by Lynn Steward
“Let’s get to Saks,” he said flatly.
• • •
A salesperson on the main floor directed Brett and Janice to the Anne Klein department, which carried conservative suits and skirts suitable for a female attorney. As the saleswoman took Janice under her wing, Brett sat in a customer courtesy chair, pondering her words in the elevator at 30 Rock. At Cheshire Cheese the previous evening, he’d spoken of the future and the possibility of buying a home in the country. Today he should have been cutting down a tree in Pennsylvania, but he’d chosen to spend time with the firm’s sexy iconoclast. Richard had told him to make sure she was properly attired, so it was technically part of his responsibility to the firm. The problem was that he shouldn’t have been enjoying the task quite so much. The more serious concern was that Janice’s reference to him as an evolving “landmark” had struck a chord within him.
Janice unexpectedly appeared from one of the fitting rooms. Wearing a blue blazer and skirt, she searched for the saleswoman to help locate a size eight. Janice wore no blouse, however, so that the partially buttoned blazer was low-cut and revealing. Glancing left and right, she attracted the attention of the Saks employee who was putting together her wardrobe and then turned to face Brett. “How do I look?” she asked, flashing an innocent smile.
“Uh, fine,” Brett replied. He took a deep breath. Janice’s blond hair fell across the navy blazer, and thanks to the bare skin below her neck, she created a stunning image that he knew would be hard to forget. He suspected that her failure to wear a blouse had been solely for his benefit.
The saleswoman and Janice returned to the business of choosing skirts, blazers, and business suits. An hour later, Brett was satisfied that apparel had been selected that would pass muster with the partners as well as prevent embarrassment in the courtroom. Janice’s final choice, however, caught Brett by surprise. At the last minute, she’d added a lined red trench coat to her purchases, something that was flashy and more in keeping with her California joie de vivre.
Brett simply pulled out the firm’s credit card and paid for the garments at the sales counter a few yards away. He knew the coat was her way of asserting independence despite the firm’s insistence on conformity of dress, but he wasn’t going to take the bait.
“How did I do?” Janice queried, once more dressed in her jeans and turtleneck.
“Mission accomplished,” Brett said with little emotion, eyes lowered as he signed the receipt.
Some outfits would need alterations, but the two litigators nevertheless carried four shopping bags between them as they headed for the front doors.
“Hi, Brett,” said a female voice.
Brett looked to his left to see Patti Hartlen approaching. He forced a weak smile. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hartlen.”
“Please, call me Patti.” She aimed her very direct gaze at Brett, Janice, and then at Brett again. “Doing a little shopping?”
“This is Janice Conlon, our firm’s newest litigator. Janice, this is Patti Hartlen.” Brett was at a loss for words. How could he explain that he was helping another woman pick out clothes? “Did you and Jack enjoy your dinner at Cheshire Cheese last night?” he asked, groping for words to change the subject.
“Yes, it was excellent,” Patti replied. She examined Janice carefully and then addressed Brett. “Tell your sweet wife hello for me.”
“I certainly will,” Brett said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to Mrs. John L. Strong’s to pick up Dana’s order for wine journals.” He thought using his wife’s name might signal that the shopping excursion was aboveboard.
“Certainly,” Patti said. “Have a lovely day.”
Brett smiled again and left the store, Janice following him.
“I really need to be going,” Brett said. “I think you’re set as far as the wardrobe goes.”
“Yes, and thanks. But I’d like to tag along if you don’t mind. Want some company?”
“That’s very kind of you, but it’s not necessary. I can—”
“You want me along,” Janice said. “Trust me. You may not know it, but your life just changed after those few words with . . . Patti, is it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Let’s go,” Janice said. “I’ll explain later.” She paused. “By the way, did you and Dana have a cozy little dinner last night?”
Brett made no reply. Eliza Doolittle had trumped the superiority of his modern-day Henry Higgins.
They left for the stationer’s on the Upper East Side. Brett had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He no longer felt on top of his game.
