Meanwhile, Nina continued to list her itinerary, citing the exotic items from the other side of the world that she would deliver to Ira and Dawn for B. Altman’s own version of Retailing as Theater.
Andrew laughed at the use of the word “theater.” “B. Altman will have
plenty
of theater on Monday,” he said, “when Estée Lauder arrives to secure a prime location in the new cosmetic department. I was told on Friday that she intends to bring along her husband Joseph as well as her sons, Leonard and Ronald, to make sure she gets exactly what she wants.”
Nina laughed loudly. “Oh, she’ll get what she wants all right. She’s a determined woman.” She glanced sideways at Dana. “And we know what a determined woman can accomplish, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do,” Dana replied. In Nina’s presence, the restrictions imposed by Bea and Helen seemed almost trivial. Dana had experienced a single setback, but Nina was a reminder of what real determination and enthusiasm could accomplish.
“Her reputation precedes her,” Andrew said. “Ira already told me to give Ms. Lauder whatever she wants.”
“Sounds like a done deal,” Dana said.
“That’s why there’s going to be a little drama on Monday,” Andrew said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “The space she wants has already been promised to Charles of the Ritz.”
“My money’s on Estée Lauder,” Nina proclaimed, pressing down on the accelerator. She smiled broadly and glanced at Andrew in the rearview mirror. “Anyone care to bet against me?”
“Not today or any other day, Nina!” he said.
• • •
Rows of trees extended far into the distance at the Winterberry Christmas Tree Farm. Andrew and Dana began strolling leisurely through the green, full Douglas and Fraser firs. Horses and sheep grazed in a distant rolling pasture, giving the farm a lovely bucolic atmosphere. Dana thought she would love to spend weekends in the country chasing after one or two McGarry offspring.
“Remember the size of my Beetle’s roof,” Nina reminded them. “Don’t make me haul back a sequoia. I’m going to browse in a section over on the right while you two poke around. I smell something delicious!”
“I don’t think there’s
anything
Nina can’t find,” Andrew remarked.
Ignoring Andrew’s comment, Dana slapped her forehead. “We should have rented a Lincoln
.
I guess we’ll have to settle for a smaller tree. Oh well.”
“How tall are your ceilings?” Andrew asked. “If I recall, they’re ten feet.”
“Eleven. I’ll just add more garland on the mantel. The tree doesn’t have to be the focal point of the living room this year.” She shrugged and walked on.
Andrew touched Dana’s arm, halting her progress as she continued down a row of Douglas firs. “Okay, Dana, what’s on your mind? You’re going to settle on a smaller tree, and Brett’s working as usual. And yet you’ve been beaming all morning.”
“Have I?”
Andrew nodded and then stepped back, his eyes round as quarters. “Hey, are you pregnant?”
Dana laughed. “No, silly. But maybe it’s in the offing.”
Andrew stopped dead in his tracks. “Maybe the fresh air has gone to my head, but something’s different. You’re thinking of having a baby? I can read your mind from across the store or across Manhattan. Tell me what’s going on.”
Dana related the conversation over dinner at Cheshire Cheese, Brett’s caring demeanor, and the possibility that they might be buying a weekend home in Bedford.
“Sounds like a sea change is occurring in the McGarry household.” Andrew put his arm around Dana’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “I hope things work out. Lord knows you deserve it. And to think I might become Uncle Andrew one day soon.”
Andrew didn’t believe for a second that Brett had changed, but he wasn’t going to spoil his friend’s ebullient mood. He made a mental note to observe Dana’s husband closely at their annual Christmas party the following week. If something in the relationship had changed, he’d spot it immediately.
“While we’re on the subject,” Dana said, “you’ve been in terribly good spirits yourself lately, Mr. Ricci. Is there a special someone in your life at present? Come on—it’s your turn to share the wealth.”
Andrew’s brief hesitation caused Dana to wheel sideways and poke her friend in the chest with her finger. “I knew it!” she said, eyes wide. “Who is he?”
“At the moment, things are a bit . . . challenging, shall we say.”
“Does that mean you’ve got some competition?” Dana asked.
“Aren’t these trees magnificent?” Andrew asked.
“Okay, I get the message. I won’t press you on it, but I hope this guy knows that he’d be crazy to pass you up.”
“Time will tell,” Andrew said. “Relationships can be complicated.”
