He pulled up a chair at her sleek little dining table. His practised eye could see she had spent a few dollars well: a good omen for business.
Dina served them each a large steaming bowl of the meat and beans, with a little rice. After the workout that morning, he was starving.
‘It’s good.’
‘Thank you.’ She reached to pour him water, leaning over him. He breathed in the scent of her shampoo and bath soap.
Dina sat back down and lifted her fork. She ate, head bowed. She wouldn’t look at him, almost like she couldn’t look at him.
When he had finished, Joel said, ‘That was excellent.’ He stood and cleared his bowl away to the kitchen. ‘You can always get a new career as a cook.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever be making morsels of salmon in a pomegranate coulis, or whatever they serve in the good restaurants these days.’
‘Open a place on Wall Street that does chilli, steaks, lasagne. Most businessmen haven’t had a proper meal in years. I could happily die without ever seeing
jus
on a menu ever again.’
Dina laughed. ‘I’m better at what goes on people’s faces than what goes into their mouths, Mr Gaines.’
‘Joel.’
She blushed again. ‘I know. I just find it difficult.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re so . . .’ Her voice trailed off. ‘You know.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘Powerful. Successful. A major figure.’ Dina was now bright red, and she tried to cover it by jumping to her feet and clearing the table. ‘You’re a legend – as you know.’
‘I do know. It’s still enjoyable hearing you say it.’
Dina felt herself moisten with desire. He was so arrogant, so handsome, so cocky. And it was justified; who could say it wasn’t?
‘Do you have the list?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ She was relieved to be able to flee into her bedroom, to get the printout from her computer. It was thick – ten pages long. ‘I’ve made entries in bold of the brands you should look at – small manufacturers; good sellers – I can send you some notes, too.’
‘Excellent.’ He took the sheaf of pages and flicked through it; a few companies there were already on his radar. ‘You’re quite right, of course. This will save us months of prep work.’
‘Then you will give me the cheque?’
‘You sound as though you doubt it.’
Dina shrugged. ‘Two hundred grand for a computer printout.’
He looked at her. ‘I made the deal. When I make deals, they happen: first rule of business.’
He snapped open his briefcase and handed her a neatly typed cheque. Dina looked at it, the figures swimming before her eyes. This was really happening, this, her life.
‘Thank you, Mr— Joel.’
‘You can’t just bank it. How much is left of the half million?’
‘Not much. There was this place. My brother needed rehab. Taxes.’
He nodded. ‘You need a job.’
Dina’s heart pounded. ‘Can I work for you?’
‘I’m not in the beauty business. This is just one of many for me.’ His eyes swept over her. ‘Besides, that might not be a good idea.’
‘Why not?’ she whispered.
‘My turn to say, “you know”.’
Dina’s heart thudded in her chest. She thought she might gasp with longing. He’d acknowledged it, right there in her apartment – the electricity between them.
‘I’m married,’ he said.
‘Of course.’
But he was still looking at her. Dina’s knees trembled a little. She could not remember ever having wanted anything more than she wanted this guy.
‘You need to work for somebody, however. I can mentor you a little. What do you want to do?’
‘I’d like to be a director of beauty retail. One of the major stores. Something well-paid, where I can make an impact. Saks, Bloomingdale’s . . .’
‘How about Torch?’
Dina wrenched her eyes from Gaines’ face and body. Torch was the veteran ladies’ fashion emporium on the Upper West Side, with the Lady Liberty logo, packed into twelve floors of belle époque New York splendour. But the architecture of the venerable building was the sexiest thing about it. The store had a great past, but the future was kind of dusty. Big in the eighties, Torch had settled to become a sort of halfway house. It stocked everybody, but didn’t get the hip collections. Saks and Bloomingdale’s had all the luxe, Glamour was the ethical shopping destination of the liberal elite and Macy’s, downtown, competed on mid-price and sheer space.
All Torch had going for it was that it was uptown, so it mopped up local shoppers who couldn’t be bothered to get in a cab. And, living on past glory, its average customer was fifty plus. Big sellers were fur coats, shawls and a lot of jewelled sequin jackets.
Not Dina Kane’s cup of tea. But a venerable New York name.
‘If I had a free rein,’ she said, carefully.
