48

ABEL CUT SHORT a trip to Europe in November 1952 immediately upon hearing the news of David Maxton’s fatal heart attack. He attended the funeral in Chicago with George and Florentyna, and later told Mrs Maxton that she could be a guest at any Baron in the world whenever she pleased for the rest of her life. She could not understand why Mr Rosnovski had made such a generous gesture.

When Abel returned to New York the next day, he was delighted to find on the desk of his 42nd-floor office a report from Henry Osborne indicating that the Eisenhower Administration didn’t appear to be interested in pursuing an inquiry into Interstate Airways, possibly because the shares had retained their value for over a year. Eisenhower’s Vice President, Richard M. Nixon, seemed more involved in chasing the spectral communists whom Joe McCarthy had missed.

Abel spent the next two years flying back and forth across the Atlantic as he continued to build his overseas empire. He only wished the Europeans could erect new hotels at a pace the New World took for granted.

Florentyna opened the Paris Baron in July 1953 and the London Baron in December 1954. Barons were also at various stages of development in Brussels, Rome, Amsterdam, Geneva, Edinburgh, Cannes and Stockholm, all part of a ten-year expansion programme.

Abel had so many deadlines to cope with that he had little time to think about William Kane. He had not made any further attempt to buy stock in Lester’s Bank or its subsidiary companies, although he had held on to six per cent of the bank’s shares, in the hope he would still be given the chance to deal Kane another blow from which he would not recover quite so easily. Next time, Abel promised himself, he’d make sure he didn’t unwittingly break the law. He would have been the first to admit, if only to George, that Curtis Fenton would never have allowed him to make such a foolish mistake.

Abel had already suggested to Florentyna that she should join the board when she left Radcliffe at the end of the academic year. He had decided that she should take over responsibility for all the shops in his hotels and consolidate their buying, as they were fast becoming an empire in themselves.

Florentyna was excited by the prospect, but insisted that she must get some outside training before joining her father. She did not think that her natural gifts for design, colour coordination and organization were any substitute for experience. Abel suggested that she train in Switzerland under Monsieur Maurice at the famed Ecole Hotelie`re in Lausanne. Florentyna balked at the idea, explaining that she wanted to work for two years in a New York store before deciding whether or not to take charge of the Baron Group’s shops. She was determined to be worth employing, ‘And not just as my father’s daughter,’ she informed him. Abel thoroughly approved.

‘A New York store? That’s easily arranged,’ he said. ‘I’ll give Walter Hoving a call, and you can start at Tiffany’s.’

‘That’s exactly what I don’t want to do,’ said Florentyna, showing that she’d inherited her father’s streak of stubbornness. ‘What’s the equivalent of a junior waiter at the Plaza Hotel?’

‘A salesgirl at a department store,’ said Abel, laughing.

‘Then that’s the job I’ll be applying for.’

Abel stopped laughing. ‘Are you serious? With a degree from Radcliffe and all the travelling you’ve done, you want to be an anonymous salesgirl?’

‘Starting out as an anonymous waiter at the Plaza didn’t stop you from building up one of the most successful hotel groups in the world,’ replied Florentyna.

Abel knew when he was beaten. He had only to look into the steel grey eyes of his beautiful daughter to realize she had made up her mind, and that no amount of persuasion, gentle or otherwise, was going to change it.

After Florentyna had graduated from Radcliffe she spent a month in Europe with her father, while he checked progress on the latest Baron hotels. She officially opened the Brussels Baron, where she made a conquest of the handsome young managing director, whom Abel accused of smelling of garlic. She had to give him up three days later when it reached the kissing stage, but she never admitted to her father that garlic had been the reason.

When she and Abel returned to New York, she immediately applied for the vacant position (the words used in the classified advertisement) of junior sales assistant’ at Bloomingdale’s. On the application form she gave her name as Jessie Kovats, well aware that no one would leave her in peace if they thought she was the daughter of the Chicago Baron.

