by Melissa Hill
He led the way down the hallway that opened up into the entertainment-friendly kitchen-cum-living room. Karen followed him hesitantly, as if she was Superman and he had just offered her a surprise that might well be laced with Kryptonite.
‘Come on, babe, sit down.’ Greg smiled encouragingly as he took her hand and led her to the Pottery Barn couch that she’d insisted they get a month ago. Karen had moved into the townhouse over a year before, and since then he had accumulated considerably more than twice as many possessions. He thought back quickly, trying to remember if he had put that piece of furniture on a credit card or had paid cash for it.
It was cash, he recalled eventually, feeling slightly better that it wasn’t accruing interest right that minute.
Karen sat down and crossed her legs. ‘OK, so if it’s not Wells Fargo, where is it?’ She was still talking interviews. ‘Where’s the new position, and when do you start?’
‘Well, actually I start today,’ he said simply. He had felt so confident this morning that she would be excited by his decision, by his choice to be his own boss. Now he hoped he hadn’t been wrong and overplayed his hand.
Her eyebrows went up. ‘Today? You quit your job today and you are going to start somewhere new?’ She pulled up the sleeve of her suit jacket and looked at the Movado watch he had bought her last Christmas. ‘But it’s almost two o’clock. How are you starting a new job today?’
‘Well, here’s the kicker…’ He smiled. ‘I am going to be my own boss. I’m starting my own business.’
Silence permeated the room and Greg shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Eventually he cleared his throat. ‘I have been playing around with this idea of starting my own company, a photography business. You know, ever since I sold the Flatiron shot. It’s what I love doing and…’ He shrugged. ‘I figured that there was real potential there.’
He studied her face, hoping for encouragement, or any hint in her expression that she approved of his decision.
‘Photography?’ Karen said quietly. She cast her eyes down, as if she was having a problem meeting his gaze.
‘Yes,’ he said with resolution.
‘A photography business?’ she clarified, still not looking at him. ‘Freelance, you mean?’ She finally turned her eyes towards him, and even though she was questioning him to clarify his intentions, he noticed that her expression was full of worry, and her voice lacked confidence.
‘Well, I suppose you could describe it like that. But really, I have a lot of ideas about growing my client base—’
‘You mean beginning,’ she said, interrupting him.
‘What?’
‘Beginning your client base … starting it,’ she said bluntly. ‘You don’t have a client base to grow.’
He shifted in his seat as he considered the reality of her statement. ‘Well, yes, but all entrepreneurs have to start somewhere and, like I said, I have a lot of ideas. The only way to go is up. And I think I can really do something with this, Karen, be successful, but also enjoy it too. You know … Mom always thought that I had a knack for this sort of thing; she thought that—’
‘Greg, come on,’ Karen interjected sharply. ‘Of course your mother said she loved your photos. All mothers love their kids’ work. Have you ever seen a mother who didn’t put up a finger painting on their refrigerator? They’re supposed to do that.’ She sat back and sighed. ‘I really wish you would have talked to me before you did something this rash. Do you think that you can go back to Dave and apologise? Say you changed your mind?’
Greg recoiled at her words. He had to admit they stung. She was more or less calling him a delusional mommy’s boy; she had taken everything completely out of context.
‘That’s not what I was trying to say, Karen. No, I can’t go back. And yes, I’m sorry. Maybe I should have said something about this, but I thought you’d be happy I was out of the rat race. I believe in it and I know I can make this work. Come on, you’ve always had faith in me. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, but I wanted it to be a surprise. Now we will all have more time together. And time is important, Karen, now more than ever.’ He wished that he didn’t sound so pleading, as if he was asking for permission.
‘I understand what you’re saying and that’s all fine and good but, Greg, New York is an expensive city. I don’t think I have to tell you that.’
‘Come on now. Of course I know that. And I have thought about this. We will be fine. You still have your salary, and I have a nice nest egg – it will keep us in a good position until the business grows. OK, of course it means we’ll have to cut back in a couple of areas, a few austerity measures, as they say, but nothing serious. And it will all be worth it in the end.’
