No More Lonely Nights (22 page)

She hurried up Fifth Avenue, passing a montage of bright displays. Then she stopped in front of the venerable Tiffany—the second store on her list. For a moment, she gazed in the windows, admiring the beautiful diamond necklace in one, the silver place settings in another, the fine crystal in a third. Then, gathering her courage, she took a deep breath and pushed through the revolving doors.

Dominique’s interview at Tiffany was more encouraging than at Saks. The personnel director was familiar with the American College in Cairo, and praised it. He had been stationed in North Africa during World War II and was suitably impressed with Dominique’s job experience as secretary to Group Captain Hampton. He would keep her application on file, he promised. But, regretfully, there were no openings at the moment. However, would Dominique care to go to lunch? He was attractive, and Dominique was hungry, but she took one look at the gold ring on his left hand and said no.

Bergdorf-Goodman’s personnel director looked over her résumé carefully. “You have a good background,” he told Dominique. Her heart soared with optimism as he telephoned the director of publicity to ask if he would see Dominique. But when she presented her ideas to the second man, he told her they were too extravagant. Dominique wanted to argue, to remind him that they were just broad concepts, not final plans, that she could work within any guidelines he set. But she could tell from his closed expression that arguing would be futile.

That left six names on Dominique’s list. It was almost four o’clock and she estimated she had time for only one more try that day. Orman’s was the closest, so she chose it. As she made her way through the late afternoon crowd on the street, she tried to remember everything she’d learned through her research.

Only five years old, Orman’s wasn’t like any store in New York, or anywhere else for that matter. Out to make a splash in the world of retailing, it contained a couture department as exclusive as Bergdorf’s and a furniture department as fine as Lord & Taylor’s. The square footage was almost the same as Macy’s, but with a less crowded feeling. It had more salespeople than any other store, larger dressing rooms, and more custom services. Yet Orman’s was anything but stodgy. The philosophy was that shopping should be fun, an event. To this end, there were daily makeup demonstrations, food samplings, and fashion shows. In addition, Orman’s had initiated a system that
Retailing Today
predicted would become the norm for high-toned department stores. Clothes and other merchandise were not grouped by function as in other department stores, but rather arranged in small, exclusive boutiques, many devoted to one designer. In fact, Orman’s was always the first to launch new trends, to try new kinds of publicity, to experiment with the psychology of decor.

Dominique had visited Orman’s before, and she liked it, but she had always viewed it through the eyes of the customer. Now, as she stepped through the main doors into the sweetly scented cosmetics department, she tried to observe as much as she could about the store’s clientele, displays, and general image.

Orman’s had none of the museum-like quality of Saks, but it nevertheless exuded an air of opulence. There were mirrors everywhere, reflecting imaginative displays of accessories and cosmetics. Mannequins were adorned with items from several different departments to create fanciful vignettes. But most appealing was the sense of life that pervaded the atmosphere. Salespeople smiled and moved busily about. Models glided down the aisles sporting the latest fashions and handing out small samples of perfume. Orman’s bewitched Dominique with its air of adventure, discovery, and possibility.

Standing in the black marble entrance, Dominique felt a surge of optimism. She was sure that she was right for Orman’s. She made her way past the mirrored pillars of the scarf and handbag department until she found the elevator. An attendant in a navy blue uniform with gold epaulets held open the doors as Dominique entered, then closed them behind her.

Dominique’s first stop when she exited was the ladies’ room. Standing in front of the full length mirror, she pivoted from side to side, checking for hanging threads. She decided her peach wool suit looked immaculate but dull, with its rounded collar and straight lines. Not nearly as snappy as the Orman’s image. She withdrew the silk scarf she had tucked into the sleeve of the raincoat and draped it around the collar of the suit. That was better. The apricot-colored print brought out the auburn in her hair. A touch of lipstick and she was ready. Dominique stared into the mirror at her reflection. Her eyes stared back at her, their expression serious. Too serious. She wanted to project confidence and sophistication. She forced a stiff smile. Then she thought about actually getting the job at Orman’s and her smile broadened so that dimples appeared at either corner of her mouth. She tilted her chin up, pivoted, and marched to the personnel office.

