Beauty

by Louise Mensch

  In her head, Dina saw something completely different. Space. Light. Style. A building redesigned. Exclusive clothing. Classics mixing with hot new designers. The latest beauty hits. An event store. A destination. Teens, twenty-somethings, chic professionals in their thirties and forties. The older women, too – if they were hipsters, the ones that wore black and went to off-Broadway shows. And men – a small group, mixed in with the women. Hardcore luxury addicts.

  It would be intense. Huge. It would own uptown.

  And it would cost a lot of money.

  ‘Do I have to?’ Ludo Morgan sighed.

  He had a fun afternoon planned: cigars at the Havana club with two of his friends; tennis; a phone call to his father; perhaps a trip to the helipad – there was a cottage in the Hamptons the broker wanted him to view.

  ‘Your father wants you to see her, sir. Just to hear her first report. She came recommended by Joel Gaines.’

  ‘Not interested in Gaines’ cast-offs. Can’t he find someplace else for his girlfriends to play?’

  Eric Strom shook his head. The arrogance of the kid wasn’t disappearing with age.

  ‘Mr Gaines doesn’t have girlfriends. She sold him a brand. Your father put her in as beauty director.’

  Now he had Ludo’s full attention. ‘What? Beauty what?’

  ‘Director. With a brief to revamp the cosmetics department.’

  He coloured. ‘I hire personnel.’

  ‘Yes, sir, but your father put Ms Kane in direct.’

  ‘What experience has she got?’

  ‘None at this level.’

  Ludo Morgan’s annoyance increased. Why couldn’t the old man enjoy retirement? It was his time now.

  ‘This is a mistake. I’m going to fire her. Give her three months’ salary and tell her it was some kind of miscommunication. I’ll see her for that.’

  Eric Strom smiled slightly. It wasn’t often he got to put one over on the next generation of hyper-privileged kids, but he enjoyed it when it happened.

  ‘No, sir. She actually filed her first report direct to your father, and he loved it. Thought it had potential. He wants you to see her to discuss how Torch can execute it.’

  Ludo Morgan breathed in sharply. This girl was in her early twenties, according to the paper in front of him – and already going straight to the top, over his head.

  This wasn’t just an annoyance. It was a power play.

  ‘Bring her to my office,’ he said. ‘Twenty minutes.’

  Dina Kane was prepared.

  She’d read up on her new boss, Ludo Morgan: twenty-eight years old; NYU and a business degree out in California. He looked set to succeed his father, who was taking that backseat out in the sun. He dated casually. One sister – married with two children – living in Paris, with no interest in the family store. Ludo managed Torch well enough to keep it in the black, but Dina sensed no commitment, no love of his grandfather’s legacy.

  That was OK. She just wanted to get on, make a change, prove herself to Joel Gaines . . . to the world. Prove herself to the world. Dina blushed a little bit. Gaines couldn’t have been plainer in his rejection.

  And she’d get over it. Any day now.

  ‘This way,’ Regina Freeman said. ‘Mr Morgan has come in especially to see you.’

  ‘That’s great!’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ Regina patted her on the shoulder. The kid had talent, no doubt; Dina’s paper had surprised her. And her ideas might actually work – somewhere fashion forward, like Sephora. At Torch – no chance. Dina Kane would have to learn to go along to get along, just like the rest of them. ‘Good luck, honey.’

  Dina knocked and entered the room.

  She won’t last a month, Regina thought.

  The young man was sitting behind a hefty oak desk, with a small chair in front of it, designed to be uncomfortable – a contrast to the way Gaines did business. The office itself was like the rest of the store: wood panelling, faded European carpet, velvet-covered couch. There were filing cabinets up against one wall and a printer was perched on top of the one closest to the desk. It all felt fussy and cramped, despite the big pre-war windows.

  He didn’t look up as she entered; Dina saw he was scanning her report.

  ‘What the hell did you think you were doing reporting direct to my father?’

  ‘Mr Morgan hired me, sir.’

  ‘Hired you as beauty director. I run this store. Once hired, everything goes to Regina first, then she decides whether or not to take it to me. Understand?’

