“Apparently our felon hired a forensic expert to retrieve your Ciao!Computer’s hard drives, your cell phone records, probably your paperclips and pens, for all we know. With his three-billion-dollar net worth, they’re also targeting Julian.”
“Oh my God.”
“Carmine’s accusing you of breach of fiduciary duty.”
“Apparently emails indicate you originally met with Cameron Hampton while under Christopoulos employment. Since you didn’t disclose to anyone at Ciao! that this deal was in play, Carmine and his legals believe he’s entitled to financial reparation.”
“How much?”
“Twenty million dollars from you. Plus an additional thirty from Julian and Mayfair Beauty.”
“Holy shit. What a bastard.”
“They claim your UK Connection agreement should have been Ciao!Beauty’s deal to license. Carmine wants a share of the profits for the term of the licensing contract.”
Carmine filed the case in New York Federal Court. Despite little merit, publicity cast speculation on Mayfair Beauty, Julian and me. As part of the smear package, Carmine shady west coast publicist’s false stories landed in several mainstream venues. Global publications stated outright: Mayfair Beauty executive Emma Paige secured the high-profile fragrance license as quid pro quo via her affair with the founder/owner of UK Connection, Axel White. In addition, Billionaire Petrenko is being investigated by the Securities Exchange Commission.
Sworn to secrecy is de riguere in the fragrance industry, but this was deja vous all over again. Fury that Carmine dragged Mayfair and Julian’s name into it, ignited my angst. Worse, Julian blew off my apologies, engaged his FBI sources, and arrived stateside to have himself wired.
He baited Carmine and met to discuss their problem. When Dustin tracked down Carmine’s sleazy publicist, I arranged to fly to California to confront him, but Julian took me to lunch and insisted on the task. I argued in our high back booth, spine straight, arms crossed.
He tapped the table in front of me. “Unwind yourself.” I played with the salt.
He covered my hands with his. “Emma, Isgro’s a mean, insecure son of a bitch with a score to settle. This is not some flimsy kerfuffle meant to throw us off. I do not make light of the libellous slept-your-way-to-the-contract rumours they’ve already circulated about White and you. I’m horrified I may have precipitated your involvement.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
He waved it off. “Bloody hell. He’s trumped-up securities fraud and for all we know a litany of issues they’ll use if need be. We’ve a boiling kettle of libel, slander, defamation of character, and a vendetta drawn on my departure from my brief association with the bastards. To quote my Dallas team, ‘This is not my first rodeo.’ I’m the one with the PR connection. I’m the one to confront the Los Angeles weasel.”
My expression surely gave away my anxiety because he held my hands this time and smiled. “A sex scandal for you and financial scandal for me. The idiots have no imagination.”
Seven months later, ironically in the midst of September’s Fashion Week, Tommy idled at 217 Centre Street, the historic twenty-eight story building in Lower Manhattan.
“Remember Emma, the lawyers will pretend they’re on your side, but they’ll try to get you to perjure yourself. Do what the politicians do. ‘I don’t recall; I don’t recall; I don’t recall,’ any time you don’t want to say what they want you to.” I patted his shoulder from the back seat. “You’d have loved my dad. That would have been Dan O’Farrell’s exact advice.” It was Ethan who’d brought up my father as he’d left for school. “Channel Dan.” He hugged me. “But listen to Darlene.” She met me outside and we entered the colourless sea of black-to-grey suits, skirts, and blazers. After her final pep talk, she cupped my head. “Remember, this is not an interview for Women’s Wear Daily. You’re not on The Today Show. Say as little as possible. It’s not about you or your persona, it’s about getting you out of this as expeditiously as possible.”
“No one wants out of here faster than I do.”
“Good. And no matter the pressure, do not get hostile. It’s a dead giveaway you have a weak spot.”
We joined the hoards at the elevators, exited directly into the top floor attorney’s office and followed the receptionist into a classic conference room. Patina in the cherry table, antique barrister cabinets, burnished leather chairs whispered discretion and money. Carmine F.X. Isgro stood alone in the corner, a beacon of sleaze, suit jacket stretched over a black tee shirt. I offered my hand.
