Fashionably Late (21 page)

Or was she perhaps the mother lode herself? What she knew she wasn’t was a child or anybody’s property. Even Jeffrey’s. Was he holding on to her to comfort her, control her, or show his ownership? Whatever it was, it was time to let go, and as they approached the conference room Karen smoothly but firmly pulled her arm away.

The conference room, like everything else at NormCo except their profits, was understated. Recessed spots in the ceiling around the edges of the room made the conference table seem suspended in an oval of light.

There was a silver coffee service, surrounded by white porcelain cups, sitting on a sleek laquered credenza. Alongside the coffee was a neat pile of the kind of tiny pastries that melted in your mouth and left no crumbs. In fact, Karen was sure there wasn’t a crumb in the room, unless you counted Bill Wolper himself.

He stood at the far end of the table and, while he wasn’t a tall man, she was surprised by the big impression he made. He was beefy, though not fat, and his head was large and rather blockish. But in person he was surprisingly attractive. In his late fifties, he still had dark glossy hair and wonderful skin. It glowed in a rosy way. He probably was simply a victim of high blood pressure, Karen told herself, but she had to admit on him it looked good. He put out a big, square hand to her but she noticed that he didn’t move from his place at the head of the table.

The mountain would have to come to Mohammed. She walked smoothly down the aisle behind the row of conference chairs and extended her own hand.

He took it, and she was surprised once again, this time by its warmth.

Why had she imagined that he was some kind of cold-blooded creature a lizard, or serpent, perhaps?

“Bill,” she said and tried to make it sound like a name, not a title.

“Karen Kahn,” he responded, and he made hers sound like an accolade.

“Oakley Award winner,” he added. It was odd, how he’d picked the thing she was most proud of. They looked at each other for a moment, their eyes locked. His were a deep brown, and his lashes were almost as thick and dark as the hair on his head. He had two lines that ran from somewhere beside his nose to each corner of his mouth, sort of like parentheses. When he smiled, he had a dimple.

What’s with me, she wondered? I actually think Bill Wolper is attractive. As if that’s relevant. You’re looking at him as if this is a blind date instead of an arranged marriage. What’s going on?

She rarely noticed men in that way. She was perfectly happyţmore than happyţwith Jeffrey, despite their problems lately. But hadn’t she done the same thing at the brunch with Perry Silverman? God, she was going crazy! She had to refocus her attention on the financial facts that she and her team were about to present, and she had to be able to assess the package that Wolper’s team would be laying before them. She took back her hand. Had she let him hold it too long? Jeffrey extended his own and gave Bill’s a hearty shake. Then introductions were made to the rest of the staff: Casey, Defina, Robertthe-lawyer, and Mercedes Bernard on her side, Basil, Herb Becker, and a few anonymous suits on theirs. They lined up at opposite sides of the table, Karen to the immediate right of Wolper. For a moment Karen wondered if chess tables might not be provided for them all so that pawns would begin to be moved around. Oh, Karen, get serious, she told herself, as everybody took a seat.

Another well-dressed, middle-aged woman appeared and asked Defina how she took her coffee.

“Black, of course,” Defina said, and smiled at the woman innocently.

As usual, Defina was the only black at the meeting. Still, she was graceful about it. But when the woman asked Mercedes for her order, Mercedes stood up. “You don’t have to get it for me. I’ll get mine myself,” she said crisply. Her feminist disapproval didn’t seem to cause even a ripple among the suits, but Karen could feel Jeffrey squirm. Bill Wolper simply observed, neutral.

“Well, shall we begin?” Jeffrey asked and pulled a folder out of his attache.

Folders for everyone were distributed around the tableţthe glossy gray and black ones of NormCo and the beige, textured VIKInc ones. There was also an engraved card that welcomed VIKInc to NormCo’s worldwide headquarters. Karen ran her fingers over the letters. How much had that touch cost, she wondered. Bill Wolper cleared his throat. “Let me start by saying what a real pleasure it is to sit down to this eeting. I know that many of you have done a lot of work to bring us to this point and, whatever happens, I want you to know how much I appreciate it.” He looked back at Karen. “I have a feeling this was meant to be,” he said. “Kismet.”

