Always and Forever (18 page)

Julius viewed the horde of expensively garbed guests with savage pleasure. He was especially pleased by the presence of syndicated columnist “Cholly Knickerbocker”—in private life Igor Cassini—which meant a column item about the party. A chauffeured limousine had been sent to bring the columnist to Southampton and to return him to Manhattan. Roz had arranged this coup. Their publicity gal was a smart little bitch, even if she was a
gonif.
Every month he flinched at her expense account billing.

Kathy would have liked to invite her parents and Aunt Sophie to spend a weekend at the Southampton house, but there was no communication between her family and Phil’s. Instead, she took Jesse and went to Borough Park for a weekend in early August. She had forgotten how oppressively hot the city could be; but Jesse didn’t seem to mind, she realized gratefully. He was fascinated by the train, the bustle of the city, their taxi ride from Grand Central to Borough Park. And he adored being fussed over by her family.

“So,” Aunt Sophie demanded as they settled at the table for Friday dinner while Jesse slept in Kathy’s old room in the crib kept for such times. “What do you think of Southampton?”

“The beach, the ocean, they’re breathtaking,” Kathy’s face reflected her love. “The house is like a movie set.”

“Good movie set or bad?” her father asked.

“Beautiful,” she emphasized. “I’m sure Julius is disappointed, though. For what he spent he probably expected a replica of the palace at Versailles.”

“What about anti-Semitism?” Aunt Sophie’s smile was wry. “Has that changed on the fancy resort circuit?”

“Not in what is known as ‘Old Society,’” Kathy told her aunt, for whom she knew this was ever a vital issue. “And Jews are not welcome at the Beach Club or the Meadow Club. But some very socially important—very wealthy—people came to Bella’s party. I know she was nervous that it would be a fiasco.”

“Free food, free liquor?” Her father chuckled. “They come. But we all know the other side.” Now he was serious. “The private clubs all over the country. Right here in New York, in Minneapolis, Dallas, Atlanta, San Francisco—all over.” He waved a hand in contempt. “Kathy, you’ve heard the stories about Saratoga and Palm Beach and other fancy resorts where Jews are not welcome in certain hotels. I always say, ‘Who needs them?’”

“You love the ocean,” Aunt Sophie said. “Forget about the Beach Club and the Meadow Club. Walk on the beach, swim in the ocean. Enjoy, darling.” She glanced about the table with an air of satisfaction. “We watched while you built sand castles at Coney Island. Now Jesse will learn to build sand castles on Southampton Beach.”

I
MMEDIATELY AFTER LABOR DAY
the company presented its first designer furs collection at a lavish fashion show, where the models were last season’s top debutantes and three expected to be the top debutantes of the coming season. Phil gloried in hosting the event. Kathy was unable to attend because Jesse was down with a bad cold. She refused to leave him in the care of a baby-sitter.

Phil’s stock with his father was riding high. Now he was away from home more than he was there. Reluctantly Julius agreed to heavy advertising, but was pleased when he saw this bear results. For Christmas Phil received a huge bonus, which he immediately spent on furniture for the house. Kathy went with him on shopping expeditions, but it quickly became clear that
he
would make the decisions.

In the beginning of the new year—again at Bella’s insistence—Julius gave Phil a raise that permitted the hiring of a live-in nursemaid for Jesse.

“How does it look to the neighbors to see Kathy with so little domestic help?” Bella had reproached her husband in Phil and Kathy’s presence, knowing this approach would elicit results. “Do you want them to think you’re too cheap to pay your son a decent salary?”

Marge flew home for a week in March. Kathy was impatient to see her. She invited her to come out for a weekend and then extended the same invitation to Rhoda and Frank. Two of the bedrooms had been furnished as guest rooms. Twin beds in one of them—Marge and Rhoda could share. Phil would be out of town so there had been no need to consult him.

Kathy arrived at the Greenwich station twenty minutes early in her eagerness to see the arriving trio. By the time they were at the house, Alice would have put Jesse to bed, she realized as she waited in the car. But they’d see him in the morning.

Then the train was pulling into the station. Kathy hurried from the car. In moments she was exchanging warm embraces with Marge and Rhoda and Frank. Oh, it was good to have them here!

“Look at that car!” Frank whistled in approval. “We’ll live in style this weekend.”

