brett. The idea that it was all over suddenly hit me, and I suspect the same thing might happen if I left B. Altman. The store gave me a chance to learn and grow when I was fresh out of college, and it has taught me so much. I’m sure that leaving might be terribly sad, but we must keep growing, mustn’t we? As you can see, I’m a bit conflicted.
You’ll be happy to know that I’m jogging and making some quiet time for myself to read or just sit and think. Here in my carriage house the other day, I realized how wonderful it is to savor my time away from work. I’ve always enjoyed my career, its frustrations notwithstanding, but I’m beginning to hear an inner-voice, and it’s important to stay in touch with that person, just as you told me in the garden. I can’t let work alone drive me, although I’m eager for a successful career. I hope I’m not sounding contradictory. I’m still trying to understand. Is the relationship between work and our inner lives perhaps symbiotic?
I felt the same about the surprise party last night, which I really didn’t want until I got there. But I loved it all—the conversation, the friends, and the dancing. Without cutting loose once in a while, maybe the quiet time wouldn’t seem so precious. Is it all a question of balance? Whatever the case, I’m going to do my best to maintain the tranquility I discovered in London and stay in touch with my inner voice.
Please write and tell me how you are doing and feel to free to comment on my musings. I look forward to hearing from you.
Best wishes,
Dana
Dana had intentionally left out details about her enjoyable conversation with Mark Senger, a conversation she’d replayed in her mind many times earlier that morning. Mark worked closely with Andrew at B. Altman and was often in his office when Dana stopped in to discuss business or just to chat. He was always interested in her job and was so personable. In January, Mark consulted almost daily with Dana on the design and implementation of the teen cosmetic counter, but aside from a pleasant and professional relationship, she never sensed that he’d taken a personal interest in her. Of course, she had been distracted at the time because she was dissolving her marriage and probably wouldn’t have noticed even if he had.
Still, she felt their short time together at the party was of a personal nature. He’d avoided the subject of Helen’s killing the Nantucket boutique, which was possibly a further indication that he was more than a little sensitive to her feelings. They’d connected over their mutual interest in foreign films, but it was the easy rapport they’d had, together with his playful comments, that kept dancing in her head. She was seeing him for the first time, not as president of the Senger Display Company, an important vendor for B. Altman, but as a forty-two-year-old man who was bright, witty, engaging, and absolutely adorable. Just thinking about him brought a smile to her face.
Glancing at her watch, Dana realized she needed to quickly shower and dress if she were going to attend the twelve-thirty mass and then take the train to her parents’ home on Long Island. She decided to put aside thoughts of Mark Senger and regard him as a business associ
ate who’d been invited to her party, nothing more. Johnny and Uncle John would be joining the Martignettis for dinner, and her thoughts should be focused on a possible career with the House of Cirone.
Chapter Ten
Dana sat among family and friends in the den of her parents’ home located on Macy Channel in the Long Island community of Hewlett Harbor. Her parents, Phil and Virginia Martignetti, sat on the couch, although Virginia popped in and out of the kitchen frequently, checking on dinner. John and Johnny Cirone relaxed in nearby chairs, sipping from their glasses of Vietti. They faced the double doors set in knotty wood paneling, offering views of Macy Channel in the late afternoon light.
Dana had regaled the small dinner party with tales of her trip to London, describing her trip to the theater, the Wallace Collection and, of course, her shopping expedition to Jaeger, the latter naturally being of interest to the owner of the House of Cirone.
“Phoebe called this morning and raved about the dinner at La Grillade,” John said. “I hear it’s only been open a few months.”
“Yes,” Dana said, “and it’s already so popular that it took Andrew a month to get a reservation. Did Phoebe tell you about the disco party? Courtesy of your son?”
“She did!” John said laughing. “She also said it was her cue to leave.”
“Well, Phoebe missed a good time,” Johnny said. “What about you, Dana? Did we usher in the next year of your life on a high note?”
“It was more fun than I’ve had in a long time,” Dana said, “although I never thought I’d celebrate my thirtieth birthday under a disco ball.”
“I’ve got quite a few years on you,” John said, “but I’m feeling younger than ever now that I’m moving back to Manhattan. Age is truly a state of mind. Here’s to many more, Dana.”
Glasses were raised as Dana said, “Thank you, Uncle John. If I can stay as active as you, I’ll know I’m on the right track.”
Uncle John settled back in his chair, his features becoming more reflective. “You brought up Jaeger a moment ago, Dana, and Johnny told me how things stand at B. Altman and his decision to offer you a position with the House of Cirone. I want you to know that his offer has my full blessing. Have you given it any thought?”
Dana had expected the subject to come up since she knew the Cirones had been invited, although she hadn’t made a decision yet.
“I’m not trying to rush you,” Uncle John stated, “but I want you to know how honored we’d be to have you with us.”
Dana wasn’t quite sure what to say, but she couldn’t be rude and dismiss the subject altogether. Uncle John was like family, and he and Johnny no doubt had the best of intentions. She had the feeling that the subject of her possible job change had come up before her arrival, especially since Johnny and Virginia stared at her, eagerly awaiting her response. Dana again felt annoyed that they didn’t seem to trust her ability to handle the circumstances of her own life.
“I guess it’s no secret that Helen and I have some fundamental disagreements over my idea for an in-store boutique. Truthfully, I’d be reluctant to leave B. Altman, but I remain open to a change at this point. Uncle John, what role would I have at the House of Cirone?”
