A Very Good Life (17 page)

Jack Hartlen inhaled and leaned forward. “It’s an intriguing idea, and not without its merits. You make a compelling argument, Brett, but I’ll naturally have to discuss this with my father.”

“Of course,” said Brett. “It goes without saying. But I don’t want to see Hartlen Response get scooped in another year or two. I can get Patrick on board with this, and the firm can arrange everything I’ve just outlined.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll get back to you in the next day or two with a preliminary answer after I’ve spoken with my father. He may have some questions. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely,” Jack said.

They were served lunch, and Brett left the restaurant feeling as if he had just made a superior closing argument to a jury. The deal he was proposing would be more than acceptable to Richard, and the logic of the proposal made good business sense for Hartlen Response.

Brett smiled and straightened his tie. He was now on his way to Janice’s apartment in Greenwich Village. He wasn’t nervous at all. On the contrary, he was excited. When he’d been called to court at the last minute, he had sent Janice to Mary Elizabeth’s to explain the petition, which he thought had been a masterful move on his part. Dana certainly wouldn’t suspect his own messenger of any impropriety. What could possibly go wrong?

D
ana decided that in order to retain her ability to focus on her job at B. Altman—indeed to keep her sanity after being humiliated by Janice Conlon—she needed to get through the rest of the day without deviating from her schedule. She had an afternoon appointment with her hairdresser at Kenneth’s, the 1897 Renaissance Revival townhouse at 19 East 54th Street that had been redesigned as a salon by Billy Baldwin. At the request of Kenneth, the lavish décor was inspired by the Brighton Pavilion, and five hundred yards of paisley and nine hundred yards of Indian jungle flower cotton in circus shades of red and yellow were draped in such a fashion so as to create a fantasy palace.

As much as she enjoyed being pampered, Dana was in no mood for such luxury after leaving Mary Elizabeth’s. Janice’s bizarre words echoed in her mind again and again. The woman was impertinent, and her totally unexpected public tolerance of prostitution had managed to sabotage an issue that was important to the Murray Hill Neighborhood Association. But the failure of the meeting was now the least of Dana’s worries. The idea of Brett purchasing a wardrobe for someone was bad enough, but that he had done so for the brash and tawdry Janice was something that made Dana’s mind reel. And then there was the matter of the wine journals. Janice had no more business being with Brett to pick up the gifts Dana had selected than she did attending the neighborhood association meeting. Their client had offices at 30 Rockefeller Plaza, not at Mrs. John L. Strong.

Dana entered Kenneth’s and was escorted to the chair at the station of Mr. Gino, her personal stylist. Mr. Gino was talking animatedly to Dana about what she wished to be done on this particular visit, but Dana didn’t hear a word. She was rehearsing the questions she would ask Brett later in the day. He was good at thinking on his feet after years of standing in open court and handling unanticipated situations, and she wondered what answers he would tender when confronted with the information she had learned from Janice at Mary Elizabeth’s. The one glimmer of hope that Dana entertained was that it made no sense for Brett to send a woman to the meeting who could offer compromising information on his recent activities. Why would he intentionally incriminate himself?

Perhaps the woman was just abrasive, and Brett would have a perfectly legitimate explanation for his activities on Saturday. For that matter, Janice Conlon might not even be telling the truth. Her histrionic manner and unwillingness to help with the petition had made it clear that she was not someone to be trusted. Dana’s impulse was to pick up the phone immediately, call Brett and clear the air for good or ill, but she wanted to confront her husband face to face. People’s body language sometimes said far more than the spoken word. If Brett flinched the smallest bit when Dana requested an explanation, she would know that something was amiss.

Until the opportunity presented itself, however, Dana decided to relax in Kenneth’s peaceful sanctum while she reveled in Monday’s triumph at B. Altman. There was going to be a teen makeup section, and Helen wasn’t going to be able to block it, regardless of her adamant opposition to the concept on Friday. The air would be chilly for the foreseeable future when the two women encountered each other, but Helen would eventually come around. She might even end up, at some point in the future, speaking of what a wonderfully creative move it had been for the cosmetic section to incorporate a teen makeup counter so as to be seen favorably by Ira and Dawn. Dana knew that everyone was capable of using revisionist history to their own advantage.

