I had no idea how much truth supported his information, but he rambled and I studied him. With nearly every personal triumph he listed, Brian threw a personal dig or dagger about my knowledge, talent, or expertise.
“Then bingo,” he added. “Marsha had to have me at Platinum, A S A P. (ah shish ape ee). Such a wide range of experience. Emma, I am so ready to take the pressure off your shoulders and bring Platinum the glory it deserves. Professionally I am at the top, top of my game.”
Top of his game, bottom of his third martini. I called for the check. He oozed himself into a cab; I took the town car home to Ludlow under the glow of my light bulb moment. Brian Cox had convinced Marsha Johnson to bring him in as a Vice President with the sociopathic, Here’s what I know – You know nothing behaviour that shaped my childhood.
Thursday Marsha and Jennifer departed to bounce around snowy New England on routine first-of-the-year inventory visits.
I got into work early, ran routine business past Dustin, then left with Brian for Short Hills, New Jersey.
The mall, renowned for its Fifth Avenue stores, had just completed another major expansion and Platinum had substantial accounts with all four anchors: Bloomingdale’s, Macy’s, Nordstrom, and Neiman Marcus. Classical music filled the sound system while Tiffany’s to Crate and Barrel, Armani to Polo Ralph Lauren, Kenneth Cole, DKNY, Betsy Johnson, and Max Mara beckoned. Ethan and I lived just thirty minutes farther west, knew it well, and used it often.
A white dress shirt with properly knotted rep tie peeked from Brian’s overcoat. The braces were off his teeth which allowed him to chew Tootsie Rolls and Kraft Caramels obsessively. As we passed Foot Locker, I pointed out Reeboks Ethan had purchased.
“Jesus, enough with your idle chit chat.” He shoved his first candy wrapper into his pocket. “We do not care about Ethan and his Reeboks. Yes, we know you’re familiar with every little nook and cranny in here. On point, Emma. Stay focused.”
“You’re right.” Kowtowing worked every time.
“Thank you. I’ve been here without you even before I was your boss. Windsor’s huge at Neiman’s. Huge. As for Platinum, I’ve worked my ass off for three weeks to establish rapport with our Short Hills managers.”
I knew that to be entirely false.
We’d been drinking coffee so we found the restrooms which gave me time to pee and count to one-hundred. Ten minutes later on he went with his plan for the day. If I were needed, he’d let me know. We were not to get off point by discussing topics unrelated to fragrance, sales or markets. As we reached the Nordstrom wing, he instructed me to check on the counter displays while he met with the purchasing rep.
“That’s not protocol.”
“You’re contradicting? I am vice president for a reason.” His glare startled me into silence. If I weren’t included in these scheduled strategy sessions, why was I here? At Nordstrom’s I followed orders and stayed on the floor. A handsome twenty-something salesman popped up from stocking Platinum counter shelves and reported that our body wash practically sold itself.
He leaned in. “Brian Cox saved my ass. I was brand new, doing things old school, standing out front of the counter where you are. Thank god he explained I was to stay here, behind the glass, not out blocking the view. ‘It’s all about product. Draw them in, drawn them in.’ You know what? He saved my job.” Brian just now meeting the reps had apparently already checked out the counter boys. I tried not to think about the hand massages.
“The next thing I knew, he invited me to dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“At his apartment? Pre-War Delancey. Totally cutting-edge decor. Seriously, he does high-end design if fragrance doesn’t work out. I had fabulous salmon with them. Daddy Steve, as he’s called, is an amazing cook. Great guys, both of them. Brian gave me so many hints and tips. Platinum is so lucky.”
“Thank you,” I managed. Brian wanted the sales crew behind the counter? Sales people were to be on the outside greeting customers, glass cases seen as a barrier. Brian’s directive ignored protocol and placed unproductive distance between seller and consumer. Marsha would have a hissy fit.
And so it went. By the time we hit Macy’s, he either felt more confident in me or less confident in himself. Now I was to attend the session.
Ten minutes in, Brian’s commentary subtly dissolved into smoke and mirrors. He discussed any topic—new hires, projected sales, our manufacturing centres—superficially then defer to the buyers. He let the employee digress so he/she led the conversation in another direction. Next, he opened subjects, and ask me a question. He repeated my replies and encouraged me to continue. Psychiatry Modus Operaendi 101. Brian had obviously been in therapy. Not successfully.
And then he got hungry. Since our arrival, he’d consumed more sugary, gooey junk than a ten-year-old on Halloween, but our last conference dragged into early afternoon. The mall restaurants bustled but he seemed edgy, anxious to grab something elsewhere. I had the car deliver us to neighbouring Summit Diner Ethan and I discovered. The funky landmark provided a safe topic for chat and booths for privacy.
“Back in a minute,” he muttered and headed for the rest rooms. Dr. Jekyll returned as lunch arrived. Brian bit into his Taylor ham and cheese sandwich and licked yoke off his fingers.
“Do not ever do that to me again. Ever.”
I looked into the stare from hell. “Do what?”
“Jesus, Emma, don’t pretend you don’t know. You made me look like an idiot in front of Jerry Kovac.”
I wracked my brain. “Bloomingdale’s buyer?”
“Bloomingdale’s buyer?” He chirped with his mouth full.
“Don’t play stupid and don’t ever correct my stats in public.”
“Correct you? I asked which products lead counter sales.”
“And made me look ill prepared.”
I tried to change the subject. Brian stayed on point, careening into behaviour I’d endured at our office intro. I apologised, back peddled, and flattered. Thanks to everything holy, he ranted at low volume through gritted teeth. “Make me look bad and your inexperience reflects on Marsha and Platinum.” He finished his lecture and sandwich. I left my BLT untouched and suggested we find our town car. Our driver’s cheerful greeting at the curb was lost as Brian yanked open the back door and wedged himself in, another Tootsie Roll already stuffed into his mouth. I tapped the front passenger window. “Brian’s going to head back. I’ve got a splitting headache. I’ll finish up at my home office.”
Over “Sure thing,” from the front and, “What the fuck,” from the rear, I stepped through the snowy mush, hunkered into my down coat, and disappeared around the corner toward the Summit train station. In twenty-degree wind I rewound my pashmina, but my head was bare and my kitten heeled boots pinched. My phone nearly froze to my ear as I trotted the long block. I dialled and redialled Ethan. No answer; left a message. My bone chilling fury erupted as sobs. I stood at the crossing light, stared at the coffee drinkers in the Starbucks window, and turned for the station. It should have been Brian on New Jersey Transit to Penn Station and me driven home in the Lincoln. I caught the Gladstone Branch two-fourteen to Ludlow. Ethan got my message and met me on the platform.
Routines help. The next morning, coffee-in-hand, I stared out my office window prepared to address office minutia, and two emails from Nordstrom questioning Brian’s directives.
“Hair of the dog?”
I jumped. “From yesterday? Dustin, I wish. Cold sober is no way to spend time with that heinous, stupid, overbearing, narcissist.”
“You may want grammar corrections from me but there’s nothing wrong with your vocabulary.”
I expected a laugh but he stayed thoughtful. “Emma, you know Brian’s digs are disguised as offhand comments. When he got back here yesterday, he implied your two-martini lunch got the better of you and he had to send you home early.”
“Oh my God, oh my God. I had coffee in the morning and Sprite at the Summit Diner while that bald-faced sociopath devoured his lunch. Now I discover he’s confused our Nordstrom floor manager. I swear he snorts coke in the restrooms.”
Chapter Nine
