Power & Beauty (30 page)
“Wanda, please.”
“Didn’t mean to offend, sugar. I was just wondering. That boy is a hell of a catch—at least money-wise. Is he cute?”
“Extremely nice.”
“I couldn’t be happier for you. When you leaving?”
“I’m giving Claire’s two weeks’ notice.”
“Make it one. I want you out of here, I really do.”
“Okay, Wanda, if you say so. I’ve got no reason to hang around Atlanta.”
“And you got another reason to move to New York.”
“What’s that?”
“Power’s up there.”
I
t was a cold rainy Sunday in early November when Beauty arrived at the Marriott. Her room overlooked Lexington Avenue. The traffic was loud and the afternoon was dreary. Something was wrong with the hotel heat and she was freezing. She was looking forward to tomorrow, when she’d be going to Bloom’s for her first meeting with Marge Schraft. She was also relieved to be out of Atlanta. She made the move in just about ten days. Nearly every day Wanda had called, encouraging her to hurry. That worried her, but that also motivated her to get going. Now that she was here, though, she felt somewhat let down. Maybe that’s because she knew that Power was also here. She wanted to call him, but she wouldn’t. She knew what that would lead to. Her life was back on course. Kato had set her on that course. The last thing she needed was drama with Power.
But, as her mother Isabel once put it, “the heart has a mind of its own.” She had overheard Isabel say this to Charlotte Clay when Isabel was explaining why she had carried on with a man she knew was married and attached to his family in Japan. Her mother had been foolish, and yet that foolishness had resulted in Beauty’s very life. Beauty was determined that her own life, though, would not be defined by foolishness.
Power’s life was entangled with Slim Simmons, and Slim Simmons meant nothing but trouble. She needed to avoid Power. She would avoid Power. She turned her mind away from him and turned on the TV, where MTV was running a documentary on pop star Candy Girl, who’d found herself in and out of four different drug rehabs in the past year. At least Beauty had never had the slightest interest in drugs. Drugs were dangerous. New York City was dangerous. Life was dangerous.
She turned off the TV and went downstairs for a late lunch in the Shelton Grille off the hotel lobby. She’d fight this ominous feeling that danger was around the corner. It wasn’t anything—just the rain, the gloomy day, the transition back to a city filled with fresh memories. She thought of Anita, thought of that town house on Gramercy Park, thought of Primo, thought of the apartment in the Plaza, thought of their deaths, thought of the fear and emptiness that followed. But the future didn’t look fearful or empty. The future was filled with promise. She ate a Cobb salad and tried to focus on the future.
Wandering through the hotel she stopped and noticed some historical markers in the hallways. Before becoming a Marriott, the hotel was built as the Shelton House in 1924. At the time, with its thirty-four stories, it was the tallest hotel in the world. The great painter Georgia O’Keeffe had lived in and actually painted the building. There was a replica of an O’Keeffe painting called
The Shelton with Sunspots
. Beauty recognized it because she’d often seen the original on her visits to the Art Institute of Chicago. She had also heard the painting discussed in a course she had audited at Columbia College. It was a rendering of the hotel itself with a burst of sunlight exploding off the top of the building. She had loved the painting when she first saw it in Chicago, and she loved seeing it again now. It spoke to her. It said, “It may be raining today, but the sun will be shining tomorrow—on this very hotel.”
Come Monday, though, the sun was not shining. The rain kept coming. Beauty got dressed, put on a raincoat and rain hat, grabbed her umbrella, and walked over to Bloom’s, a store she knew so well. Uncannily, Marge Schraft had set up shop in Anita’s old office. That was a shock to Beauty, who nonetheless kept her composure in front of her new boss, an overweight white woman with piercing angry eyes. Rather than look at Beauty, Marge seemed to glare at her. She had a large fold of chins under a very pretty face punctuated by a thin nose and small ears. Her short black hair was accented with streaks of gray. She wore a tent of olive-green corduroy. In her own way, she was fashionable. She spoke with a thick Chicago accent. To break the ice, Beauty made mention of her time in Chicago, but Marge had no interest in small talk.
“When I left Chicago,” she said, “I never looked back. Now, as always, it’s time to look ahead. Kato Yamamoto has set you up in quite a situation here. You and he must be extremely close.”