‘Oh, I know what it means,’ she said drolly. ‘I’m well aware we are certainly not talking St Barts for the holiday.’
‘Karen…’
‘Anyway,’ she continued quickly, ‘I have to get back to the office. One of us has to work.’
‘Now come on…’
She breathed heavily, as if she suddenly felt the weight of the world rest upon her shoulders. She looked around at their well-appointed living room, as if trying to figure out what they’d need to sell first.
‘Baby, come on. Think positive. We are going to be fine.’ Greg stood up and reached for her. ‘I have faith in myself. I believe in what I can do. I thought you did too?’ He hated how pleading he sounded. This is not how he pictured this conversation.
Karen locked her eyes on his face and she said, blankly, ‘I do have faith in you, but I also thought that you considered me an equal partner in this relationship.’
‘I do!’ he said defensively.
‘I’m not so sure, Greg. You just put a lot of responsibility on my shoulders and you didn’t even care about my opinion enough to consult me before you did it. You just assumed.’
She had just turned the tables on him, making him out to be some sort of loser, some guy who sits back and does nothing and expects to be supported. She knew him better than that!
‘I did no such thing,’ he said. Or did he? He took a deep breath, preparing what he was going to say next, but she held up a hand. He had seen her use that move on the people she was in charge of at work; it was an icy gesture that immediately silenced the other person. It worked.
‘I don’t have time for this now. I have to get back. We can talk about it later, OK?’ she said, turning her back to him and walking towards the door. She looked over her shoulder quickly. ‘Oh, your dad called – there’s a message on the machine. You probably should call him back.’
Moments later, Greg heard the door close behind her, leaving him in frigid silence.
His formerly good mood had been crushed and now he was left with a worrying sinking feeling. He stared at the phone, hoping that his father’s call wasn’t the harbinger of more bad news. He didn’t think he would be able to deal with that right now.
Chapter 4
Holly didn’t have a whole lot of time to think about her surprise discovery of the charm bracelet because, immediately afterwards, one of the Secret Closet’s regular (and most demanding) customers arrived at the store with ‘an emergency, and money to spend’.
Burn was more like it, Holly thought. A stylist by profession, Mona Sachs had been coming to the Secret Closet long before Holly worked there, and relied on them for many of the clothes she used for her clients, who ranged from movie stars to Hampton housewives.
Today she looked gracefully unkempt as usual. Her bright blonde hair was wound up in some sort of white cotton scarf and a huge pair of sunglasses slipped down her tiny pointed nose. A magnificent suede and fur poncho fell as far as her denim-encased knees, and on her feet were towering spike-heeled brown leather boots. Mona was not only short, but skinny with it, and reminded Holly of a little girl dressing up in her mother’s clothes. She carried a Louis Vuitton bag in the crook of one arm that was so big Holly was sure she could fit a small child inside, and in her other hand was a
BlackBerry. Holly had never seen Mona without the device, and often wondered if she showered with one hand sticking out of the shower curtain.
‘What do you need?’ Holly asked helpfully.
‘I need a wrap for the Met Gala, and it can be real fur but, if it is, it has to be really old … and preferably pale, you know, like white or grey or bluish … no tails or heads flopping down or anything, a clean line.’
‘Oh, I see, a starlet who will only wear fur if it’s been “grandfathered” in?’ Holly teased.
‘Ha. I also need a Halston, eighties party style. Have you anything new in?’ Mona leaned towards the back, as though she wanted to run in there and rip through whatever boxes Carole was most likely going through.
‘Let’s start with the fur…’ Holly walked over to a nearby rack and pulled a stole off a hanger. It was silver fox and in great condition. ‘Look at this one. Pure Elizabeth Taylor – if she were tall and blonde.’
‘Oh my Lord, that’s perfect!’ Mona grabbed the stole and ran her hands across it. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘Well,’ Holly said wryly, ‘that was easy.’
