“Sprite, with a lemon twist,” Amaniko told the waiter.
“I’ll have the same,” Kim said, following the first rule in sales; Always have what the buyer or the boss is having. The waiter wrote down their orders, nodded, and quickly disappeared.
“Well, I’m going to be brutally honest with you, Ms. Neel,” Amaniko said. “I have very little patience when it comes to designers. I personally have a hand in the design of everything with my company’s name on it. We have a certain look, and we have to adhere rigidly to that look. Timeless elegance is what we strive for. Not trendy, not runway shock value, not to make the covers of Vogue, or Elle, or Ms., or any other magazine. We are part of the Town and Country set. My patrons are extremely wealthy, well bred, and predominantly White. They come from generations of wealth. They ride horses, play polo, hunt foxes, attend the Belmont races, the Kentucky Derby. Their children go to Groton, Philips Exeter, and Lawrence Academies. Their children are legacies at Harvard, Yale, and Princeton. This is the Skull and Crossbones set. They vacation in St. Tropez, and St. Moritz. When the want to gamble, they don’t go to Vegas, they go to Monte Carlos. Do you understand?”
Kimberly nodded. She was now more nervous than ever, and she felt wholly inadequate to the task. She gripped her design portfolio tight, and could feel beads of sweat forming at the top of her head.
“Good,” Amaniko told her. “I won’t waste your time, or mines. If your designs are inadequate, or don’t mesh with my company’s design philosophy, I’m going to tell you up front. However, with that said, there is nothing that I love more than to help a sister break into this industry and make a name for herself. If you have the talent, I will do all that I can to help you.”
The waiter arrived with their drinks, placed them on the table, and again disappeared.
Amaniko held out her hand. “Well, let’s see what you have.”
With her hands shaking, Kimberly lifted her design portfolio to the table and opened it. Amaniko took a look at the first sketch, and sat her soda down. She waved for the waiter to come over.
“Well, you’ve past the first test,” she told Kim. “Most designers don’t get past the soda stage. Looks like we’ll be having lunch together.”
“Thank you!” Kimberly gushed. Her smile was now uncontrollable.
“I’ll have the baked chicken,” Amaniko told the waiter.
“I’ll have the same,” Kim said.
The waiter nodded, and retreated to the kitchen.
Amaniko flipped the first page in the design book, taking in the sketches on the second and third pages. “Promising. Very promising. Classy, elegant, timeless. The trick is to ask yourself, if you can visualize your customers wearing your designs fifty years from now, and still being in style. If the answer is yes, then you have designed something worthy of manufacture.”
Kim couldn’t believe that she was getting design advice from the legend herself. She felt as though her head was going to explode.
“Long, elegant, wool skirt and matching long sleeve jacket.” Amaniko nodded. “I like. This is perhaps your best design thus far.”
“Thank you.”
Amaniko closed Kimberly’s design portfolio and peered across the table at her for several moments. “I’ll tell you what. You take the designs that I spoke kindly of, and you design a collection around those, and I’ll agree to meet with you and see what you have.”
“Thank you so much!” Kim said, clasping Amaniko’s forearm. “You can’t imagine how much this means to me.”
Amaniko nodded. “Yes, I can. But I don’t mind. I see potential in you. Real potential.”
*****
Trump Place was an event to be experienced, and not seen. It was not your run-of-the-mill luxury Manhattan apartment complex, by any stretch of the imagination. Personal service and attention to detail had been elevated to the level of decadence. From the around the clock concierge, to the fully equipped, state-of-the-art fitness center, to the club lounge with its creamy leather sofas, big screen TVs, and intricately carved billiard tables, to the complex’s location itself. Right outside of the door, was Riverside Park, with all of its hiking, biking, and walking trails, along with its basketball, tennis, and handball courts. Two blocks down the street sat Lincoln Center, a boon to jazz, theater, ballet, opera, and symphony lovers. All of this luxury, service, and convenience did not come cheap, however, Trump Place was one of the most expensive places to live in the New York metropolitan area.
