Never Too Rich (40 page)

She shook her head. “Not really. Remember, the fall
collections traditionally land in the stores during the summer;
likewise, the winter collections start being sold in the fall. All
we’d be doing is starting a bit early, thereby getting a jump on
the competition.” She looked over the top of her wineglass at
him.

“
Ah!” he exclaimed.

“
Ahhhhh . . .” she
echoed.

“
Ah,” he said again, with
relish.

“
Ahhhh,” she repeated softly, and
smiled.

For a long moment they stared at each other, two
conspirators enjoying their secret plotting enormously. With her
talent and experience and his wealth and business acumen, they
could both almost sense the beginnings of a revolution in the
making.

“
You know, you’re no end of
surprises,” he said admiringly.

“
While you’re on the subject,
there’s another surprise you should be aware of,” she warned. “The
sketches you saw aren’t what I really have in mind. At least, not
anymore.”

“
They show you’ve got talent,” he
said.

She gave a deprecating wave and laughed. “You and I
both know that in this town talent comes cheap. Every other person
has an artistic streak—or has at least fooled himself into thinking
he has.”

Leo leaned across the table. “Well?” he asked
quietly. “What do you have in mind?”

She met his gaze directly. “I’ve been giving it a
lot of thought,” she said. “For the longest time I’d envisioned
doing couture or expensive ready-to-wear.” She shook her head. “Now
I’ve come to the conclusion that I was on the wrong track. There
are altogether too many exclusive, expensive snob-appeal clothes
out there already. Take a minute to think about it. Does this
country—or the world—
need
another Oscar de la Renta?
Another Antonio de Riscal?” She shook her head a second time. “I
sincerely doubt it. Don’t get me wrong, Leo. I love wearing
knockout designer clothes. They’re my passion—my single greatest
weakness, in fact. Nothing under the sun makes me feel quite as
good and at the top of the world as wearing something absolutely
frivolous and outrageously expensive. But—and this is a big
‘but’—
buying
those kinds of clothes is a whole different
story from trying to sell them. I believe that the market for them
is just too limited. Not to mention dangerously
failure-ridden.”

“
My sentiments exactly.” He nodded
approvingly.

“
I’m glad you feel that way. Now,
take the late Willi Smith. As far as I’m concerned, he was on the
right sales track with his Williwear.”

“
Which was?”

“
Which sums up what I’d like to
offer the consumer—a wide range of affordable clothing that can be
mixed and matched a thousand different ways.” She sat forward, her
words now tumbling out excitedly. “In other words, Leo, an entire
coordinated
collection! Oh, it’s been done before, I know
that, but never on the scale I envision. Colorful stretch tops.
Mix-and-match bottoms. Bright vests and sweaters. Tunics that do
double duty as long shirts or short dresses. Psychedelic panty
hose. And all topped off with a choice of one hundred and one
shades of blinding, irrepressibly bright leg warmers, practically
sheer ones for summer, and heavy wool ones for winter.” She paused,
bright-eyed and breathless. “Well? What do you think?”

“
I think it’s pure genius. And,
demographically speaking, it’s aiming at the largest
fashion-conscious group of consumers in the country.”

“
I hope you’ll still feel that way
after you hear me out. To make it in this business, to really,
truly make it, we need to have our own in-store boutiques in at
least every Macy’s, Bloomingdale’s, Shacklebury-Prince, and
Marshall Field store nationwide. That would virtually guarantee us
overnight success.”

He looked at her intently. “Go on,” he said
slowly.

She reached for her Pichon-Lalande and took a
fortifying sip. “I know that getting our own space in department
stores will be not just difficult, but next to impossible. The
competition for that, even among established, high-volume firms
like Donna Karan and Ralph Lauren, is lethal. But we’ve got to have
it. Without it, everything’s far, far too iffy.”

“
Then what makes you think we’ve
got such a good chance of getting it?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Did I say we did?”

“
Perhaps not in so many words.” He
smiled. “But you wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.”

