“MY WHOLE LIFE, I’ve been out of sync with women,” she reflects later. “I grew up in a male-dominated family. I’ve always worked in a man’s world. Basically, I didn’t like being with women. They were never in my comfort zone. Men were. I think my mother was the same way. I’ve gotten through every stage of my life without women friends.
“When I did the ob-gyn rotation, I recognized that I could counsel women, make them feel comfortable. Some of that ability came from teaching.
“When I joined this group, I felt I could have dominated it by my opinion. The women had an unnatural respect for me just because I was a physician. But that doesn’t make me an authority on everything.
“I am a scientist, and part of being a scientist is making observations without opinions. I’m quiet in the group. I’m always observing and interpreting and collecting data. I’m interested in group dynamics.
“When I was an intern, we had to sum up a case in three sentences. That was good training to speak concisely. The flip side is that it’s hard to hear other people go on and on, and women in this group go on and on. Women in a woman’s world function differently from women in a man’s world. It takes longer to resolve anything.
“Meetings I have with men are rarely confrontational. Men are primed to solve their conflicts one on one before the meeting. And men can easily dismiss problems; women attach emotions to the process.
“Confrontational meetings were new to me, but I’ve learned that I’m skilled in dealing with controversy. Early on, I became the buffer, the equalizer to balance Jonell. Unlike her, I’ve never had an agenda or expectation. Sometimes it’s hard to sit through the meetings, but I’ve learned the value in my ability to listen and help the group move forward. I feel that the group has used my skills.
“And I need the group. Before I came out here my life was all about work. The baby boomer women were the first generation in peacetime to enter the workforce en masse. So we’re coming into this stage of our lives with a deficit of friends because we didn’t bring them with us. I practiced for eighteen years in Philadelphia and I had not one female friend there I could talk to.
“These women have kept me from feeling alone. On a day I need to talk to someone, I can call about seven or eight of them just to talk. I know they care about me. I’m selfsustaining. I’ve fought all my battles by myself. But now I have these women to fill me up when I need to be filled up. They have made my life qualitatively better, given me a foundation I didn’t have before. What I’ve learned is that I do need women in my life, and it’s important to have them there.”
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT surprised Dr. Roz, and she didn’t surprise easily.
A Ventura arts leader approached Patti about an upcoming fund-raiser for affordable housing for artists. The event needed items to auction. Did Patti have any ideas? Patti sure did: An Enchanted Evening with the Women of Jewelia and Twelve of Your Friends. Patti had no idea who’d buy such an event, but she was looking forward to finding out. By the end of the evening, two city leaders paid twelve hundred dollars to meet the thirteen necklace women. Within days, they’d invited some of the biggest names in the community to join them.
On the Enchanted Evening, Patti slipped into purple silk paisley pants, a purple crinkled silk shirt, and purple suede clogs. She wanted everything to be perfect at her hillside home, an unpretentious but exquisite California cottage. And everything was. The twenty-six women dined on Italian stuffed mushrooms, smoked salmon and prosciutto, roasted vegetables with seasoned crème fraiche, an array of foreign cheeses, fresh berries, dried fruits, and three decadent cakes. The women sipped champagne and chardonnay and San Pellegrino. Patti circulated the diamond necklace among the guests.
As the sun set, the women gathered on the gray deck, which wrapped around the front of Patti’s house. Beyond the orange, lemon, lime, and tangerine trees lay an unobstructed view of the Pacific from Surfer’s Point to the Channel Islands. Oil lamps in red mosaic candleholders cast a warm glow.
Dr. Roz, moderating the gathering, asked each woman to say something about herself. The women were leaders in the arts, in business, in nonprofits, in philanthropy. The darker the evening grew, the brighter the accomplishments and the more modest the narratives. The women of Jewelia felt elevated by these phenomenal women around them, each woman offering the best of herself, connecting to the best in the others.
The thirteen women of Jewelia knew that something had begun. They didn’t know what exactly, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered that magical night was that the necklace had catalyzed a wider circle.