‘It’s perfect for you. Why would you want to go somewhere successful?’
Dina smiled.
‘Very good. Bank your cheque. I know the old man that owns that store. He lives in California now, enjoying the sun. He’ll take a recommendation from me.’
Dina didn’t know what to say. Just like that, he could swoop in, swoop down and make her life better. The ease of it; the naked power on display.
‘I . . . Thank you.’
‘Thank me by proving how brilliant I am at sourcing staff.’
‘Should I call them?’
‘They’ll call you.’ He stood, picked up the briefcase. ‘So, now we’re done.’
‘Joel, will I see you again?’
For a long, brutal second, he looked her over, wanting the girl, liking the girl, feeling her electricity, the desire, the lifeforce.
‘Maybe one day.’ The words he forced out, with supreme discipline, sounded like somebody else was saying them. ‘After you get a boyfriend.’
‘Then I’ll get a boyfriend,’ she said.
Gaines immediately wanted to kill him.
‘Goodbye,’ he said, and he walked out of her door before he said something he could never take back.
Chapter Ten
‘Welcome to Torch.’
Regina Freeman was bored with her life, and it showed. African-American and passably elegant, she had reached fifty-one and the heights of high achievement in life: a big salary, director at a major store, a husband in tort law and two kids at college.
The fire of her early days was smothered in comfort: a nice two-bedroom in a tree-lined block just off Columbus; great health, dental and long-term care insurance; cruise vacations with the same people every year; visits to her folks in Jersey at Thanksgiving. You didn’t rock the boat with your life like that. Not ever.
She ran Torch’s day-to-day operations. Staff costs were low, volume was high; they carried just enough high-end clothes to remain a major store. Mostly, the matrons of the Upper West shopped here. The Morgan family owned it, and the business paid low rates and no rent. They could afford to coast, and that’s exactly what they were doing. Regina’s job was just to keep the bills paid.
‘You come highly recommended,’ she said.
She was wearing a neat little Ann Klein pantsuit with a pink cotton blouse and mules: safe, easy wear. The young girl before her was different. Startlingly well made-up, she was a beauty in chic green Prada with a Mulberry handbag and Kate Spade wedges. Her look said
fashion
.
Chic. New
. All the things Torch wasn’t.
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
Regina softened fractionally. She appreciated good manners; she hated how the youth of today usually stared at their iPhones and never looked at you.
‘You have something to do with Meadow, by L’Audace? We stock that here.’
‘I helped bring that to market. I sold it to Mr Gaines; I think he recommended me to Mr Morgan. I also ran a successful independent beauty store downtown.’
‘Big retail is very different.’
‘Yes, ma’am. I’m here to learn.’
‘Quickly, I hope, since you’re going to be directing our beauty sales. I must say, Ms Kane, I’ve never seen anybody as young as you hired for a major job like this.’
‘I do understand, Mrs Freeman. Please, call me Dina. I’ll do my best to show Mr Morgan it was a good hire.’
Regina wanted to ask the girl what she was getting paid, but restrained herself. It must have been into six figures, like her own salary. The kid was coming straight to management. One fluke with a face cream and she was jumping the queue. But Dina did seem different to most young kids. She had old eyes in that pretty face.
‘Do you have what you need?’ Regina asked.
‘I’d like to spend today observing, and then tomorrow running through our sales sheets and the order book. And I’ll come up with my recommendations next week.’
‘Very good,’ Regina said. ‘So I’ll see you around.’
She walked back to her office, up the marble staircase with its faded royal blue carpet, trying to figure out the puzzle. Ludo – it had to be him. Mr Peter Morgan’s son was a New York playboy, top of the most-eligible list. He always had an eye for the pretty girls. Mostly they just scored jobs as eyebrow threaders or perfume spritzers, though. Not directors of beauty.
Well, Dina Kane was uncommonly attractive. But Ludo went through two girls a month – he would tire of the novelty soon.
She’d just be patient and let the girl hang herself with her own rope. No need to rock the boat. The retirement account in her IRA was looking exceptionally healthy right now. And everybody at Torch knew you didn’t mess with Ludo Morgan.
Dina walked around the dull, boring store, and felt her heart thud with excitement.
Joel Gaines, you genius
.
He was so right. This place was a disaster area, and she was thrilled at the thought of putting it right.