“This is the one!” cried Nina from fifteen yards away. “Dana, I’ve found your tree.”
Dana and Andrew hurried to the row where Nina stood proudly, her arm motioning to a group of Concolor fir trees.
“Inhale!” Nina exhorted. “Can you smell that marvelous fragrance?”
“Fresh oranges,” Andrew commented. “I’d love to take home every one,” he said. “Every shape and size. They complement each other perfectly!”
“Exactly!” Nina declared resolutely, pointing to a five-foot Concolor fir. “And there’s the one for Dana.”
The short evergreen had long bluish-green needles. Though small, it was full and fragrant.
“It’s got potential,” Dana admitted.
“I’ll send over a round table from the display department before the day is out,” Andrew said. “With the right ornament on top—the perfect tree-topper—you’ll have a tree that reaches within an inch or two of the ceiling. Use a nice tree skirt and spread some packages around and voilá—you’ll have the illusion of height.” Andrew pointed to his right eye with his index finger. “The seeing eye knows all.”
Dana knew her friend could visualize a display in his mind’s eye, complete with every accessory down to the last detail, and she had no doubt that his idea for the McGarry Christmas tree would work well. The Concolor fir was cut and secured to the top of Nina’s VW.
“I’m famished,” Nina said as they piled into the car. “How about lunch?”
“I know the perfect place,” Dana chimed in. “Can we take River Road to New Hope?
Look for an ivy-covered stone house with a big copper pig over the door. It’s called the Inn at Phillips Mill.”
Nina pressed the clutch with her left foot and threw the Bug into gear. “River Road it is!”
As the VW meandered along the road, Dana recalled what Andrew had said a few moments earlier about the Concolor firs:
I’d love to take home every one. Every shape and size
. The words gave her a sudden flash of inspiration about her dilemmas at B. Altman. Maybe she could think outside the box after all. Isn’t that what made Nina so distinctive—the ability to see possibilities that no one else could?
Dana didn’t know whether it was because of the fresh country air or Nina’s infectious enthusiasm, but an idea had materialized out of nowhere, and she thought that Bob and Bea might just go for it. The day was turning out to be the best in a long time.
“S
o what is this earth-shaking revelation you have for me?” Brett asked impatiently as he and Janice walked towards Mrs. John L. Strong on Madison Avenue.
“Just get your wife’s . . . wine things, or whatever they are, and then we’ll talk.”
Brett and Janice entered the store, which provided custom luxury stationery and related products. A legendary establishment in New York City since 1929, Mrs. John L. Strong created its own cotton paper, mixed its own ink, and hand-engraved its stationery according to customer preference. As always, the store was orderly and quiet, its ambience professional and upscale.
“What exactly is this place?” asked Janice, her head turning in several directions as she examined the sedate store. “It looks like an antique shop. Is it safe to touch anything in here?”
“It’s exactly what the sign outside says it is,” Brett replied. “A stationery store. It has provided stationery, announcements, and gifts for royalty and seven presidential families. It has catered to clients such as the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, Diana Vreeland, Jackie Onassis, Gloria Vanderbilt, and the Rockefellers. That’s the short list.”
Janice gestured to the display cases on either side of them. “So what are
you
doing here? Dana grooming you for the White House? Wow, she really does have it all laid out.”
“Dana picks out gifts for the partners each Christmas,” he explained, once again ignoring her sarcasm. “This year she ordered wine journals.”
“Wine
what
?”
“Wine journals.”
An impeccably dressed man approached Brett and offered a welcoming smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. McGarry. So good to see you again. I assume you’re here to pick up your wife’s order.”
“That’s correct, Mr. Stiles.”
“I’ll be back in a moment, Mr. McGarry.”
“And what are wine journals, President McGarry?” Janice asked.
Brett rolled his eyes and pointed to a leather-bound journal on display. “It’s for saving wine labels and writing down information on grapes, taste, cellaring, and vintages for wines people have a special fondness for. Don’t try to tell me you don’t have wine connoisseurs in California, home to Napa Valley and hundreds of vineyards.”
