Glamour (41 page)

“I’d much prefer Jaber.” He signaled for the waiter, and spoke to him in the Ghadan dialect, too fast for Haya to follow.“I should be leaving—I hope you have a pleasant flight, Ms. Al-Yanna—”

“Haya.”

“Haya.” He grinned. “And we’ll be in touch.”

She wondered if she should stand and curtsy, but it was too late. He bowed briefly to her, turned, and left.

“I’d like to check out, please.”

“Certainly, madam.”

“Room 406.” Haya slid across her key and her credit card. “There were some phone calls to the States, and two bottles of mineral water. . . .”

“It’s quite alright, madam; there’s no charge.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your bill has been settled by the Kingdom of Ghada. Orders of His Highness Sheikh Jaber.”

“Dinner, perhaps . . .”

“The entire bill, madam.”

“I see.” Haya bit back a smile. “How generous of His Highness. Could you possibly arrange for a taxi to take me to the airport?”

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am. His Highness has sent a government limo for you. It’s been waiting outside for an hour.”

All the way home Haya told herself it was just a courtly gesture. She had done some important business, maybe secured a PR coup.That was what mattered.

Jaber was a sheikh, and a government minister. He was probably married already. A man in his position was not going to be interested in a pregnant widow. It was important to keep her feet on the ground.

Even in the first-class section of her Royal Ghadan Airlines flight—since, when she got to the airport, Haya found Sheikh Jaber had ordered her business-class ticket upgraded.

When she got home, she had one of Jane’s assistants fax the business details to Jaber’s office. She was now starting to grow heavy with her child, and she wanted to leave the grand opening to Jane and Sally. Haya had walked through the store, seen the beautiful displays of the things she had sourced; together with Sally’s exuberant fashions, they would be the heart and soul of GLAMOUR.

Right now, though, she had a baby to attend to. It was foolish to hope for romance, and she didn’t want her heart broken twice. She made no attempt to contact Ghada other than through the office. She decorated the nursery instead, a nice neutral yellow. No man was going to want to raise another’s child, and even if he did, Haya was not sure whom she’d consider worthy.

Once the baby was born she’d forget about any romantic considerations.

She hoped.

“Well?” Sally stood back, and just looked at it. “Are you girls ready?”

She had her arms linked with her two friends. Jane on her right, Haya, almost ready to pop, on her left.They were standing in the parking lot, looking at the store.

It was six thirty, and the sun was sinking over the horizon, streaking the L.A. sky with a spectacular show of golds and reds. The building, gleaming white, was hung with banners of gold and silver silk, and pennants of scarlet and blue flying from every corner; it looked like a ticker-tape parade.

“Tomorrow,” Haya said. “I can’t wait.”

“Nor me.” Jane agreed.

Tomorrow they would open. The big day; the climax of months of grindingly hard work, of forcing themselves to act like a team, even when it got annoying. Exquisitely appointed, staffed by experts, and laid out, as Sally said, “like Christmas morning,” they thought it was the hottest, richest, most luxurious store in the world.

The full-service beauty parlor.The roving reflexologists, ready to offer manicures and hand massages to tired shoppers. The fabulous goods, the soft lighting and dove gray carpeting, the mood music and attentive staff, the valet parking, the gift-wrap service ...

It was a dream.

“They’re all coming.” The other two knew Sally was talking about the press. “The
Times,
the
Observer,
the
Citizen,Variety,
the
Hollywood Reporter
—everybody.”

“Tough crowd,” Jane observed.

“Let’s hope it works,” Haya said.

“It will.” Sally was determined. “It has to.” She looked at her friends, all three of them, in this moment, young, beautiful, and determined. “Get your rest in, ladies. We have to look
good
.”

“Jane! What does it feel like for the store to be this mobbed?”

“Sally! Are you taking the offer from Chanel?”

“No,” she shouted, trying to be heard.

Behind them, in the store, it was pandemonium. Jane had told them to be calm; her staff were wonderful, they had everything under control.

“Haya! When is the baby due? Boy or a girl?”

The flashbulbs popped around them; reporters shouted questions. As word of the frenzy at the store got out, more and more journalists had showed up. It was beginning to resemble a movie premiere.

“GLAMOUR by name, glamour by nature,” Sally whispered, nudging Jane.

