The Apartment (23 page)

“Are you sure?” she asked with a disapproving expression, and they nodded. Alex said that his parents had had a hundred people at theirs. And they had offered to hold the wedding in Chicago, with the reception at the house, but Alex and Sasha agreed that they wanted to be married in New York. “Do you have an idea of location?” she asked them. “You may already be too late for this June, and you may have to wait a year for a prime location.”

“We don't want to wait a year,” Sasha said firmly, and Prunella raised an eyebrow with an unspoken question. “I'm not pregnant. But we'd like to get married
this
June,” Sasha said, looking the wedding planner in the eye.

“I've had quite a lot of pregnant brides recently,” Prunella said with a sniff. “Modern times. One of them went to the hospital from the reception. Do you want a garden setting? A restaurant? A hotel? Indoor, outdoor? Afternoon? Evening?” The options were dizzying, and they had come to no decisions when they left her home office on East Sixty-eighth Street.

“I can see why people go to Vegas,” Alex said, overwhelmed.

“Maybe we should do it in Chicago,” he said vaguely.

“Our friends are here,” Sasha reminded him. “I don't want to get married in Atlanta either.”

When Oliver called Sasha to see how they'd liked her, she described the meeting and how unnerving it had been. Then she talked to him about what they should do.

“Nighttime weddings are more fun, and dressier,” he said. “What about someone's home with a garden? Let me think about it. Do you want a church wedding?”

“Probably.” She liked the garden idea, particularly in June, but she couldn't think of any, and then Oliver called her back the next day.

“I don't know if it's a crazy idea or not, but I know a woman with a beautiful roof garden on her penthouse on Fifth Avenue, overlooking Central Park. I've rented it from her before for clients, and she's very particular about who she rents to. I'm not sure how she'd feel about a wedding. She owns the top two floors, so you wouldn't have to worry about the neighbors complaining. She let us go pretty late for our event. It wasn't cheap, but it wasn't ridiculous either. If you want, I'll call her, and it's not like a hotel where it's booked years in advance. Do you have a date?”

“June fourteenth?” Sasha said hesitantly. It seemed like a good date to her, in warm weather, and before the Fourth of July weekend and people's summer plans.

“I'll let you know.” He called back ten minutes later, when she was on her way to work. She and Alex were on different schedules that day. “You're in,” Oliver told her. “June fourteenth. Evening wedding. She said you can have a hundred and twenty people. You provide all the catering, flowers, band, etc. She provides the hall.” He quoted a price that seemed reasonable to both of them.

“It sounds perfect.” She was delighted.

“My clients loved it for their events. One was corporate, one was private—it worked for both.”

“I wish you were our wedding planner,” she said wistfully. He made everything so easy and had such great resources.

“I don't. Weddings are a nightmare. I don't want one. If I ever get married, I'll go to the Elvis Chapel in Las Vegas.”

“That's what Alex said yesterday,” she said, sounding glum again.

“So should I book it?”

“Yes, I'll tell Prunella.” She called her just before she got to the hospital, and told her they had a location.

“Then we need to send out save-the-dates immediately,” she said imperiously. “And you have to pick your invitations right away. They have to be printed now. Your wedding is only four months away. That's practically tomorrow. We have work to do,” she said sternly.

“Could you send me a list of what we need to do?” Sasha asked, feeling as overwhelmed as Alex had the day before.

“I will as soon as you sign the contract.” She had given them a copy of it, and it required a large deposit, which Sasha wanted her father to approve, but hadn't had time to send to him.

“I'll take care of it,” she said meekly. Prunella scared her too.

“I could meet with you again today at four-thirty,” the planner said primly.

“I'll be delivering babies until tomorrow. And I need to send the contract to my father for his approval.”

“Very well. You have no time to waste,” she reminded Sasha again as she arrived at work.

“I'll get back to you soon,” Sasha promised, and then forgot about her as soon as she got to labor and delivery. They had four deliveries on hold, a midwife who was driving everyone crazy making demands for her patient, and a set of twins, preemies, coming in by ambulance. “Oh, happy days,” she said to Sally at the desk, as she ran to scrub up. “Do we have an anesthesiologist on the floor?”

“Not yet,” Sally answered as Sasha ran past her.

“Get two—it sounds like we'll need them.” She could hear screaming coming from two of the rooms.
Welcome to my world,
she thought to herself. But this was so much easier than planning a wedding. She knew what to do here. Weddings were a mystery to her, and she had no mother to advise her. Muriel wouldn't even discuss it with her. She walked into the first labor room two minutes later, and was just in time to tell the mother to push after she checked her.

