Designer Knockoff (12 page)
Special arrangements? Why am I not surprised that
The Eye
isn’t on that list?
The Eye
isn’t on that list?
“It’s all right, Penelope. I’ll vouch for her.” Jeffrey stepped in and protectively placed his hand on Lacey’s shoulder.
“Very well. Nice meeting you. Call if you need me, Jeffrey.” The woman looked at her watch, then at Jeffrey; then she clutched her large notebook full of tasks and scurried off, adjusting her glasses as she went. She passed Hugh Bentley coming in. He wore casual attire today, as if he were sailing a yacht: navy blazer with the Bentley insignia, light slacks, a light blue ascot at the neck, and an immaculate white linen shirt. His stick today was an impressive hand-carved oak with a plain but graceful silver handle.
“Why, Lacey Smithsonian. You’re the last person I expected to see here, though you are certainly dressed for the early exhibit period. You could step right into a display case.”
“It’s not a Bentley.”
“No, but it’s a good example of its kind. It’s not mass market, but perhaps the work of a clever seamstress copying an original of the time. Probably something similar in our archive.”
“I like it,” she said lightly. “And that’s really all that matters.”
“Don’t let him intimidate you, Lacey,” Jeffrey cut in. “He’s really just an old softie at heart.”
Hugh tapped his cane on the floor. “Don’t you have something to do, Jeffrey? I will be happy to entertain Miss Smithsonian for a moment or two.”
“Sure thing, Uncle Hugh.” Jeffrey winked at Lacey, and he and his well-hung tool belt sauntered gracefully over to adjust the navy velvet drapes adorned with silver stars that fell gracefully behind a pale blue Bentley evening gown with a full net skirt, circa 1956.
Hugh offered Lacey his arm for a leisurely stroll. “Now you must tell me. What is it about these old clothes that you like so well?”
“First of all, they have more detail, they’re better constructed, they’re built to last, and they fit me better because they’re tailored for someone with a shape like mine. And they have a certain something, an elegance, a glamour, that doesn’t exist anymore,” Lacey said. “At least not on a reporter’s salary.”
“Do I take it that you don’t shop at Bentley’s?” He played mock affronted.
She thought of Mimi.
If you only knew.
“Let’s just say it’s way above my pay scale.” She smiled at him.
If you only knew.
“Let’s just say it’s way above my pay scale.” She smiled at him.
“You’re right about one thing. Those clothes suit you.” He studied her for a moment. “Women were more petite, more curvy in those days. Even our models were only five-foot-six or -seven. More real.” He indicated the mannequins from the Forties, stylized papier-mâché, with molded curls and waves. Recently refreshed with glamorous Old Hollywood makeup and red lips and fingertips, they looked startlingly innocent and knowing at the same time, like any Forties starlet in any Forties B movie. A look that said, “I know exactly what you’re after, Joe, and you’re not getting any—not unless those are real nylons in your pocket.” They were far more interesting to Lacey than the later dummies, which were taller and thinner and blanker, and constructed from glass fibers and polyester resins. There was even a tableau from the latest collection, with a mannequin based on Cordelia Westgate.
The haughty gaze appears anatomically correct. Right down to the collagen in her lips?
Lacey wondered. Hugh hit a button on a display, and “Long Ago and Far Away,” a love song that was a hit for Jo Stafford in 1944, played softly in the background. Lacey realized that she and the legendary Hugh the B were alone. Jeffrey must have slipped away, leaving his Uncle Hugh at her mercy.
Or is it the other way around?
The haughty gaze appears anatomically correct. Right down to the collagen in her lips?
Lacey wondered. Hugh hit a button on a display, and “Long Ago and Far Away,” a love song that was a hit for Jo Stafford in 1944, played softly in the background. Lacey realized that she and the legendary Hugh the B were alone. Jeffrey must have slipped away, leaving his Uncle Hugh at her mercy.
Or is it the other way around?
Lacey hated to break the moment, but she had to do it before she found herself liking old Hugh the Bastard. “I called your press guy. Did he let you know?”
