Without him pacing around the apartment fanning the flames,
I lowered my boiling tantrum to a simmer, which made me clearheaded enough to recognise my real annoyance. He was living like a king with time to hang out with guys he liked, at incredible events. His job entailed twenty percent of what I slogged through daily. I owed Ethan an apology but he needed to consider my point of view. Escorting me to Bergdorf’s or Hermes on Madison wouldn’t hurt.
I fussed with my pillow. Reacting like he was still Brucknerfield’s high profile, low self-esteem football hero to my sorry St. Louis come-from-nothing wouldn’t improve a thing. A therapist would have a heyday with us.
I chose not to stay home on Monday as we’d planned. I needed to think. The guestroom door stayed shut while I dressed, propped the note for Alyssa, left her my dry cleaning, and rinsed my coffee cup. Up and out.
Julian made it worth the daily professional stress to maintain this life. The more he believed in me, the more I believed in myself. Ambition drove me as if the next triumph would fix my temper or my confidence or whatever else ailed me. I swallowed a Xanax at the office, forced myself to gain perspective, and muttered about it at lunch to Jennifer Rocket. She put down her chicken salad sandwich. “If you were asking for advice, I might say hissy fits, and retail therapy aren’t doing diddly squat for your mood. And probably not for your marriage, either. Memorial Day weekend’s coming up. How about you find some getaway for the two of you.”
“We do love that inn in the Hamptons.”
“No, no. Some place totally Ethan-y. His groove.”
“That would be a cabin in the Ozarks.”
“Bingo! Seriously, my cousin has a cosy cottage on tiny Lake Allamuchy out near the Delaware Water Gap. Not all that far from Ludlow. I’ve used it. I’ll call them. Ethan’ll love it. You will, too.” She picked up her sandwich and waved off protest.
I left Rockefeller Centre by way of Stokes Men’s Apparel, and headed home with a basic Tag Heuer watch, linen shirt and cashmere sweater. I opened the apartment to dinner scraps on a single plate, Chinese take-out boxes, and Ethan at the computer in the office. Six minutes later, gifts under the bed, he appeared at our office doorway as I sat the table nibbling leftovers in less-than-nothing silky sleepwear.
“Holy shit.”
I swallowed my fried rice. “I figured this would get you out of the guestroom tonight so I could apologise.”
Saturday morning I drove Jane Austen and my husband through the Lincoln Tunnel, then west along the mesh of New Jersey highways to the Bedminster/Ludlow exit onto the back roads of Hunterdon County, through town and up to our antique farmhouse.
“Look at that, Babe. We were fresh out of St. Louis.” Ludlow reminiscing maintained the mood as the crackling woodstove fire warmed the lake cottage. We walked wooded paths around the water and I brought out the gifts over drinks on the porch. He slipped the watch over his wrist. “Fabulous but I can’t wear a two-thousand-dollar Tag Heuer around my kids and their parents, let alone struggling teachers.”
“Nine fifty. It’s as basic as they come. Tell them it’s a Casio or Canal Street knockoff.” I pressed my fingers to his lips against more protest as he lifted the shirt and ran his hand over the maroon cashmere.
“We’re kicking you up a notch. Just a notch.”
“You’re trying to make me look like Julian.”
I gestured at his sweat pants and Yankees cap. “Fat chance, but your Regular Guy choices don’t work in the chartered jet or sitting in his sky box.”
Even if our fiery temperaments hadn’t changed, Ethan and I shared the fascination with all things Julian Petrenko and spent the weekend finally exchanging his Dallas and my London tales.
Chapter Eighteen
We returned from the cottage to Ethan’s baseball coaching and my Mayfair restructuring. I’d caught the Beautyland bullet train with only two speeds: Break Neck and Lightning. I spent June hiring, and fine tuning my staff restructuring. Unlike my clueless behaviour at my Four Seasons dinner with Marsha Johnson, Wilma Nash listened over our drinks at the Oak Room. “To be honest, Emma, I sensed house cleaning was in the air. Managing Director requires devoted tunnel vision and a team of advisors. Pretty obvious he provided me with neither. You’re handing me a more-than-decent exit package, and it’s perfect timing. I suspect mixing business with pleasure’s part of the reason I got the gig in the first place. You’d think I’d learn. Promotions not necessarily deserved require too many catch-up tutorials. Ruins one’s beauty sleep.”
I ignored the innuendo. “Wilma, I knew of your success before Mayfair and before we met. Your first-rate marketing reputation will keep you in the game. If you go back to what you do best, you’ll land on your feet. Be thrifty with the severance, and you’ll have time to be selective.”