Despite protests from her father, she left her suite in the New York Baron and started looking for somewhere to live. Once again Abel gave in, and presented her with a small but elegant apartment on Fifty-Seventh Street near the East River as a twenty-first birthday present.

Florentyna had long before resolved not to let her friends know that she was going to work at Bloomingdale’s. She feared they would all want to visit her at the store and her cover would be blown in days, making it impossible for her to be treated like any other trainee. When her friends did enquire, she told them she was helping to run the shops in her father’s hotels. None of them gave her reply a second thought.

After completing the store’s training course, Jessie Kovats – it took her some time to get used to the name – started in cosmetics. The shop assistants in Bloomingdale’s worked in pairs, and Florentyna immediately turned this to her advantage by choosing to work with the laziest girl in the department. This arrangement suited both girls, as Florentyna’s choice, a blonde named Maisie, had only two interests in life: the clock when its hands pointed to 6 p.m., and men. The former happened once a day, the latter all through the day.

The two girls soon became comrades without exactly being friends. Florentyna learned a lot from Maisie about how to avoid work without being spotted by the floor manager, as well as how to get picked up by a man.

The cosmetic counter’s profits were well up after the girls’ first six months together, even though Maisie had spent most of her time trying out the products rather than selling them. She could take two hours just repainting her fingernails. Florentyna, in contrast, had found that she had a natural gift for selling – and thoroughly enjoyed it. After only a few weeks the floor supervisor considered her as proficient as many employees who had been with the company for years.

When Florentyna was moved to Better Dresses, Maisie went along by mutual consent, and passed much of her time trying on the clothes while Florentyna sold them. Maisie was able to attract men – even those in tow with their wives or sweethearts – simply by looking at them. Once they were ensnared, Florentyna would move in and sell them something. Few escaped with untapped wallets.

The profits for the next six months in Better Dresses were up by 22 per cent, and the floor supervisor concluded that the two girls obviously worked well together. Florentyna said nothing to contradict this impression. While other assistants were always complaining about how little work their partners did, Florentyna continually praised Maisie as the ideal colleague, who had taught her so much about how a big store operated. She didn’t mention the useful advice that Maisie also imparted on how to cope with over-amorous male customers.

The greatest compliment an assistant can receive at Blooming-dale’s is to be asked to serve on one of the front counters facing Lexington Avenue, and so to be among the first faces seen by the public as they enter the building. It was rare for a girl to be invited to work there until she had been with the store for at least five years. Maisie had been with Bloomingdale’s since she was seventeen, a full five years, by the time Florentyna had completed her first. But because their sales record together was so impressive, the manager decided to try them both out in the stationery department on the ground floor. Maisie was unable to derive much personal advantage from the stationery department, for although she didn’t care much for reading she cared even less for writing. Florentyna wasn’t sure after having spent a year with her that she could read or write. Nevertheless, the new post pleased Maisie greatly because she basked in the added attention it brought her. Florentyna suspected that some of the men who walked in off the street to buy stationery did so for no other reason than to chat up Maisie.

Abel admitted to George that he had once slipped into Bloomingdale’s and covertly watched Florentyna at work, and had to confess that she was damned good. Florentyna was unquestionably a chip off a formidable old block, and he had no doubt that she would have few problems taking on the responsibilities he had planned for her.

Florentyna spent her last six months at Bloomingdale’s on the ground floor in charge of six counters, with the new title of Junior Supervisor. Her duties included stock checking, running the cash tills and supervising eighteen sales clerks. Bloomingdale’s had already decided that Jessie Kovats was an ideal candidate to be a future supervisor.

She had not yet informed her fellow employees that she would be leaving at the end of the year to join her father as a vice president of the Baron Group. As her time at the store was drawing to a close, she began to wonder what would happen to poor Maisie after she had left. Maisie assumed that Jessie was at Bloomingdale’s for life – wasn’t everybody? Florentyna even considered offering her a job at one of the shops in the New York Baron. As long as it was behind a counter at which men could spend money, Maisie was an asset.