Mona’s BlackBerry started to beep and she pulled it out of her bag and started texting. ‘Gotta go…’ she mumbled, without looking up. ‘Can you courier the Halston over direct if you find something?’ Mona’s office was based uptown on Seventh Avenue and she usually trusted Holly and Carole’s judgement.
‘No problem.’ Holly wrapped the fur in tissue and slipped it into a Secret Closet monogrammed bag.
‘Thanks, sweetheart.’ Mona never even looked up from her phone as she jangled out through the door and hailed a cab.
After that, Carole went out on an errand and Holly was kept busy until well past lunchtime, helping customers and occasionally going into the back to unpack a box and sneak another look at the mysterious bracelet. She planned to give UPS a call just as soon as she had a free moment, but by lunchtime there was still lots of work to get through and three more boxes waiting to be opened.
Well, they’ll just have to wait, Holly thought, switching the sign to ‘Back in 30 minutes’ and dashing out with the latest round of arrivals for the dry cleaner. The service they used was just round the corner on Sixth Street, and when Holly walked in, Thuma, the girl manning the counter, was on her usual perch, slurping soup from a cardboard container.
‘Don’t you ever take a lunch break?’ Holly greeted her, carefully laying the clothes on the counter.
‘How can I? You and Carole are in here every damn minute.’ This was typical Thuma, ornery to the last. From what little Holly could gather, she had come to the United States ten years before and had the kind of Slavic beauty that usually graced the covers of magazines. She wore too much jewellery, too much makeup and kept her hair cut short and slicked back. While Holly never smelled smoke from Thuma, looking at her hands she could see the nicotine stains.
Because they knew so little about Thuma’s past, Holly made wild stories up about her for Carole. Stories like she’d once been a burlesque dancer in Las Vegas, and was fleeing the Mob for knowing too much, or that she had held up banks, Bonnie and Clyde style, with the man who brought her to the United States, and that’s why she was always looking over her shoulder.
Of course it was more likely that Thuma was always looking over her shoulder merely to make sure that the dry-cleaning steamer wasn’t overheating.
But Holly couldn’t help it: she had a vivid imagination and adored mystery and romance, especially when combined. Which was why the job at the Secret Closet was so perfect for her.
She pitied Thuma’s customers, though. She knew everything about them: who was cheating, drinking too much, who overate, who was changing jobs, who was going broke and who was doing drugs – and was able to derive all this from the smell and spills found on their jackets and dresses, by the labels they wore and the forgotten notes and bank receipts they left crumpled in pockets.
Thuma huffily got off her stool and smoothed her hands over the clothes Holly had brought in. ‘Mmm, nice. Did Mata Hari die?’
Holly laughed. ‘I suppose they are a little gaudy.’
‘You think?’ Thuma pulled out one of the gold blouses. ‘This will be no small feat. See how thin it’s got?’ She put her hand under the vintage blouse, and studied it through the worn lamé.
‘Maybe it’s so worn because the owner was a high-priced hooker?’ Holly ventured.
Thuma leaned towards the blouse and gave it a hearty sniff. She was the only person Holly knew who was obsessed with the history of clothing as much as she herself was.
‘Smell it,’ Thuma demanded, shaking it under Holly’s nose. She complied, unsure about what Thuma wanted her to see, or rather smell.
She inhaled. ‘OK … perfume, roses and … bergamot maybe?’
‘Yes, that’s no hooker perfume: that is prim lady with money and arthritis.’ Thuma held the blouse up and eyed it sadly. ‘Poor lady, maybe she thought it would make her feel young.’
She grabbed her receipt book and started scribbling out a short description of each garment before handing it to Holly. ‘OK, this time tomorrow, good?’
Holly nodded; she knew she was being dismissed. She gave a little wave as she left the store.
Next, she made her way to the Korean deli next door, ordering butternut-squash soup and crispy bread to go. She impatiently checked her watch as she waited at the counter; she only had ten minutes left to eat, and the knucklehead in front of her couldn’t find his wallet. Typical. Holly eyed the impeccably tailored midnight-black suit and the scuff-free Bruno Magli shoes. Wall Street for sure.