“Bashert,” she replied. It was Yiddish for “fated,” but she bet that Bill Wolper didn’t know that. She hadn’t even remembered that she knew the word, although Belle or Arnold must have used it from time to time.

God, what was there in her that made her so contrary? She refused her Jewishness to Belle, who prized it, and then she threw it in the face of Bill Wolper, who must despise it. Karen heard Jeffrey sigh beside her.

Well, he was probably beside himself, as well.

Herb Becker began the Jneeting with an overview of NormCo and all its subsidiaries. Karen looked at the spidery org chart and sighed. She hadn’t seen anything as complicated since the printouts of her last ultrasound scan. She hoped that NormCo wasn’t as dysfunctional as her reproductive system. Out of nowhere, she thought of the mother and little girl she had seen in Macy’sţthe delicious crease of the child’s elbow and the satin smoothness of her chipmunk cheek. What, she wondered, would it feel like to have a little girl like that?

Remembering the child, she missed part of Herb’s boring explanation of NormCo’s retailing arm. She glanced over at Bill Wolper and realized that he had his eyes on her. Was he looking at her as if she were some toothy subsidiary to acquire, or was it more personal? She felt her color rise.

“Karen, it’s time for your delivery,” Jeffrey said. She stood up and walked to the screen that had been revealed when a wall smoothly disappeared into the floor. Everything here was smooth, except her.

Karen took a steadying breath. “Look, here’s the thing VIKInc isn’t like other companies. I know everybody must say that about their company, but in this case it’s true. In each of the last five years, we have had between two hundred and three hundred percent increases in our volume. Annually.

And I don’t believe it’s just good luck. It’s not even good merchandising.” She turned to Casey. “Not that we don’t have good merchandising,” she nodded to him. “It’s because we know what women want and what women need. We understand today’s woman. Because we are her.”

“Well, some of us are today’s woman,” Jeffrey said with a smile.

“And some of us just want to be,” Casey murmured to Defina. Jeffrey gave him a look.

Karen smiled at them all. “See, the thing is, it’s all based on design.

And in fashion, we have the endless excitement of designing for the body, deciding what should be revealed and what should be masked. Some people believe that the heart of fashion is sex. That’s partly true.

But I believe that women who follow fashion aren’t doing it to please men.

They do it to please themselves. It’s one of the few means of selfexpression left. It has also been said that clothes are a necessity, but fashion is a luxury. So, the women who buy our particular designs are buying them not only to express their personality. They also buy for the luxury of owning because owning this luxury also allows a woman to feel her place in society. People don’t buy our clothes because we advertise them well or because we merchandise them well or because we get great publicity, although we do all of those things. They buy them because once they get into them, they can’t not buy them. We design them that well, and either you believe that and we make a deal because that’s what you believe in, or else we shouldn’t be talking. Because if you’re just looking for a name to buy, buy another name. We’re proud of our name, but we’re proud of it because it stands behind our designs.” She looked directly at Bill. “Know what I mean?” she asked.

He looked straight at her and nodded, his face serious. The man hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she’d entered the room. Was he flirting, bullshitting her, or was he serious business? Did he understand?

“Let me show you,” she said, and nodded so that the first slide appeared.

From then on it was easy. She showed them the line and explained the thought behind it. Then she sat down. Defina took over and covered the licensing operations, Casey went through their merchandising, and Jeffrey presented the numbers. That brought up a few tough questions from Herb and Basil about the phenomenal growth and the decreasing profitability, about servicing the debt the bridge-line borrowing had created, but Jeffrey took the rap on it and admitted the problems they had had with interest payments and cost control. “It was,” he said smoothly, “one of the reasons we were so interested in NormCo.” He went on to say that he felt the strength of NormCo’s buying power could help them reduce those costs.

Herb then made his pitch. He showed them the ideas for licensing that his group had prepared, along with mockups of the VIKInc moderate sportswear line, children’s clothes, home products, and leather goods.

Most of the prototype stuff was ghastly, emblazoned all over with Karen’s initials. Hadn’t anyone told them that logos were over? Karen thought. Who had designed this stuff and how could she break their pencil so they could never draw again? Herb, unaware, smiled proudly.

