Authors: Bryan Murray
Gerard looked a little contrite, but still managed his 100 watt smile. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot at the show, but I wanted to thank you for coming along to visit mother.”
She couldn’t resist her next comment. “Well, at least I now realize that there’s one decent person in your family - and it’s not you! Goodbye, Mr. Cinclare and this time I mean it!” with that she spun on her heel and out through the door and into the night.
Gerard shook his head in confusion as he turned and retraced his steps. “Women!” was the only word he uttered as he shook his head in disbelief before going back inside.
As Francine drove out of the parking lot, her mind went back to the frail Helen Cinclare, lying back there in the hospital. If she had indeed suffered a mild stroke, thankfully she seemed to be fairly well over it even though her mind was confused and, loathe her son as she did, Francine couldn’t help but hope that the affectionate older lady pulled through with no further complications.
No matter what you thought of their offspring, she told herself, mothers were special and every single one had a unique place in the hearts of their children. And so, even though he may be an insensitive jerk, she could see that even the flamboyant Mr. Cinclare held his mother in the highest esteem, the one thing so far on which she could not fault him.
When it came to parents, Francine also lived in the fervent hope that her own parents, Yvette and Carl, would patch things up soon and from what she had seen earlier in her mother’s room, it looked as though there may be a chance it could happen.
But for now, her mind had to stay firmly focused on the next 10 days and that meant New York, the next fashion show on the circuit and the last thing she needed before that happened was any further distractions from the charismatic Mr. Cinclare!
When Francine arrived back at the workshop, things were already decidedly tense and Vince was having another of his selfishly-guarded nervous breakdowns. This time it had been caused by their cloth supplier from New York.
“I tell you, Princess, that woman is a moron!” he was stamping up and down like a demented flamenco dancer as he continued his tirade, holding up a bolt of pale salmon-colored cloth.
Francine was already tuned in to his frustration. “Don’t tell me that’s supposed to be the material for the cocktail dress?”
“Afraid so, Princess.”
“So, what’s Verna doing about it?”
He shrugged. “Well, she’s trying to get the right material by tomorrow but it’ll still be a couple of days before it gets here - we’ll never make it!”
Francine calmed him down. “Take it easy, Vince, we’ll just have to work around it. You’ll need to switch Thelma to the evening dress until the other material arrives,” she patted him on the shoulder. “It’s going to be touch and go, but we can’t let it slow us down,” her shoulders drooped momentarily. “We just
can’t!”
Vince calmed down. “I guess you’re right, boss. Let’s face it, there’s always thirty six hours in a day, right?”
Francine gave a tired smile. “Right!”
Later that night, exhausted but feeling that at least some progress had been made, Francine joined her long-time friend Stella Griffith for cocktails at the Crescent Hotel.
She and Stella went back a long way to Design College and as they had subsequently gone their separate ways, Stella, using financing provided by her husband’s family, had started up a very lucrative tailoring business, producing quality designer clothes at way above the standards of the average ‘sweat shops’. It was as a result of her quality work that Francine had been anxious from day one to use Stella for all the orders received for her creations. So far, the latter had been almost infinitesimal and was the prime reason for Francine setting up their cocktail session.
Stella, in her early forties, brown hair, somewhat plain-looking, was a few minutes late. She spotted Francine at a corner table in the bar, a glass of Chardonnay already waiting for her.
“Sorry I’m late.” Stella smiled, gratefully slurping her first mouthful of wine.
“No problem,” Francine countered. “I’m just glad you could spare the time.”
“What’s up, sweetie?” Stella already sensed Francine’s tension.
“You read me so well, Stella,” Francine replied. “I just wanted to apologize for the fact that my orders have been pretty sparse so far and with you reserving production space for me and all.”
Stella patted her arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry, in fact you’ve done me a favor in a way.”
“A favor?”
“Yes. I had a major order to fill in a hurry for ‘The Place’. Three hundred pant suits for ‘House of Cinclare’!”
Francine shook her head in dismay. “There he goes again!”
“There who goes again?”
“That Gerard Cinclare!”