Haya squeezed her hand. “I don’t feel so good. It’s crowded in here.”

“I’ll get rid of them,” Jane whispered back. Her friend looked bad; her face was pale, and her breathing was labored. They’d done more than enough questions; Sally was brilliant with the media.

Whatever happened now, opening day would be a triumph.

Jane stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen—”

“Uuuugh,” Haya groaned, to her left, and doubled forward, clutching the table.

“Haya! What is it?” Sally reached across, pushing her chair back.

“My water!” Haya gasped. “It broke. Oh, God! Get me to the hospital, Sal!”

Jane said unceremoniously,“That’s it, we’re done,” and helped Sally to support Haya under the arms; she was writhing and moaning, obviously in serious pain.

“My car’s closest!” Sally shouted.

“Right. Come on.” The two girls took Haya out, stumbling between them, and a second forest of lightbulbs popped and flashed as they passed.

“Ms. Al-Yanna, your mother is here,” said the midwife.“Shall I send her in?”

Haya screamed.

“Send her in!” Jane said.

“I need Ms. Al-Yanna’s permission,” the woman fussed.

Jane turned to her with an icy-cold face. “She’s a little busy right now. And I heard her say yes.”

“So did I,” Sally chimed in.

“Send her mother in.” Jane’s voice brooked no argument, and the woman obeyed.

The baby was close now, very close. Jane could see the head crowning. She gripped Haya’s hand, sweaty and hot, to encourage her; Sally was hooking her legs back.

“Here he comes,” Haya gasped.The door swung open and her mother bustled in, saying something rapid in Arabic Jane didn’t understand. She let go of Haya’s hand.

“No!” Haya said. “Stay! All of you stay!”

The older woman grabbed her other hand, leaned over, and whispered something to her daughter; Haya screamed again; and the baby popped out of the womb in a wet, slithery rush, into the waiting arms of the doctor, who took the child, rubbed a towel all over it, and cut the cord.

“Let me see!” Haya cried.

The doctor brought the baby across, wrapped in a striped cotton blanket. She said,“Here, Ms. Al-Yanna, a beautiful daughter.”

Haya’s mother’s face fell.

“A girl,” Haya said wonderingly.

Sally cooed, “How precious—she’s so tiny.”

“She’s perfect, absolutely perfect.” Haya’s face was a picture of joy, and Jane did not need to ask if she was disappointed. She bent down and kissed the baby on the forehead. “Praise be to God,” she said.“I love her . . . her name is Noor. Light. Because she’s the light of my life.”

Mrs. Al-Yanna, with the beginnings of a smile, leaned over and kissed her daughter and granddaughter.

“Congratulations,” Sally said, with tears in her eyes.

“She’s adorable. We’ll see you later,” Jane said. But Haya was already lost in her baby.

“Come on, Sal.” Jane wiped away a little tear from her own eye; she thought briefly of the mother she barely remembered. “It’s been a long day. Let’s go get some lunch.”

They sat in the front of Jane’s Porsche, the top rolled up, at a discreet distance, eating thin-cut roast beef sandwiches and drinking iced Diet Cokes, watching the parking lot.

There was a constant line to get in and out; women swarmed around the lot like well-dressed ants, weighed down with GLAMOUR’s signature glossy navy and gold bags. Every few minutes, male attendants in crisp navy GLAMOUR uniforms appeared carrying rolled-up carpets, more bags, or heavy items of furniture, and transported them to waiting SUVs.

“I guess those articles that came out last week really helped,” Sally observed.

Jane licked a spot of mustard off her lower lip. “It’s only the first day.We can’t get carried away. Lots of PR.We have to see if it’s sustained.”

“But this is good,” Sally insisted. “At Wave, we had something a bit like this. And it stayed that way until I quit for GLAMOUR.”

“Yeah.” She could not deny it.“It’s good.” Her brow furrowed a little. “I hope we have enough stock. . . .”

Sally hit her. “Cheer up.”

They grinned at each other, companionably.

“I’m going back to the office. Field some more press queries, do a debrief of the staff at the end of the day.” Jane sucked up the last of her Diet Coke. “Call our bankers.”

“You mean Craig Levin,” Sally suggested slyly.

Jane blushed. “Last time I looked, he was our banker.”

“You won’t be able to hold him off forever,” Sally said. “I’m going in to the store. I’m gonna serve behind the counter, like at Wave.”

