Fashionably Late (53 page)

“It will,” Karen promised. “I’m sure it will.”

Karen sat back, sinking into the red banquette of Maxim’s. After her conversation with Cyndi, Karen’s trembling had finally stopped. She’d told Jeffrey all about the news, and then she’d been filled with nothing but joy. Everything had fallen into place at last, and here was the place to celebrate it. Maxim’s was a classic, a relic of the Parisian Art Nouveau period. Now it was owned by Pierre Cardin, the richest designer in the world. Everything was upholstered red as a womb, from the flocked wallpaper to the patterned carpet. For some reason no one who was anyone had dinner there, but for business lunches it was de rigueur. Needless to say, when they arrived, Bill had already secured the best corner table.

Karen knew she looked good, and men’s eyes definitely followed her across the room. Carl had gotten a lot of good word of mouth from the show, and models were flocking to his room for private consultations.

But Karen had ten minutes after her phone call to Cyndi and she stopped by his room so he could give her hair some attention. Anyway, now the dim lights were kind. Plus, European men had room for women over forty.

It wasn’t like New York oriod forbidţL.A where you were finished at thirty-five.

Maybe that was why European women didn’t hate their bodies the way American women did. Aside from peplums and a few other older-womentricks-of-the-trade, French females seemed more sure of themselves the older they got. In America, most women lost their courage as they aged.

Karen sometimes wondered if she would, too.

But at least right now she felt radiant and as secure and attractive as she ever had in her life. Well, why not, she asked herself? After all, her husband loved her, she was about to have a baby (even if it was by proxy), her show was the hit of the season, andţif she let himţthe man sitting across the table from her was about to make her very, very rich.

It hadn’t been easy but it seemed it was going to be worth it.

Bill and Jeffrey shook hands warily, but not as antagonists. Karen looked at the two of them. She sometimes wondered what the mysterious world of men was like. It seemed so territorial: you were either the head of some team, a team member, or one of those poor animals not strong enough or smart enough to maintain a territory of its own. It was all about winning or losing. She knew that Jeffrey felt like a winner, but he also must feel that he was giving up some of his turf to Wolper, the man with the monogram. And Jeffrey had never been much of a team player.

“So, may I add my congratulations to the pile?” Wolper asked. “Quite a coup, Karen. You’ve really made your mark.”

Karen made some deprecatory noise in her throat. Jeffrey beamed. The waiter came over for their order, but before Karen even looked at the menu, Wolper interrupted. “I’ve ordered the pate and the special veal for you,” Wolper told them. “It’s the best choice in the house. Not to be missed. And I’ve taken the liberty to begin with this Pinot Noir.”

Veal! Karen never ate it. Just the idea of the poor calves made her sick. But the great and powerful Oz had spoken. Karen didn’t know if she felt attended to or bullied. It seemed to be a familiar feeling when you were around Bill Wolper. She had to hand it to him: he always staked out his turf. She wondered how Jeffrey would take it, but he seemed amused rather than annoyed. “So, what’s next?” Bill asked.

“We’re taking the show to Milano,” Jeffrey said. Karen turned her head to look at him. What was he talking about? Milano was finished a week ago. Were they mounting an independent show? Or was this bullshit?

Wolper simply nodded his head. “Risky, but if you did this in Paris you’ll get by in Milan. And it wouldn’t hurt the image. I mean, now you really are talking international. What’s your timing like’?”

Karen expected Jeffrey to begin to phumpher, to try and fake something.

But Jeffrey began to rattle off dates and plans. “Friday we fly in.

We’re meeting with Bennezotti, we have an interview with Anna Piaggi, and have the show set up for the twenty-fourth. We’re giving a dinner after the L”Scala performance that night. And a big contribution to the opera.”

Wolper nodded. “It should make the morning edition of L”Espresso.”

Karen blinked. Had Jeffrey actually arranged all of this? Without discussing any of it with her? She looked over at Bill. “Well, here’s why I ask: I would like to get the contracts back from you by the end of the month.”

Jeffrey smiled. “We’re negotiating a few last issues. I’m sure Basil kept you in the picture.”