Brash and innovative as Orman’s was, the New York store manager, Bruce Fisher, seemed the opposite. He was a soft-spoken man who wore horn-rimmed glasses, discreet gold cuff links, and a conservative suit that looked as if it was tailored on Savile Row. He had an air of wisdom and maturity, though Dominique estimated that he was no more than forty.

As she sat opposite him explaining her ideas, she felt she had discovered a kindred spirit. He seemed to understand just the sort of mood she was trying to create with her concepts. As she spoke, he picked up the thread of her ideas and carried them one step further, mulling aloud how they might work at Orman’s.

Filled with enthusiasm, Dominique pulled from her purse some typewritten pages. She unfolded them to reveal diagrams of her ideas—lists and cost estimates as well as logistical details. It had been her first opportunity to show them to anyone, since her other interviewers had not been interested.

Bruce Fisher took the papers from her and studied them seriously. Then his frank gaze met Dominique’s. “This is very impressive. Well thought out.”

Dominique held her breath. Clearly, Fisher had something to add.

“I can offer you a job today, but not the job you’re hoping for.”

Dominique almost cried out with relief and joy. Any job would be welcome.

Fisher sat back in his chair and regarded her for a moment. “Everyone here starts at the bottom unless they already have a retailing background. We believe that our employees should be acquainted with many facets of the store before taking on a position of greater responsibility. And”—he paused—“we find that retailing isn’t for everyone.”

He put down her diagrams and picked up her résumé. “It says here that you have secretarial experience.”

Dominique nodded, trying to suppress a small twinge of disappointment. She should be thrilled to be offered any job. And she was! “Yes, sir.”

“I have a secretarial opening in my office. You’d be working just down the hall from me with two other ladies who help organize our events. They’re both secretaries, but with considerable responsibility. They report directly to me, as you would. Every once in a while, they help out our press secretary, Hank Benson. Mostly if he has a big press mailing. But he’s a former reporter and does most of his own typing.” Fisher chuckled. “Probably the fastest in the office.

“I pretty much oversee the events. They’re very important to Orman’s image, especially as we’re still such a new store.”

Dominique tilted her head thoughtfully as she listened. An article she had read in the
Wall Street Journal
about Orman’s came to mind. There had been several paragraphs devoted to Fisher.

For all his seeming gentility, Fisher is cutthroat in his marketing strategies. He doesn’t underprice his competition; instead he beats them to market with new, innovative lines. He has successfully built Orman’s image with a two-pronged approach. The first is his buying strategy. “I look for what’s different, extravagant, whimsical, bold, yet still within the confines of acceptability,” Fisher says.

The second element he relies on is publicity. He could easily entrust Orman’s public relations to an underling, but it is his pet project. It was he who launched the publicity/special events department and he who realized that it was the key to distinguishing Orman’s from all the other up-market department stores in New York. While other stores put on fashion shows and sponsor decorous charity benefits, Fisher fills the society pages with events that range from gala to just plain irreverent, but never stodgy.

Dominique was glad now that she’d taken the time to research the stores to which she had applied. “It seems like you want Orman’s to be regarded as more creative than the competition… more avant garde,” she said.

Fisher smiled his approval. “Right. We want to attract the wealthy customer, but not by offering the same type of merchandise as Bergdorf’s or Saks. We’re trying to create a demand for younger clothing and furniture. Expand our market.”

Dominique sat forward in her chair, thoroughly engrossed in the conversation. “I noticed that you have departments that are trendy and fashionable, but not as expensive. I passed some on the way in.”

Fisher gave her a respectful nod. “You’re very observant.”

Dominique’s excitement was almost impossible to contain. She felt as jittery as if she’d drunk ten cups of coffee. “I want very much to work for Orman’s,” she said. And it was true. She felt more at home here than in any of the stores she’d visited that day.

“Well.” Fisher gave her a genial smile. “I think that can be arranged.”

Dominique was grateful to have found a job before her mother’s arrival in New York. As Dominique and the Markses waited at the pier for Solange’s ship, she enthusiastically described her first week at Orman’s. Ronald congratulated her, his manner warmer than before. Clearly, he no longer worried that she would burden them.