Patti had led the group to the next stage, and, in so doing, she’d found her direction. She’d add these women to her e-mail list, which would deepen the resource pool. Using the diamond necklace as a vehicle, she’d make more connections, gather more women, work together to make a more profound impact in the community.
At the next meeting, Patti proposed to the group another gathering, where the twenty-six women would each invite one or two friends. Two months later, sixty women arrived at the downtown restaurant Hush to network, to talk about what was missing in the community, to explore what they might work on together.
The gatherings had been so easy to accomplish that Patti’s head filled with possibilities. Wouldn’t it be neat, she proposed at the next meeting, to acknowledge women who are being honored for their contributions to the community, surprise them with the necklace to wear for these high points of their lives?
And so the group did. With elfin smiles, they surprised a philanthropist with a glimmering and shimmering diamond necklace the night she and her husband were honored as Arts Leaders of the Year. “Never had I worn a necklace or anything on my body worth over twenty thousand dollars,” said honoree Sandra Laby. “That in itself was pretty amazing. It was such an innovative and gracious way to help me celebrate an evening that was a highlight of my life.”
Sandra Laby’s delight led the group to similarly bestow the necklace on a bank teller whose gift of a kidney to a coworker led her to be named Extraordinary Woman of the Year; a teacher celebrated for thirty years of working with special-needs kids; and a publisher named one of the Top Fifty Women in Business in Ventura County.
“The diamond necklace was a big, sparkly hug, a visual sign that the women were behind me and the magazine,” said Amy Jones, forty-one, publisher of VC Life & Style. “The necklace has become a community totem, so wearing it made me feel all warm inside, as though I were part of a long line of love in town.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jone Pence, the designer
. . .
Celebrating second chances
. . .
AS PRISCILLA DROVE TO THE NOVEMBER MEETING, she was looking forward to seeing the women but dreading the tasks facing her afterward. Her son Sean had just announced that his girlfriend and he were getting married in six weeks. The couple had little money;
the young woman’s family, no resources at all. As the couple discussed wedding plans, Priscilla sensed they were floundering. “Don’t worry,” she assured them. “I’ll take care of everything.”
Assuring herself proved more difficult. Boxes were stacked all over her house, still unpacked from the recent move she and her husband, Tom, had made to a small condo. She was hosting her family of thirteen on Thanksgiving day and again Christmas morning. She had to buy gifts for the whole clan—all while working full-time at the jewelry store as they headed toward the busiest time of the year. She was beginning to worry about how she was going to pull off a December 30 wedding.
Seeing the women temporarily quelled her anxiety. She loved the lighthearted repartee. Jonell wrapped up the meeting by asking what she’d typically come to ask: “Anything any of you want to talk about?”
“My son’s getting married, and everyone’s invited,” said Priscilla, rushing the words. “I’m really excited for them, and Nicole is lovely. But she has no family to help. I’m worried how I’m going to pull off a wedding for two hundr
ed people on a shoestring—and before New Year’s.”
Patti, the go-to girl, spoke first. “Okay, everyone, how are we going to help?”
One by one, the women volunteered. Jone Pence, an interior designer, offered to design the space in the church reception hall. Patti volunteered to decorate and coordinate the e-mail correspondence. Tina wanted to bring candles and hurricane lamps from school. Mary Osborn was happy to take off work early the Friday before, and they’d all come early to help the day of the wedding.
Priscilla couldn’t speak. She’d just wanted to unburden herself because she knew that, by talking it over, she’d feel better afterward. She’d never expected what followed. Driving home, she started to cry. No one had ever stepped up like that for her. Not once.
THE WEDDING WAS two weeks away, but Priscilla still hadn’t bought a dress. She hated to shop. Being pear-shaped meant nothing ever fit; everything had to be altered. She usually headed to Macy’s at the mall across the street from her office. The avalanche of choices inevitably inundated her. She could spend hours trying on clothes only to come home empty-handed. Naturally, she’d procrastinated.