Now they were caught up in a lively discussion of Marge’s job in San Francisco. It was a stop-gap, Marge admitted; but she felt she was learning.

“One of these days I’ll have my own collection,” she bubbled. “It may take a while, but all good things take time.”

Kathy had prepared dinner earlier in the evening, and it was being kept warm in the oven. A log was crackling in the fireplace of the recently furnished den. Of all the rooms in the house this was Kathy’s favorite because of its casual air, in such contrast to the ornate decor of the rest of the house. Tonight, Kathy thought as they sat down at the dining room table, the house was alive with friendship and affection.

Inevitably table conversation turned to reminiscences about Hamburg. While Marge had not been there, she’d heard much about it. Like Kathy, Rhoda and Frank had lost touch with other members of the group except for Brian, who always sent greeting cards on every holiday and included a gossipy letter about his latest activities.

“What about David?” Frank asked when they had transferred themselves into the den for coffee and liqueurs. “You ever hear from him, Kathy?”

“Not since he was here last February.”
It seemed so long ago.
“He drops a note to my in-laws a couple of times a year. He seems all wrapped up in his research.”

“Even with the airlift, it can’t be too comfortable living in West Berlin,” Rhoda said somberly.

“The first months of the blockade must have been awful.” Kathy remembered her anxiety as the newspapers reported on the city’s lack of food, the prospect of starvation hanging over the heads of West Berliners. Electricity, she recalled, had been rationed to two hours a day, and the population worried that the rain-filled summer would give way to an autumn and winter without fuel. “My mother-in-law told me David wrote that the airlift is preventing starvation, but there’s still much malnutrition despite the food that gets through.”

“It’s a miracle how the airlift has built up,” Frank said with infinite respect. “The Commies have to know they’re beaten.” He left the burgundy leather club chair to put another chunk of wood into the grate. “The end of the blockade can’t be far off.”

“It’s incredible how the Russians are dominating our lives.” Sharing the matching leather sofa with Kathy, Rhoda kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs beneath her. “Our Air Force, the RAF, and French fliers are all involved in frustrating the Russian blockade. And here in this country it’s the House Un-American Activities Committee craziness. To listen to them, half the Hollywood actors and writers are Commies, intent on overthrowing our government.”

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Frank predicted.

“Frank, tell Kathy and Marge about your new job,” Rhoda persuaded.

“It’s not mine yet,” he hedged, then grinned. “Well, it’s mine except that some minor details have to be ironed out. I’m leaving the ranks of free-lance writers to become an editor.” He paused, mockingly dramatic, then named a prestigious national magazine. “With a weekly paycheck.”

“Frank, that’s great!” Kathy turned to Marge. “Now we’ll have to subscribe.”

“He’ll still find time to write an article now and then,” Rhoda said encouragingly.

Kathy sensed that something lasting was building between Rhoda and Frank, and she was pleased. They would have some problems to work out—Rhoda was Jewish and Frank, Catholic—but they had something special going for them.

On an unseasonably warm June afternoon, Phil sat in his father’s lushly furnished office with one leg thrown over a chair and listened while Roz Masters—their attractive and ambitious publicity woman—tried to make Julius understand that to tie in with a top-name French designer would cost high but would pay off.

“You’ve been working with a name designer, sure, but he’s not one of the six ‘greats,’” she pursued. “That’ll put Julius Kohn Furs on a level with
haute couture,
but you’ll be selling to a mass market. In
volume,
” she stressed.

“Why should I pay a royalty to this hot-shot French designer after I’ve paid for the design?” Julius was belligerent, but Phil knew he was weakening.

“Because that’s the only way you can get him,” Phil said bluntly.

“I can wangle a lot of newspaper and magazine space on the strength of that kind of tie-in,” Roz said. “Even some radio and television time. Phil’s good-looking and knows how to handle himself.” Phil suppressed a smile. The old man didn’t know
he
had got into Roz’s bed. “He’s a definite asset. And while we’re talking about assets, let’s move Phil and his wife into the Manhattan social scene. We’ll zero in on you and Bella on the charity circuit,” she said diplomatically to Julius. “Kathy’s a beautiful girl. Good figure. Not tall enough to be a model, but send her out with Phil, wearing a succession of Julius Kohn furs. Let Phil and Kathy be your ambassadors.”