One afternoon when Maisie was waiting on a customer – she was now in gloves, scarves and woolly hats – she pulled Florentyna aside and pointed out a young man who was loitering over the gloves, pretending to try on several pairs.

‘What do you think of him?’ she asked, giggling.

Florentyna glanced at Maisie’s latest target with her customary lack of interest, but on this occasion she had to admit that the man was rather attractive.

‘They only want one thing, Maisie,’ said Florentyna.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘And he can have it.’

‘I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that,’ said Florentyna, laughing as she turned to wait on a customer who was becoming impatient at Maisie’s indifference to her presence. Maisie took advantage of Florentyna’s move and rushed off to serve the young man. Florentyna watched them out of the corner of her eye. She was amused to see that he kept glancing nervously towards her, no doubt checking that Maisie wasn’t being spied on by her supervisor. Maisie giggled away, and the young man departed with a pair of dark blue leather gloves.

‘Did he measure up to your hopes?’ asked Florentyna, conscious that she felt a little envious of Maisie’s latest conquest.

‘He didn’t even ask me out. But I’m sure he’ll be back,’ she added with a grin.

Maisie’s prediction turned out to be accurate, because the next day the young man returned, and was to be seen trying on another pair of gloves, looking even more uncomfortable than before.

‘I suppose you’d better go and wait on him,’ said Florentyna.

Maisie obediently hurried away. Florentyna nearly laughed out loud when, a few minutes later, the young man departed with another pair of dark blue gloves.

‘Two pairs,’ declared Florentyna. ‘On behalf of Blooming-dale’s, I think I can say he deserves you.’

‘But he still didn’t ask me out,’ said Maisie.

‘What?’ said Florentyna in mock disbelief. ‘He must have a glove fetish.’

‘It’s very disappointing,’ said Maisie, ‘because I think he’s neat.’

‘Yes, he’s not bad,’ admitted Florentyna.

The next day when the young man arrived, Maisie leaped forward to serve him again, leaving another customer in mid-sentence. Florentyna quickly replaced her, and once again watched out of the corner of her eye. This time customer and salesgirl appeared to be deep in conversation.

‘It must be the real thing,’ ventured Florentyna, after the young man had departed with yet another pair of dark blue leather gloves.

‘Yes, I think it is,’ replied Maisie. ‘But he still hasn’t asked me out on a date. Listen, if he comes in tomorrow, could you serve him? I think he’s scared to ask me directly. He might find it easier to arrange a date through you.’

Florentyna laughed. ‘A Viola to your Orsino.’

‘What?’

‘It doesn’t matter. A greater challenge will be to see if I can sell him a pair of blue leather gloves.’

The young man pushed his way through the doors at exactly the same time the next morning and immediately headed towards the glove counter. Florentyna thought that if he was anything, he was consistent.

Maisie dug her in the ribs. Florentyna decided the time had come to enjoy herself. ‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Oh, good morning,’ said the young man, looking surprised -or was he simply disappointed to have ended up with Florentyna?

‘Can I help you?’

‘No – I mean yes. I would like a pair of gloves,’ he added unconvincingly.

Yes, sir. Have you considered dark blue? In leather? I’m sure we have your size – unless we’re sold out.’

The young man looked at her suspiciously as she handed him the gloves. He tried them on. They were a little too big. Florentyna offered him another pair: they were a little too tight. He looked towards Maisie. She was almost surrounded by a sea of male customers, but she wasn’t sinking because she found time to glance across and grin. He didn’t return her smile. Florentyna handed him another pair of gloves. They fitted perfectly.

‘I think that’s what you’re looking for,’ she said.

‘No, it isn’t really,’ replied the customer, now visibly embarrassed.

Florentyna decided the time had come to put the poor man out of his misery. Lowering her voice, she said, ‘I’ll go and rescue Maisie. Why don’t you ask her out? I’m sure she’ll say yes.’

‘Oh, no,’ said the young man quickly. ‘It’s not her I want to take out – it’s you.’ Florentyna was speechless. The young man seemed to muster his courage. Will you have dinner with me tonight?’