Dana was finally beginning to tune into Mr. Gino’s words when the receptionist approached his station and handed her a slip of paper torn from a message pad. Dana read the words and turned to her hairdresser. “Sorry, Mr. Gino, but I have to run back to work. I’ll need to reschedule.”

Dana was out on the street in a matter of minutes. Kim Sullivan’s rack of clothing had been sprayed with water from a pipe being repaired in an adjacent dressing area. Dana would need to make another selection of clothing for the contestant. Before leaving Kenneth’s, Dana had called the Sullivan’s residence and asked the housekeeper to rush Kim to her office for another fitting as soon as she was out of school.

As Dana taxied back to the store, she mentally rehearsed everything that needed to be done before the luncheon. For the moment, her thoughts were no longer on Concolor Christmas trees, the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, wine journals, or Janice Conlon. There was a contest to run, and she was going to see it done correctly—and fairly.

J
ack and Patti had returned to their room after lunch to discuss Brett’s proposal that Hartlen Response retain Davis, Konen and Wright, gradually phasing in an amended version of Richard Patterson’s plan for Hartlen Response to join a consortium of oil companies to participate as first responders to oil spills along the East Coast.

“So what did you think?” Jack asked his wife.

“I thought the entire lunch was rather strange,” Patti confessed. “Why didn’t Brett tell your father that he was with the firm?”

“Well, maybe he did and Dad forgot to mention it to me.”

“Perhaps,” Patti said. She, of course, had a different explanation. Brett had probably learned that Ralph and Jack were considering using his firm and perhaps thought he could land a new client courtesy of his convenient and accidental connection to Jack. To Patti, the proposal seemed a bit too opportunistic.

“He did make some excellent points,” Jack conceded. “Hartlen Response may be taking a huge risk if we don’t protect our interests in the short term.”

“I tend to agree,” Patti said thoughtfully, “but I would have thought that he would bring such a proposal to Richard Patterson or Patrick Denner first rather than straight to us.”

“That did cross my mind, but maybe he’s just trying to be friendly. For all we know, Patrick may have told him to approach us since we’ve been reluctant to become part of a consortium thus far. This could be their counterproposal, with Brett sent as their point man since he’d already made our acquaintance.”

Patti sighed. “You could be right, but I just get a bad feeling when I’m around him.”

“Well, I’ve learned never to ignore your sixth sense. I’ll talk with Dad this evening about the proposal.”

Patti kissed Jack on the lips and then stepped back. “Are you feeling okay? Maybe coming down with something? You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine. I’m still a little shaken from the robbery here at the hotel. It’s not the best way to be introduced to New York City. I can’t believe the real estate agent told us residents don’t lock their doors in the co-op building we were in the other day. I won’t take any chances.”

Patti nodded her head. “I’ve had the exact same feeling, but I’m sure things will be okay. Change is always hard.”

“No argument there,” Jack said.

D
ana arrived at her office and saw Kim Sullivan already waiting for her. Kim, who had short brown hair, a petite frame, and warm brown eyes, was dressed in her Dominican Academy uniform.

“Thank you for getting here so quickly,” Dana said to Kim.

“Our housekeeper arranged for me to miss my last period, which was study hall.” Kim paused, clearly anxious. “What happened to my clothes? Are they the only ones that were affected? Is there time to make a new selection? I mean . . . do I still have a chance?”

Dana smiled reassuringly. “We’ve got
plenty
of outfits to choose from. In fact, new shipments came in Monday afternoon. A pipe burst in one of the fitting areas set up near the kitchen of Charleston Garden, where we will have the luncheon and fashion show. Unfortunately, the leak was aimed at your rack. Let’s go down to the Junior Department. I saw a red corduroy skirt you might like.”

Dana thought of the irony of Kim’s remark.
Do I still have a chance?
She was visibly upset even though Bob had clandestinely arranged for her to win. Dana, however, had clandestine plans of her own regarding the competition.