  Now he raised his head – and looked at her, with an involuntary jerk of surprise. Dina saw him registering, approving.

  She was wearing tailored slacks and a blouse, with stacked wedge heels. Her hair was worn up in a modern bun with a chic Japanese chopstick driven through it, and her make-up was bronzed today, everything for a sun-kissed look – golden highlighters on the cheeks, copper on the lips, light browns and ochres on her eyes, with chestnut mascara – as though she would be heading to a yacht on the Mediterranean, any second.

  She looked stunning. And Ludo Morgan was suitably stunned.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, as the moment became uncomfortable. ‘I was taken aback. You look like a model.’

  She blushed at the unexpected compliment. Morgan was wearing a good suit – relaxed, no tie – Armani. And at least he didn’t play games.

  He was handsome; smooth featured, with dark blond hair. Rather like he belonged on TV, or in a rock band. Matinée-idol looks and a dapper suit on top – she could see why a kid like this would be a playboy. The girls would lap it up.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Morgan. Beauty is my expertise, so I take care of how I make myself up. If you’re interacting with customers, the first thing they do is look at your own face. You wouldn’t let a shabby tailor make you a suit, would you, sir?’

  Ludo laughed aloud. ‘Funny. No, I suppose I wouldn’t.’

  ‘I will definitely go to Regina next time with the work,’ Dina said. ‘But the store needs major changes, and I wanted Mr Morgan senior to see that . . . since he took a chance on hiring me.’

  ‘These plans require an injection of cash.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I know.’

  ‘Too much cash. I’m not going to authorise it. This is too much of a punt. You’re unproven, and for years our customer base has been much older. We need to cater to them.’

  Dina chewed on her lip. ‘But, Mr Morgan—’

  ‘My father was taken by the report, but, at the end of the day, he isn’t going to overrule me. Think again about how we can sell more cosmetics. No big upgrades. Bread and butter, that’s what Torch is about.’

  ‘I . . .’ Dina swallowed – the young man’s face was set. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You can call me Ludo,’ he said, genially. ‘And, from now on, go only through me.’

  She went home early, dispirited.

  Damn it. This was life. Nobody had any vision; nobody took chances.

  Except Joel Gaines.

  Dina poured herself an apple juice and listened to her messages.

  ‘Dina! This is Laurel Sloane. I’ve sold your apartment! Congratulations! A hundred thou over the asking price . . .’

  ‘Dina Kane, this is Far Haven Fields. Can you call us about Johnny? He’s been taken to hospital.’

  She put the juice down on the table and called a car-rental company.

  The facility was small, like a country hospital normally is, but well heeled and private. As Dina walked through the doors, she took note of the gleaming floors, soft lighting and fresh flowers in the waiting area.

  Not cheap. But Johnny needed it.

  There wasn’t insurance to cover this. Half her gains from the apartment would go in his bills. As long as I have my brother . . .

  ‘He’s in here,’ the nurse said, showing her to a private room. Dina didn’t have the heart to ask if Johnny could go on a ward.

  He lay on the bed, weak, hollowed out. He had bruised patches under his eyes, like he�
��d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.

  ‘Baby sis!’ he muttered, looking at her with a weak smile. ‘Good to see you! Aren’t you proud of me? I’m kicking it. It’s gone.’

  Dina patted his hands, gently. ‘Sure, I’m proud of you, Johnny – so proud.’ She blinked back tears.

  ‘That’s good.’ He turned his head to the pillow and fell asleep.

  ‘Ms Kane?’ A doctor entered the room, tall and patrician. He nodded at her. ‘Can I see you outside?’

  Dina got up and followed the doctor into the corridor.

  ‘There was a lot of methamphetamine – crack cocaine – in his system when you brought him in,’ he told her. ‘You don’t recover from that. You almost certainly saved his life.’

  Dina’s heart thudded in her chest. ‘Thank God. But why does he look like that? Wasn’t he meant to recover, to put on weight?’

  ‘Cold turkey is a rough process. Your brother’s immune system is compromised. There has been vomiting, dehydration. He needs stabilisation with intravenous fluids, and then feeding. Possibly physical rehab as well. There has been some muscle wastage.’