Stella looked both surprised and envious. “You mean you actually
know
that Greek God? Closest I ever got to him was seeing his picture with that blonde goddess in a magazine.”
“Greek ego tripper is more like it. It seems like every time I turn around I bump into Mr.‘I-know-it-all’!”
Stella was fascinated. “And I guess each time it didn’t exactly go well?”
“You could say that,” Francine sighed. “As if things didn’t go bad enough at the Dallas Show, I overheard him telling people that my line needed major surgery!”
“The insensitive jerk!”
“Exactly. Mind you he did call with a kind of half-hearted apology.”
“So?”
“He made me mad
and the trouble is, I’m not exactly sure I don’t agree with his criticism.”
Stella leaned closer. “So, tell me? What’s he
really
like, you know,
close up?”
Francine suddenly found herself being defensive, almost protective against disclosing some of the confrontations she had endured with the handsome businessman. “Well, he’s very good looking, very self-assured, somewhat egotistical, but I will say this for him - he really loves his mother!”
Stella was watching Francine even more closely. “Oh my God! You actually
like
the guy!”
Francine suddenly found herself blushing. “Are you serious? The man’s a macho moron and he already has a sexy blonde in tow. And besides, he and I have a score to settle!”
“A score?”
“Yes. One of these days he’s going to eat his words for criticizing my work!”
Stella gave a knowing grin. “In that case, he’d better watch out. In fact,” she added as an afterthought, a smile on her face.
“I’d even buy tickets to see that one!”
Francine then tried to shake the images of Gerard Cinclare from her mind and get back to business. “So, thanks for being patient with me, Stella. The next show is New York and then the big one in Monte Carlo. Hopefully, we’ll have more success there.” she squeezed Stella’s arm. “Just don’t give up on me yet, okay?”
Stella smiled. “Never!”
After a further week of twenty hour days, Francine and Vince finally had the main items of their line ready for New York and all their plans were finally made. All Francine’s models had promised faithfully that they would be there on the day and Mrs.‘T’ had also brought her overnight things over so that she could sleep in with Alison while Francine was out of town.
This was the first time that Francine had left Alison since the divorce, so she was extremely uptight as she finished packing to leave.
“Now, you won’t forget to collect her from school by 3.30, Mrs.‘T’? I’ll leave my car for you because the limo will take us to the airport with all the baggage we’ve got.”
“Don’t worry, Francine, she’ll be fine.” Mrs.‘T’ patted her shoulder affectionately.
“I’m sure she will,” Francine replied. “But even so, I’ll call you at least twice a day while I’m gone.”
Mrs.‘T’ smiled. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me? So, off you go - show them Yankees how it’s done!”
Francine smiled. “I’ll try,
believe
me!”
After checking in all their collection of baggage at Dallas/Fort Worth Airport, Francine and Vince settled down for a wine cooler in the bar close to their departure gate. Vince brought the drinks to the table and with Francine sitting with her back to the corridor going past, she turned in surprise at a familiar but unwelcome voice behind her.
“Miss Dubois! Are you
sure
you’re not following me?” she turned to see Gerard Cinclare, Jeri as usual on his arm, the latter looking stunning in a tight-fitting pale green pant suit.
Francine quickly recovered from the surprise, venom, or as close to venom as she could manage at two seconds notice, creeping into her voice. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Cinclare,” she countered. “This is a big airport, used by many people and though you may find it hard to believe, not every woman here is a member of the Gerard Cinclare Fan Club!”
Jeri grinned. “Touché! I’m Jeri, good for you, Francine!” Gerard held up his hand in surrender. “Yes, touché. Let me guess, you’re heading for New York?”
There was still a chill in Francine’s reply. “As a matter of fact we are. Please make my day and tell me that you and Jeri are heading elsewhere?”
He grinned disarmingly, causing yet another unexplained flutter somewhere in the region of Francine’s rib cage. “Sorry to disappoint you, but yes, we’re heading for the New York Show. Let me guess, you and the acrobatic models will also be there?”
There was a friendly smile on Jeri’s face as she seemed to be looking affectionately at Francine but a little more than tolerantly at Gerard. “Take no notice of him, Francine. I’m glad you’ll be in New York and I hope things go well for you.”