The shop floor was badly lit and crowded with stock. Bored shopgirls talked to each other all day, ignoring the customers. Items were marked at a discount everywhere – clothes piled on tables under red
SALE
signs. Brands were jumbled with haute couture designer items, as if the store was afraid of selling the goods.
Torch looked tired – old.
The beauty department was better – if you want to be average. The big cosmetics houses controlled their own displays. Torch carried most of them, so things were standard. There was almost nothing new. She smiled when she saw the small stand for Meadow, and the steady stream of customers it was attracting.
Dina looked at the assistants in their drab white coats with the square gold nametags. Some were talking to customers; most were staring into space. Beauty wasn’t doing much business. This was an older crowd, who knew what they wanted. She watched women home in on Estée Lauder or Chanel, grab a product and take it to a counter.
Like a post office
, she thought.
Like buying stamps
.
There was buying – no selling. No reason to be here and not down the street, except, at Torch, you could pick up lingerie down the hall, and a cushion on floor two.
In her head, Dina saw something completely different. Space. Light. Style. A building redesigned. Exclusive clothing. Classics mixing with hot new designers. The latest beauty hits. An event store. A destination. Teens, twenty-somethings, chic professionals in their thirties and forties. The older women, too – if they were hipsters, the ones that wore black and went to off-Broadway shows. And men – a small group, mixed in with the women. Hardcore luxury addicts.
It would be intense. Huge. It would own uptown.
And it would cost a lot of money.
‘Do I have to?’ Ludo Morgan sighed.
He had a fun afternoon planned: cigars at the Havana club with two of his friends; tennis; a phone call to his father; perhaps a trip to the helipad – there was a cottage in the Hamptons the broker wanted him to view.
‘Your father wants you to see her, sir. Just to hear her first report. She came recommended by Joel Gaines.’
‘Not interested in Gaines’ cast-offs. Can’t he find someplace else for his girlfriends to play?’
Eric Strom shook his head. The arrogance of the kid wasn’t disappearing with age.
‘Mr Gaines doesn’t have girlfriends. She sold him a brand. Your father put her in as beauty director.’
Now he had Ludo’s full attention. ‘What? Beauty what?’
‘Director. With a brief to revamp the cosmetics department.’
He coloured. ‘I hire personnel.’
‘Yes, sir, but your father put Ms Kane in direct.’
‘What experience has she got?’
‘None at this level.’
Ludo Morgan’s annoyance increased. Why couldn’t the old man enjoy retirement? It was his time now.
‘This is a mistake. I’m going to fire her. Give her three months’ salary and tell her it was some kind of miscommunication. I’ll see her for that.’
Eric Strom smiled slightly. It wasn’t often he got to put one over on the next generation of hyper-privileged kids, but he enjoyed it when it happened.
‘No, sir. She actually filed her first report direct to your father, and he loved it. Thought it had potential. He wants you to see her to discuss how Torch can execute it.’
Ludo Morgan breathed in sharply. This girl was in her early twenties, according to the paper in front of him – and already going straight to the top, over his head.
This wasn’t just an annoyance. It was a power play.
‘Bring her to my office,’ he said. ‘Twenty minutes.’
Dina Kane was prepared.
She’d read up on her new boss, Ludo Morgan: twenty-eight years old; NYU and a business degree out in California. He looked set to succeed his father, who was taking that backseat out in the sun. He dated casually. One sister – married with two children – living in Paris, with no interest in the family store. Ludo managed Torch well enough to keep it in the black, but Dina sensed no commitment, no love of his grandfather’s legacy.
That was OK. She just wanted to get on, make a change, prove herself to Joel Gaines . . . to the world. Prove herself to the
world
. Dina blushed a little bit. Gaines couldn’t have been plainer in his rejection.
And she’d get over it. Any day now.
‘This way,’ Regina Freeman said. ‘Mr Morgan has come in especially to see you.’
‘That’s great!’
‘No, it isn’t.’ Regina patted her on the shoulder. The kid had talent, no doubt; Dina’s paper had surprised her. And her ideas might actually work – somewhere fashion forward, like Sephora. At Torch – no chance. Dina Kane would have to learn to go along to get along, just like the rest of them. ‘Good luck, honey.’