Power & Beauty (26 page)
S
olomon Getz couldn’t attend Anita Ward’s funeral because it came on the day of an important storewide sale. As head of the men’s department at the big Neiman Marcus store on Michigan Avenue along Chicago’s Magnificent Mile, he couldn’t get away. But the day after the service he did manage to reach Beauty by phone.
“I know you’re reeling,” he said. “I know it’s hard for you.”
“I’m glad to hear your voice, Solomon.”
“When did you get in from L.A.?”
“I’ve actually been here for a while,” she said. “I moved back some weeks ago.”
“I had no idea. What happened in California?”
“Well, it turned out differently than I thought.”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s too complicated to explain on the phone.”
“With Anita gone, though, are you all right? Do you have a job?”
“Not really.”
“Any money?”
“Very little,” said Beauty.
“I think you should get out of New York.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I just think it would be good for you. It sounds like you’ve had it with New York for a while.”
“Maybe . . .”
“Besides, if you’re really interested in making money in fashion you need to spend some time away from either coast. Come to the Midwest and you’ll get a real down-to-earth sense of what Americans buy. Come to Chicago and your whole sense of what sells and doesn’t sell will change. You’ll get a good taste of reality. Besides, it’s a wonderful city. You’ll love it.”
“What am I going to do there?”
“Work. Get a job. I’m telling you, it’s just what you need. New city. New job.”
New city. New job
. The words made sense to Beauty. The more she read about the lawsuits flying back and forth between Soo Kim in L.A., the Chinese woman, and Primo Dalla Torre’s estate lawyers in New York, the more she wanted to get away from both cities. Chicago started to sound like a reasonable escape. Solomon made it even easier by telling her that she could sleep on his couch until she found work and a place to live. Amir got on the phone and told her that she was sorely missed and would be a most welcome guest.
“You’ve been through a lot,” said Amir. “I don’t know any of the details, but I can hear it in your voice. Now is a good time for you to be with friends.”
Some two months after her nineteenth birthday, Beauty arrived in late October when Chicago was experiencing a pleasant fall. Under ample sunshine, the lake glistened. Beauty stood by the river that ran through the center of downtown and studied the reflection of the Wrigley Building. She had never been here before, never imagined this many bold and innovative buildings, this much bustle, this much urban charm. She walked the streets of the Loop, excited by the roar of the elevated train. She perused the fancy shops on the Magnificent Mile, the malls and boutiques, the great hotels like the Drake and the Palmer House. The sensation of being in a powerful new city allowed her to chase away the confusion of the past months. Part of her still felt shame that she’d sold herself to Primo in exchange for career advancement; yet another part of her regretted his death because it canceled that advancement. The fact that Anita was gone—Anita with all her encouragement and plans for Beauty’s future—added to the emotional funk in which she found herself.
Solomon’s spirit helped her out of the funk. From the moment he had picked her up from the airport, he couldn’t stop talking job ideas. “There are a couple of openings at Neiman’s in sales. One is in shoes and the other costume jewelry. They’re busy departments and the time will fly. What do you say?”
“I appreciate your help,” said Beauty. “I’m happy to get any work I can.”
On one level, that was true. But on another level, she wasn’t happy at all. She knew it was a step down. After all, she had been training not only to become a designer but to also fashion her own line. That was her heart’s desire. But that desire would have to be put on hold. The shock of two sudden deaths changed everything. She would have to adjust to this new reality. She would have to follow the lead of a friend, a practical man himself, who had her best interests at heart. She would sell shoes or costume jewelry at Neiman Marcus—whichever opening came first.
As it turned out, both openings had been filled by the time Beauty applied. Solomon was surprised. Days earlier he had listed her as an applicant and was assured she’d get an interview. He complained to Richard Waterford, the head of human resources.
“You’ve saved me a phone call,” said Waterford, an officious Englishman. “I was about to ring you up and ask you to come in.”
“Good,” said Solomon, “then you realize my friend has been overlooked.”
“I’m afraid it’s not about your friend. It’s about you, Solomon. As of the end of the week, we’re terminating you. We’re not at all pleased with your performance.”
