Always and Forever (12 page)

K
ATHY HAD BEEN WRONG
about the manila envelope that exchanged hands at the baby’s
bris.
It had been a thousand-dollar savings bond for Jesse Peter Kohn. Now Phil waited impatiently for his father to fulfill his promise. What would they do about furniture if he gave them a house, Kathy asked herself. Phil’s salary was too small for them to have put aside any savings. They lived from check to check, and she had such a fear of buying on time.

When the baby was one month old, Julius summoned Phil into his office in midafternoon.

“I want you to come up to the house on Saturday morning. Bring Jesse and Kathy with you,” he said with a sly grin. “I’ve got a surprise. I’m flying to the house in Maine after an early lunch.” Julius was proud of having made a deal with a charter service to fly him and his sons-in-law to the Maine house and back every summer weekend. “But you stay for the week end.”

“Okay,” Phil agreed, his stomach churning in excitement. Here it came, he thought exultantly. The house in Greenwich. “What time shall we be there?”

“Be there by eleven. That’ll give us plenty of time to talk and have lunch before I have to leave.”

“Dad, what about shifting me over to the store for a while?” he asked casually. He’d been building up to this for a week. He didn’t want to wait five years for a partnership. He wanted to sell the old man on bringing him in within a year. “I think we’re missing the boat on our retail sales.”

“What do you mean?” Julius demanded with a hint of belligerence. “Where are we missing the boat?”

Dad had his back up, Phil warned himself. Take it easy. He resented having his business skill questioned.

“I mean, Dad—” He leaned forward, exuding filial charm. “I mean, we could expand our sales, build up our image if we bring in a famous dress designer. I—”

“We’re known as the furrier of the Hollywood stars,” Julius bristled. “I spend a shitload of money to keep up that image.”

“We should be catering to society women as well,” Phil pursued. “There are a hell of a lot more of them than there are Hollywood stars, and they’re not impressed by Hollywood names. Listen to Mother and the girls when they start talking clothes.” Phil felt a surge of excitement at this fresh approach for Julius Kohn Furs. It was time the fur industry recognized the value of name designers. “Whose names do they mention? Jacques Fath, Balenciaga, and that new designer—the one who caused all the excitement with his ‘New Look.’” Phil snapped his fingers in recall. “Christian Dior.”

“Who do you think buys our furs at the Madison Avenue store?” Julius demanded. “Rich women. Who else can afford them?”

“Wouldn’t you like to see a Julius Kohn fur on the back of every important society woman in America?” Phil replied. “They’re the real fashion leaders, not Hollywood stars. And they spend much moolah on clothes. What they buy, the rich wives across America will buy. We need to bring high fashion into the fur industry. Give furs more pizzazz.” He was conscious of an enthusiasm for the business he had never expected to feel.

“We’ll talk about it when I get back from Maine,” Julius hedged. “All of a sudden movie stars don’t count? With half the people in America sitting in a movie theater on Saturday nights watching Joan Crawford and Ava Gardner and Loretta Young, you think I have to worry about society broads?” he derided. Yet Phil knew he’d planted a seed in his father’s thinking. He could sense the wheels turning in the old man’s head.

“The world’s changing, Dad. A lot of people came out of the war with more money than they ever dreamed of having. They see themselves moving up in the world, and that means socially. Read the tabloid gossip columns,” he challenged. “They’re full of society names. Parties in Palm Beach and Bar Harbor and Southampton.”

“Don’t mention Southampton to me,” his father grunted in irritation. “All your mother’s been talking about the past three weeks is about getting rid of the house in Maine and buying something in Southampton.”

“Because it’s the smart place to go in the summer,” Phil pounced. “It might even be a good business move for you to have a place out there.”

“Our neighbors on both sides have summer houses in Southampton, so your mother has to have one, too,” Julius grumbled, then squinted in thought. “I’ll talk to the publicity woman. Maybe you’re right. She might be able to get some mileage out of ‘the Julius Kohn place at Southampton.’”