“We can roll you out in all these areas quickly and smoothly,” he promised. It made Karen feel like a piece of dough. “Of course, these are only prototypes. But we can get you into mass market faster than anyone else could. And we see other ways we could help,” Herb told them.

“Our knowledge of offshore production might be useful. We have the contacts, worldwide.”

Before Karen had a chance to talk about her feelings regarding the exploitation of Third World workers, Bill turned to her, touching her arm through the silk knit of her sleeve. She could feel his warmth.

“But why are you interested in NormCo, Karen?” he asked.

There was a silence at the table. And the silence stretched on and on.

“I want to do more,” she said, at last. “I want to be able to get my ideas out to more women. In a way, it’s just egoţbut not because I want to see my name in the paper or because I like picking up awards from the design groups. In a way it’s bigger ego than that. I believe my stuff is really good. And that, given the opportunity, more womenţnot just the rich onesţwill recognize that it is. I want them to be comfortable and look good and feel better because of me.” She paused. “It isn’t easy being a woman today. You work three shifts: you have job, you’ve got a home and kids, and you have to maintain yourself and your appearance to keep looking attractive. If you let down at any of the shifts, you feel like a failure. I want to help make that third one easier. And I want to be recognized for doing it.

It’s my contribution.” She paused again. “Look, I know it’s not curing cancer, but it’s what I can do. We have always believed that we could make it in a really difficult business with two simple watchwords: underpromise’ and overdeliver.” It’s the opposite of what most guys in the fashion industry do, but so far it’s worked for us.”

It was almost one o’clock and Bill Wolper stood up. “This has been a very interesting few hours. I want to thank everybody for their contributions and insights.” Basil, Herb, and the other staff members stood up. So did Jeffrey and the rest of the IKInc staff. But Karen sat there for another moment. Was that it? Was that the only reward she got for spilling her guts? She felt flat, as if she’d let everyone down.

Bill turned to her, leaned over, and took her hand. “I have an engagement for lunch, I’m afraid. But I hope you’ll let me take you out another time.”

She looked up at him. “We’d love to,” Jeffrey said, and Karen rose.

Somehow, they all got down the hall and out of the building without saying a word or breaking what Casey would call their “grown-up style.”

But once they got out of the building and onto Park Avenue, Jeffrey let out a war whoop. “Yes!” he yelled. “Yes! We got em. I know we got em.”

“Did we?” Karen asked.

“Absolutely. They’re salivating. Couldn’t you tell? We got em!”

“But do we want em?” Casey asked. “Jesus! That Basil and Herb Show was too much. Don’t they sound like some new salad dressing?”

“Just doing their job,” Jeffrey said. “We handled them.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want them to be doing a job on me,” Casey sniped.

“But Karen, you were terrific. Some delivery.”

Karen blinked at the word. What was this, a conspiracy to make her sad?

She was selling her company, her baby, and being reminded she’d never have a real one.

“Yeah, baby, you were wonderful,” Defina agreed.

Well, anyway, she’d read the whole thing wrong. She’d done good.

“You were great!” Jeffrey told her.

“So were you. All of you were,” Karen managed.

“We are going to get one helluva offer from these guys,” Robertthe lawyer predicted. “I’d say more than we expected.” Karen could almost see him working out his percentage.

“I say twenty. Twenty million dollars,” Jeffrey predicted.

“It doesn’t mean we’ll accept their offer,” Karen said. She thought about Bill Wolper and was surprised all over again. She thought she was going to have to sell herself and instead she felt as if she’d been seduced. She turned to Defina. “What do you think, Dee?”

“Honey, I don’t know about the money, but I saw way too many double K’s to be comfortable. Call me oversensitive, but if there was just one triple K I would have run screaming from the room.”

“They’re saving the KKK line for the south,” Casey cracked. “There’s a guaranteed brand recognition factor there.”

“XK Inc. Where race is always an issue, gender is interchangeable, and reality is an option,” Jeffrey snapped, then shook his head. “You know what we’re called in the industry? )IKInc-y.” I swear to God, if NormCo gets just one tiny whiff of that, you can forget this deal or any other.”