“We're at ten. Let's go,” she said to the crying mother as she threw up, and then shouted at her husband and refused to push. “I want to see your little boy, don't you?” Sasha said, smiling calmly at her, as the young woman nodded, and then grudgingly started to push as she screamed. She hadn't wanted an epidural, determined to do it naturally, and now it was too late and she'd have to tough through it, and Sasha could tell it was a big baby. It wasn't going to be easy. “We need another push here…again….” she told the struggling woman in labor. “One more…another one. You're doing great.” She smiled at her as the woman continued to scream, and threw up again. It was a tough delivery that Sasha knew the woman would remember, and it would have been so much better with an epidural, but she had to work with what they had, a big baby, a crying mom, and no drugs. It took another hour of pushing, but the baby finally crowned, and then slid into her hands as she turned it, and then the mother was crying and laughing. The agony was over the minute the baby came out. “Good job, Mom!” Sasha praised her. Sasha was so good at what she did, and loved it so much. It was a great feeling knowing she made a difference to people. She walked out of the delivery room half an hour later, after stitching the woman up, and rushed past the nurses' station, as Sally called out to her.

“You've had three calls from some woman named Prunella,” she told her, and Sasha stared at her in disbelief.

“Is she kidding?”

“She told me I had to get you right away, and I said you were in the middle of a delivery. Was it urgent?”

“No, it wasn't. She's my wedding planner. It can wait.”

Sally laughed as Sasha disappeared into the next room, just as the woman having twins at thirty-four weeks was brought in on a gurney by paramedics. They had to bring in one of the attendings for her, Sasha couldn't be everywhere at once. The paramedics signed her over and wished her luck.

It was one of those insane days when they delivered babies nonstop all day. She was there till midnight, and Alex was at the apartment when she got home at almost one. He was asleep in her bed, and he rolled over groggily and looked at her when he heard her come in.

“Prunella is mad at you. You didn't call her back,” he said sleepily.

“Really? Tough. I was busy.” The Elvis Chapel was sounding better every day. She pulled off her scrubs, kicked off her clogs, and climbed into bed with him, and five minutes later, they were both asleep. Prunella could wait.

Claire and her mother boarded the plane to Milan at JFK on Valentine's Day. It seemed appropriate to Claire to spend it with her mother this year, and they were both excited about the trip. They were flying coach for the sake of their budget, but even that couldn't spoil the fun for them. The plane was full of Italians anxious to get home, and as she listened to the conversations around her, with people next to her, or shouting over them to friends in other rows, Claire couldn't help but remember the exquisite luxury of George's plane and the trips they'd taken together, and the wonderful time they'd had. But now look where he was and who he had turned out to be. It was still hard to believe. First his shocking abandonment of her, and then the discovery of the crimes he had committed. He was clearly a man without a heart or a conscience, a perfect sociopath.

She forced him from her mind and concentrated on what they were doing and where they were going. Claire had brought her computer with her, to show her mother her latest designs. There was so much to do to get their fledgling business off the ground, and her roommates had been patient about deliveries of color swatches, leather and fabric samples, and all the tools and materials they would need to show customers eventually. And they found a lawyer who helped them set up the company. The first trade show they were going to would be in Las Vegas, which sounded like fun to both of them. But not nearly as much as a trip to Milan.

Parabiago was in what was known as the shoe district of Italy, where the finest factories were. They were staying in Milan, less than an hour away, and had located a small hotel near the Via Montenapoleone, where the best shopping was, and where they planned to go after they finished their meetings. Milan was mecca to the fashion world, and Sarah had never been there before. The city was known not only for the important brands located there, like Prada and Gucci, but also for fabulous furs. Claire was aching to shop while they were there, but was trying to save her money for their business. Her mother had been generous, but Claire wanted to make a contribution too. They agreed to one day of shopping in the city before they left.

Sarah loved the designs Claire showed her on her computer. They were sophisticated and sleek, in basic neutral colors that would be solid additions to any wardrobe, and then there were half a dozen more whimsical, frivolous shoes that Claire hoped no woman could resist. There were two basic, very elegant evening shoes, and three pairs of pretty flats. And eventually Claire wanted to add boots. If they produced all of the drawings they had brought with them, there would be twenty different styles in their first line. From the orders they got at the trade show, they would get a good sense of what stores wanted from them that would supplement the brands they already carried. And once they were at the factory, they would have to choose quality of leather and the colors of each style. There was a vast range of quality and possible price points, and they would have a lot to decide on their limited budget. But thanks to her mother, they had a fair amount of leeway to work with, far more than Claire had had when she was designing for Walter Adams, and she was finally getting to design shoes she loved. She was infinitely grateful to her mother for the opportunity she was giving her.