Kimberly climbed off of the elevator on the penthouse floor, huffing and puffing, and lugging her designs with her. She was late. Her meeting with Amaniko had went very well. The two of them enjoyed a late lunch, a stroll through Manhattan, and then a couple of lattes at Starbucks. Their conversation about fashion and about the history of modern American fashion had engrossed them. Time slipped by as the laughter and friendship grew through the afternoon and early evening. Before she knew it, her dinner date with Sterling was upon her.
Kimberly rang the doorbell; she was anxious, excited, exhilarated. Amaniko had her blood running. She hadn’t been this excited about fashion in a long time. Finding someone with as much passion for design as she had was rare. Finding someone who knew a hundred times more about the industry than she did, was even rarer; especially someone who was willing to share their knowledge.
Sterling opened the door with a large smile on his face.
“I am so sorry!” Kim told him.
“No need for apologies,” Sterling told her. “Hey, things happen.” He stood to the side, and Kim entered. She peered around his three bedroom penthouse, taking in his ultra modern décor.
“Nice.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t think this was your style,” Kim said, smiling.
“What style is that?”
“This,” Kim said, waving her hands around, and walking further into the room. “Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, Scandinavian, ultra modern, IKEA, whatever you call it, style.”
Sterling threw his head back in laughter.
“What?” Kim asked, turning up her palms.
“What’s wrong with my apartment?” Sterling asked.
“No, nothing,” Kim said, shaking her head. “I love it. I just didn’t picture this being you. You’re looking more metro sexual everyday, Sterling.”
“Ahhhh, so now I’m suspect.”
“No, not suspect! Metro sexual is not gay.”
“Metro sexual is code word for gay,” Sterling countered.
“It is not!” Kim told him. “It just means that you’re a man of sophisticated and distinguished taste.”
“Okay, so why can’t a I just be a man of discerning taste?” Sterling asked. “Why do I have to be labeled metro sexual?”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re phobic, Sterling?”
“I’m secure enough in myself to not worry about how others define me.”
“Well, there you go.” Kim said turning, and examining the apartment further. “Love that painting.”
“Jacob Lawrence.” Sterling told her. “It’s an original. I have several of them here, as well as a few Paul Goodnights, and some Sharon Wilsons.”
Kim lifted an eyebrow and spun in his direction. “I’m impressed. And surprised.”
“Surprised? Why is that?”
“I figured that you would be more into collecting crazy white boys who cut off their ears.”
Sterling laughed heartily. “I have a few of those as well.”
“Ummmm hmmmmm,” Kim said pursing her lips and nodding.
“Wait a minute,” Sterling said, lifting his palms. “You show up late, and you get me on the defensive. Is this a strategy you learned in high school?”
Kimberly laughed. “Okay, you caught me.”
“Dinner is still hot.”
“Is it?”
“I just finished cooking not too long ago. And I have the warming drawers turned up to their highest temperatures.”
“So, what’s for dinner?�
�
“Roasted and stuffed garlic Parmesean chicken breast, seared in a honey almond sauce, and served over a bed of rice pilaf.”
“And you expect me to believe that you cooked that?” Kim asked.
“I did.”
“Can you prove it?” Kim smiled.
“Prove it? I don’t have to prove it!”
“After dinner, I’m searching your kitchen for signs of a caterer.”
Sterling folded his arms and shifted his weight to one side. “What do you have there?”
Kim peered down at her portfolio. “This. Just some sketches.”
Sterling held out his hand. “Let me see them. Are they yours?”
“No, I just carry other people’s design sketches around with me. Of course they’re mine, silly!”
Sterling opened the portfolio and flipped through the pages. “Wow, these are good.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. These are really good.” Sterling seated himself on his sofa, and Kim took the seat next to him. “Have you thought about going into the design side of the business?”
“That’s my dream,” Kim told him.
“Let me show some of your sketches to some people.”
“At Vespasian?” Kim gasped. She immediately tried to close the portfolio. “No way!”