Patti got wind of Priscilla’s predicament. Patti knew just the store for Priscilla. That was easy—Patti had been in all of them. “Yon Hui’s, a boutique on East Main,” she said to Priscilla. “I’ll meet you there.”
When Patti arrived, Priscilla was looking at something blue. No, thought Patti, all wrong for her. Aloud she said graciously, “I don’t know about that one.” Patti fingered quickly through the dresses, sliding their hangers on the rod, zip, zip, zip. She pulled out a champagne-colored twopiece dress with a three-quarter-length lace jacket, to elongate Priscilla’s body, with little beads faceted to catch the light. Patti tilted her head, drumming her finger on her cheek. “I like this one better,” she said. “This’ll be great on you. It’s beautiful. It’s versatile. You can wear the top with black pants or jeans, the skirt with a black top. Try this one on.”
Priscilla glided toward the dressing room, thinking how different this shopping expedition was from past ones. Priscilla had never shopped with a friend before. Patti was so quick, yet, oddly, Priscilla didn’t feel rushed.
Priscilla slipped into the dress. It fit! No question, the color accentuated her olive skin and auburn hair.
She came out of the dressing room. The look on Patti’s face told her this was the dress.
“That is gorgeous,” said Patti. “You look stunning. How does it feel? Is it comfortable? Turn around.”
Priscilla turned around. Now she was smiling too.
“Don’t buy any accessories,” said Patti. “I have everything you need, even shoes, since we’re the same size.” Patti smiled, which made her eyes glisten.
Priscilla drove back to her office elated. She had her dress—a major task completed—and in how much time? Twenty minutes? With Patti, shopping was not only easy, it was fun. In the past, Priscilla had always thought that the smarter and more successful you were, the more you didn’t need other people, the more you could do it all yourself. Priscilla had never asked anyone for anything. Now she was starting to think differently. Maybe the smarter you were, the sooner you recognized you were in trouble and asked for help.
THE DAY BEFORE the wedding, Patti arrived at one P.M. to help set up the reception hall. Priscilla was already there. So was Jone Pence.
New to the group, Jone (pronounced Joanie) had joined when one of the women moved out of town. Jone had been to only six meetings, which meant that she was still feeling her way, still more an observer than a participant.
Jone had been a friend of Jonell’s for years but didn’t know most of the others. She did, however, know how to transform a space. Jone’s naturally raspy voice, blond hair, and bubbly nature give her the kind of girl-next-door, sexy appeal that Doris Day had personified in the fifties. Jone dressed like a designer: She wore neutrals but always splashed on color with an artfully draped red scarf or chic chartreuse sandals. She tooled around town in a cream VW Beetle convertible with her Shih Tzu poodle, Blue, at her side.
Jone loved solving design problems. That’s what she did six days a week for some twenty clients she juggled at a time. She also solved problems for millions of viewers of HGTV’s Designers’ Challenge. She’d quickly become the group’s resident designer, selecting the colors for fund-raising flyers and signs. She enjoyed hearing the women say, “Jone’s here, she’ll take care of it.”
At the Sacred Heart Church, with the help of Patti and the others, she did. She designed the hall centered by a dance floor—the bride’s major request. Jone found twenty round tables in the storage room, which she arranged to allow for ample walking space among them. She created one long table for the wedding party; display tables for the gifts and the tiers of cupcakes that defined the wedding cake; zones for the appetizers and buffet; and an open bar in an adjacent side room. She decided that the poinsettias in the church still vibrant from the Christmas services looked best when lined up like red Rockettes across the foot of the stage. She stationed the church’s most attractive trash cans in discreet corners. Finally, she discovered that the recessed lights could be dimmed—unusual for a church, thought Jone, but the element that could transform any space into something special. If you can dim the lights, you can create an atmosphere.
Jone and the Jewelia Wedding Planners dressed the tables with beige and white linens and white votive candles. By five P.M., the space was as pretty as a parish hall could be.