Back at the shop, Holly set out her lunch on the counter over a cloth napkin. Carole was very strict about keeping the place clean, and bug and rodent free (not an easy task downtown). She checked the time. Great, five minutes to eat. She drank the soup like coffee instead of enjoying it, and only took one bite of the bread before throwing the whole lot away.
The store got even busier as the day went on, and by the time she had a free moment, it was almost five.
Darn. She had promised Kate that she would be home by five today, yet there was still a customer in the store, painfully making a decision over a Dior riding jacket.
She watched the young woman turn in front of the mirror for the umpteenth time, anxiously biting her lip.
‘I think it looks great!’ Holly said, sliding off her stool and walking over to her.
‘You’re supposed to say that.’ The woman eyed her dourly.
‘Maybe, but I wouldn’t want you to come back for a refund either.’
‘I just think I can’t … I’m not sure if I can pull it off. It’s too … much for me.’
Holly knew from experience that ‘too much for me’ usually meant ‘too good for me’.
‘Not if you wear it the right way,’ she said pleasantly. ‘By the way, do you know who wore that jacket?’ she added. ‘Well, maybe not that particular jacket, but something almost identical.’
The woman shook her head.
‘Faye Dunaway. She used to have a house upstate, with horses and everything.’ She smoothed the back of the jacket across the woman’s shoulders, and began pulling the sleeves down for a better fit. ‘She used to throw riding parties there, with people like Al Pacino and Clint Eastwood.’
The young woman’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah,’ Holly continued, ‘right before Al broke her heart, but it didn’t matter, she rebounded with … what’s his name? You know the one.’ She continued to shape the jacket and could see the woman physically become more relaxed and comfortable in it, finally looking at her reflection with a smile rather than a frown. ‘You have hair just like her, you know. Maybe blow it out, add some tight jeans and heels with the jacket and you’re good to go.’
The woman nodded receptively. ‘You really think so?’
‘Absolutely.’
Then she smiled and shook her head. ‘OK, you’ve got me. I’ll take it.’
/> Holly grinned. ‘I promise you won’t regret it.’
She was just starting to cash out and run receipts when Carole breezed in. ‘Sorry I was gone so long…’ She paused and looked at Holly. ‘In a hurry?’
‘Sort of. Kate has a date tonight and I promised I’d be home by five.’
A good friend as well as helping her out with Danny, Holly wanted to give Kate moral support before her date, not just thank her for collecting Danny from school and giving him mac ’n’ cheese. Kate had had terrible luck with men lately – not that Holly’s luck was any better. But at least she was choosy, whereas Kate seemed to date anyone … the guy she met at a hot-dog stand, the bass player from a club last month, not to mention the guy who did her taxes and got her audited by the IRS.
‘Well then, shoo, it’s almost five after,’ Carole chided. ‘I’ll take care of that.’
‘Are you sure? I hate leaving you in the lurch…’
‘Don’t be silly; usually I can’t get rid of you!’ she joked. ‘Seriously, go.’
Holly duly handed the cash and receipts over and gathered her things.
‘Thanks, Carole, see you tomorrow.’ Heading out the door, she flipped the sign to ‘Closed’ so that no one would bother her boss after hours.
She made it back home in record time, and pounded up the stairs to her apartment. Before she could slip her key in the lock, Danny opened the door.
Holly kissed him on the head as she walked in. ‘Hey, honey, what’s up?’
He motioned to the couch, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. ‘Dump City,’ he muttered, before going back to his big comfy armchair and his Nintendo DS.
Kate, brown hair newly styled and dressed to the nines, was on the couch, weeping over a cup of tea and a box of Kleenex. Holly sat down next to her and handed her another tissue.
‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed. ‘Danny’s fine. He made me tea.’
Good boy, Holly thought proudly. With his father in and out of his life so much, and Holly never going on dates, she always worried that he had no good male role models, but it seemed like he knew what to do in a crisis.