“Why not?”
“So that they can laugh at me? Oh no!”
“Laugh? Kim are you kidding me? These designs are really good.”
Kimberly shook her head. “I’m not ready for Vespasian or anything like that.”
“Kim, you have to believe in yourself, before others will believe in you,” Sterling told her.
Slowly, Kim nodded and released the portfolio, allowing Sterling to continue to flip through it. He was right. She had to believe in herself, she thought. If she could sit down with Amaniko, then she could face the corporate giants over at Vespasian. She just had to believe that she could; she had to believe that her designs were just as worthy as anyone else's. Sterling said that her designs were good, and he worked for Vespasian. Surely, he had seen thousands of designs and he knew what he was talking about.
Kim sat back an relaxed and went through her designs with Sterling. For some unknown reason she felt comfortable with him. For some unknown reason she felt a trust in this man that she had felt in no other.
Chapter Eleven
“It’s the Yves St. Lauren, Oscar De La Renta, Mercedes Benz Charity Fashion Event, and I have to send two of you lucky bitches,” Laquisha told them. “An entire weekend in New Orleans, taking in the sights, the sounds, the food, and hob knobbing with celebrities and supermodels. I wish that I could go myself, but I have to be in Paris that weekend for the Elle, Cover Girl, Peugeot fashion fair.”
Jerome raised his hand timidly. “I’ll go Paris.”
“You are,” she told him.
Jerome gasped and covered the mouth.
“I’m taking you along as my assistant,” Laquisha told him. “I’m taking you, Mannie, and Lani with me. Aisha and Pam are going to Gstaad to cover the ski fashion show, and so that leaves Kimberly. Pezo will go with Kim to take the pictures, but that still leaves me without a writer to cover New Orleans. So, I guess this is your lucky day, Ms. Kimberly. You still think you’re a writer?”
“Yes!” Kim said, excitedly.
“You'll have to write about the show in New Orleans, as well as generate ad revenue for the magazine. Can you handle both jobs?”
Kim nodded. “Yes.”
“No bullshit, Kim!” Laquisha told her. “I want you to generate ad sales, and cover the fashion show. And put up a nightly blog on the internet about each day's events.”
“I can do the blog,” Pezo told her.
“Fine, do it,” Laquisha ordered. “Kim, are you sure you’re going to be able to handle this assignment?”
Again, Kimberly nodded. “I can do it.”
Laquisha turned and peered out of her office window. “I can’t believe I’m going to miss the de la Renta fashion event again this year! Man, do you have any idea what their executive gift bags have in them?”
Lani nodded. “I remember seeing one two years ago.”
“Chanel No. 5 perfume, Louis Vuitton handbags, Hermes scarves, Escada sunglasses, Tiffany bracelets.” Laquisha placed her hand over her forehead. “I’m talking Prada, Fendi, Juicy Couture. Those gift bags are jam packed full of luxury shit. Plane tickets, vacation packages, hotel suites, spa gift certificates, luxury car rentals, all kinds of exotic soaps and candles, Godiva chocolates, imported wines and cheeses.”
“All that in one basket?” Kim asked.
“Its called a gift basket, but its actually baskets,” Laquisha explained.
“I get to get one of those?” Kim asked, trying to contain her smile.
“They are going to hook you up because you’re there representing Mocha,” Laquisha told her. “You need to bring my basket back to me.”
“Girl, please!” Kim told her, hi-fiving Pamela.
“That’s what I thought,” Laquisha said, rolling her eyes. “That’s why I ain’t even try to go there. I know your scandalous ass would be all up in the shit anyway.”
“Girl, save me some of that eucalyptus and cucumber shampoo that they give,” Jerome told Kim.
“You got that,” Kim said, hi-fiving him.