Wolper smiled back. “I don’t think there’s anything much left to quibble over,” he said. “After all, I want you to be happy.” He turned and, for ntrarentir.nets d he Inked at Karen “I want zsZ v t t-ţ,e ^nne ___e you to be happy,” he said. “So, if we have got all of the fine print straightened out, is there anything that is stopping you from accepting?” he asked directly.

She cleared her throat. Jeffrey had been right. The success in Paris had made them even more desirable, and for all she knew he did have a show planned for Milano.

Well, she’d made the Real Deal. She’d announced the buyout plan to her staff, and now, with Sally’s help, it looked as if she’d get her baby, but still, she hung back. She thought of Arnold in his hospital bed.

Was this a deal with the devil? She might be adopted, but she was Arnold’s daughter nonetheless. The waiter came and set down three plates, the tiny slabs of pate were frosted beautifully with a green and white dressing, all arranged with the most meticulous care. Tiny leaves of basil, small as a baby’s tears, were set in an arc along one side of the plate. It was food to feast your eyes on, but she looked up and across the table to Bill.

Despite the Real Deal, despite Cyndi and the baby waiting for her, Karen realized that there was still an obstacle. “There’s only one thing that’s stopping me from signing,” she said. “I have a last concern.”

Jeffrey gave her a look. Wolper had already bifurcated the slice of pate and had one half on his fork. He paused.

Karen continued. “Part of NormCo’s reputation in the mass market has been based on your claim that you make most of your garments in the USA.

But I know you do use a lot of offshore production, and I have to be certain of the condition of the workers.” God, she sounded like a sociology textbook or something. She was embarrassed. He would think she wasn’t business-like, that she was being “too female.” She didn’t want to mention the kind of rumors she had heard, but Bill must have known exactly what she was talking about. Still, if he were angry by this new factor, he didn’t show it at all. He simply filled his mouth with the pate, nodded his head, and swallowed. Then he wiped his lips on the red napkin and smiled.

“I can appreciate your concern,” he said. “And I have a suggestion that might put it to bed. Because you see, Karen, this is the best of all possible worlds.” the rlrer rlme F4mile UlC t,UIIVIUII zu, trurs I l Karen wished she could believe that, but she merely nodded and kept on listening.

“Of course, we do try to employ U.S. workers whenever we can. But let’s face it, we can’t always get the quality at the price we want.

Or at the price that that same American wants. We also like to advertise ourselves as a Madein-the-USA kind of company. So we found the perfect solution.

Our secret weapon: the Mananas.”

“The who?” Jeffrey asked betore Karen had a chance to. Karen imagined a group of Italian seamstresses doing NorrnCo’s production. Who the hell were the Mananas?

“Not who. Where. The Mananas. They’re a U.S. territory in the Pacific Basin. We do a lot of work there. It’s legal, it’s quality-controlled, and it’s cheap. Plus, no import duty and every garment can be legally labeled Made in the USA.”

” Karen thought back to the stuff that she and Defina had looked at in Macy’s. She remembered how they kept wondering how it could be so cheap.

Now she knew. Well, it was within the letter of the law, apparently.

But was it in the spirit of the law? Not Arnold’s law, certainly.

“I’d like to see those facilities,” she said. “Are they NormCo plants?”

“We own one, and we contract out a lot. We also contract out in Thailand right now. I think you would be pleased with all the factories.

We’re not talking slave labor, Karen. Do I look like a Simon Legree?”

She smiled and shook her head. “But I would like to see them,” she repeated.

“No problem. How soon can you leave?” Wolper asked smoothly. “We could all go together. A scenic tour of Asian factory production.”

Karen looked at Jeffrey. “In three weeks?” she asked.

Wolper pulled out a tiny automated calendar and began beeping things into the miniscule keypad. Karen couldn’t help but notice how delicate his touch was. He looked at her and smiled. “How about leaving for Bangkok on the twenty-fourth?” he asked. “We should just be ending the rainy season.”

“That’s when Milano is scheduled,” Jeffrey said.

Karen looked over to Jeffrey, who wasn’t smiling. Well, he wasn’t the only one who could make plans independently. She’d finish Fashion Week in New York. then he’d do Milano, she’d do Bangkok. “That would be fine, Bill,” she said.

“I think we could have the contract ready by then, don’t you, Jeffrey?”

Bill Wolper asked.

“I think we understand each other,” Jeffrey answered. “If Basil has no further problems.”