“Oh, no, Chevalier believes it is his duty-to protect us from inquisitive reporters.” Hugh sounded amused. “His idea of press relations is no relations at all. But what does it matter? We are teaching him how to accommodate the important media. And you took the initiative to show up unannounced.”
“We all have jobs to do, Hugh.”
“I would have thought you were too busy with the hearing and the interview to fit in a story about our unfortunate little robbery.”
So he had read
The Eye
that morning. “It’s the robbery I want to discuss. Actually its aftermath.”
The Eye
that morning. “It’s the robbery I want to discuss. Actually its aftermath.”
“Are you not sick of us by now?” He tapped his stick impatiently.
“I’ll let you know. In the meantime, though, I’d like some answers.”
“Then you’ll have to tag along with me as I inspect these mannequins. I don’t know if I have the answers you want.”
“My pleasure. I understand that Miguel Flores, the assistant manager of Bentley’s Boutique in Chevy Chase, was fired yesterday because of some company policy.”
“I’m really not involved in the day-to-day business anymore. You’d have to ask Aaron.” Hugh readjusted a suit on one of the papier-mâché dolls. He retucked a pocket hankie with infinite care, then patted it like a proud parent.
“This is your baby now?” Lacey indicated the exhibit.
He stood gazing at the best examples of his empire. “An old man’s dream, I suppose. Knowing that something of mine will outlast me. Fashion is ephemeral. Museums last a little longer.”
“About Miguel Flores—”
“I was sorry it came to that, but it was Aaron’s decision, and he is a fiend about safety. As proud as we are of our merchandise, we simply can’t have employees risking their lives for a few trinkets.”
Aaron chose that moment to stroll in with his favorite accessory of the moment, Cordelia, who looked slightly hung-over. “Someone mention my name? Ah, Ms. Smithsonian, you are ubiquitous. And to think I had never even met you before yesterday.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I ask a question,” Lacey said.
Aaron smiled. “Not at all, for a guest of Dad’s.”
“Does Bentley’s really have a company policy of not resisting a robbery? Was it necessary to fire Miguel Flores?”
“Absolutely. We have the policy, and my decision to let an employee go is just that. I have no other comment on internal company matters.” His eyes traveled up her body. “However, I will applaud your suit today. It suits your coloring.” He favored her with a dazzling smile. Cordelia bristled slightly, then smiled with just a hint of sneer. “Isn’t it charming, Cordy?”
“It’s charming,” she said, towering unsteadily over Lacey.
“May I see a copy of the policy?”
“You’re doing a follow-up then? I trust you will print our side of the story?”
“If you have a written policy, it will help your side.”
“Chevalier can help you with that. He’ll give you our associates’ handbook of company policies. Everyone we hire is given one, and they are expected to follow the rules. Is that all?”
“Actually, no.”
Aaron laughed. “Are you sure you’re not a New York reporter?”
“I’m sure you heard that Esme Fairchild seems to be missing.”
“Yes. She worked with us on our presentation to the senators,” he said smoothly. “A terrible thing. We were saddened to hear about it. I believe Chevalier will have an official statement later.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“Only that she seemed quite competent. Chevalier found her invaluable as our liaison for our impromptu senatorial appearance. She had a brilliant future in front of her.”
“In PR? Or as a model?” Lacey kept her eyes on Cordelia. The woman took Aaron’s arm protectively but said nothing and closed her eyes as if the dim light bothered them.
“Very possibly as a model,” Aaron said. “She was going to show me her portfolio.” Cordelia’s color seemed to fade through her makeup.
“And do you have any comment, Ms. Westgate?”
Cordelia scratched the inside of her left arm where the woolen WAC uniform had irritated it two days before. “I really didn’t know her, but she seemed very clever. Too clever by half.”
Aaron cut in. “Of course, we all hope for a happy conclusion.”
“Of course, a happy conclusion,” Cordelia echoed.
“Do you have any idea what could have happened? Did she tell you her plans?”
“We have no idea what could have happened to her, Ms. Smithsonian. But then, the Nation’s Capital is a dangerous place, isn’t it?” Aaron made excuses for the two of them, leaving Lacey alone again with Hugh, who was leaning against a wall, balancing the oak cane in front of him.