“Well, you all have your assignments,” Laquisha told them. “I suggest that everyone wrap up what they’re doing this week, and have your stuff packed by Thursday. Everyone is getting out of here on Thursday, and I’ll see you all back in the office on Tuesday. I'll have my cell phone, and I’m taking my laptop, anyone need anything, I’m a phone call away. Let’s get out there and get the story, and those dollars, and let’s make next month our biggest and best issue yet.”
*****
Wilson breezed into Sterling’s office and tossed a newspaper onto the desk. “Seen this yet?”
Sterling lifted the newspaper and read from it. “Hugo Boss made clothes for the Nazi’s during World War II. Old story. Why is anyone talking about that?”
“Not that!” Wilson told him. He flipped the newspaper. “This.”
“Vespasian dominates fashion weekend in the Hamptons.” Sterling read aloud.
“They said that Vespasian showed why it is the top fashion house in the industry,” Wilson said gushing. “They called us the top fashion house in the industry!”
Sterling nodded his approval and smiled.
“All of the press coverage has been pretty much the same,” Wilson continued. “They loved those damn leg wrap sandals, those T straps, the kimono, and pretty much our entire line up. I’m telling you, that girl, Gianna, she needs to be given full reign over an entire line of Vespasian products.”
Sterling nodded. “Make it happen.”
This time, is was Wilson’s turn to nod. “Done. Also, while I’m here, I wanted to show you something.”
“What is it?” Sterling leaned back in his overstuffed leather chair.
Wilson stood erect and snapped his fingers toward the door. Two workers entered the office holding open a large, black, silk comforter. In the center of the all black comforter was a massive golden V.
“What is it?” Sterling asked.
“Vespasian’s new line of bedding.” Wilson told him. “Luxurious, silk comforters, bed linens, and accessories.”
Another set of workers walked in holding an all white silk comforter with Vespasian’s logo embroidered in gold in the center of it.
“Nice,” Sterling nodded. “I really like that one.”
Another set of workers walked in with a gold comforter with Vespasian’s logo embroidered in gold on the front of it.
“We’re doing gold on gold, royal blue with gold logo, burgundy with gold logo, black with gold logo, black with black logo, white with gold logo, white with white logo, and for Christmas we’re going to team up with Neiman Marcus and do a limited edition Vespasian platinum on platinum silk comforter and bedding set,”
Wilson explained.
A couple of workers began bringing in flatware and setting it on Sterling’s desk. He lifted one of the plates and examined it. It was black, with a gold Vespasian logo in the center of it, and gold trim around the edges.
“Vespasian dishes?” Sterling asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Wilson smiled and nodded. “We’re hot right now. We might as well go all out.”
“Dishes?” Sterling asked again.
“Everyone has them,” Wilson explained. “Versace has Rosenthal doing dishes for them. Vera Wang has dishes. All the top design houses have them. It’s our turn.”
Sterling lowered the plate to his desk and lifted another. This one was white with gold trim and gold logo. Wilson lifted a wine glass that had been placed on Sterling’s desk.
“We’re going to do glassware, stemware, and flatware,” Wilson told him. He handed Sterling the Vespasian wine glass.
“I love the designs,” Sterling told him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m just wondering if we’re ready for this.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean, if we’re ready for this?”
“I mean, between launching a full fledged women’s line, are we moving too fast?” Sterling asked.
Wilson shook his head. “I don’t think so. Sterling, relax. We’re expanding, we’re growing. Remember this forecast? We either grow, or we become irrelevant. We had to get aggressive, remember? Well, our efforts are paying off. We’re hot right now. Let’s run with it.”
Sterling nodded. “I’m inclined to agree. I just don’t want to trip and fall. It took a lot of time and effort to build this company. Bankruptcy court is not where I want to end up.”
“I got you,” Wilson told him. “Oh, did I also tell you who else I got?”
Sterling sat up in his seat.
“I got Rhianna,” Wilson told him. “She’s going to runway for us in New Orleans.”
“Get the heck out of here!” Sterling shouted.
“No, seriously,” Wilson told him. “She’s agreed to headline for us at the Mercedes Charity show.”
Just Another Damn Love Story Page 7