Try as she may, Francine could not help liking the tall, lovely blonde. She managed a smile. “Thanks, I hope to see you there,” and turning a scathing glance in Gerard’s direction, she quickly added. “Pity you’ll have some excess baggage with you!”
Gerard seemed undeterred. He waved over the waitress and ordered two glasses of Chardonnay before fixing Francine with what Stella would probably have called his ‘serious Greek God look’.
“I see you’re still a little touchy, Francine - but I’ll tell you what I’m prepared to do.”
“You mean you’ll stay behind in Dallas?” the words almost tripped flippantly off her tongue.
He shrugged, still semi-serious. “You, in turn, may find this hard to believe, but there
are
other designers in New York and it is highly likely that I will be ordering some of their creations!”
She looked him straight in the eye. “You don’t say!”
He continued unabated. “And what I was about to say was that the moment your creations look as though they will fit into my purchasing scenario, I promise you I will be placing orders.”
Francine was so mad with him at this stage that she could have cared less if he never placed an order. “Be still my heart!” was all she could manage as she finished her drink with one slurp and motioned to the open-mouthed Vince that they were leaving.
From the moment the confrontation between Gerard and Francine had started, Vince had been staring unwinkingly at Gerard, the latter looking casually chic in black dress slacks and a crisply-laundered golf shirt.
“Goodbye, Jeri,” Francine hissed as she dragged the unwilling Vince from the bar. “Mr. Cinclare!” was all she could whisper as they left the smiling Gerard behind, Jeri quietly punching his arm.
As they walked towards the departure gate, Vince was smiling at Francine. “My God, Princess, the guy’s
gorgeous!
But of course, you’ve already figured that out!”
“Yeah, right!” was all she could grind out.
Vince raised his hands defensively as he mumbled to himself. ‘Man, I should be so lucky!’
* * * *
In early September, New York was already tinged with the golds and bronzes of fall as Francine and Vince, together with a limo load of baggage finally checked into their hotel. With two days to the show, Francine quickly checked her room reservations for the models and after unpacking she had a welcome shower before deciding to check out the venue for the show.
The hotel lobby was packed with wide-eyed tourists, including a jabbering party of Japanese following their flag-waving leader as she herded them into a corner to check them all in.
Francine headed for the Bell Captain and asked if he could organize a taxi for her. With the typical courtesy of a New York flunky, he merely pointed to the revolving doors and mumbled. “Outside!”
‘Welcome to the Big Apple!’
f
lashed through her mind as she made her way past bodies and suitcases to the curb outside. This being her first visit to New York, she was about to find out first-hand the joys of hailing a cab in the Big Apple. The first two that actually stopped for her were taken by rude, bustling people before she could even blink and as the third one stopped, yet another obnoxious woman was about to jump inside ahead of Francine and the latter blinked in surprise as almost out of nowhere, a strong arm restrained the woman and a deep baritone voice belonging to a dazzling smile persuaded the woman otherwise.
“I’m afraid this cab is taken, ma’am.”
The woman was about to scream some abuse at the person obstructing her way until she focused on the disarming smile of Gerard Cinclare.
“Oh, oh I’m so sorry.” was all she could mumble.
Gerard then turned to Francine, the latter still standing there open-mouthed. “Can I give you a lift, Miss Dubois?”
Francine quickly pulled herself together with a hasty, “Oh, are you sure you’re going my way?”
He grinned. “Even if I’m not, it’s no trouble to drop you off.”
She relented, realizing that if it hadn’t been for Cinclare, she could have been still waiting there for a taxi as Christmas rolled around. “Well, in that case, thank you.” she climbed inside and he followed her.
“Where to?” he smiled as the Pakistani Kamikaze-style Taxi Driver sat impatiently waiting for instructions, meter already running.
“Well, I was on my way to the Fashion Center at Seventh and 28
th
, but if that’s too far in the wrong direction for you?”
The Taxi driver was already getting uptight. “Hey, lady, to where do you wish to go? Decide please!”