“Thank you, Emma, you’re probably doing me a favour. I’m sure you know Julian’s a blinding, bloody genius, to use his vernacular. He doesn’t break a sweat because he prides himself on keeping the best of the best at the top of his business ladders, one rung below him. If your rung climbing is more than just consulting for Mayfair, make sure your eyes are wide open. He can be all smoke and mirrors.”
“I appreciated your perspective and I wish you success.” It was time she skimmed Match.com in another company’s board room, and shaved her bikini line in a different executive washroom sink.
While the Big Apple baked, I continued with Pride and Prejudice. Our new accounting and inventory systems allowed us access to financial status for every line in the P&L, and I hunkered down with Sam Garten, my financial wizard. Bill Grose advised dropping slow producing items while renegotiating all supplier contracts projected savings of twenty-five to thirty percent that would ultimately make finished goods more profitable.
As summer kicked in Julian flew stateside for his upstate farm team something or other, I was happy to stay clueless about. He made time for Mayfair so I hosted a solid in-depth afternoon of lunch, glad handing and number crunching with my entire staff. To his credit he stayed engaged, charming and insightful as he put names and faces together. He topped it off—his own last-minute suggestion—by taking Ethan (who didn’t have time to stress or decline) to a local sports bar for burgers.
Ethan treated his private session teens to a July Yankees Red Sox double header thanks to Julian who also underwrote bus, stadium food, and top seats for the Iron Hills team, one adult each, plus the school athletic director. In October Julian arranged Yankees play-off tickets for us. They finished the season ten games ahead of the Red Sox with Joe Torres at the helm and me next to my husband in full support mode to soothe my guilt over my hours staying abreast of my own team at Mayfair. Despite Jennifer with Global Sales and Marketing and Amanda
Denton directing field sales, I hovered over implementation of Bill’s plan for revising these vendor agreements and territories. Cat naps replaced beauty sleep. I deplored micromanaging but results rested on my shoulders.
Wilma Nash asked me to lunch on a crisp day, complimented me on Mayfair’s buzz, and asked if I’d fine tune a recommendation. “Marketing International. Global accounts. Domestic Vice President,” she said over Chardonnay and salad. “You were right, Emma. I’ve hedged my bets, and my brass ring’s within reach. They’ve put me through two rounds but they’re dragging their asses. I need dynamite under their butts.”
“Julian might have more clout.”
“God, no. He hung me out to dry. You’re the one who knows my history, plus your press is excellent these days. Emma Paige is the name connected to the fragrance industry.” She laughed.
“Just stick to my professional history, please.”
“Good idea.”
“Besides, their CEO, Cynthia Albright, is a very savvy woman. They need to hear from someone with a vagina.”
I put time and effort into a strong recommendation. At week’s end flowers arrived on my desk with MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! W. peaking from the lilies.
Ethan joined Adam’s group of Giants’ season ticket holders, often tailgating at the Meadowlands by the time I finished my breakfast coffee in our home office. Fall was crazy busy in anticipation of my December return to London to kick all things UK Connection into high gear. To bolster our budget Dustin and Director of Analytics and Ecommerce, Abdul Maliki, patiently explained why drastically reduced print advertising, public relations, and celebrity endorsements made sense. We agreed to reverse everything considered standard in industry procedure. Some thought Mayfair crazy to walk away from the tried-and true model but they convinced me sound financial future practice lay in systems, digital and social media investment. Dustin slashed fifty percent of the traditional public relations budget, hired a niche agency pioneering this new style, and spent less without losing momentum or brand awareness. Depending on the analyst, his outside-the-box approach promised failure or massive success. My teams watched, ready to adapt if it proved solid. We finalised the spreadsheet for marketing, merchandising, and product development well before Thanksgiving. Mayfair Beauty was finally operating like a Fortune 500 company. Trade press followed every step. Their coverage became our name recognition gold mine and we could not have bought better publicity.
Ethan’s school gig finished for the season. Over Thanksgiving turkey and Beaujolais Grand Cru I cajoled him into joining me for the final days of my three-week assignment.
Julian stayed busy in Zurich with full faith in my ability to handle the fragrance minutia. I flew to London December First to prove him right. No doubt Julian’s promise of VIP everything for the UK-C London concert convinced Ethan to join me.
I settled in at Claridge’s and dedicated a Brit’s fortnight to The UK-Connection. Basics with Taylor Davies and their other managers was straightforward and efficient. However anything requiring Great Britain’s latest heartthrobs themselves needed surveillance and security clearance. Their handlers set up clandestine meeting centres, complete with passwords to keep the boys safe from swarms of Nokia and BlackBerry carrying teenagers, constantly on the lookout.
Taylor met me the morning of my Fragrance 101 presentation. “Mind you,” he said as we walked the hall, “You’re dealing with five lads, nothing much but music and ‘birds’ on their brains.”