Phil was listening to the conversation, making no comment. A tall man with salt and pepper hair, he was composed as usual. Virginia, however, sat forward, holding her wine glass with both hands, a study in concentration as she looked at her daughter. She was a slender woman with blond hair and blue eyes that now seemed to beg for an affirmative answer from her daughter.
“I would make you fashion director,” John said. “Frankly, I think you’re hiding your light under a bushel basket.”
The response dispelled Dana’s temporary annoyance at having to discuss the matter at her birthday dinner. As fashion director, she might be able to exercise her full range of talent and use her creativity in ways that B. Altman would never even consider, let alone implement.
“I’d expect you to spot new designs and fabric trends and to work closely with Frances, our in-house designer and her two assistants, all of whom I believe you’ve met,” John continued. “You’d naturally need to attend the European shows to keep your pulse on trends and help us keep a competitive edge. And I can promise you that whatever ideas you bring to me will always be met with serious consideration, and that goes for Johnny and Frances as well. I’m looking for new ideas, not reasons to shoot them down. I can’t promise that you’d get everything you want, but we work as a close-knit team. No office politics at the House of Cirone. We’re family! So then, what do you think?”
Dana didn’t know how to respond. The position sounded great, of course, but she couldn’t give an immediate answer. Leaving B. Altman would be a big step. Her inclination was to accept the offer, but there was that old adage about burning bridges. And what would it be like to work alongside Johnny? She’d known him for so long. Would she be smothered by his current role as self-appointed guardian angel? It was also a given in her family that Johnny’s heart wasn’t in the business and he stayed on to please his father. How would that affect her position? Furthermore, did she want to work in a family business as opposed to a corporate environment despite the restrictions of the latter? The questions in her mind were endless.
“Sounds like a fantastic opportunity!” Virginia said, unable to contain herself any longer. “I know you and Johnny would make the perfect team.”
Dana let the remark pass since she knew her mother had always assumed she would marry Johnny before Brett entered the picture. Virginia was not above subtle matchmaking.
“It goes without saying,” John said, “that I’ll beat whatever B. Altman is paying you now, with bonuses for whatever innovations you bring to the table.”
“Your generosity precedes you, Uncle John” Dana laughed. “I know your offer will be very attractive. I … I think—”
“I think it’s time to adjourn this board meeting,” Phil said affably, rising from the couch, “and go into dinner.”
“I agree,” John said with a broad smile. “I’ve given you a lot to consider, Dana. I just want you to know that you’re welcome at the House of Cirone. Take all the time you need. There’s no time limit on the offer.”
• • •
John left after dinner, and Dana and Johnny walked to the edge of the pier extending over Macy Channel, the water reflecting the golden sun of late afternoon.
“What do you think, Dana?” Johnny asked. “Wouldn’t you love being our fashion director? Not to mention how much we could use you. Frances is a wonderful designer, but she’s getting up there, and I think she would appreciate your fresh eye. Hey, you can attend the Milan shows with Nonna. I think she still has a reserved seat at most of them. She’d be ecstatic to hear you joined the business.”
“Your grandmother should be the fashion director!” Dana laughed.
“She was, unofficially, but she was always at war with Dad.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m seriously considering your offer. I don’t see any way around Helen. Today it’s the in-store boutique. Six months from now it will be something else, and I’ll go through the cycle all over again.”
“Cycle?”
“Getting enthusiastic about an idea, working out the details, and then having someone tell me that it’s not the way B. Altman does business.”
“Playing the devil’s advocate,” Johnny said, “maybe Helen won’t be in charge forever. Dawn was behind you one hundred and ten percent. As much as I’d love to see you at the House of Cirone, I want you to be happy.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Dana said, “but I can’t count on Dawn’s replacement being as open-minded as she was.” Dana shrugged. “If that’s the case, I’ll have missed a great opportunity.”
Dana picked up a pebble and threw it into the channel. Ripples spread out from the splash in perfect circles.
“A single act can cause so many repercussions,” Dana said, staring at the water. “Brett was unfaithful, Helen
doesn’t like my ideas—we have to live with the consequences of other people’s actions. The question is how long do the ripples last.”
“That’s why I think you’d be happy working with us.” Johnny said. “The only ripples to spread out would be positive because you’d be making them.”
Dana smiled. “You’re very persuasive, Johnny. I promise that I’ll give you and your dad an answer soon. The incentives you’re giving me are quite attractive.”
“Fair enough. In return, I promise not to nag you about it or put any pressure on you. It will be my way of showing you that things are more laid-back with us.”
“Deal.”
Dana and Johnny shook hands and returned to the house, where Virginia was serving a second cup of coffee.
• • •
Dana arrived at her carriage house at eight o’clock that evening. After taking Wills out for his evening walk, she sat down to read, but her mind was distracted.
“What’s the matter with me?” she said aloud. “I feel tired and can’t focus.”
Dana stood in front of the large windows in the living room and peered outside as a spring shower caused the flagstones in the alley outside her front door to turn a dark shiny gray. She folded her arms and watched the slanting rain for several minutes, lost in thought. The rain finally let up, but Dana noticed a single drop fall into a small puddle. Tiny ripples spread out from the impact.
Dana turned around and sat on her sofa, feeling a new peace of mind. She didn’t have to keep enduring the grief inflicted by others—the negative ripples. No one could force her to be unhappy—not Brett, Helen, or anyone else. She’d been proactive in dealing with Brett, and it was time to do the same with her career. At the House of Cirone, she could become a fashion director and be a trendsetter. How could she take care of herself, especially the part deep inside that Father Macaulay had told her to nurture, if she let others continually thwart her ambition? As always, taking care of Dana McGarry meant making decisions, even hard ones like resigning from B. Altman.