  ‘You make it sound like he was in a concentration camp.’

  ‘Think of it as advanced anorexia. He has induced a kind of voluntary starvation.’

  Dina felt faint. ‘I hope I can afford all this.’

  ‘I hope you can,’ the physician said, blankly. ‘Your brother needs the treatment. I suppose you could take him back to the city, and try a public hospital . . .’

  ‘No.’ Dina shook her head. ‘I take care of my family.’

  She thought of her careful renovation, and the ecstatic call from her broker. Oh, well. Profit and loss – they were only numbers. She would never be like her mother, hoarding what she owned. But, even so, now more than ever she needed the job. She needed Ludo Morgan.

  Gaines looked at the email sitting on his computer.

  It was only two sentences, but he must have read it a hundred times.

  Hey Joel. Have started at Torch. Run into a problem. I could use some advice. Coffee?

  ‘This has got to stop,’ he said to himself.

  Last night, making love to his wife, trying to ignore the faked lust on her face, trying to maintain an erection, he had closed his eyes and thought of Dina Kane.

  ‘Wow,’ Susan had said, afterwards. ‘That was incredible. You must have really liked my dress.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He was lying on their silk sheets, panting. ‘Great dress. You looked sexy.’

  She went to the shower, humming, and he hated himself.

  But the brilliant, feisty girl was still in his thoughts. Thank God for work – Gaines flung himself into it – but now this. It was like she had telepathy; she could read his goddamned thoughts.

  He clicked reply on the message. Time to be firm. Tell the girl – no coffee, no advice, no meeting.

  I’m uptown later, he wrote. Come to Eightieth and Columbus at eleven – the café there.

  ‘Thank you for making the time.’ Dina sat with a fresh-squeezed orange juice. ‘It means a lot.’

  ‘I was in the neighbourhood. What’s up?’

  She was dressed down today: tight blue jeans and a white shirt, with brown cowboy boots and her dark hair in a ponytail. Minimal make-up. She looked anxious, vulnerable and sexy as hell.

  Gaines swallowed, hard.

  ‘I know what the store needs. The owner seems willing, but not his son – who runs the place.’

  ‘Remind me . . .’

  ‘Ludo Morgan. Twenty-eight. Business degree from UCLA. He was polite enough.’

  I bet he was, Gaines thought.

  ‘But no money. He said I’m unproven—’

  ‘Jesus.’ She was so beautiful, sitting there, so hot. He couldn’t have her, and he wanted her; maybe he was falling for her. Which was so much worse. Dina Kane would never be out of his system. Gaines felt trapped, old, out of control. And rage coursed through him. He spoke with anger. ‘What? Do you need me to hold your hand? Prove yourself, then! Get a success – his way. After you do that, go for the major revamp. That or quit and start your own goddamned business.’

  Her green eyes opened, shocked. ‘Joel . . . I’ve offended you?’

  He stared at her, furiously. ‘Pointless! This is pointless. Treat him like you did me, like you want something out of him and you’ll do what it takes to get it. The rest is noise.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to waste your time. I just went to see my brother and—’

  ‘We all have problems. Look. We’re even. I’m married. Don’t email me again. You’re on your own.’

  He stood up and walked out of the café.

  Dina watched him go. The tears welled up and she covered herself by dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

  Why does it hurt so much? I hardly know him.

  You’re on your own. So be it.

  As she walked back down to Torch, Dina tried to clear her head. Gaines was right; of course he was right. She was pursuing him. Why had she asked him for coffee? Why not stick to email? Or just figure it out . . . ?

  I wanted to see him.

  She’d seen him. And she’d got more than she bargained for.

  Her apartment was in contract. She was going to have to hand over another two hundred thousand to Johnny’s hospital. Time to grow up. If she wanted to be in business, she had to act like it.

  ‘Come in,’ Ludo said.

  It was the girl, Dina. She was less made-up today, but just as pretty.

  ‘Hi. I don’t have long. Got a lunch date.’