A resounding blast of the ship’s horn halted all conversation as Dominique, Danielle, and the rest of the family turned to face the large gray and white vessel. They searched the crowd at the ship’s rail for Solange, but didn’t see her. Almost thirty minutes passed before the gangplank was lowered and people began to disembark. Still no sign of Solange. Ronald looked at his watch impatiently and pulled his coat tighter.

Danielle said worriedly, “Where can she be?”

Dominique scanned the deck again. “I have no idea.”

The line of passengers disembarking grew more straggly and irregular. Soon both the deck and the gangplank were empty except for white-uniformed crew members. Then Dominique saw a cluster of people emerge from the bridge area. A man in a dark uniform and a white hat appeared first. He was followed by a prosperous looking man in a pearl gray suit and a cowboy hat, a man in a dark pin-striped suit, and a woman in a white coat and matching beret.

“There’s Mother!” Dominique cried. She waved frantically, trying to catch Solange’s attention, but none of the party on the ship looked at those on shore.

Danielle took a few steps forward, then stopped, her eyes riveted to the group. “She looks wonderful!” Danielle exclaimed, her voice incredulous.

Dominique gave her an amused look. “What did you expect?”

Danielle turned bewildered eyes on her sister. “I don’t know exactly. She had to leave in such a hurry. They said she couldn’t bring anything. I expected her to be depressed or… I don’t know.” She looked back at the ship. “Are those champagne glasses they’re holding?”

Dominique laughed out loud. “Looks that way.” She turned her attention back to those on the ship. The group was now at the top of the gangplank. The three men leaned toward Solange, as though not to miss a word she said. Solange was laughing, throwing back her head. She turned and looked at the dock.

Danielle and Dominique waved vigorously. Solange flashed a smile and waved back. She started down the gangplank, then turned to say something over her shoulder. Like children following the Pied Piper, the men followed her down the gangplank.

“Girls!” Solange cried in French. She stopped at the bottom of the gangplank and held out her arms. Dominique and Danielle automatically scurried forward into them while Ronald remained behind with his daughters.

Dominique felt herself smothered in soft wool perfumed with Lanvin’s My Sin.

“Let me look at you!” Solange said, holding her daughters away from her. She swept them with her gaze. “Hmmm.”

Did the little sound have an edge of disapproval? Dominique felt herself growing defensive and tried to stifle the feeling. Her mother had just arrived!

Solange turned to the men waiting patiently behind her and said in French, “These are some of the friends I met on board.” The men crowded closer. “This is Captain Charles Montague and Monsieur Buck Wilson”—Solange’s pronunciation made it sound as though she were saying “Back We-saw”—“and finally Monsieur Maurice Charpentier. He has been kind enough to act as translator.”

Buck Wilson removed his cowboy hat at the sound of his name. “A pleasure to meet you both. You’re pretty as your pictures.

“I’m afraid,” he continued politely, “that I didn’t pick up enough French from your mother to understand everything she says, but I sure enjoyed her company. She made the trip a pleasure for us all.” The other two men beamed and nodded in agreement. “And she’s a heck of a card player!”

“And,” the captain said, taking Solange’s hand and bowing over it, “an exquisite dancer.”

“It is with regret that we part,” said the Frenchman, looking mournful.

Dominique and Danielle didn’t know what to say. Solange, however, stepped in with her usual aplomb. “It’s sad that shipboard friendships must end, but I’ll always remember the wonderful time we had.” M. Charpentier rapidly translated her words for the other two men.

They shook their heads in resignation.

Solange smiled and hugged each of them. “Good-bye, my friends. And now”—she took a deep breath and turned toward her daughters—“I’m ready.”

Once at the car, Dominique observed without comment the discussion over who should sit where. Solange protested when Danielle indicated she should sit in front, but soon allowed herself to be persuaded. Automatically, she waited for Ronald to open the door for her, but he was preoccupied with the luggage. Instead, Danielle jumped forward and pulled open the door. For a moment, Solange stared in the direction of her son-in-law, then she bent to get in the car. Before the action was completed, she stopped. She turned to Danielle and asked, “Can’t you sit in the middle, dear?”