I knew her name from glossy publications to managerial gossips. She was often nose-to-nose over issues with the cosmetic industry’s notoriously chauvinistic, egotistical men on her rise through their ranks. Now this female CEO and Platinum Beauty had captured the cosmetic and fragrance license for the house of Italian designer Salvatore Rosa. I admired his luxury handbags and owned shoes from his ready-to-wear collection. Yes, indeed, I’d find the time for a drink or dinner.
We met at The Green Door, upscale with a discreet ambiance quiet enough for serious conversation. In the mid-nineties, like a million other tall blondes, The Princess of Wales served as my style maven right down to her iconic royal haircut. I arrived in pearls, kitten heels, dark stockings and a classic charcoal suit, banded with a thin, leather belt.
Marsha—the antithesis of Linda—appeared in impeccable black with her red hair in a demure French twist. Small talk segued right into her strategic five-year plan to vault Platinum into the U.S. market’s top ten.
We ordered, and handed back our menus. “My agenda’s aggressive. I’m after new talent to help implement my aggressive agenda, specifically field sales director, the highest profile sales job in the company.”
I touched on a few of my successes.
“You’re here tonight, Emma, based on that track record. I’ve gone far afield for talent since the best sales people are usually not found in New York. I’ve been assured you’d be a good fit. I want to bring you into the fold. This means extensive travel, as I’m sure you know. Home base will be New York City.”
After lengthy details, she offered me the position on the spot. A five-thousand-dollar clothing allowance, company car, cell phone, and company paid health plan augmented the ninety-five-thousand-dollar annual salary. Relocation expenses would be reimbursed after ninety days of employment. Marsha expected my answer in twenty-four hours.
Linda Clarkson barely caused a ripple in my over-heated brain. I would have accepted at the table, but explained the need to discuss it with Ethan, hanging his major league hopes on yet another league’s spring training. “Holy shit,” I sang, whispered and shouted all the way home.
Ethan took forever to make decisions and I bristled as I tapped out his phone number. He now had a Nokia; it routinely went to voicemail. No answer; no surprise. “It’s New York, Babe. Field Sales Director, the highest profile sales job in the company. I have to move this at the speed of sound. Please get back to me. I love you.”
I left a second message at three a.m. his time, a third the next morning. Marsha Johnson was not the type to accept wussy behaviour. Despite no word from my husband, as promised I called her, used my best professional voice, left out the Ethan details, and accepted her offer.
The rest of the day consisted of in-store counter reviews with two reps, both of whom commented on my upbeat mood and enthusiasm. Ethan returned my calls at six-thirty with the usual tedious recital…just getting back to his hotel. Rain caused a twenty-four-hour travel delay. Elbow pain giving him fits meant lousy nights on the mound. “And now half-assed phone messages about us moving across the country.”
“There’s nothing half-assed about this major, major offer!”
“Well, it’s half-assed to think I’d want anything to do with New York. I can barely stand using an elevator where we are now. How I’m going to live with some high-rise one?”
“This is about sales not fucking elevators!”
“What the fuck happened to St. Louis being perfect for sales? We’re doing great right where we are. You know St. Louis’s is the perfect Midwest solution for both of us.”
The excrement hit the fan. I threw abrupt, rude, closeminded, and cold back at him. “Let me get this straight. You’ve spent years traveling all over creation. You chase a dream you’re not sure will ever actually pay for anything while I work my ass off to support it. If it weren’t for my career, you’d have been forced to stop playing years ago.”
“Thanks for laying it out for me again, in case I didn’t get it the last sixty times you’ve reminded me. It’s a pain in the ass getting home as it is. New York’s on the other coast, another planet in one more fucking time zone.”
“Why can’t you understand how important this is for our future? I was clear three years ago. My goal’s always been New York. This is my major league, Ethan. And it lets you keep trying for yours. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Then don’t. It’s not going to work.”
“It will if you make it work.”
“Don’t take the job.”
“I already have.”
He hung up. I swore, changed into sweats, paced around the apartment, and called him back.
He picked up on the second ring, “I can’t believe you’d make such a totally life-changing decision without me.”
“I didn’t call you back to keep fighting.”
“Damn it, Emma, then accept I can’t move to New York. I’m staying in St. Louis.”
I should have taken a deep breath but raw emotion raised my voice. “Ethan, no way can we afford two households. It’s New York with me or return to your happy Paige homestead in Brucknerfield. I’m sure your father can rehab that trailer next to your sister’s.”
Dead air. “We’re done, Emma.” Second hang up. This time mine.
Chapter Six
Agonising over Linda kept me from a meltdown over Ethan. She still railed at me when I questioned her tactics or strayed from her directives, and yet I was one of her favourite sales people. Surely, she’d expect me to grab such a golden opportunity. Hadn’t she done the same? Didn’t everyone?
My resignation had to be face-to-face. I owed her that much. And far more, but it was easier not to think about it. Her executive assistant in Manhattan confirmed she’d left for three days in our southeast territory, working from the Selwyn Regency in Charlotte. I booked a flight, a room, and left a message that coincidently, I was due in town on family business, and hoped we might get together, even briefly to catch up. She agreed to meet me in the hotel coffee bar.
I arrived in classic Clarkson-mandated attire. “You’re looking positively funereal. I’d presume you’re dressed for a family memorial service if I didn’t know it’s throw-Linda-under the-bus attire.”
Oh shit. “Linda—”
“Don’t play me for a fool. It’s in my best interest to stay one step ahead of anyone I’ve put so much faith, trust and training into.”
“And I appreciate every minute of it. I’ve done everything your way, team building with each year more successful than the last. It’s just time for my next step.”
“Your next step? We’re just getting to where you’re worth my effort, Rookie Emma.”
“I have an offer to relocate in New York.”
“New York? Don’t be ridiculous. A Missouri red neck, rough as sandpaper? I own you. I’m untouchable. I can do, say, wear, act, however I want. That’s the reward when you deliver the profit and break the record for highest sales in the history of a Fortune Five Hundred company for twenty plus years.”
“I know. And I’m grateful for every minute with you.”
“You were a nothing when I picked you up on the selling floor peddling your low budget fragrance. You think you can just jump over to my competition with no consequences? I can destroy your reputation before you hit the tarmac at JFK.” Her bracelets jangled like a room full of rattles. I remained still.
