“Okay, Sylvie,” Owen said on the other end of the phone. It had been quite a while since I’d last seen my stepson, but he finally had a four day leave from his Air Force base in Florida. “Five-thirty it is. Meet us at the Pump Room for drinks? Let’s call it a pre-Thanksgiving celebration. Connie can’t wait to meet you.”
I hung up the phone and glanced at my watch. I had a meeting in ten minutes with my junior and senior buyers. I didn’t have time to wonder if this new girlfriend of his would be any better than the last, but if Connie had half a brain, Owen would be making progress. the girl he’d introduced me to at his graduation from Annapolis last year couldn’t put a sentence together. By the looks of her, I don’t think making conversation was what my stepson necessarily had in mind, either.
I slipped a file from my desk into my briefcase. My neat, compact office wasn’t glamorous, but it was accented with a couple of sleek diamond turquoise chairs from a designer friend of mine, and I had a well-earned twelfth floor window, not to mention a bronze award on my desk for the highest sales in fashion merchandizing last year.
“I picked up those new Florence Eiseman samples that you ordered,” June said. Her pert smile went well with her bouncy ponytail. We walked out of my office together. My secretary’s desk was positioned in-between two other clerical workers, one behind the other. File cabinets lined the walls. “Did you want to see them before the meeting?”
She’d already spread them over her desk: a navy blue sailor dress with a square white collar and red ties, and a cherry red pinafore with a white Peter Pan collar blouse. I loved the simple, but elegant lines. So much more sophisticated than the frilly, miniature adult styles of the forties.
“Your nieces are lucky you can order them such lovely things, and at cost,” she said.
My nieces were tomboys, but I promised my sister that I’d get them new dresses for the holidays. My fifteen-year-old son wouldn’t wear anything but old scruffy jeans and a t-shirt. Miri at least still had some say in what her second and third grader wore.
“Oh, June,” I sighed, enjoying the feel of the crisp bright fabric. I refolded the dresses and set them gently back into the pink tissues of the Marshall Field’s box. “Do you believe what a genius this designer is?” With a distracted nod, my secretary put the purchases in my office, while I headed off to the conference room.
“Miss Kaye,” she called back to me. I turned, glancing at my watch again. “If you have time, you might want to stop on the third floor after your meeting. Harry Mills is doing a reading from his new book and signing autographs afterwards. Even the press is coming to the promo, Chicago writer and all that–a past Pulitzer Prize winner.”
Straightening the line of my Chanel jacket, and adjusting my pearls, the clock was ticking. I had no time for promos with Harry Mills or Joe Schmo for that matter. Annoyed, I looked back and saw the intent interest in her face. This young woman cared as much about fashion trends as I did about going fishing, but she’d been assigned to my department.
“If you’re caught up, why don’t you take a break and drop in on the promo yourself?” She flashed me a grateful smile, and finally, I left for my meeting.
By the time I reached the conference room, the only empty seat was mine. I took my place at the oblong table and greeted my staff by name. “Okay, let’s start with the latest updates. Our sales have been on an exponential rise, in part, thanks to our department and your good work. However, if we want to keep those numbers climbing, we have to do more. The company is selling Fieldcrest Mills to concentrate on growing the number of stores we have in the suburbs. Last year we expanded the chain of stores we bought in Seattle, and we’re underway to do the same in the greater Chicago area. What am I saying, gentlemen?”
“That our merchandise has to be absolutely tantalizing to keep up with the competition?” Bill Hector said.
I nodded. “I have detailed accounts of the selling trends in the Oak Park store and 28 Shop. I want to know how they compare with the general sales of women’s, men’s and children’s wear in Lake Forest, Evanston, Park Forest and our other downtown departments. Oh, and don’t forget our Men’s Store across the street. Compare them to our Seattle numbers, too. We have to be at the forefront, not only to keep up with future trends, but to mold them, to lead the way, particularly in the new suburban marketplace.”