She heard herself say yes.

‘Shall I pick you up at your home?’

‘No,’ said Florentyna, firmly. The last thing she wanted was to be met at her apartment, where it would be obvious to anyone that she wasn’t a salesgirl. ‘Let’s meet at a restaurant,’ she added quickly.

‘Where would you like to go?’

She tried to think quickly of a place that would not be too ostentatious.

‘Allen’s, on Seventy-Third and Third?’ he ventured.

‘Yes, fine,’ said Florentyna, thinking how much better Maisie would have handled the situation.

‘Around eight o’clock suit you?’

Around eight,’ replied Florentyna.

The young man departed with a smile on his face. Maisie pointed out that he’d left without buying a pair of gloves.

Florentyna took a long time choosing which dress to wear that evening. She wanted to be certain the outfit didn’t scream Bergdorf Goodman. She had acquired a small wardrobe especially for Bloomingdale’s, but it was strictly for business use, and she had never worn anything from that selection in the evening. If her date – heavens, she didn’t even know his name – thought she was a salesgirl, she mustn’t disillusion him. In truth, she was actually looking forward to seeing him again.

Florentyna left her apartment on East Fifty-Seventh Street a little before eight, but it was some time before she managed to hail a taxi.

‘Allen’s, please,’ she said to the taxi driver.

‘Sure thing, miss.’

Florentyna arrived at the restaurant a few minutes late. Her eyes began to search for the young man. He was standing at the bar, waving. He had changed into a pair of grey flannel slacks and a blue blazer. Very Ivy League, thought Florentyna, although Maisie’s description of him as ‘dishy’ still fitted just as well.

‘I’m sorry to be late,’ began Florentyna.

‘It’s not important. What’s important is that you came.’

‘You thought I wouldn’t?’

‘I wasn’t sure.’ He smiled. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

‘Jessie Kovats. And yours?’

‘Richard Kane,’ said the young man, thrusting out his hand.

She took it, and he held on a little longer than she had expected.

‘And what do you do when you’re not buying gloves at Bloomingdale’s?’ she teased.

‘I’m at Harvard Business School.’

‘I’m surprised they didn’t teach you that most people only have two hands.’

He laughed and smiled in such a relaxed and friendly way that she wished she could start again and tell him she was surprised they’d never met in Cambridge when she was at Radcliffe.

‘Shall we sit down?’ he said, taking her arm and leading her to a table.

Florentyna looked up at the menu on the blackboard.

‘Salisbury steak?’ she queried.

‘A hamburger by any other name,’ said Richard.

They both laughed in the way two people do when they don’t know each other well, but want to. She could see he was surprised that she recognized his out-of-context quote.

Florentyna had rarely enjoyed anyone’s company more. Richard chatted about New York, the theatre and music – which was obviously his first love – with such grace and charm that he quickly put her at ease. He might have thought she was a salesgirl, but he treated her as if she’d come from one of the oldest Boston families. When he asked, she told him nothing more than that she was Polish, lived in New York with her parents and that her father worked in a hotel. As the evening progressed she found the deception increasingly difficult. Still, she thought, we’re unlikely to see each other again.

When neither of them could drink any more coffee, Richard called for the bill. He asked Florentyna which part of town she lived in.

‘East Fifty-Seventh Street,’ she said, not thinking.

‘Then I’ll walk you home,’ he said, taking her hand.

They strolled up Fifth Avenue, looking into shop windows, laughing and chatting. When he asked about her plans for the future, she simply replied, ‘One day I’d like to work in a shop on Fifth Avenue.’ Neither of them noticed the empty taxis as they drifted past.

It took them almost an hour to cover the sixteen blocks, and Florentyna nearly told him the truth about herself. When they reached Fifty-Seventh Street she stopped outside a small old apartment block, a hundred yards from her own building.

‘This is where my parents live,’ she said.

Richard seemed to hesitate, then let go of her hand.

‘I hope we’ll see each other again,’ he said.