They chatted all through lunch on the flight, and Sarah watched a movie, while Claire caught up on back issues of
Women's Wear Daily.
She had fallen behind recently, while working on the collection, and she wanted to see the fall runway shows from Fashion Week in New York, to make sure she was going in the right direction with the designs for her shoes. There was a lot to incorporate in their plans. And the inner construction of their shoes, and the materials they used, would be important as well. After reading the papers she'd brought with her, Claire fell asleep, and woke up when they were landing in Milan.

Malpensa, the Milan airport, was notorious for chaos, long delays, and an inordinate amount of theft, and it took them an hour to get their bags, and finally get a cab to their hotel, which was small, spare, and clean. It was all they needed, and they went for a walk to take a look around. It wasn't a beautiful city, but it was the center of the fashion world.

They had dinner at a small trattoria, and Claire noticed that the local men were admiring both her and her mother, and assumed they were two friends. Age didn't matter in Italy, her mother was still a beautiful woman, and men looked at her as often as they did at Claire, and Sarah seemed to be enjoying the attention. Even when they didn't try to pursue it, Italian men made it clear when they thought you were attractive. It did a lot for both their egos, and Claire made more of an effort the next day when they got dressed. It made a difference when you knew that someone noticed, even if it was a stranger, and you got a casual eye and a glimmer of a smile as they walked past.

The next day they took a car and driver to the town of Parabiago. There were three factories that Claire had honed in on as good options for them, and one was the factory that Walter Adams used. They had appointments at all three. And by ten o'clock that morning, they had gotten down to business. The first factory they went to was the one she had been to several times with Walter, and they remembered her. She knew it was one of the most reliable and respected factories in Italy, they did solid work, and they did the manufacturing for several important brands in the States, and all over Europe. Claire thought it was a good possibility that they might use them, but she wanted to see the others too to compare them. This was one of the most important decisions they would make.

By eleven o'clock they were at a smaller and more artisanal factory, and many of their shoes were handmade. They fabricated beautiful shoes, with amazing intricacy and delicate detail, but she thought they were too fussy for her designs, and probably not durable enough for their customer. Their strength was evening shoes, the tour of their workrooms was fascinating, and their prices commensurately higher, due to the many hours of craftsmanship they invested in the work. They made the shoes for two haute couture houses in Paris, and the founder of the company, centuries earlier, had made shoes for Marie Antoinette, and all the queens of Italy, and they were extremely proud of it. Claire loved the tour but didn't feel like it was a match for them. They needed something younger and more contemporary and more serviceable for the customer she wanted to target.

The third factory was strikingly modern and had impressive showrooms to showcase their current and past work. They produced shoes for almost every popular high-end brand, and several secondary lines at their price point. The factory was owned by Biagio Machiolini and his two sons, and like the others had been a family business for generations, and they were cousins of the owners of the second factory they'd seen. Everything about this one was modern, new, and exciting, and the owner's second son, Cesare, was enthusiastic about their new brand and Claire's designs. She showed him everything she'd done, and explained her vision, and the three of them talked for two hours, and then his father and brother, Roberto, joined them and invited Claire and Sarah for lunch and an even more private tour. They left the factory at four o'clock after arriving at noon. They'd been in Parabiago since ten that morning, and the prices they had quoted her, with a reduction for the first year to help them get off the ground, would be very helpful. Claire had a copy of the contract in her briefcase, written in English, so she and her mother could go over the fine print at their hotel, and e-mail it to their lawyer in New York. Claire was familiar with the contracts, as she had handled them for Walter and knew what to expect. And when she read it over carefully in their hotel room, there were no surprises, it was exactly as they had said. All three factories had excellent reputations, and she knew they would be in good hands with any of them. It was a matter of choice and preference, and a certain amount of chemistry, since they would be working together closely, and the factory would have to be responsive to their needs and demands.

“What do you think, Mom?” Claire asked her as she lay on the bed and put the contract down. They had had a great day, and had both learned a lot about the intricacies of the business. It was impossible not to be impressed by the history and skill at each factory they'd seen.