“I ALWAYS LOVED DESIGN,” says Jone. “Growing up in Minnesota, when I’d go out in the snow, I wouldn’t make snowmen; I’d make houses. I never wanted dolls. I wanted a new canopy bed with matching furniture.
“My parents never talked to me about a career. My mother thought I should go to college to find a husband. At Cal State—Northridge, I studied to be a teacher for the deaf, but when I fell in love and got married, my life became all about him. He wanted to form a TV production company so I forgot about teaching and ran the business side of the firm—scheduling, ordering, budgeting, finances. I had business smarts. He didn’t.
“Our first apartment was a large warehouse in Hollywood. The business was there, too. I hated Hollywood, and I hated the apartment. He decorated it. The loft bedroom was like a sex den, with a fireplace, a gigantic waterbed, bearskin rugs beneath a bear claw tub, and a swing hanging from the ceiling. We had to shimmy down a pole like firefighters to get to the ground floor.
“I rented an apartment in Burbank so we could have a marriage away from the business. He never showed up. That was a sign that he wasn’t marriage material, but I wanted the marriage to work. I had no game plan after that. I’d internalized the message of my mother’s generation: Once you get married, you’re complete.
“I was such an accommodating person that I said ‘sure’ to whatever he wanted. But when you’re that accommodating, your partner walks all over you. He was a womanizer, who started cheating on me six months after the wedding. He was always out shooting videos, partying, staying out all night. Once I was in bed sleeping when I heard him in the Jacuzzi giggling with some girl. And yet I was still hopeful. I’m a smart businesswoman, but I’m very slow when it comes to men.
“I wanted a house so badly. My parents helped us buy land on which to build our dream home. The problem was, there was nothing on which to build the marriage. In the five years we were together, he was involved with at least three women.
“One day I balanced the company books, packed my suitcase, and left. I’m sure he had a date that night. They say you go through three major crises in your life: losing your job, your home, and your marriage. I lost all three in one day.
“When I told my mother we were separated, her first response was that I probably didn’t cook good enough meals, didn’t coordinate the color of the vegetables.
“I moved to San Francisco where I worked for J. Walter Thompson, the ad agency. After five years I wanted a smaller community, so I came back to Ventura, wher
e my parents had moved when I was in junior high.
“Four years ago—I was fifty-two—I bought my first home. It was a mess: dark paneling everywhere, a spray-on acoustical ceiling, a kitchen jutting out into the living room. I gutted it and rehabbed it in three months. I make decisions fast, more like a man, but my house is pretty ‘girly’ with toile drapes and lots of flowers in the garden. I’ve finally created this perfect space for myself—my little dream. After I hung my last painting, I danced around the living room for a month to Nora Jones’s singing. Paying for the house and designing it all myself felt like a huge achievement.
“I’ve been divorced twenty years now. I’ve had many serious relationships, but my marriage was so brutal that I’m gun-shy. Plus I rarely get lonely. I enjoy my own company, and I love having my own space. I do miss the sex and intimacy of a relationship, but it’d be hard for a man to move into my house. His stuff would be a problem. All I could give him now is a sock drawer. But I do love to remodel. I’d happily add on.
“Just in the last ten years my mother has stopped telling me I should have a man. For the last five years of my father’s life his health was failing, and he was bedridden for six months before he died. My mother confided one day, ‘It’s been hard living with your dad.’ She finally saw the other side of being married. ‘See, Mom,’ I said, ‘my life’s easy.’ And she said, ‘Jone, you’re doing fine on your own. I’m proud of you and your accomplishments.’
“When she finally let go of her dream for me, I felt she saw me for the first time. The struggle was over. We became both friends and confidantes. Finally, everything in my life was comfortable.
“I don’t need a man to survive. Everything I have, I earned myself. But I do need my family and girlfriends to survive. When Jonell first called, the time wasn’t right. I’d put all my money into renovations and was deep into nesting. I didn’t want to go anywhere. What’d I want with a diamond necklace? I’d never had a diamond of any kind.
The Necklace: Thirteen Women and the Experiment That Transformed Their Lives Page 12