“May I ask you something else, Hugh?”
“Could I stop you?”
“Probably not.”
He indicated a plum-colored sofa, positioned to view part of a display. “Fire away.”
Lacey sat down on the other end of the sofa. The clean scent of new-sawn lumber was in the air, and the dust tickled her nose. Workmen toiled in other rooms, leaving a distant scrim of noise surrounding the Bentley exhibit. “Do you remember a Gloria Adams?”
He closed his eyes. “I haven’t heard that name in almost sixty years.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“She was a factory girl at Bentley’s who disappeared one day and no one ever heard from her again. It was always troubling.” He sounded a little sad about it. He opened his eyes and looked directly at her. “Where did you hear about Gloria Adams?”
“She was a friend of my aunt’s. I saw an old newspaper clipping.”
“Well, who knows, perhaps I did meet your aunt once or twice. I’m sorry I don’t remember her. What do you know about Gloria?”
“Only that she disappeared.”
“And now another young woman has disappeared.” An edge hardened his voice. “That always makes for good reading in the newspapers, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not planning a story about it yet.”
Could there be a link?
“Women disappear every day, don’t they? Do you remember anything about her?”
Could there be a link?
“Women disappear every day, don’t they? Do you remember anything about her?”
Hugh recalled Gloria as a competent, even talented worker. Gloria Adams came to Bentley’s sometime during 1942. The factory was beefing up production for both military and domestic needs. The company had always sewn shirts and dresses, but Hugh had bigger dreams. He wanted to make a name for Bentley’s, and he would start with a full line of women’s clothing, not drab housedresses but something with a snap to it, something more professional for the women who had been moving into new jobs even before the war, something more sophisticated. Women were clamoring to wear the clothes they saw in the movies, clothes that were designed by Adrian, Edith Head, and Dolly Tree. Of course, those designs were too extreme for real life, but Hugh saw that a smart designer could take glamorous elements and make them more moderate, more wearable, but still alluring and exciting.
The market was ready to explode; then the war happened. Hugh didn’t enlist, he told her, because his father was ill and someone who knew the business had to run the factory. The industry was hamstrung by government regulations and he had to deal with endless bureaucrats.
“Imagine, having the government outlaw French cuffs! That was the order of L-85.” Hugh chuckled at the memory. “Shirts could have only one pocket, skirts could be only so wide, hems only so deep. It was like learning how to juggle wearing a straitjacket.” But he worked with and around the regulations and the bureaucracies, never giving up on his goal. “We all knew the war couldn’t last forever.” His first—and some said his most brilliant—collection debuted in the fall of 1944. It was a memorable year. Gloria disappeared in May and Hugh married Marilyn Hutton in late June of the same year. Then in September, despite the war, his collection came out.
Gloria had a future at Bentley’s, according to Hugh. But her disappearance also took a toll on everyone. She might not have been that memorable before, but afterward no one would ever forget her, certainly no one at Bentley’s.
“There was a war going on in the rest of the world, and we tended to think that all the evil things were happening over there. Something like Gloria disappearing ... you don’t think it can happen so close to home,” Hugh said. “But it wasn’t an immediate thing we were aware of. Gloria didn’t show up to work for a few days. No one was very worried at first. Then people started asking questions. I wasn’t so sure she didn’t just run off with a GI and get married.”
The disappearance had a devastating effect on his sister, Belinda, and his fiancée, Marilyn, who refused to go anywhere alone after that. According to Hugh, the two women became the best of friends, and they were still more like sisters than sisters-in-law.
“Were you ever romantically involved with Gloria?”
Or my aunt?
Or my aunt?
“Oh, heavens, no. I was engaged, and things were different in those days.”
Bet me,
Lacey thought. “You’ve always had a reputation as a ladies’ man, you know.”
Lacey thought. “You’ve always had a reputation as a ladies’ man, you know.”
“A reputation, yes. Many of the girls flirted with me. But their own boys were off to war and they were lonely. It was only flirting, and it is only a reputation. I’ll tell you a little secret, my dear: A little ‘reputation’ is good for a man, if you know what I mean. And I’ve been married to Marilyn for nigh onto sixty years.”
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