“I know merlot from cabernet,” Janice said dryly, “and I also know that most people on the East Coast regard California wines as beneath their palates. But saving labels from favorite beverages? That sounds like a hobby for high school nerds who also belong to the chess club. If I like a wine, I’ll drink it and buy it again, end of story.” She paused as she looked around the store, studying its products. “Is this another grand McGarry tradition—picking out scrapbooks for rich people? And why can’t you buy your own presents for the partners? Just get them a great bottle of scotch so they can get snookered and have a good time with the missus.”
Brett tried to hold back laughter but couldn’t. “I guess that would be simpler, wouldn’t it.”
“Absolutely! They can drink single malt and then sing the Yale Whiffenpoof Song before doing the deed.”
Heads in the shop were turning, and Brett had to lower his gaze and bite his lip to keep from laughing further. Janice’s remarks had conjured up several entertaining images in his mind, and he found her humor not so much irreverent as just plain funny.
“Here’s your order,” Mr. Stiles said, bringing out Dana’s order from the rear of the store. “Everything is gift wrapped just as Mrs. McGarry requested. Please don’t hesitate to call if you have any questions.”
“Excellent,” Brett said. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Stiles.”
“And to you and Mrs. McGarry.” Mr. Stiles took notice of Janice but his demeanor remained entirely professional. At Mrs. John L. Strong, all customers were considered above reproach and were treated accordingly. The shop dealt in quality and service, and an inquisitive look from an employee would have been beneath the establishment’s standards.
Brett and Janice left the stationers and stood on the street.
“Let’s go to the Polo Lounge for a drink,” she said. “We have a few things to discuss in private.”
“Why the Polo?” Brett asked.
“Because it’s expensive and you’re paying.”
Brett took a deep breath. “If you insist.”
“I most certainly do.”
Brett glanced at his watch and decided he could spare a few minutes to listen to whatever Janice deemed to be so urgent. He presumed the matter involved running into Patti Hartlen.
• • •
Brett and Janice sat at a table in the rear of the Polo Lounge at the Westbury Hotel on Madison Avenue and 69th Street.
“I’ll have a glass of house cabernet,” Janice told their waiter.
“Just coffee for me,” Brett said, his arms folded defensively.
“I’d rather have a Georges de la Tour cab, private reserve,” Janice declared, “but what’s the point if we’re not sharing a bottle.”
Brett’s jaw dropped.
“Don’t act so surprised, Mr. Landmark. I know more than people give me credit for. It’s just that I don’t place a lot of stock in facades and traditions. Consider the wine journals, for example. They’re part of yet another tradition, one that I’m sure will be carried on until you retire from the firm. It’s just more preservation. Preserve your precious wine labels and then preserve your routines until you turn into stone. Is this really how you want to live your life? I mean, it’s all well and good for some people, I suppose, but as a lifestyle, it would leave me cold, as in dead. If that makes me a bad girl from the West Coast with no breeding or social amenities, then so be it.”
“I get what you’re saying about turning into a landmark,” Brett said, looking across the table at his colleague’s deep blue eyes. “But even partners at law firms have skeletons in their closets. Nobody’s a Boy Scout. Why did you imply back at Saks that my life is going to radically change?”
“Because Patti Hartlen is a very astute observer, and women have been known to gossip.”
Brett shook his head as the waiter brought a glass of cabernet and a cup of coffee to the table.
“I’ve been thinking about that little run-in with Patti. Dana and I don’t even know those people. The meeting at Saks was awkward, but there’s no harm done.”
“What if I told you that Jack Hartlen has a meeting with Patrick Denner next week?”
Brett cocked his head and frowned. Patrick Denner was a corporate associate at Davis, Konen and Wright and a friend of Brett’s. “I haven’t heard anything about such a meeting,” he countered, sounding nonplussed. “You’ve heard of the Hartlens?”
“It’s just a tidbit I picked up,” said Janice. “Ears to the ground, as they say. I don’t know any particulars, but if the Hartlens plan on retaining the firm’s services, then sooner or later they’re going to see you or me, possibly together. Whether or not Patti will draw any conclusions is anybody’s guess. We were leaving the ladies department together. Makes for interesting speculation.”
“There
aren’t
any conclusions to draw.”
“That’s irrelevant when it comes to gossip, and nothing will sink the chances of a partnership faster than salacious gossip. You also might not be picking up any more wine journals for Dana if Patti’s the kind to talk.” Janice raised her eyebrows seductively as she spoke slowly and deliberately. “But I can provide some cover, shall we say, to prevent any scandal.”