“
True.” Her eyes reached across the
table, burning into his. “You see, Leo,” she said quietly, “I’ve
come up with a brand-new marketing concept. At least, it’s
brand-new as far as fashion merchandising goes. To my knowledge, it
has never been tried before.”

He was silent for a moment. “You certainly know how
to pique someone’s interest.”

Setting down her wineglass, she placed her forearms
on the edge of the table and ran a finger around the rim of the
glass. Then she pushed it aside and folded her hands. “Going mass
market will take big money,” she said in preamble.

A shadowed smile crossed his lips. “I have big
money,” he said without boastfulness.

“
I know that,” she said. “But we’re
talking millions here. You
are
aware of that?”

He wasn’t fazed. “The old saying might be trite, but
it is true: you’ve got to spend money to make money. Money’s to
invest and reinvest.” He laughed. “Forget casinos. Business is the
biggest game going.”

She was suddenly annoyed. “Is that how you view
fashion? Simply as a game?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said quietly, “as an
investment. A successful investment, I might add. With your designs
and marketing ideas, I’m convinced only the sky’s the limit.”

“
In that case, the in-store
boutiques are essential. And they’re also where a big share of the
costs will go. We’ll have to supply everything—and that includes
the custom-built boutiques themselves. In order to cut costs, and
to make them instantly recognizable, I came upon the idea of having
them all prefabricated—they’d be identical—sort of like big kiosks
that’ll come with every last hook and shelf and hanger in place. I
want them designed so they can be set up or come down in a day.
That way, all they’ll need is to be stocked with our collection,
and—
bingo!
—we’re in business.”

“
Sounds to me like you’re planning
a Pizza Hut,” he said cheerfully.

“
Or a McDonald’s.” She
smiled.

He looked amused. “Move over, fast food, here comes
fast fashion.”

“
Don’t laugh. Hamburgers and
clothes really aren’t all that different.”

He laughed and shook his head in wonder. “What is
this world coming to? First there was junk food. Then came junk
bonds. And now we have junk fashions.”

“
Watch it,” she growled. “They’re
not junk fashions. They’ll be high-quality, well-designed, and
affordable clothing. But they are
not
junk.”

He bowed his head slightly. “I stand corrected.”

She looked at him narrowly. “I know I’m
oversensitive on this issue, but I won’t, nor will I ever, try to
market junk.”

“
It was just a manner of speaking.
But you’re good, Eds, I’ll give you that. No, not good,” he
corrected himself. “Better than good. In a word, you’re terrific!
Has anybody ever told you that?”

“
At least once each day, and if I’m
very, very lucky, more often. Now, before you get swept away, Leo,
there’s more.” Her meal was totally forgotten and her voice had
dropped so low that he had to strain to hear her. “Here’s the
crowning touch. Granted, it’s more a marketing ploy than fashion,
but like I said, what works for hamburgers should work for clothes.
The bottom line’s the same. Right?” She raised her eyebrows
prettily.

“
I’d say so.” He nodded
solemnly.

“
That’s why I suggest—no, make that
demand
—that all our cash registers, every last one, be
hooked up to a central computer. That way, each and every sale will
register instantly at our central office. Not only will this
facilitate restocking and show us instantly what is and what is not
selling, but we’ll be able to generate no end of excitement. Each
boutique will have a large computerized sign atop it with
constantly changing numbers showing how many items have sold up to
that instant all across the country. Well? Can’t you see it? And
does it, or does it not, go one better than Burger
King?”

Leo’s mouth had dropped open. “Well, I’ll be
goddamned!” he whispered in awe.

“
I thought you’d like it.” Edwina
sat back and smiled.

“
Like it? I
love it!”
he
crowed. “It’s . . . it’s pure genius!” he could only shake his head
and marvel. “My initial instincts were right; I see that now,” he
said. “The way you’re approaching it, only the sky
is
the
limit! It
can’t
fail!”