Beauty felt immediate tension. Marge was insinuating that she and Kato were lovers.
“I’ve known him a very short time.”
“He said that he’s known you quite a long time. It seems that you had relatives who worked at Fine’s down there in Atlanta.”
“Well, he might have known about me,” said Beauty, struggling to find the right words, “but we really never knew each other until recently.”
“I can assure you that your personal relationship with Kato is of no interest to me. That’s between the two of you. He has, however, put you in a precarious situation. In my judgment, he has given you responsibility far beyond your qualifications.”
“But I have experience—”
“Limited experience. Certainly not enough experience to justify setting up an entire department of your own. Mr. Yamamoto has made it clear that you are to copy me on everything you do, but that ultimately you will be in charge of the merchandise and the look of the boutique. He’s also given you the power to hire your sales staff. I tell you this so that we can have a good understanding from the get-go. I do not approve of his decision, but there is nothing, short of resigning, that I can do about it. Since I have no intention of resigning, all I can do is sit back and watch. I think you are being set up to fail, and my hope is—for your sake and the store’s—that happens as quickly as possible with minimum damage for all concerned.”
“Well, that’s encouraging,” said Beauty with unrestrained sarcasm.
“I’m not a hypocrite. I’m a straight shooter, and I can’t pretend to be happy about a department over which I have no control. You’re on your own.”
“So that’s it?” asked Beauty. “That’s your attitude?”
“That is my attitude.”
“So you’re sending me out there without even a ‘good luck.’ ”
“Your good luck came in your involvement with Mr. Yamamoto. Now you’ll need business acumen to get through this ordeal, not luck.”
Beauty got up and left. She was despondent. She was even outraged. How the hell could a boss treat a new employee this way? Marge Schraft, that bitch, was doing everything in her power to erode her confidence. What was wrong with that woman? What was her problem? In essence Marge had told Beauty that she was rooting for—and even expecting—her failure. She hadn’t even bothered to show Beauty her new office. Marge’s assistant was assigned that task.
The windowless office was tiny. The desktop computer was in need of repair. The old metal desk was stuffed with files from another department. No one had bothered to empty it out. There was no telephone, only a note saying one should be installed by the end of the week. Until then, what was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to get started? She had wanted to discuss her plans with Marge, but obviously Marge wanted nothing to do with her. Marge had stuck her in the corner with the hope that, rather than build a profitable preteens division, she’d have a nervous breakdown instead.
Well, Beauty was not about to have a nervous breakdown. She was not about to take this shit much longer. Not only was it outrageously impolite, it was lousy business. She was due to have dinner with Kato that very evening. She had every intention of telling him what had happened. How else could she deal with the situation?
Del Posto, a sophisticated Italian restaurant in Chelsea, was bustling. Kato was already there, seated at a prominent table near the front. He was drinking champagne. He rose to greet Beauty with a kiss on both cheeks. This was their first meeting in Manhattan.
“Welcome to New York,” he said.
“I don’t feel very welcomed.” He helped her remove her raincoat. Her dress, a simple green satin affair, hung on her perfectly proportioned frame as though it were custom-tailored.
“Why don’t you feel welcomed?” Kato asked.
“Marge Schraft.”
“Marge Schraft is considered one of the great merchandising minds in the business. It was a coup to get her on my management team. What did you think of her?”
“I hated her. She was an absolute bitch. She practically bit my head off. She attacked me as though I was after her job.”
“Well, aren’t you?” asked Kato.
“No!”
“Not now you’re not, but perhaps in time. Maybe that’s what she sensed. Maybe this kind of head-on conflict is what you need to sharpen your fangs.”
“I am not interested in having fangs. I’m not interested in killing the people I’m supposed to be working with. I just don’t know how I can work under someone like her. She’s just waiting for me to fall on my face.”
“I’m telling you, Beauty, that attitude will keep you on your toes.”
“I’m already on my toes, Kato. I don’t need to work for someone who is actively seeking to destroy me.”
“You won’t be working
for
her, you’ll be working
with
her. Shall we order? I’m starved.”
“I’m hardly hungry,” said Beauty. “I’m really upset.”
“Have a little champagne.”
“I’d rather have hot soup.”
“Then hot soup it is.”
