by Lynn Steward
“No, I’m not kidding at all,” Janice said. “Just make sure that he’s at your party on Thursday.”
“He’ll be there, but you’re not on the guest list.”
Janice smiled as she left the office. “But I am now. And make sure that the Hartlens are invited as well so they can witness my new dalliance.”
It was an interesting gambit, Brett thought. It just might work. His adrenaline was pumping. Having an affair now seemed like good strategy, and strategy is what he used when preparing to litigate a case. It was his strong suit.
• • •
Brett picked up his desk phone and dialed the number for the Sherry-Netherland and asked to be connected to John Cirone.
“Good morning, John. It’s Brett. Any word from the police on the hotel robbery?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. They called hotel management this morning and think they might have a lead on where the gang is fencing their stolen property. I told Ralph and Sandy that they might just get their jewelry back after all. They were naturally delighted to hear the news.”
“I’m sure they were,” Brett said, wondering to himself what kind of people traveled with such expensive jewelry. He, of course, knew the answer to his question: wealthy people he wanted to become clients of Davis, Konen and Wright. “Listen, John, I hope I’m not speaking out of line, but Johnny showed me the financial report you gave him after we finished our squash match yesterday. I told him to keep our discussion private, but I thought I’d tell you confidentially that I can help Johnny out of this mess. I know you must be worried as hell. When I’m finished, your son won’t be connected with anyone in that company. In fact, they’ll probably be glad to get rid of him since they’ll know he’s onto them.”
Brett could hear a heavy sigh of relief on the other end of the line.
“You’re a godsend,” John said. “How can I ever thank you, Brett?”
“Don’t give it a second thought, John. I’m glad to help. By the way, I was wondering if you could set up lunch with Jack and Patti Hartlen tomorrow. I’d like to extend a welcoming hand since they’re moving to New York. They look like fine people.”
“I’d be happy to,” said a relieved John. “Consider it done.”
“Thanks, John. Give my best to Phoebe, and in the meantime, I’ll meet with Johnny later in the week to help him extricate himself from this mess.”
Brett hung up, feeling pleased. Disaster had turned into an unbelievable opportunity. Brett would deliver Hartlen Response into the lap of Richard Patterson, and his negotiation with Jack—it would be brief and to the point—would be done right in front of Patti. He’d invite them to his party, reiterate the promise of Dana’s help with Patti’s future endeavors, and allow them to see Janice work her special brand of deceptive magic with her most unusual choice of a suitor. He had to admit that he and Janice made a great team. He now realized that she’d been right. He’d been restricted and fearful, stuck in a rut of his own making. He was now willing to take some risks to accomplish his goals, both professional and domestic. Grabbing for the brass ring was not for the faint of heart.
He clapped his hands together and smiled at the empty office. He was on top of his game again. He felt invincible.
Chapter Twenty
With a definite spring in her step, Dana walked through the executive suite of B. Altman, headed for Helen’s office. Helen’s assistant buyer brushed past Dana, almost knocking her over before bolting into the office a few feet away. Dana advanced and stood in the doorway.
Clearly upset, Helen’s assistant buyer was out of breath. “The shipment of fringed suede miniskirts hasn’t arrived!” she said.
Helen looked up and slammed the pen she’d been using to her desk. “What!” Helen exclaimed. “The ad ran in the Times yesterday! Get the manufacturer on the phone and put the call through to me immediately! They’ll never see another order from me as long as I live!”
“Right away,” said the assistant, who turned and hurried from the office as quickly as she’d arrived.
Helen returned to making notes, not bothering to acknowledge Dana’s presence.
“Helen,” Dana began, “I really would like to speak to you about—”
“Not now, Dana! I’ve got too much to deal with.”
The light on the desk phone was flashing, and Helen grabbed the receiver from its cradle. The manufacturer was already on the line.
“Excuse me, Helen,” said Dana, hoping to get in a few brief words before Helen began to speak. “The five teen finalists are coming in this afternoon for their fittings, and I need a room where I can organize their racks of clothing. I was wondering if I could use your conference room.”
Dana’s words fell on deaf ears as Helen’s raised voice demanded an explanation from the manufacturer of the suede miniskirts. The heated exchange had already lasted for over two minutes when Dana realized that Helen was in a foul mood and would therefore be unapproachable for the rest of the day.
Dana, however, was in especially good spirits after witnessing the meeting with Estée Lauder. She reminded herself that when one door closes, another usually opens, a saying that both of her parents had often quoted when she was growing up. It was the bridge between Phil and Virginia’s two different approaches to life. Dana spotted Bob Campbell walking down the corridor and decided that he might just be that open door.
“Bob, I need a conference room large enough to hold the fashion show merchandise, and Helen has her hands full,” Dana explained.
“Use mine for as long as you need it,” Bob said. “In fact, I’ll pop in to tell your contestants hi before going downstairs. I’ll be on the selling floor most of the day. The room is yours.”
“Thanks,” Dana said as Bob continued on his way, hardly breaking his stride.