“I think you should make the decision,” Sarah said honestly. “You know a lot more about this than I do,” she added modestly. She had gained even greater respect for her daughter as she watched her conduct their meetings all day. She knew her stuff, and then some, as well as being a very talented designer.

They went over all three options again, and Claire had wanted to give her a voice in it, since she was their sole investor, but Claire preferred the third factory hands down, and Sarah said she did too.

“And the father is very handsome,” Sarah said with a twinkle in her eye.

“So are the sons,” Claire added. Cesare and Roberto were both in their early forties, and they'd all had fun at lunch. And the Machiolinis liked the idea that they were a mother-and-daughter team starting a business, in good European tradition, although their business had been in the family for generations.

The two women had dinner at a nearby restaurant again that night, and went back to the factory the next day to go over final details. They had heard from the lawyer, who gave it his approval. And Claire and Sarah signed the contract together, and they all shook hands. Cesare agreed to deliver all twenty prototypes to them on or before April first. It was only six weeks away, but the Machiolinis had a large, efficient operation and assured them they could meet the deadline with ease, and they could make adjustments to the fit later. Claire realized she was going to need a fit model in a European size 37, which was size six and a half to seven in the States. She could use anyone with normal feet, and would need feedback about comfort, and reliability of size. The arches had to fit just right, the heels had to hold the foot properly, and the toebox had to be just high enough for comfort without looking boxy. But with their reliability in production, she didn't expect to have any problems there. The burden was on her now to design shoes that women loved, at the right price point, for the right market, and sell them through the right stores. The trade show in Las Vegas was going to be very important for them, and give them the feedback they needed. They might decide never to produce some of the designs if wholesalers thought they were impractical, too limited in market, or the price too high. Claire was going to try and keep their designs simple so their production costs didn't eat their profit. She had a lot to think about, and she transmitted all her working drawings to the Machiolinis digitally.

They parted friends after a glass of wine, and the two women declined another lunch. They wanted time to shop before they left the next day. They had to get back to New York and get to work on all their future plans. And ironically, Claire got an e-mail from the human resources office at Jimmy Choo that night. They were responding to the résumé she had sent them, and wanted to meet with her. She had sent it to them three months earlier, and now her life had taken a whole new direction. Three months before, she would have jumped at it, but for now it was too late. She thanked them, and said she was already involved with another project. It was funny how life worked.

Claire concentrated on her sketches all the way back to New York. She had also bought a great jacket at Prada, three pairs of shoes at a store she'd never heard of, which were fatally sexy but too extreme for her own line, and a white cotton dress to wear that summer. And Sarah had bought a sweater and beautifully tailored pants and a skirt at Prada. But more important, the trip had been a vast success for their new business. Claire Kelly Designs was off and running, and the Machiolinis were going to turn her dreams into a tangible product. Claire was so excited, she could hardly stand it.

And she noticed that her mother got a text message as soon as they landed at JFK.

“Who was that from?” She wondered if it was from Biagio Machiolini, who had been very taken with her mother and was only slightly older, although he had a wife and six kids, which hadn't stopped him from flirting with her.

“Your father,” Sarah said shyly. “He misses me. He was asking how things went in Italy. I told him it went well and we had a lot of fun.” He was still shocked that his wife was helping their daughter with her business, and was able to do it. He was beginning to realize that there was a lot about his wife he didn't know. And her absence had shown him how much he missed her and how important she was to him, and demonstrated to him that he had taken her for granted for a long time.

“Is he okay?” Claire asked cautiously. She had very infrequent contact with her father. They had so little to say to each other.

“I hope so,” Sarah said quietly, and changed the subject, as they walked to baggage claim to get their bags. Sarah had been as tireless as her daughter on the trip, and as anxious to get to work. In a few months, Claire wanted to hire an assistant, possibly before the Las Vegas trade show, but they didn't need one yet. The two women were more than willing to do all the work, and even some of the heavy lifting, literally, when their samples came in. Both of them were hard workers with a lot of energy. And they chatted animatedly, feeding each other ideas, on the cab ride back to the apartment in Hell's Kitchen. They had been gone for four days, and it felt like a month, but their business was off to a great start.

At the end of February, on the late-night shift, Lieutenant O'Rourke called Sasha at the hospital. The message said it was urgent, and she was instantly afraid that something had happened to Valentina. They hadn't spoken to each other, or seen each other, in two months by then, for the first time in their life. Even when they traveled, or Sasha had been in medical school, they had never let more than a few days go by without talking. The silence between them had been brutal, and painful for both of them.