“My performance has been flawless,” said Solomon.
“That’s subject to interpretation. Our interpretation is quite negative. You’re entitled to two weeks’ severance. Good-bye and good luck.”
When Solomon arrived home that night to report the bad news, Amir was in the midst of teaching Beauty to make a Middle Eastern lamb stew. The apartment was practically floating on the fragrance of a spicy sauce. When Solomon told them what happened—that not only had Beauty’s job prospects fallen through but that he had been fired—they stopped what they were doing and came over to console him.
“I’ll get a job that pays,” said Amir, whose current band had been playing free concerts in Millennium Park. “Maybe I can work in a record store.”
“There are no more record stores,” said Solomon.
“Or a bookstore,” said Amir.
“They’re closing down as quickly as record stores,” said Solomon.
“Look,” Amir added, “we’re all young, healthy, and smart. We’ll find jobs. We’ll just have to take whatever we can get.”
A week later, Amir was working at the Apple Store. He had been an Apple whiz for years. Solomon found a buyer’s job at Macy’s in Water Place Tower, an upscale mall on Michigan Avenue, not far from Neiman Marcus. Meanwhile, Beauty began pounding the pavement.
She read the want ads, scrutinized Craigslist and other online postings, and started in on a long series of interviews all over Chicago. Probably because Solomon and Amir had maintained such a positive spirit and found jobs themselves, she was not discouraged, at least not for the first two weeks. She got to know the city. But she also learned that, in a down economy, jobs weren’t easy to come by. She applied at all the major department stores. She went to dozens of clothing shops. She made a good appearance and spoke of her work at Bloom’s and her internship at Calm and Cool Clothing.
Some employers were impressed, but most pointed out her absence of sales experience. It was hard not to be discouraged. She appreciated Solomon’s and Amir’s warm hospitality, but their couch sagged and her back ached. After several long weeks of searching, her head ached.
“Someone said that Claire’s has an opening for a salesclerk,” Solomon announced at the beginning of her second unemployed month in Chicago.
“What’s Claire’s?”
“Weren’t you once a preteen?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Then you know Claire’s. All preteen girls know Claire’s. That’s where preteen girls go to get their ears pierced and buy Justin Bieber lunch boxes.”
“Somehow I missed out on Claire’s,” said Beauty.
“Well, time to catch up. Actually Claire’s is a great training ground for you. The truly hip people in our industry study preteens more than any other group. Preteens are indicators of the new direction in fashion. If you get this job at Claire’s, you’ll find yourself facing a fascinating learning curve.”
Beauty got the job. She learned to pierce ears. She learned the tastes of preteen girls. They liked earrings designed in the shape of tiny zippers, earrings made to look like cups of hot chocolate, earrings with peace signs, and earrings in the form of sparkly half-moons. They liked headbands made of gingham flowers and hair clips of polka-dotted daisies. There were also matching BFF necklaces and fuchsia studded-bow satchel purses.
The mall was busy and Claire’s was always crowded. Beauty was not unhappy. She liked the energy of preteen girls. They were interested in fashion as fun, a concept she had forgotten about while working for Anita Ward, Soo Kim, and Lena Pearl. The preteens could be frenetic, but they also seemed carefree. They were far more sophisticated than Beauty had been at their age. Beauty had always worked, sewing with her mom and adopted mom after school and on weekends. She had never run around the malls of Atlanta looking to buy butterfly rings and scarves of fake leopard skin. At the same time, she wasn’t envious of these young girls who had the freedom to shop at will. She enjoyed their spirit. It was a welcome relief from the seriousness of Anita, Soo, and Lena.
When an eleven-year-old African-American girl named Joyce bought a $9 gold-painted peacock pin, Beauty thought of Anita. She remembered the peacocks in Anita’s apartment. She remembered the kindness that Anita had shown her when she’d first arrived in New York. She also remembered how difficult it was to mourn for Anita. Not that she didn’t appreciate and admire the woman. But the way it happened—the dual deaths of Primo and Anita—made it difficult for Beauty to process. She still resented that it was Anita who had encouraged her to sell herself to Primo. Anita was an instigator and a manipulator. So, of course, was Primo. And so was Soo. The unholy and secret alliance between Primo, Anita, and Beauty had taken its toll. Their deaths removed the pressure and offered Beauty an emotional reprieve.