After they ordered, Beauty still hadn’t cooled down. “What I don’t understand, Kato, is why you would create this kind of situation. You had to know that I’d be walking into a lion’s den.”
“I knew Marge Schraft was unhappy with my decision to hire you, but I didn’t know the degree of her distress.”
“She didn’t tell you that she thought I was unqualified?”
“She did, Beauty, but when I explained that my mind was set, she seemed agreeable.”
“Agreeable as a rattlesnake. She thinks the only reason I got the job is because we’re having an affair.”
“If only she were right.”
“I don’t know how to take that, Kato.”
“As confirmation of my confidence in your ability. Our nonexistent affair is not her business.”
“But how do you think I feel starting off a job with her telling everyone that I’ve slept my way into the position?”
“I’ll talk to her about that.”
“I’ve sure she’s already told everyone.”
“It’s all gossip, Beauty, it means nothing. People will always talk. I’m sure women have always been jealous of your looks and brains. This can’t be new.”
“It’s poisonous. The atmosphere really is toxic. I’m not sure I can work there.”
“That’s her intention. She obviously wants to run you off before you not only prove yourself, but prove that you can outthink her.”
“But who wants to be involved in that kind of vicious competition?”
“Is the world of fashion you love so dearly anything but vicious and competitive?”
“I know that, Kato, but this is extreme.”
“Yes, I’ve given you an extremely rewarding opportunity.”
Beauty sighed. She tasted her cream of asparagus soup. It was hot and flavorful. She thought before she spoke. “Look,” she said, “I want this job. I appreciate this job. And I’ll do what I have to do. But someone’s gonna have to get me a computer that works. I don’t even have a phone on my desk, and my office is the size of a small closet.”
“She wants to make you feel insignificant,” said Kato.
“And I want you to insist that, at the very least, I am treated with the same respect she would afford any new employee.”
Beauty thought about that last statement. She thought about the conflicts she’d suffered about being kept by Primo. Yet here she was manipulating a romantic situation to get her way. Or was she? Wasn’t she merely expressing genuine anger? Wasn’t she just battling back against a woman—this nasty piece of work called Marge Schraft—who was doing everything she could to cause her downfall?
“You’re right. I’ll call her first thing in the morning.”
“Another meeting like the one we had today and I’ll tear her eyes out. I swear I will.”
“I’m sorry it was stressful for you today, Beauty, but I do admit that I like seeing this fiery side of you. It’s a side I haven’t seen before.”
“I have a lot of sides you haven’t seen.”
“And, believe me, I want to see them all.”
Beauty was surprised to hear herself talk this way—surprised and also a little thrilled. She no longer felt reluctant to employ her physical charms to advance her agenda. Besides, she hadn’t made the first advance. Kato had. Now she was merely going along with a program that had, in fact, been his creation.
They ordered dinner. Kato asked for a seared duck breast; Beauty had whole wheat spaghetti with Dungeness crab. The chef and owner Mario Batali came by the table to greet Kato and ask if all was well.
“It’s all great, Mario,” said Kato. “As usual.”
Kato introduced him to Beauty, who had seen pictures of the famous chef in the newspapers.
“How do you know him?” Beauty asked Kato when Batali had moved on.
“He was seated next to me on a flight to Tokyo last month. We got to talking. You know how that goes. Flying first-class has its advantages.”
“I agree.”
“I’m still feeling that you should fly first-class to Tokyo. Tokyo is filled with creative ideas in the field of preteen merchandising.”
“I’m sure I’d learn a lot.”
“Well, then when do we leave?”
“We?”
“I have business there myself.”
“I just got to New York.”
“Now that you’ve made your presence known here, maybe it’s time to let Marge Schraft cool her heels while you explore the preteen scene in Asia.”
“I have deadlines,” said Beauty. “This division has to be set up and ready to go. I can’t afford to take off any time now.”
“Those deadlines can be pushed back.”
“I’d want to at least establish my office here and set certain procedures in motion. And I also have to start looking for a place to live.”
“I’ve just bought a place in Chelsea. In fact, it’s around the corner. There’s lots of room.”
“Oh, Kato,” said Beauty with a sigh.
“What is that sigh about?” he asked.
“On one hand you arrange for a hotel room until I can get myself a place. And then on the other you suggest I move in with you.”