It was a typical day at B. Altman, and Dana could feel the energy of the store, from customers to employees. Even better, she herself was a part of that pulse of high energy. Everything was in motion, and not even Helen’s harsh words or bad mood could dampen her enthusiasm. She sensed all parts of her personality working together, from her father’s quiet confidence to her mother’s proactive posture.
It was shaping up to be a great day.
• • •
Dana distributed handouts detailing the events for the fashion show to the five teen contestants seated nervously around Bob Campbell’s conference table. She looked at the face of each girl, knowing that she was looking at five sets of hopes and dreams. If all things remained constant, she was also looking at four faces whose hopes were utterly futile. Dana, however, did not intend for things to remain constant. She had thought of Friday’s conversation with Bob many times over the weekend, and she was more convinced than ever that his logic was terribly flawed. The fact that Kim’s parents were divorcing was tragic, but it was wrong for the other four contestants to pay for whatever difficulties Kim Sullivan’s parents were encountering. If 1975 was going to be International Women’s Year, a year advocating equality and fairness rather than preferential treatment for some over others, then that ideal needed to apply to all. To Dana, the year of equality was going to start a few weeks earlier if she had a say-so in the matter. It would unofficially begin at the Sugar Plum Ball with an announcement based on fairness.
The girls listened intently as Dana started to explain the program, each contestant hanging on her every word.
Lisa Gelber was a vivacious and ambitious girl who wanted to be a jewelry designer. Although her parents thought she should attend Syracuse after high school, Lisa was determined to leave school at the end of her junior year to enroll in the Division of the Arts at Simon’s Rock College in the Berkshires, the first early college in the country.
Japanese-born Mari Kimura was a quiet girl who was interested in science. She had a healthy mischievous streak and had not yet decided on what she would do after high school. Her home life was very eclectic: her mother gave violin lessons and her father had recently opened a world-class sus
hi restaurant in Midtown.
Robin Flowers, the youngest of three children, was playful and fun and could best be described as a “girl’s best friend.” Her time was spent improving her grades and preparing for the SATs—and trying to convince her mother, a high school economics teacher, that she herself was not interested in the teaching profession and wanted to study at the New York School of Interior Design.
Kate Daly, who lived in Forest Hills Gardens, home of the West Side Tennis Club, was, not surprisingly, an avid tennis player and a top competitor on the court. A natural-born leader and organizer, she always strived for perfection—except in the classroom. Her mother, who regretted not launching a career before marrying Kate’s father, encouraged her daughter to improve her grades and get into a good college while at the same time acquiring more feminine interests to balance her life on the court. Entering the teen contest at B. Altman had naturally gone a long way in accomplishing the latter goal.
Kim Sullivan was oblivious to the fact that she had been slated to win the competition, nor would anyone have guessed the pressure she was under as her parents went through the divorce process. She was introverted, thoughtful, and loved the arts despite parental pressure to major in pre-med. Always eager to please, she listened attentively as Dana ran down the luncheon schedule.
As coordinator for the contest, Dana knew the backgrounds and personalities of each girl so thoroughly that she could literally put herself into the shoes of all contestants. All were worthy, and all represented the very best of their generation. It was sobering that their fates had been placed in her hands, especially after the news that Bob, who did not know the girls as Dana did, had decided the outcome of the contest.
As promised, Bob stopped in to greet the contestants personally. He waved to everyone and then proceeded, to Dana’s mortification, to approach Kim and give her a warm smile and kiss on the cheek. The other girls looked at each other, not knowing what to make of the gesture. He then stood at the head of the table, officially welcomed everyone to the store, and wished the contestants the best of luck.
“I assure you that all the girls are working extra hard to make their families and B. Altman proud,” Dana said, hoping that Bob would understand the rather overt reference to the position she had taken on Friday.
Bob merely continued smiling. “I’m sure they are, Ms. McGarry, and I want each of them to know how important they are to the Sugar Plum Ball benefit. We appreciate their participation and hard work.”
The conference room door had been left slightly ajar by Bob, and the unmistakable sound of Helen’s voice could clearly be heard in the hallway. Dana surmised that Helen’s phone call had not gone well. “I’ll just be a minute,” she was telling someone. “I’ll be in and out.”
Helen entered the room but immediately halted. Bob had lent his conference room and his personal time to Dana’s contestants. She vaguely recalled Dana standing in her doorway earlier, but the public relations and special events coordinator had been quickly dismissed. How had she merited the time of the store’s vice president and general manager? There were a dozen problems that needed Bob’s attention, all more urgent than Dana’s teen contest.
“I’d love to stay and talk with each of you personally,” Bob told the girls, “but as you can see, duty calls. Once again, good luck to all of you.”
Bob began turning towards Helen, but stopped. “By the way, Dana—congratulations on the approval of your teen makeup section. Ira and Dawn looked at the floor plans Andrew brought to them after the meeting with Estée Lauder, and they loved your penciled sketch indicating a small section in the alcove that the sofa is now blocking. It won’t get in anyone’s way, and the new addition will help us find out whether we can address the teen market as aggressively as Biba.”
The mouths of both Dana and Helen dropped open simultaneously.
Bob leaned in close to Dana. “Way to go,” he whispered. “I knew you could do it. The indirect approach was a smart move.”