Before they ended the meeting, Phil knew the business was entering a new era. Roz was sharp. Kathy might have been raised in Borough Park, but she had that Park Avenue gentility that his sisters strived for but never quite achieved. Roz would work with her. She’d be great.

His father was silent on much of the drive to Greenwich. Phil knew not to disturb him. The old man was savoring their new image. Instinct told him they wouldn’t battle on this.

“Phil, I want you to put out some feelers to a top-notch French designer.” Julius finally broke the silence. “Through his business manager or lawyer or whatever. We’ll sit down with Roz and figure out who’s our best bet, and if he says ‘no,’ move on to the next on the list. You’ll go to Paris to work out a deal,” he plotted. “Take Kathy with you. Your grandfather might turn over in his grave if he knew what this was costing, but he’d be damn proud to have a guy at the top of the heap designing for us.”

“I’ll give it top priority,” Phil said briskly.

Damn! The old man was already thinking of it as
his
idea. The great Julius Kohn hadn’t come up with a fresh idea in twenty years—he still ran the business on his father’s blueprints. But the time for change was here. Dad was sharp enough to realize that.

Again—at the end of June—the family moved en masse to the Southampton house. Mollified by the success of their mother’s party the previous season and reciprocal invitations, Gail and Brenda planned to remain in residence until early September. Kathy looked forward to relaxed early morning walks along the beach, magnificent sunsets, lovely sessions of sand castle efforts with Jesse. She was resigned to the endless chatter of her sisters-in-law that focused on clothes, cosmetics, and cruises.

She was astonished when Phil announced—as they prepared for bed on their second evening at the Southampton house—that he was making arrangements for the two of them to fly to Paris late the following month.

“We’ll be there for the collections. I’ll talk with the designer we hope to sign up after he presents his collection,” Phil said nonchalantly, but he exuded excitement. “Our passports haven’t expired, thank God. That’s one less thing to deal with.”

“Phil, I can’t leave Jesse—” While the prospect of seeing Paris again had initially entranced her, she focused now on reality.

“Why not? Alice is great with him, and my mother will drop by to see him every day.”

“Phil, he’s a baby. He’s two years old. He’d be terrified if I suddenly disappeared from his life!” Phil, of course, was often away for ten days at a time.

“Okay,” Phil said after a moment. “We’ll take him with us—and Alice.” He seemed amused by the vision of traveling with a small entourage. “Talk to Alice in the morning. The office will push through passports for her and Jesse in a hurry and arrange for additional seating on the plane and a two-bedroom suite for us at the hotel in Paris.”

“It sounds exciting.”
Phil wanted her with him in Paris!
He’d never asked her to go with him on any business trip before. Maybe in Paris they’d find the magic of their early days together. “Remember the last time we were in Paris?”

“Yeah—” Phil began to sing the opening bars of Hammer-stein and Kern’s “The Last Time I Saw Paris.”

“That wasn’t the Paris we saw,” she reminded. But in Paris he had asked her to marry him. Her whole world had become suddenly beautiful. For a little while.

“You’ll see a different Paris this time,” he promised, an amorous glint in his eyes. She knew he’d make love to her tonight. Even though it wasn’t Saturday, she told herself mockingly. “Roz says it’s gay Paree again.”

“Are we really going to fly?” she asked, remembering how terrified she’d been in that awful little plane that had taken them from Hamburg to Paris.

“Kathy, it’s the only way to travel.” She caught a hint of condescension in his voice. “We’ll take an overnight flight, be in Paris for breakfast the next morning.”

When Phil made a major deal of helping her choose her wardrobe for the trip to Paris, Kathy understood that she was playing a role in a Phil Kohn production. He arranged for Roz to accompany the two of them on the second frenzied buying trip in town. Afterward, Phil escorted Roz and her to a late luncheon at the Stork.

All at once, she thought, Phil was intrigued by the café society circuit. Last night he’d talked about taking his parents to the Colony for their wedding anniversary. Last year it had been Billy Rose’s Diamond Horseshoe.

In the Cub Room—paintings of
Cosmopolitan
cover girls smiling down upon them from the walls—they concentrated for a few moments on ordering. Kathy was trying not to be dazzled by lunching at the Stork. Marge would want to know every minor detail: what they ate, what celebrities they saw, what the women were wearing.