“You’ll be mobbed. You know you’re getting quite the following. The press seems to love you, Sally.You’re turning into a star.”

“Girlfriend, please.” Sally opened the door of the Porsche and tossed her long, blonde hair. “I have always been a star.”

It was only half a joke. In reality, Sally was starting to think of herself that way.The press had a story—riches to rags to riches—and they adored how she combined all-American good looks with design savvy.

She was it. She was back. She was GLAMOUR.

She glanced back at Jane’s gorgeous car as she went inside. By the end of this week, Sally promised herself, she’d have a sports car, too. A better one—a Ferrari. And a home in the Hollywood Hills, like any aspiring star too small, at least for now, for a Beverly Hills mansion.

“Hi,” Sally said, for the fiftieth time.

She had ducked into the staff bathroom, fixed her makeup, brushed her hair out, and whitened her teeth, and now here she was, smiling at the customers. The
fans,
as she was starting to think of them.

“Hi! You’re Sally Lassiter. I saw you in the
Citizen
. Oh, I just love your stuff, it’s simply too darling.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am.”

“And those fabulous little moisturizers from the Dead Sea. I tried one on my hand, and it was so soft and luxurious . . . and the gift wrap was great.We bought a rug, too, and they’re shipping it.”

“Satisfaction guaranteed,” Sally said, smiling broadly.“It’s been an honor serving you, ma’am.”

The fat woman clutched her husband. “Isn’t she amazing?”

“Amazing,” he said, looking Sally over with a mixture of lust and resignation.

“You know, sir,” she said, deftly wrapping the woman’s Ghadan disk bracelet, “we have an electronics area on the third floor. It sells gadgets and the TV screens are permanently tuned to sports. We also provide armchairs and couches to sit in, if you’d like to wait while the lady shops. . . .”

“Get out of here,” he said, blinking. “Really?”

“Yes, sir. And there are waiters serving pretzels and ice-cold beer.”

The wife looked hopefully at her husband.

“Kitty,” he said, “you enjoy yourself, honey, charge whatever you like.This is a hell of a store.”

He lumbered upstairs and Sally rang up the wife’s purchase.

“You see, ma’am,” she stage-whispered, “that was my idea. That area—it’s like a crèche for husbands.”

The fat wife giggled. “Wonderful! Fabulous. What a brilliant idea, I shall tell all my friends.”

“Please do. And keep shopping.” Sally winked at her, and she went away satisfied.

“So tell me,” said a low voice, one she recognized, “do those TV screens also show baseball?”

Chris Nelson was standing in front of her. Today, he wore a nondescript blue shirt and khakis.

“I—yes, sir.They do.”

He leaned in a little closer, his eyes moving across her body. Sally felt acutely aware of the extra button that was open at the top of her blouse; her lips moistened, and parted.

“Don’t call me sir,” he said, his voice low. “Got that, sugar?”

“Yes”—she wanted to say “Mr. Nelson,” but dared not give him away—“Chris.”

“Better.” He gave her a lazy smile. “Pretty busy place you got here.”

“It’s just the first day.” Oh, God! He was so handsome. Sally stiffened her back and lifted her head. She had to fight this. “Maybe you could get Letty to come here and shop. We have some special cosmetic ranges for all skin tones. Or she might like our perfume section, or a handcrafted mosaic from Jordan.”

“How’s your mom doing?” he asked, ignoring her catty response. Sally blushed.

“Well. Thank you.” She lowered her head. “Sorry, that was uncalled-for, I—I know you didn’t mean to hit on me or anything.”

“Sure I did.”

Her head lifted.“What? I don’t fool around with other women’s men.”

“Even me?”

Arrogant bastard! “Yes, even you,” she snapped. “But I’ll send Ms. Berry an engagement gift to your office, no charge.”

“It wouldn’t reach her.” He looked at her, amused. Toying with her, Sally thought, with a fresh rush of heat. “We’re not engaged. So send any gifts to her own office.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “And to clarify, we’re not going out, either.We split up.”

“Why?”

“That’s between me and her,” he said, easily enough, but firmly. “She’s a wonderful woman.”

Not that damn wonderful, Sally thought, annoyed.

“So what time do you get off work?”

“Whenever I want to. I’m the boss.”