“Don’t touch me.”
I raised both hands. “As you wish.”
His lead attorney, first chair, second and third paraded in. Three assistants rolling banker boxes followed and stacked them behind the lawyers. Meant to intimidate but I’d have matched Ethan’s NFL wagers half were empty, nothing more than stupid staging. The intimidation factor was lost on me.
As we settled around the table, Harold Pancake appeared, the attorney Carmine added to his Ciao! Cabinet Guys. Darlene murmured that Pancake got wind of Carmine’s move to the big legal guns, insisted he’d started the process and had information for this deposition.
“We need a ringmaster,” I whispered back.
Off we went. By the first coffee break they were not only badgering Darlene and me, they were snapping at each other. The court reporter asked them to repeat themselves. I held my own. Each time Darlene objected they’d correct one another or snip demands. The Men at Odds Scramble gave me time to think before I spoke, an excellent stalling tactic. We played them well. After nearly eleven hours of Carmine doodling cartoons on his legal pad and endless questions punctuated by squabbling, Darlene raised her open palm. “Emma’s been in this room half the day. Surely there is nothing else to ask. If you insist on continuing, you’ll need a motion for an additional deposition.” Carmine’s lead attorney agreed, and thanked us for our time. “One final question, Emma. Do you remember when you turned over that audio recording to your attorney, we requested a copy and Ms. Drake sent it to us?”
“I do, yes.”
“Excellent. On that recording Carmine discusses all sorts of business deals as well as Caio! Beauty legal matters. He mentions being aggravated with how things were going. He says, ‘My attorney is more like the fourth string level. When I bring in my first-string team, those guys suing us will wish they’d never started this case.’ Emma, you were in that meeting and recorded that conversation, correct?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Please identify the attorney Carmine referred to as the ‘fourth string’.”
“He’s sitting right next to you. It was Mr Pancake.”
“Thank you. That is all for now.”
The final question went, not to my issues, but right back to Harold Pancake as interloper.
“Fiasco,” Darlene whispered as we left for the elevator.
Shortly thereafter, the attorney representing Julian and Mayfair moved to have the case dismissed. Once my testimony was presented to the judge, the case was thrown out and a new investigation of all things Carmine opened.
Ethan worked on our communication. His job and time with ever-expanding sports bar mates and my professional preoccupation didn’t help the process. Neither did asking me to go easy on Misha who confessed to him she was new at housekeeping, pushing thirty and hoped to make a career of it. I curtailed obsessive scrutiny and bit back jealousy. Another London Christmas getaway would have worked wonders for us but he’d lined up coaching sessions during school vacation, and my UK-C return was locked into mid-January.
I crossed the Atlantic still fine-tuning sessions to keep five twenty-something boys focused on making fragrances for teenaged girls. The more enthusiasm, the better their concentration, the sooner their decisions, the quicker we’d finalise art work. Connecting Mayfair to their personalities ensured our packaging design, perfume, and artistic impressions would depict their personas. It also created the advertising campaign we planned to use throughout the first year. My exhaustive efforts to create workshop camaraderie kicked in and despite their fame, brutal hours, and Mayfair demands, they remained adorable. I rarely glimpsed condescension or spoiled behaviour. Because the boys remained natural under Thomas Schuman’s constant presence, his videos and photography captured their spirit. Thomas’ excellent behind the scenes content would be edited for micro sites and TV commercials. He edited some of the best for a teaser campaign targeted at UK-C’s enormous world-wide fan base, the largest since Elvis, The Beatles, or Michael Jackson.
Out of control ’tween and teenaged girls created so many traffic jams and downright chaos, public appearance required security squads akin to Homeland Security. I received daily email and phone requests from names I barely recognised. Did I have concert tickets? How could they attend an upcoming five guy Meet and Greet?
Based on record purchase tallies, we increased our sales targets by thirty percent. Julian, stateside on sports business before his return to Zurich, needed his Mayfair Beauty presence felt. I convinced him to call a face-to-face first with Long Island then London, to cover filling and product pack-out dates. “And since you’ll be in London, you should probably meet with the UK-Connection big wigs, too.”