Chapter Seven
Dana, Andrew, and Nina cruised southwest on I-78 towards Pipersville, Pennsylvania, the home of Winterberry Christmas Tree Farm. Nina Bramen had a heavy foot, and the Bug sped down the Interstate at seventy-five miles per hour. The antiques buyer for B. Altman was in her early forties, had short, graying hair, and wore round, dark-rimmed glasses. As Brett had noted, Nina was a feminist, a bohemian by nature since her earliest days growing up on the Upper West Side. Unmarried, she had eclectic interests that sometimes bordered on the eccentric. Smart and opinionated, she was well-traveled, loved Peru, practiced Buddhism, and collected Asian art and objects, especially miniature Japanese sculptures called netsukes. She had found her strong voice and outspoken manner courtesy of the growing women’s movement since it matched her fiercely independent mindset. She also had a kind heart and would do anything for a friend.
Dana always felt energized in Nina’s presence. Though Dana was diplomatic and chose her words carefully, she nevertheless admired Nina’s willingness to speak her mind openly and take chances both personally and professionally. In some ways, she was very much like Dana’s mother, a woman who believed in candor and full disclosure. Nina was an honest and forthright individual, and Dana daydreamed of one day being able to set her agenda at B. Altman with the same courage and tenacity as the woman who was now driving the VW while speaking animatedly about her travel plans for the near future. She would be journeying to India in search of exotic merchandise for the store’s Indian extravaganza, a lavish event planned by Ira Neimark and Dawn Mello to compete with Bloomingdale’s Retailing as Theater movement. The movement was the brainchild of Bloomingdale’s Marvin Traub, who staged elaborate presentations such as China: Heralding the Dawn of a New Era. Typical extravaganzas featured fashion, clothing, food, and art from various regions of the world.
“I’ll bring back enough items to make Bloomingdale’s blush!” Nina said confidently. “And I’m not just talking sweaters, hats, and walking sticks. I’ll stop first in the Himalayas and prowl the Landour Bazaar.”
Andrew grinned at Dana, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. I’ll stop first in the Himalayas and prowl the Landour Bazaar. Only Nina could utter such a phrase so matter-of-factly and be taken seriously.
“They have three-hundred-odd shops there that sell any and everything,” Nina continued. “After that, I’ll head to Jaipur just in time for its fairs and festivals filled with bright turbans, ethnic clothes, embroidered textiles, and jewelry. But that’s just to set the stage! I intend to bring back other objects as well to really lend flavor to the show—reed baskets, woven carpets, mirrored ceramic elephants, antique brass accessories, Imari porcelain, miniature paintings, and—well, the list goes on. Ira will absolutely love it.”
Dana was envious. A teen makeup section paled in comparison to such lavish presentations as the one Nina was going to help stage. The Retailing as Theater concept did not bring in revenue as much as highlight merchandise and whet a buyer’s appetite, so why worry about a little free makeup?
Dana looked out the window as the miles drifted past and decided not to spoil such a beautiful day with worries about work or her meetings with Bob Campbell and Bea. She felt that her marriage had been given new hope the night before. Brett had spoken of making their dream of a weekend country home a reality, and if he were truly serious, his sentiments might bode well
for starting a family. She needed to remember, as she’d done the night before, that his sacrifices for the firm had been difficult for both of them. Dana had been patient, and now that patience might finally pay off.
Meanwhile, Nina continued to list her itinerary, citing the exotic items from the other side of the world that she would deliver to Ira and Dawn for B. Altman’s own version of Retailing as Theater.
Andrew laughed at the use of the word “theater.” “B. Altman will have plenty of theater on Monday,” he said, “when Estée Lauder arrives to secure a prime location in the new cosmetic department. I was told on Friday that she intends to bring along her husband Joseph as well as her sons, Leonard and Ronald, to make sure she gets exactly what she wants.”
Nina laughed loudly. “Oh, she’ll get what she wants all right. She’s a determined woman.” She glanced sideways at Dana. “And we know what a determined woman can accomplish, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do,” Dana replied. In Nina’s presence, the restrictions imposed by Bea and Helen seemed almost trivial. Dana had experienced a single setback, but Nina was a reminder of what real determination and enthusiasm could accomplish.