Dana laughed when she saw the suede fringe miniskirts. Helen could be a bear, but she was a bear who got results. Dana pitied the supplier who suffered Helen’s wrath when the shipment hadn’t arrived on time. The miniskirts caught the attention of Kim as well, who inhaled sharply as she ran her fingers tentatively along the brown suede.

“I . . . love these,” Kim said softly, as if she were afraid to be heard.

“Let’s find your size and try one on,” Dana said. “This is more fun than red corduroy.”

Kim lowered her head. “I don’t know. Maybe you should tell Lisa Gelber that the skirts are here. She came to the fitting yesterday looking for them because she saw the ad in Sunday’s
Times
. I know she’ll be upset when she sees me wearing one instead of her.”

“Lisa already made a great selection,” Dana said, “and I know she’s happy with her choices. Let’s see how the suede skirt looks on
you
. It’s a nice change from your uniform, and I think your parents will love you in it. “

Kim hesitated. “If they come to the luncheon, that is.”

Dana looked puzzled. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Oh, they certainly plan to attend,” Kim replied. “It’s just that they’re both doctors. My mother does research in molecular biology. My dad is the head of the Children’s Eye Tumor Clinic at Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center. Our housekeeper Vera, who was my nanny, looks after me a lot since my mom works late pretty often and my father lectures out of town. But now . . .”

Dana waited for Kim to continue. The girl clearly wanted to share something disturbing.

Kim looked down as a tear formed in the corner of her eye. “But now my parents are divorcing. I’m trying to be strong, so I want to make them proud of me.”

Dana put her arm around Kim’s shoulder. “I know you will, Kim. Take everything one step at a time. Meanwhile, why don’t we get some ice cream at the restaurant upstairs? We can come back and finish the fitting later. I think you’ll like a tan poplin pantsuit I have in mind, and maybe a striped tunic sweater with a pleated skirt.”

Kim forced a smile. “Thanks, Mrs. McGarry.”

Dana quickly responded, “Please, call me Dana.”

Dana thought of the advice she’d given Kim: take one step at a time. It was the only way that she, too, was making it through the day.

• • •

Charleston Garden, on the eighth floor of B. Altman, was bordered on one side by the full façade of a Charleston-style mansion, complete with stately white columns that looked as if it could have been copied directly from the pages of
Gone with the Wind
. Murals on the other three walls simulated outdoor gardens. Dana and Kim got their ice cream and seated themselves at a table.

“Do you have siblings?” Dana asked, hoping Kim would continue to discuss her family situation since she was clearly worried.

For a brief moment, Dana felt as if she were talking to a daughter of her own in the distant future, and she realized how precious and delicate those times would be—and how important it was to get it right.

“No,” Kim answered. “It’s just the three of us. And Vera, of course, who’s part of the family. I know my parents and Vera are concerned about me.”

“Are you holding up okay?” Dana asked.

Kim shrugged. “I think so. But when we talk about it, I react differently to each of them. I’m calm and listen when my mother discusses the divorce, but it’s easier to tell my father of my sadness and my fears. The funny thing is that they’re so much alike and yet so far apart. If that makes any sense, that is.”

Dana thought of how different her own parents were from each other, although they had been able to build on their differences and turn them into strengths. Not all couples were so fortunate. Dana nodded. “Yep. Makes sense.”

“We really love each other,” Kim continued, “and no matter what, we’ll always be a family. Mom’s a very analytical person, devoted to her work, and she’s going to join the faculty of the University of Zurich to work on a cancer drug called interferon. I’m supposed to visit her for three months this summer in Switzerland.”

“Sounds pretty exciting,” Dana commented.

“I guess. But Mom will be working, and I won’t know anyone there. Vera’s coming with me, but I’ll miss my friends—and definitely my dad. We talk a lot. Sometimes I feel good simply because we’re together reading in our library at home.”

Dana knew exactly what Kim was describing. When she was growing up, being around Phil had always made Dana feel secure and safe, even if he didn’t say a single word.

“I read in the essay you submitted for the contest that you’re planning on pre-med when you get to college,” Dana said. “You certainly have the grades for it. Your parents must be very happy that you’re following in their footsteps.”