‘I’d like that,’ replied Florentyna in a polite, dismissive way.

‘Tomorrow?’ Richard asked diffidently.

‘Tomorrow?’ repeated Florentyna.

‘Why don’t we go to the Blue Angel and see Bobby Short?’ He took her hand again. ‘It’s a little more romantic than Allen’s.’

Florentyna was momentarily taken aback. Her plans for Richard had not included any tomorrows.

‘Not if you don’t want to,’ he added before she could recover.

‘I’d love to,’ she said quietly.

‘I’m having dinner with my father, so why don’t I pick you up around nine o’clock?’

‘No, no,’ said Florentyna, ‘I’ll meet you there. It’s only a couple of blocks away.’

‘Nine o’clock tomorrow night, then.’ He bent forward and kissed her gently on the cheek. ‘Good night, Jessie,’ he said, and disappeared into the night.

Once he was out of sight, Florentyna walked slowly to her apartment, wishing she hadn’t told so many white lies. Still, it might all be over in a few days, even if she hoped it wouldn’t be.

Florentyna left Bloomingdale’s the moment the store closed, the first time in nearly two years that she’d left before Maisie. She had a long bath, put on the prettiest dress she thought she could get away with and strolled to the Blue Angel. When she arrived, Richard was waiting for her outside the cloakroom. He held her hand as they walked into the lounge, where the voice of Bobby Short came floating through the smoke-filled air: ‘Are you telling me the truth, or is it just another lie?’

Short raised a hand to Florentyna in acknowledgement. Florentyna pretended not to notice. He had been a guest performer at the Baron on two or three occasions, and it had never occurred to her that he might remember her. Richard had noticed the gesture, and looked around to see who Short was greeting. When they took their table in the dimly lit room, Florentyna sat with her back to the piano to make sure it couldn’t happen again.

Richard ordered a bottle of wine without letting go of her hand, then asked about her day. She didn’t want to tell him about her day; she wanted to tell him the truth. ‘Richard, there’s something I must—’

‘Hi, Richard.’ A tall, handsome man was standing beside the table.

‘Hi, Steve. May I introduce Jessie Kovats – Steve Mellon. Steve and I were at Harvard together.’

Florentyna listened to them chat about the New York Yankees, Eisenhower’s golf handicap and why Yale was going from bad to worse. Steve eventually left with a gracious, ‘Nice to have met you, Jessie.’

Florentyna’s moment had passed.

Richard began to tell her of his plans once he had left business school. He hoped to come to New York and join his father’s bank, Lester’s. She’d heard that name somewhere before, but couldn’t remember in what connection. For some reason, it worried her.

They spent a long evening together, laughing, eating, talking, and just sitting holding hands while they listened to Bobby Short. When they walked home together, Richard stopped on the corner of Fifty-Seventh and kissed her for the first time. She couldn’t recall another occasion when she was so aware of a first kiss. When he left her in the shadows of Fifty-Seventh Street, she realized that this time he had not mentioned tomorrow. She felt slightly wistful about the whole non-affair.

Maisie was delighted when a large bunch of roses was delivered to the store the next morning, but was disappointed to find that the card was addressed to Jessie Kovats, with an invitation to join Richard for dinner. She pretended not to be interested.

Florentyna and Richard spent most of the weekend together: a concert, a film – even the New York Knicks did not escape them. When the weekend was over, Florentyna was uncomfortably aware that she had told so many lies about herself that Richard must surely be puzzled by their many inconsistencies. It was becoming more and more difficult to tell him another entirely different, albeit true, story.

When Richard returned to Harvard on Sunday night to start the new term she persuaded herself that her deception was unimportant, as their relationship had come to a natural end. After all, he’d probably meet a nice Radcliffe girl. But he phoned her every day of the week, and came back to New York to see her that weekend. After another month, Florentyna knew it wasn’t going to end quite as easily as she had thought. In fact, she knew she was falling in love with him. Once she had admitted this to herself, she decided it couldn’t wait any longer. This weekend she would tell him the truth.