“Her reputation precedes her,” Andrew said. “Ira already told me to give Ms. Lauder whatever she wants.”
“Sounds like a done deal,” Dana said.
“That’s why there’s going to be a little drama on Monday,” Andrew said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “The space she wants has already been promised to Charles of the Ritz.”
“My money’s on Estée Lauder,” Nina proclaimed, pressing down on the accelerator. She smiled broadly and glanced at Andrew in the rearview mirror. “Anyone care to bet against me?”
“Not today or any other day, Nina!” he said.
• • •
Rows of trees extended far into the distance at the Winterberry Christmas Tree Farm. Andrew and Dana began strolling leisurely through the green, full Douglas and Fraser firs. Horses and sheep grazed in a distant rolling pasture, giving the farm a lovely bucolic atmosphere. Dana thought she would love to spend weekends in the country chasing after one or two McGarry offspring.
“Remember the size of my Beetle’s roof,” Nina reminded them. “Don’t make me haul back a sequoia. I’m going to browse in a section over on the right while you two poke around. I smell something delicious!”
“I don’t think there’s anything Nina can’t find,” Andrew remarked.
Ignoring Andrew’s comment, Dana slapped her forehead. “We should have rented a Lincoln. I guess we’ll have to settle for a smaller tree. Oh well.”
“How tall are your ceilings?” Andrew asked. “If I recall, they’re ten feet.”
“Eleven. I’ll just add more garland on the mantel. The tree doesn’t have to be the focal point of the living room this year.” She shrugged and walked on.
Andrew touched Dana’s arm, halting her progress as she continued down a row of Douglas firs. “Okay, Dana, what’s on your mind? You’re going to settle on a smaller tree, and Brett’s working as usual. And yet you’ve been beaming all morning.”
“Have I?”
Andrew nodded and then stepped back, his eyes round as quarters. “Hey, are you pregnant?”
Dana laughed. “No, silly. But maybe it’s in the offing.”
Andrew stopped dead in his tracks. “Maybe the fresh air has gone to my head, but something’s different. You’re thinking of having a baby? I can read your mind from across the store or across Manhattan. Tell me what’s going on.”
Dana related the conversation over dinner at Cheshire Cheese, Brett’s caring demeanor, and the possibility that they might be buying a weekend home in Bedford.
“Sounds like a sea change is occurring in the McGarry household.” Andrew put his arm around Dana’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “I hope things work out. Lord knows you deserve it. And to think I might become Uncle Andrew one day soon.”
Andrew didn’t believe for a second that Brett had changed, but he wasn’t going to spoil his friend’s ebullient mood. He made a mental note to observe Dana’s husband closely at their annual Christmas party the following week. If something in the relationship had changed, he’d spot it immediately.
“While we’re on the subject,” Dana said, “you’ve been in terribly good spirits yourself lately, Mr. Ricci. Is there a special someone in your life at present? Come on—it’s your turn to share the wealth.”
Andrew’s brief hesitation caused Dana to wheel sideways and poke her friend in the chest with her finger. “I knew it!” she said, eyes wide. “Who is he?”
“At the moment, things are a bit . . . challenging, shall we say.”
“Does that mean you’ve got some competition?” Dana asked.
“Aren’t these trees magnificent?” Andrew asked.
“Okay, I get the message. I won’t press you on it, but I hope this guy knows that he’d be crazy to pass you up.”
“Time will tell,” Andrew said. “Relationships can be complicated.”
“This is the one!” cried Nina from fifteen yards away. “Dana, I’ve found your tree.”
Dana and Andrew hurried to the row where Nina stood proudly, her arm motioning to a group of Concolor fir trees.
“Inhale!” Nina exhorted. “Can you smell that marvelous fragrance?”
“Fresh oranges,” Andrew commented. “I’d love to take home every one,” he said. “Every shape and size. They complement each other perfectly!”
“Exactly!” Nina declared resolutely, pointing to a five-foot Concolor fir. “And there’s the one for Dana.”