Waving him to silence, she sat forward once again.
“Yes, it can,” she said darkly. “Which is why I want you going into
this with your eyes wide open. I don’t believe in bullshit, and I
won’t pull the wool over your eyes by trying to paint a pretty
picture.”

“
A girl after my own
heart.”

She ignored his humor. “First, there are the sheer
logistics to consider. Coming up with the designs within eight
months, as I plan to, is not impossible. Even having the patterns
made up for everything by then is feasible. So is having the
samples run up. But what might
not
be feasible, where things
are liable to get royally screwed up, is in
filling
the
orders, Leo—especially huge orders—in the time they’re supposed to
be in the stores. That’s what I’m really worried about.”

“
Why? We won’t be doing the
manufacturing end of it ourselves. That would be all subcontracted.
It’s what other designers do, don’t they?”

“
For ready-to-wear, yes, they do.
But do you have any idea of the sheer numbing logistics involved?
Leo, I don’t need to tell you that manufacturers are loyal to their
existing big accounts; they’d be fools not to be. They go out of
their way to dine and kiss ass and supply them with wine, women,
song, and possibly even drugs to keep the big bucks rolling in. But
the new kid on the block? He not only takes a backseat, but . . .
Boy oh boy! You’ve never seen a backseat until you’ve sat in one of
those! And the same goes for the fabric wholesalers and the
distributors. So you see, what good is getting an avalanche of
orders coming
in,
and having the boutiques set up
nationwide, when the merchandise can’t go
out
on time? I’ve
seen plenty of successful—yes, successful, Leo—firms go under
precisely
because they weren’t able to fill their orders on
time.”

Leo frowned. “I don’t understand you. First you’ve
sold me on this, and now you’re trying to scare me off. Why?”

“
I’m not trying to scare you off,”
she said, “I’m only being realistic. I’m telling it like it is.”
She smiled. “From the look on your face, you are, I take it, still
up on this?”

“
That’s right.”

“
Good. Now, then. Let’s segue into
the root of all evil. How much of the green stuff are you willing
to commit to this?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Whatever it takes. But I did
have the round figure of three million in mind.”

She snorted and her lips curved into a dangerously
provoking smile.
“Three
million, did you say? A lousy,
paltry, pocket-change three million? You’ve got to be kidding . . .
You’re not? Well. Then, let me tell you something about the facts
of life. If we were planning a small couture operation with a
limited, exclusive ready-to-wear line, I’d say fine. Three mil
would be plenty. But to do what we want to achieve? Prefab in-store
boutiques and all? Well, you’d better pour yourself another glass
of that exceptional wine—you’re going to need it.”

“
Then what,” he asked as he poured,
“do you think a realistic start-up figure would be?”

She sighed. “Who knows? Fashion is a filthy, dirty,
fickle business, about as easy to predict as the date the world
will end. First, there’ll be the battle to get our boutiques into
the stores. Retail space is tight, highly prized, and high as a
kite. Don’t expect any giveaways, especially as far as prime
selling space is concerned. We may have to pay outrageous rents for
that privilege.”

“
Okay.”

“
Second. The stores are liable to
demand consignments instead of buying an unproved company’s
merchandise. That means it could be forever until money starts
rolling in—
if,
in fact, it rolls in at all.” She
paused

“
I’m still with you.”

“
Third. Advertising and promotion
will most likely be up to us.”

“
Go on.”

“
And fourth, the biggest doozie of
them all. The stores might want ...” She gave a low laugh. “No,
make that
demand
again, outrageous discounts on all our
things they do sell. And
that
doesn’t take into account
number five, the not-so-occasional scoundrel who might demand
kickbacks.” Winded, she sat back to catch her breath.

He looked unfazed. “Are you through?”

“
For now,” she said, nodding, “only
for now.”

“
For now’s fine with me. You see,
Eds, despite everything you just got through telling me, despite
doing your best to dissuade me and save me from almost certain
ruin, would you believe I’m more excited about it than ever?” His
eyes were shining.