Bob was out the door before Helen could consult with him on her latest problem. Helen turned sharply to Dana, red-faced and angry. “Outside. Now!”
The contestants looked at each other, not knowing what to think.
“Everyone stay seated, please,” Dana said, following Helen into the hall.
“I expressly told you not to broach the subject of a teen makeup section with anyone!” Helen said. “You went behind my back and got Ira’s permission!”
“But I didn’t,” Dana countered, standing her ground. “I simply made a sketch on some plans Andrew and Mark had drawn up. I was just brainstorming. I didn’t talk to Dawn or Ira or Bea about it. I’m as surprised as you.”
Helen was about to reply, but didn’t. She clenched her fist, turned, and walked down the hall with the speed of a marathon walker.
Dana smiled, feeling totally elated—and more than a bit puzzled. She’d thought that her idea for putting the teen section in the alcove might perhaps be considered in the coming days or weeks. She’d planned on approaching Bob or Bea when she thought the time was right since the meeting with Estée Lauder had resulted in the alcove space being freed up, a space that, despite its small size, would be perfect for the new section. The fact that Ira and Dawn had seen her sketch so soon and immediately decided that it was a great idea came as a shock, albeit a pleasant one.
As Dana reentered the conference room and looked at the teen contestants, she knew that her plan to make the contest honest would now work. The teen makeup section would give her the leverage for what she had to do.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dana left her apartment Tuesday morning to rendezvous with Brett at Mary Elizabeth’s. The two were going to attend a neighborhood association meeting, the goal of which was to discuss petitioning local officials to sponsor an anti-loitering bill that would prohibit curbside prostitutes from soliciting motorists at the approach to the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. The solicitation of motorists in their slowly-cruising automobiles, “all with New Jersey plates” according to one local resident, was deemed an assault on the neighborhood and its tranquil lifestyle. Brett had agreed to handle the matter pro bono for the association and had already drafted the petition. Hopefully, Brett and Dana could further outline the problem and begin to collect signatures.
Dana was feeling on top of the world. She had accomplished so much the previous day, and she now hoped to make further progress on the home front. The petition and the legislation it proposed aimed to make the neighborhood cleaner and safer. It was not only the responsible thing to do, but it was also an action that sought to foster community-related values. It was, Dana thought, an activity not that far removed from the kind of steps people took when raising a family. If Brett could take time out from his busy schedule with the firm, Dana reasoned that he might be open to attending a PTA meeting or volunteering to coach a Little League team. This morning’s assembly at Mary Elizabeth’s was one more step in the right direction.
Dana arrived at the bakery and tearoom at 6 East 37th Street, three blocks from her apartment building, and saw that several dozen people had already gathered, although she did not yet see Brett among the people milling about and talking as they ordered coffee, tea, and pastry. He’d gone into the office early that morning so that he would be able to free up two hours in his schedule to attend the meeting.
Dana walked through the tearoom, thinking that Brett might be in a corner speaking with someone—and, of course, enjoying a honey bun. He was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she was approached by a tall blond wearing tight jeans and a sweater.
“You must be Dana,” the attractive woman said. “I’ve seen your picture in your husband’s office. I’m Janice Conlon.” The woman extended her hand.
“But . . . where’s Brett?” Dana asked, taking the blond’s hand in a tepid gesture. She was confused. Janice Conlon had no connection with the neighborhood association.
Janice cocked her head and gave Dana a forced yet encouraging smile, as if she we
re breaking bad news to a client. “I’m sorry, but Brett was called to court at the last minute. I told him I’d be happy to stand in for him at your little gathering this morning.”
Little gathering? The phrase sounded condescending to Dana.
“But Brett has the petition,” Dana said. “He was prepared to explain what steps would be taken after we get enough signatures.”
“I’ve got the petition right here,” Janice said, holding up a legal folder. “He’s outlined the entire matter for me.” She motioned to the people in the tearoom. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to begin. I’ve got a busy afternoon planned.”
Dana was certainly aware that Brett’s schedule was subject to change on any given day, but Janice Conlon was not exhibiting a great deal of interest in the meeting. Judging by her hurried manner, it seemed to be an imposition more than anything else.
Dana moved to the front of the tearoom and motioned for people to give her their attention. “Good morning, everyone,” she began, “and thank you for coming. As most of you know, my name is Dana McGarry, and my husband is Brett McGarry, a lawyer who will be handling this matter for us. Unfortunately, he was not able to make it this morning, so an associate from his firm will walk us through the initial steps we need to take.”
Janice moved through the crowd and stood next to Dana. “I’m Janice Conlon,” she said with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, “and I’m told you wish to submit a petition in the hopes that legislation will be introduced to stop the solicitation by prostitutes of vehicles entering the Queens Tunnel.”
“It’s the Queens-Midtown Tunnel,” Paddy FitzGibbon said politely. He looked at Dana and winked. She was glad to have a friendly face present in the absence of Brett.
“Yes, the entrance to the tunnel,” Janice continued. “Quite simply, you need to get the signatures and submit the petition to the councilman representing that municipal district and then follow up with a phone—”