“What’s the big deal?” George Waters cut in. “I don’t see that there’s anything to worry about. It’s not just what we buy that makes the difference. It truly is in the way we sell. Between the personal shoppers, the private fashion shows, not to mention the bridal registry, which I might add we were the first to introduce, we have the market cornered. We could sell cotton rags and make our shoppers think they were fashionable.”
“Well,” I countered, “I wouldn’t count on it. Special attention and reputation only go so far. We can always do better. I want a lot better.”
It was five thirty by the time the meeting ended. I had to put a few more files in my briefcase, pick up my package for the girls and dash. By the time I was ready to leave, the elevator took forever. Once it arrived, it was practically empty, but not for long. A huge flood of people pushed in at our stop on the third floor. Obviously, the book promo had been a success. I would have checked my watch again, but we were packed together so closely, it was impossible to move my arm.
Not able to take the congested car a moment longer, I shoved my way out of the elevator as soon as the operator stopped at the second floor. Three men followed behind me as I made my way to the stairs.
“Miss,” one of the men called as I headed towards the exit. “You dropped something.” He caught up to me and opened the door to the exit.
“Thank you,” I said, taking back my black kid leather glove. “I didn’t realize.”
“You seem to be in a mighty big hurry.” I nodded coolly. I had no desire to chat. He escorted me down the stairs anyway. “Were you by chance at the book promo?”
“No, like you said, I’m in a hurry. I don’t want to be rude, but I do have an appointment and I’m already so late.”
“Lucky you, missing the whole presentation,” he said. “Pretty boring stuff, if you ask me.” I wished he’d stop bantering on. “I think people came just to see how controversial Mills was.”
There was no way to lose my unwanted companion on the narrow staircase. “Big disappointment if you ask me,” he continued. “The guy was full of himself. Hard to believe he got a Pulitzer for that last piece of trash he wrote.”
Who was this jerk? “Aren’t you being a bit hard on Mr. Mills?” I asked. “He is after all, a prolific star in the literary world, from what I understand. At least, that is if his politics don’t get in his way.”
“So you heard the rumors too, about him being a pinko commie faggot–a no-goodnik. Shocking, isn’t it? That a store like this would have him speak.”
“Well,” I said, at last making my way to the bottom step, “He did pack the auditorium as you said. It surely couldn’t have been the worst event we’ve had. In ’41 we had a real live elephant brought in for a promo of a children’s book. He trampled over everything, not to mention dropping a few loads of bodily functions on the way. Surely, Mr. Mills’ reading was a bit more entertaining that that.”
“Not sure. The elephant sounds like pretty stiff competition, if you ask me.” The man burst out laughing and stuck out his hand to shake mine. “Harold Milner, at your service,” he said. “I have a limo waiting out front. Can I drop you somewhere?”
“Sylvie Kaye.” I gave him the once over. He was tall, broad shouldered with a muscular build. His dark hair was graying under the brim of his hat. His deep brown eyes were set on mine. “And you look suspiciously familiar, if you ask me. Harry Milner?” I shook my head. “Not according to the multitudes of advertisements floating around this store.”
“Well, it was my name before I changed it.”
I started to laugh this time. “So where are you going Mr. Mills, if I might ask?”
He took my arm. “Name the place. I’ve got all night.”
“Well, if you insist, you can drop me off at the Pump Room where I’m meeting my stepson and his new girlfriend. After that, I’m going to my son’s basketball game. Not very exciting I’m afraid.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“You really want to join me and my husband tonight?”
He lowered his eyes for just a second and then looked up. “Sorry,” he mumbled, releasing my arm. “A beautiful blonde like you? When I saw you in that business suit, briefcase, no wedding ring–I assumed.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Mills,” I returned somberly, dropping my briefcase and package long enough to button up my fur trimmed coat. “I appreciate your invitation, but I do have to run. I’m glad your promo was a great success.”
I hurried out the exit and onto the street. I heard him call my name but I flagged down a cab and slipped in without looking back. He didn’t have to know that I’ve been on my own since Adam was killed in the war over eight years ago. I should never have taken off my ring. The last think I needed in my life was entanglements.