“I am sure there won’t be any difficulties,” Bill Wolper told them both.

“So, we can plan to sign the contract before the thirtieth of the month.” He picked up his glass of wine. “Shall we drink to that?” he asked.

While her aunt was choking down veal, Stephanie was in her room vomiting up her lunch. She had spent the morning going through the newspapers that Lisa had bought for her. Even though she couldn’t read most of the French, she felt overwhelmed by all of the publicity that she, “The New Waif,” was receiving. The black show was everywhere: the only reference to the other, the white show, was the fact that Karen showed up for the ending. And there was nothing about the other modelsţnot even Tangela.

Stephanie felt proud and frightenedţshe knew she’d gotten this by eating almost nothing, and now it was clear she was right not to. But how long can it go on? she wondered.

Aunt Karen was also right, Stephanie thought. I am good at modeling.

But the pride and the fear had driven her to call room service and eat three chicken sandwiches and a whole order of delicious pommes frites.

After she ate it all, she threw up. Then, to be certain none of the calories stuck, Stephanie got her headset and began aerobic dancing in circles, moving feverishly with joy and fear, thinking over all the possible job opportunities she would have now. “They love me, they love me,” she was singing to a Soup Dragons tape, when there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Stephanie asked. Quickly, embarrassed, she covered the telltale tray of dirty dishes.

“It’s Tangela. Can I come in?”

Stephanie, surprised, opened the door. Tangela had completely ignored her, ever since Karen chose her to replace Maria. “Hi. Come on in.”

“Thanks.” Tangela strutted across the room and spread herself onto the bed. “Starting a scrapbook or something?” Tangela asked, eyeing the newspapers that were strewn around the room.

Stephanie felt embarrassed immediately. She flushed. Scrapbooks were for babies. “No. I just thought I’d collect some of them and take them back home to show my friends.”

“High school? That’s kid’s stuff,” Tangela snapped. “If you want to be recognized in this business and stay popular with everyone from your aunt to the bookers, to the agencies, to the photographers, you have to act like a woman, not a kid.” Tangela squinted her long dark eyes and sized Stephanie up as if she were looking at her for the first time.

“You really might be able to make it,” Tangela said.

“Well, what kind of things do I have to do?”

“First of all, quit school. You’ve got to make your move now, while you’re hot.”

“Quit high school? Be a dropout?” The idea had never occurred to Stephanie.

“Of course. It’s lame. You think people will remember you next year, or the year after, if you’re not in the scene?”

Stephanie shrugged. “I guess not,” she said. “What else?”

“Always keep yourself looking good. And keep your weight low and your energy high. Nobody would have looked at you if you hadn’t slimmed down.

You should be grateful to me.” Stephanie noticed a glare in Tangela’s eyes at the last comment. But Tangela was being nice, wasn’t she?

“I am grateful. Really. And I’m careful about what makeup I use. I don’t wear clothes that go against my skin color, and well, I’m trying to keep my weight…”

“That’s the one thing that’s most critical,” Tangela told her. Her eyes raked the room and she saw the lunch tray. Stephanie blushed.

Tangela smirked. “Uh huh. Well, you got to start smoking. All of us do.”

“Forget it. My mother would kill me.”

“Forget your mother. They’re old and finished and jealous. You gotta smoke. And listen, I have something else that can help you keep your weight low, and it makes sure you never run out of energy.”

“You mean diet pills?”

“Hell no. I gave those up a long time ago. I’m talking coke.”

“Diet or Classic?” Stephanie blurted, and then nearly bit her tongue off. Kids back at Inwood talked about coke, but her friends didn’t use it.

Tangela laughed wildly. “Jesus girl, what rock have you been hiding under? I’m not talking baby soda water, I’m talking cocaine.”

Stephanie felt a little wave of fear run through her. She’d smoked marijuana a few times, but it had made her dizzy and hungry. Coke was real dope. “No. No way. I don’t do…”

“Listen, you want to stay in this business and be successful at it?

You’re going to need something.” Tangela jerked her chin at the empty lunch tray. “Hanging over the bowl is no solution. Believe me, this is it.” Tangela put her bag in her lap and searched through it. “Ah, here it is.” She pulled out a black zippered satin bag, opened it up, and took out a mirror, a tiny silver spoon, a razor blade, and a hundreddollar bill.