  Caroline was the daughter of one of his father’s friends, and it would be their third time out together. She was blonde, stick thin, a social X-ray. She looked good on his arm, but had none of the curves of this one, none of the attitude. For a moment, Ludo imagined taking Dina out instead – working-class girl from nowhere; career woman on the make.

  Don’t be stupid. She works for you.

  ‘I’m going to do a little revamp of our beauty department. Bring in some exclusive products. It doesn’t need much money, just a few adverts. Would you be OK with that? I’d like a budget for samples.’ She put a piece of paper on his desk, a modest enough sum.

  ‘Fine. Go ahead.’

  ‘I can make the ad buys?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Dina said.

  For the next month, Dina worked tirelessly. She negotiated with the cosmetics houses to reduce the size of their stands, limiting their range and increasing the stock of bestsellers. She imported several of her favourite products – the best performers – from the Green Apothecary, and hired some of the best make-up artists in the city. New mirrors and flattering lights were screwed in on every available surface, and the carpet in the beauty department was ripped up and replaced by light-stained woods.

  The place started to look like a salon.

  Dina called in the staff to talk to them. They assembled in the canteen, in their dull uniforms, looking mutinously at the much-younger girl who was disrupting all their lives.

  ‘Ladies,’ she said. ‘You are being stifled. Believe me, I get it. Nobody wants to stand around all day, bored out of their minds.’

  Slight nods.

  ‘We have to do so much better. I know most of you dreamed of being in the fashion industry – maybe a spa therapist; maybe a beautician – today, we’re going to make that happen. Torch is about to become a spa. You engage the customer, not pressing her; only offer your very best products for her. Then step back. When she’s ready, encourage her. Always thank your customers, whether they buy or not. Don’t be afraid to refer them to another company’s products. We want to show women how beauty can transform their lives, their self-esteem. And, when you ladies step up, I’m going to go to Mr Morgan and get you all a ten per cent raise. Because sales will rise by twenty-five per cent. Understand?’

  Bigger nods. Everybody understood ten per cent.

  ‘This store is a dinosaur. Ladies, we’re going to sta
rt our own little revolution. We’re going to show them how it’s done. We’re going to show them what women really want. Are you with me?’

  This time, Dina even got applause.

  She stayed up nights, walking around the empty store, playing with lighting design, spacing. She designed poster advertisements, loyalty cards. And, finally, she pulled off her master list: bloggers – beauty mavens who sat on the internet – the ones with the cult following amongst editors at fashion magazines; the ones NYU students read on a daily basis.

  Hi. I’m Dina Kane, who sold Meadow cream to L’Audace. Torch is relaunching its beauty division with brand new exclusives from Europe. These will only debut here at Torch. The launch will also feature major names, free gifts and a five-minute makeover for every customer next week. Come at lunch and leave looking like a goddess. Your man won’t know what hit him. Torch – for the spark.

  And finally it was ready.

  The relaunch week started with a bang. Dina gave out her personal cell number, and the phone never stopped ringing.

  ‘What’s your job there?’

  ‘Free makeovers for every customer? Every one?’

  ‘What can you do in just five minutes?’

  She was busy. Every time a blogger or a beauty writer turned up, Dina squired them round personally. She repeated the same spiel fifty times a day.

  ‘Five minutes is plenty. New York girls don’t have time to waste at work. Torch is the new beauty playground; we’ll show you just what looks great on you.’

  ‘It’s toys for girls.’

  No blogger left without gifts. And not just the standard samples. Dina boxed up full-size products – just two or three – ones that she thought would benefit the woman in question. No standard-issue press kit. Everything was tailored.

  ‘Wow.’ Kathy Rennet, the owner of BeautyBuyer.com, stared at herself in the mirror. The make-up artist had transformed her, with just two minutes on the clock and three products – a shiny gloss, a bronzer from Portugal and dark green Revlon mascara. ‘That’s incredible.’

  ‘I love it.’ Emily Jones wrote for Marie Claire and she was bombarded with junket invitations every day. But Dina’s make-up girl had changed the look of her face with a soft powder foundation she would never have touched, rose on her cheekbones and thick black mascara that covered her short lashes. ‘This is amazing.’