I fluttered around everyone else to keep my distance from him. I hovered with Harrods London executive team as their director announced they’d be the official launch retailer.
Despite knowing the answer, I asked them to explain their exclusive thirty-day fragrance distribution rights on release in North America, Australia and Europe.
After the nuts-and-bolts business, the boys assembled on the mini-stage, with me at the edge. Julian radiated charm as he changed the event’s focus from business to band and welcomed Taylor Davies. Taylor primed the boys with humorous introductions, encouraging their kidding and hamming. I smiled at the familiar: Cian, Jasper, Tommy, Ennis, George; Cardiff, Wales; Manchester-not-Wales, Bibury, Dublin’s finest, and Cheshire routine.
They flirted their way through press questions, including those I invited from stammering fans who’d wormed their way in. My mojo was returning.
The boys posed for Thomas and the European press, then concluded with a cappella harmonising to roaring approval. As Axel pulled Julian aside, I shot them a thumbs up from across the room which Julian returned. Done! And back to my suite for some shallow breathing before the early evening concert. By the time I settled into our limousine I had control of both my fear and fury.
We arrived an hour’s drive north in London’s Chalk Farm neighbourhood to the pandemonium of klieg lights, police escorts and fan frenzy. Conversation was nearly impossible as we took our seats. Et voila! Julian had no time for me as he hobnobbed and ushered two dozen VIPs from the Roundhouse concert back to Claridge’s.
Under the watchful eye of the hotel’s small security force, he enthralled the hand-picked buyers, press reps, Axel, Taylor and production executives with references to Churchill-as previous-inhabitant. Thomas chatted while shooting, based on Julian’s subtle cues and I directed staff serving drinks and late supper. I listened as Julian dropped his embellished childhood tidbits into the conversation. His perfect evening progressed and my angst dissipated.
“I’m thrilled to report strong press buzz,” I said the following morning when Thomas and I returned to his suite for breakfast.
Julian toasted with his tea cup. “Polished off by a posh night with just the right guests. Thomas, you’re quite the pro and perfect fit. Genius idea to snap a few with Axel and me in my office. When he returns to LA, let’s post a print to him with a congratulatory note.”
“I fly home tonight after I shoot his Mercury Artists reception for the California execs,” he replied. “I can pull this together in my studio tomorrow afternoon.”
“And I’ll have it framed,” I added. “Something sophisticated, Julian, like your Priory Bay candid of Oksana.” I flushed under his sudden scrutiny.
“Spot on, both of you. Exemplary efforts all round. Smashing suggestions.” Within the hour he walked us to the door. Thomas shook hands, commented on his New York launch assignments and promised to text me over the weekend.
As he left Julian turned to me. “The board only cares if we make the committed sales numbers. Let’s hope results break records to cover more of these fragrance parties. We’ll reconcile numbers after the first ninety days’ selling results.”
“This week’s been the perfect trial run.” I replied. “You’ve been absolutely stellar. Will be good to get the second deafening concert and board meeting behind us.” He cupped my elbow. “I promise a celebratory dinner, a last hurrah for the launch effort and onward for Mayfair Beauty! I’ve arranged a well-deserved getaway to Versteckte Hügel in St. Moritz.” He gave the distinct impression it would be dinner for two. A getaway to some exclusive Swiss spa? All I wanted was the luxury of time to clear my head, sleep and tackle my neglected, disintegrating marriage.
I arrived stateside in time to close the work week at the office and report on our London success. Just being in the same room with my team kept my blood pressure in check.
“Macy’s has placed another million-dollar, order. You can assure the board they’re flowing in over projection,” Bill Grose said as he handed me a thick envelope. “I confess. Frankly not needed but yesterday I had Sam call Zurich on your behalf. For any sceptical number crunchers at the board meeting, these faxed stats provide comparables. Sports teams to Robo-Technik endoscopic products, to Imperial oils that smell good, you’ve got the entire Petrenko empire.”
“Sam! Bill! You’ve had enough to do. Thank you so much.”
“They just arrived and I’ve barely skimmed them, but I’ve kept my own set, in case you need last minute explanations or interpretation over the weekend. Your safety net, Emma.” CFO Sam Garten winked. “Consider yourself armed for bear.”
Thomas texted me and Saturday I grabbed a cab. I hit the Waldorf Astoria for a check with hotel staff assigned to my Wednesday night team tribute, then on to the Flatiron District.
“You’ve launched UK Connection right into orbit,” Thomas said as we crossed his studio to the work table. “The ultimate grace under pressure.”
“It showed?”
“No. Julian’s totally taken with you with good reason. My career’s built on relationships with behind-the-scenes executives. To his credit he doesn’t micromanage. You could finish his sentences. You make it look easy, Emma, especially the effort that required this time around.”
We settled on the stools and chose a shot of Axel and
Julian against the backdrop of his leather club chair and Diana Von Furstenberg’s upgrades. Thomas drummed his fingers. “I stumbled on some more info. I can hold it until you finish the project, but my gut says now’s the time.”
“Stumbled?”
He shrugged. “I thought I might find more Carmine details, maybe business dealings between Kinetic and Imperial. It was a no-brainer during the party. I had full use of the office.”
“With Julian in the next room? You know I already looked! Your no-brainer could have blown up your entire career.”
“Scream at me later.” He opened his phone. “Emma, Julian has Ethan photos, too. I found them in the Jacoby file. All I’ve done is snap photos of photos.”
“Oh, god. Jacoby’s the scout who’s hired him.”
He tapped forward to my husband, me and a cabana. “Our second time in Cannes. We were sent out of the country when the Ciao!Beauty/Kinetic crisis broke. I got unfamiliar calls over there and finally followed up back in New York.”
“Let me guess. Julian?”
“Yes.”
“So his first contact was as Kinetic went into meltdown?”
“Yes, but his stalking collection goes back to Platinum.”
“And from there, he has your job hunt, Christopoulos employment and their company crisis.” His comment hung between us as he thumbed his cell phone screen. “I only copied a few. There’s a group of kids at Yankee Stadium.”
“Ethan’s school team. Julian underwrote the trip.”
“And Ethan at a strip joint with another guy.” He tapped, then turned the screen to me.
“That’s Adam Donavan,” I said. “Dallas. Julian sent them to the Bulls’ playoffs while I was in England with him. Why surveillance? Does Julian think he’s got dirt on my husband and this will somehow shock me?”
“There is one with a woman.”
“Oh please. Let me guess. Our housekeeper Misha. Courtesy of you-know-who Ethan went out to a Vegas baseball memorabilia convention at Caesar’s Palace. That’s when he met with Paul Jacoby and got the job. Turns out Misha miraculously had Celine Dion concert tickets. Miraculously overlapping dates, miraculously in the same casino.”
