Kathleen hugged the woman to her, relieved that she hadn’t had to spell out her worries but glad that Alice was intuitive enough to catch them.
On the day of depature, Seth went to the airport to see them off. “Buy anything you want,” he said. “This is going to be a big spring. Don’t forget that. Be sure to ask if some of the pieces can be made up early for the commercials that Erik wants to shoot.”
“I will, I won’t, I will,” she promised, laughing and swallowing the hard lump in her throat at the mention of Erik’s name. She hadn’t seen him in more than a week. “Don’t work so hard, Seth,” she pleaded. He was looking even more fragile recently. His skin seemed to become tighter and more sallow each day, and the fatigue lines around his eyes and mouth had grown more pronounced.
“Don’t worry about me. Or Theron. Have a good time. You get away so seldom—”
“Seth,” she scolded, “will you stop! I don’t want to get away from my family.” Disregarding the naturally curious eyes of the other waiting passengers, she knelt beside his chair and kissed him goodbye.
“I love you, Kathleen,” he said as she pulled away. His mouth was beautiful when he smiled the way he did now. The generous, loving spirit that characterized him still shone from the depths of his dark eyes though they were pinched and weary.
“I love you, too,” she said sincerely.
* * *
Kathleen adored New York. Each time she traveled to the city, she was imbued with its energy and vitality. Never would she want to live in the concrete canyons, but she looked forward to the five trips she made each year to buy merchandise for Kirchoff’s.
She was welcomed with open arms in a city that wasn’t particularly known for its geniality. The fashion houses she did business with catered to her every whim. Kirchoff’s was an excellent account. At each showroom, she was treated royally.
Yet they all knew that behind Kathleen’s feminine exterior was an operating business mind that they dare not try to take advantage of.
“Mr. Gilbert, how nice to see you again,” she said to the president of the company who greeted her personally as she and Eliot came into his busy showroom. He was immediately flattered and deceived by her friendly manner, but he was soon to learn that she was not to be trifled with.
“I let you get by with shipping my order two weeks later than you shipped I. Magnin’s,” she said, still wearing a disarming smile. “If it ever happens again, I’ll send the merchandise back without payment. Is that clear?”
Her eyes shone green, almost matching the color of Mr. Gilbert’s sickly expression. His
manner became effusive. “I can’t imagine, Mrs. Kirchoff, what—”
“Do we see your line now or do we not?” she asked levelly.
“Now, of course. Immediately. Just let me…” He bustled off to find his most persuasive salesman.
Eliot was invaluable to her on the buying trips. Each night, when they went over the orders they had placed that day, checking them against their budget and the “shopping list” they had made from their inventory at the store, his uncanny memory never ceased to amaze her.
“Those organdy ruffled tops we bought at Valentino’s will go with that crepe Anne Klein trouser. What sizes did we order that pant in? Six, eight, ten. Three of each for each store,” he mused as he glanced over the orders. “Why don’t we go all the way from sizes four to twelve? Pick up the twelves in black only and order three more for each store in the other colors. Except for the blue. It’s hideous. I think we can team this pant with different blouses and the customer will probably buy two. What do you think?”
Each night, Kathleen retired to her room while Eliot went out on pursuits of his own to places she didn’t want to know about, with people she didn’t want to know about, and in the mornings, he was hung over from substances she didn’t want to know about. But after three cups of black coffee and half a pack of cigarettes, he was ready to attack Seventh Avenue again and was as sharp as ever.
They were entertained lavishly, for Kirchoff’s had a fine and firm reputation as one of the fashion-setting stores in a fashion-conscious city.
One anxious blouse manufacturer could tell by their closed expressions that he was about to lose a sale and began stuttering his spiel. Impatiently, Eliot got up from the table where an empty order form lay and brazenly removed the garment from the man’s hand.
“Do you know what’s wrong with this blouse?” Eliot asked Kathleen, ignoring the flustered salesman.
“The bow,” she said without hesitation.
“Right! This ghastly bow. It’s a great blouse without that.” He turned to the man and said, “I’ll order six dozen in assorted colors and sizes if you can make them without the bow. Otherwise, forget it.”
“I…” the man stammered.
“And modify the sleeve,” Eliot went on imperiously. “It’s a great suit blouse, but if customers can’t get a full sleeve in a jacket, they won’t buy it. I like the graceful style, but take about half the fabric out of the sleeve.”
“Yes, Mr. Pate. Of course.”
“Can we expect the blouses to be shipped the way we want them?” Eliot demanded politely.
“Certainly,” the man said nervously. “I myself was thinking of taking off the bow.”