After her third month, she moved into a studio apartment on Wabash Avenue close to Columbia College Chicago, where she began to audit a course on fashion/retail management. She liked the location of her place because she could walk to the school and hear concerts and lectures on everything from the art of Japanese flower design to contemporary film. She was starting to feel settled and relatively calm. She had survived a storm.
But when winter arrived and the freezing wind blowing off the lake turned the city bitter cold, Beauty fell into something of a funk. To some degree she could share her recent experiences in L.A. and New York with Solomon and Amir, yet she couldn’t share everything. She couldn’t tell them how much time she spent wondering about and dreaming of Power. This was especially true when she moved into her own apartment. She’d wanted to be alone. She preferred not to lean on Solomon and Amir for help. She was, after all, despite—or because of—everything she had gone through, an independent soul. She was eager to reclaim her independence. In doing so, though, she found herself fantasizing more and more about Power. For the thousandth time, she relived their night in bed after the explosion. For the millionth time, she thought of picking up the phone and asking Wanda to put her in touch with Power. He had reentered her dreams on a nightly basis. He even had her believing, at least on one Thursday afternoon, that he was following her through the mall.
She had come to work that day and, for reasons she couldn’t understand, felt his spirit close behind her. She wanted to turn around and look but she didn’t. She went to the store, punched the clock, and started greeting customers. At one point, though, she thought she caught a glimpse of Power walking past the shop. She almost stopped what she was doing and ran out of the store. She wanted to see if it was really him. She wanted it to be him, but she also did not want it to be him. The last thing in the world she needed was the complication that his presence in her life would bring. She needed quietude. She needed steadiness. She had a decent job, a decent apartment, and close proximity to a college she found stimulating.
Then why, night after night, did she torture herself with thoughts of the man? Why didn’t she—why couldn’t she—simply forget him? The prospects for her future had dimmed but not disappeared. Her manager at Claire’s, a pleasant woman named Sue, had praised her highly and said if her good work continued, she might recommend her as assistant manager. At least two or three times a day she would be approached for a date by a male shopper in the mall. Her invitations were countless and her refusals absolute. She did not want to bother with men—not now. After what had happened in New York, she felt vulnerable. She did not want to be taken care of, not even for a night. She did not want to be offered a free dinner, a free movie, a free concert, or a free anything. When she remembered how she had felt being bought, she recoiled.
Solomon and Amir had a close circle of other gay men friends, and she enjoyed their company. One named Thomas worked in public relations. His partner, Randy, taught art history at Columbia College Chicago, the same school that Beauty frequented. Solomon, Amir, and their friends were stimulating. They spoke of movies and books, politics and fashion. Together, they went to photography shows at the Art Institute of Chicago and blues jams at Buddy Guy’s Legends club. Thomas and Randy invited Beauty to her first opera,
Aida,
at the Chicago Lyric Opera. When the weather broke and spring arrived, she, Solomon, and Amir saw Kanye West give a spectacular outdoor performance in Millennium Park.
She liked this group of guys, not only because of the absence of sexual tension but also because of their ambition. After his setback at Neiman’s, Solomon quickly worked his way up at Macy’s to become the chief buyer of men’s clothes. Amir got a grant from an arts foundation to write original music. Thomas’s public relations firm promoted him to work on the Chicago Better Business Bureau account. At twenty-seven, Randy became the youngest professor at Columbia College to be given tenure.
The men were older than Beauty, and yet they treated her as an equal. They had empathy for her difficult past and recognized her need for support. They praised and encouraged her. They took her to a fancy dinner when she was named assistant manager of Claire’s. They were always talking about setting her up with straight men who they knew, but she wasn’t interested. They sensed her need to avoid romantic entanglements and, after a while, avoided discussions about her love life. She became their little sister, a woman they loved, respected, and protected.