“Dad, put me in the store for a while,” said Phil trying a second time. “Let me get a feel for the retail trade.” And a feel of that gorgeous blond model he saw when he went into the store last week to check on inventory. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. “Not as a salesman,” he stipulated. “As a consultant.” He’d struggled for ten days to come up with a title that pleased him. “Look, rich women are no different from others. They love flattery. I’ll have them try on several coats or jackets, then decide one makes them look like Vivien Leigh or Joan Fontaine. ‘Ah, but this one is for you,’” he improvised. “‘I won’t allow you to consider any other.’ And then I’ll beckon to the saleswoman to take over.”

“You’d make a sensational gigolo,” Julius chuckled.

“I’ll host our fashion show,” Phil offered. He saw his father’s eyebrows shoot upward like a pair of frightened swallows. “When you decide we’ll have an annual fashion show.”

“You don’t decide to have a fashion show and do it the next month,” Julius pointed out.

“I know,” Phil agreed. “You start six months ahead. I’m looking toward 1948.” He saw his father’s smug reaction.
So Phil plans on staying with the business,
the old man was thinking.

Phil was looking toward a partnership. A partner drew a bundle in salary plus a chunk of the profits. “Make it a charitable event, Dad,” he continued. “Bring in the top debutantes of the season to model. Give a percentage of the sales of the day to a designated charity. It’ll be easy enough to push up the sales prices so we don’t feel the contribution.”

“That’ll bring in newspaper and magazine coverage.” Julius was contemplative.

“Even television. A big spread in
Women’s Wear Daily,
a story in the
Times,
” he expanded enticingly.

“All right,” Julius capitulated. “Monday morning you’ll be reassigned to the store. We’ll think about the fashion show in early September of next year, when everybody’s back from the resorts. We might even send a show on the road to hit major stores in key cities.” Now he was beaming. “You gave me a lot of gray hairs, worrying about your future. But you’re coming through with real class now. No doubt about it, Phil, by the time I decide to retire, you’ll be able to take over. You’re a chip off the old block.”

Kathy talked to her mother briefly on the phone while Phil did last-minute packing and Jesse slept in his crib.

“Phil’s sure his father is bringing us up to give us the house,” Kathy reported without enthusiasm.

“Kathy, your own home,” her mother said reverently. “It’s like a dream.”

“A lot of returning GIs are buying homes now,” Kathy reminded.

“Tiny cracker boxes out in Levittown,” her mother scoffed. “You’ll be living in Connecticut in a beautiful house. Julius Kohn is an awful show-off,” she reminded. “He’ll want to brag to his friends about his son’s fine new house.”

“Kathy, it’s getting late,” Phil called. “Let’s get ready to shove off.”

“Mom, I have to go. I’ll call you when we get back on Monday,” Kathy said. “Bye.”

Phil carried their valises and the baby paraphernalia. Kathy held Jesse—still sleeping—in her arms. It was weird, she thought, while they waited for the elevator. They’d probably be moving into the house in Greenwich any week now. And Phil would be driving into New York every day with his father. What he’d sworn he’d never do. But he was in high spirits. He didn’t seem upset at all at the prospect.

They were following the pattern set by Phil’s parents, Kathy told herself, and felt alarm signals pop up in her mind. She and Phil mustn’t allow their marriage to become a replica of his parents’ marriage. They wouldn’t, she promised herself. She and Phil loved each other too much for that. They’d always work things out.

They arrived at the Greenwich house to find Julius sprawled on a chaise on the elegant veranda. He jumped up to greet them, called to a servant inside the house to take care of their luggage. He played the fatuous grandfather for a few moments, then herded them toward the limousine, parked in the drive with Wally at the wheel.

“We’re just going about a quarter mile down the road,” he told them in high spirits with an air of mystery, which they pretended to respect.

As Phil anticipated, his father was at last making official the gift of a house. To
Phil,
Kathy understood. Not to Phil and his wife. She was just an onlooker, she thought in silent rage. Julius was behaving as though she wasn’t present.

“There she is.” Julius smiled in approval as Wally turned into a circular driveway before a pretentious, freshly painted, white colonial set on an acre of manicured lawn. “Eleven rooms, three baths and a two-car garage.”

“Looks sensational, Dad,” Phil said. “But what about the taxes? Are we going to be clobbered?”

Wally hurried around to open the car door and Kathy emerged with Jesse.
Who was going to clean those eleven rooms? Who was going to mow the lawn and trim the hedges?
Phil and his father were involved in lively discussion about the features of the house. It would be like living on a movie set, Kathy thought rebelliously.