The short evergreen had long bluish-green needles. Though small, it was full and fragrant.
“It’s got potential,” Dana admitted.
“I’ll send over a round table from the display department before the day is out,” Andrew said. “With the right ornament on top—the perfect tree-topper—you’ll have a tree that reaches within an inch or two of the ceiling. Use a nice tree skirt and spread some packages around and voilá—you’ll have the illusion of height.” Andrew pointed to his right eye with his index finger. “The seeing eye knows all.”
Dana knew her friend could visualize a display in his mind’s eye, complete with every accessory down to the last detail, and she had no doubt that his idea for the McGarry Christmas tree would work well. The Concolor fir was cut and secured to the top of Nina’s VW.
“I’m famished,” Nina said as they piled into the car. “How about lunch?”
“I know the perfect place,” Dana chimed in. “Can we take River Road to New Hope?
Look for an ivy-covered stone house with a big copper pig over the door. It’s called the Inn at Phillips Mill.”
Nina pressed the clutch with her left foot and threw the Bug into gear. “River Road it is!”
As the VW meandered along the road, Dana recalled what Andrew had said a few moments earlier about the Concolor firs: I’d love to take home every one. Every shape and size. The words gave her a sudden flash of inspiration about her dilemmas at B. Altman. Maybe she could think outside the box after all. Isn’t that what made Nina so distinctive—the ability to see possibilities that no one else could?
Dana didn’t know whether it was because of the fresh country air or Nina’s infectious enthusiasm, but an idea had materialized out of nowhere, and she thought that Bob and Bea might just go for it. The day was turning out to be the best in a long time.
Chapter Eight
“So what is this earth-shaking revelation you have for me?” Brett asked impatiently as he and Janice walked towards Mrs. John L. Strong on Madison Avenue.
“Just get your wife’s . . . wine things, or whatever they are, and then we’ll talk.”
Brett and Janice entered the store, which provided custom luxury stationery and related products. A legendary establishment in New York City since 1929, Mrs. John L. Strong created its own cotton paper, mixed its own ink, and hand-engraved its stationery according to customer prefere
nce. As always, the store was orderly and quiet, its ambience professional and upscale.
“What exactly is this place?” asked Janice, her head turning in several directions as she examined the sedate store. “It looks like an antique shop. Is it safe to touch anything in here?”
“It’s exactly what the sign outside says it is,” Brett replied. “A stationery store. It has provided stationery, announcements, and gifts for royalty and seven presidential families. It has catered to clients such as the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, Diana Vreeland, Jackie Onassis, Gloria Vanderbilt, and the Rockefellers. That’s the short list.”
Janice gestured to the display cases on either side of them. “So what are you doing here? Dana grooming you for the White House? Wow, she really does have it all laid out.”
“Dana picks out gifts for the partners each Christmas,” he explained, once again ignoring her sarcasm. “This year she ordered wine journals.”
“Wine what?”
“Wine journals.”
An impeccably dressed man approached Brett and offered a welcoming smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. McGarry. So good to see you again. I assume you’re here to pick up your wife’s order.”
“That’s correct, Mr. Stiles.”
“I’ll be back in a moment, Mr. McGarry.”
“And what are wine journals, President McGarry?” Janice asked.
Brett rolled his eyes and pointed to a leather-bound journal on display. “It’s for saving wine labels and writing down information on grapes, taste, cellaring, and vintages for wines people have a special fondness for. Don’t try to tell me you don’t have wine connoisseurs in California, home to Napa Valley and hundreds of vineyards.”
“I know merlot from cabernet,” Janice said dryly, “and I also know that most people on the East Coast regard California wines as beneath their palates. But saving labels from favorite beverages? That sounds like a hobby for high school nerds who also belong to the chess club. If I like a wine, I’ll drink it and buy it again, end of story.” She paused as she looked around the store, studying its products. “Is this another grand McGarry tradition—picking out scrapbooks for rich people? And why can’t you buy your own presents for the partners? Just get them a great bottle of scotch so they can get snookered and have a good time with the missus.”