Lipstick Jungle

“Should I tell her you’re out?” Zoe asked, sensing her hesitation.

“No. I’ll take it.”

She sat down behind her desk. This was going to be an unpleasant conversation, as difficult for Sandy as it would be for herself. She’d been doing business with Sandy for ten years and they often said that they’d grown up in the business together. She braced herself and picked up the phone. “Sandy! Hi,” she said, as if nothing were wrong.

“You must be exhausted,” Sandy murmured pleasantly. “You were traveling, right?”

“Japan, Dallas, L.A., the usual,” Victory said with a shrug. “But I’m fine. How are you?”

“Better now that Fashion Week is over.”

They chuckled knowingly, and then there was a pause. Victory was tempted to fill it, but decided to let Sandy do the dirty work.

“You know we love you at Neiman’s,” Sandy began.

Victory nodded silently, a lump of fear forming in her throat.

“And I loved the spring collection. Personally,” Sandy said. “But the general feeling is that it’s not as salable as your other collections.”

“Really?” Victory said, feigning surprise. “Honestly, Sandy, I thought it was the best collection I’ve ever done.” She frowned. She hated having to sell herself to department store people. It felt cheap. But she couldn’t just roll over. “It’s a little bit different . . .”

“I’m not saying it’s not beautiful,” Sandy broke in. “But there was a sort of general worry about who was going to wear it. If it were only up to me, it wouldn’t be a problem. But Neiman’s customers are more conservative than you think.”

“I understand why they’re scared,” Victory said sympathetically. “But people are always scared of something new. I really think you should give the collection a chance. I think you’ll end up being surprised.”

“I know how talented you are—that’s not the question,” Sandy said soothingly. “The good news is that we’re still going to take ten pieces.”

“That’s so much, out of thirty-six . . .”

“Well, it’s not our usual order,” Sandy agreed. “But the spring season was a tough sell. Frankly, Vic, I had to fight to get them to even take ten.”

The lump traveled painfully down Victory’s esophagus, lodging itself in the middle of her chest. “I really appreciate your efforts, Sandy,” she said bravely.

“Listen, Vic, we have a great history with you at Neiman’s, and I know we’re going to be working together for a long time in the future. We’re all looking forward to your fall collection,” Sandy said, obviously relieved at having delivered her bad news.

If I’m still in business, Victory thought grimly, and hung up.

For a few seconds she just sat there, trying to absorb what Sandy had said to her and what it meant for the company. The message was pretty clear: She’d better go back to what she was doing before, back to what was safe, or she was toast.

“But I don’t want to,” she said aloud.

“There’s some woman on the phone,” Zoe said, poking her head around the door.

Victory looked at her in exasperation.

“Ellen something? From some woman’s office. Lynn maybe?”

“Lyne Bennett?” Victory asked.

“Could be,” Zoe said.

“Thanks,” Victory said tersely. Normally, she didn’t mind when Zoe couldn’t get people’s names right. But that was her fault as well—she was too casual and nice, the result being that her assistants were never quite on top of things.

“Is he that old billionaire guy?” Zoe asked, with a look of disgust.

Victory sighed and nodded. To a young woman like Zoe, Lyne Bennett probably did seem horrifyingly ancient. She suddenly hoped that Ellen was calling to cancel the date, and if she wasn’t, Victory considered canceling it herself. She couldn’t go out with a man like Lyne Bennett now, not when her whole life was falling apart. And even if she were on top of the world, what was the point? It was a waste of time, and Lyne Bennett probably would turn out to be a big old bore . . .

“Hello, Ellen,” she said into the phone.