“Well, Kathy?” Julius turned to her when he had shown them through the three floors of the house. “How do you like it?” He spoke to her but he looked at Phil.

“It’s a lovely house,” she said politely. She would have preferred one of the new casual, comfortable ranch houses that were mushrooming all over. “Thank you.”

She never knew how to address Phil’s parents. Nobody had set the ground rules. She would have been self-conscious calling them “Dad” and “Mother.” She suspected they would balk at “Julius” and “Bella.”

Three weeks later Kathy, Phil, and tiny Jesse moved into their new home. The furniture from the West End Avenue apartment was inadequate and incongruous. For now much of the house would be closed off.

At precisely 5:50
A.M.
each morning, Phil left the house to join his father in the back seat of the limo for the drive into Manhattan. On their first morning in the house he had encouraged Kathy to remain in bed when he arose, since he would have only coffee and juice at this hour. He’d have breakfast in the city. But she insisted on getting up with him. Jesse always awoke at 6
A.M.
for a bottle.

Later in the morning—because it took her an hour to go back to sleep after Jesse’s 2
A.M.
feeding—she would nap while he slept. She must learn to drive, she told herself repeatedly. Otherwise, she’d be a prisoner in this house. Phil seemed unenthusiastic about her driving, but she’d have to make him understand.

She had been worried that Phil’s mother and sisters, living so near, would be popping in often with advice about caring for Jesse. Instinctively she knew their ideas of child-raising would clash with her own. Phil and his sisters had been raised by nursemaids, as Phil’s nieces were being raised now. But Phil and she might have lived a continent away from his family, she quickly realized.

Phil’s father picked him up in the morning in the chauffeured limo, and brought him home at night. Once or twice a week Julius came into the house for a few minutes to fuss over Jesse. Phil’s sisters sent lavish, impractical gifts from Saks but never bothered to call. His mother came by for ten minutes one afternoon between a luncheon party and a garden club meeting to stand beside the crib for a few moments.

“He looks just like Phil at that age.
” He didn’t. He looked like the Ross side.

The Kohn women were more concerned about their volunteer activities and social organizations and prospective trips than about Phil’s son. But Jesse could survive without the attention of the Kohn family. He had an adoring grandmother, grandfather, and great-great-aunt on her side.

Kathy talked regularly with her mother and father and Aunt Sophie by phone. Mom was always anxious about their talking too long.
“Darling, you’ll run up such a big bill.”
They developed a routine. One time Mom would call, the next time she would call. Except for phone calls to and from her family and Marge and Rhoda, she was living in isolation, Kathy thought wryly after a refreshingly long call from Rhoda.

On their third Sunday in the house, Kathy’s parents and Aunt Sophie were coming out for a midday dinner. Eager to see them, she went with Phil to the station to pick them up. She felt a poignant rush of love as the familiar figures emerged from the train.

“I’ll take Jesse,” Phil said, standing beside the car. “Go meet them.”

It was as though they’d been apart for months, Kathy thought affectionately as the three women settled on the rear seat and her father joined Phil on the front. Jesse nestled in her mother’s arms.

“I made a batch of
rugelach
and a
challah,
” Aunt Sophie said, patting the parcel on her lap. “Jesse will have to wait a while before I make him cookies. Precious little sweetheart—”

While Phil was showing them through the house, Kathy went into the kitchen to put up dinner. As Mom had insisted, she’d prepared a simple menu. They’d have to be heading back to the station in four hours so Dad could relieve his helper at the store.

“It’s a beautiful house, Kathy.” Her mother appeared in the doorway, her smile sympathetic. Mom understood she didn’t feel comfortable here. Not in this house. Not in Greenwich. “You’ll feel better here when you have more of it furnished.” She hesitated. “Dad and I want you to come into town and choose a table and chairs for your breakfast room. Our house-warming gift,” she said with a bright smile.

“Mom, you and Dad have done enough,” Kathy protested. “I know what the wedding cost you.”

“It’s our pleasure, darling. You’ll come into New York as soon as it’s convenient, and we’ll go shopping. Such a lovely breakfast room. You should be able to enjoy it.”