The Dressmaker's Son (9 page)

CHAPTER 18

For the rest of
the day and long into the night, the search went on for Samuel.  Jacob had
divided up the area into blocks and given assignments to everyone.  They
checked all the hotels, looked in restaurants, and stopped horse and buggy
drivers and random people on the street; but nobody had seen anyone looking
like Samuel or the man they described as having kidnapped him.  

Jacob and Rebekah
had gone to the police, who really didn’t seem all that interested in looking
for a Jewish immigrant’s child.  “Who is the man you think kidnapped him?” he
asked Rebekah and Jacob.  

Rebekah knew if
she said it was Samuel’s father they would not even bother to try to find him.  “He
is a man from Russia who was nothing more than a criminal there,” Rebekah told
him. “He has kidnapped children before. I don’t know how he was let in to this
country.  In Russia they have found bodies of some of the children he took.”

She seemed to have
gotten the policeman’s attention. “I’ll put out an announcement with a
description of the boy and the man,” he said. “And I will talk to my men at the
next shift meeting.  Sit over here and give the clerk all the details about the
child and the abductor.”

Rebekah did so,
and then she and Jacob left to cover more streets.

Meanwhile Rachael
was trying to check which ships were sailing when.  She managed to learn of one
ship that was sailing for Amsterdam on Monday, but there was no guarantee that
Misha would take that route.  He could have taken a train to Hoboken and sailed
from there.

Although he knew
it was a long shot, Jacob even made the trip to the port Monday to see if he
could spot Misha, but his trip was in vain.

Rebekah knew he
was gone, but for the rest of the week she walked the streets looking for
Samuel.  Then she went back to Mrs. Weiss’s and faced the fact that Samuel was
on his way to Russia.  For a week she did nothing but cry.  Nothing Mrs. Weiss
could say helped.  Rachael came and tried to talk to her, but she would not be
comforted.

“I don’t want to
live,” she told Rachael.  “I have no reason to go on.”

“Of course you do,
Rebekah,” Rachael argued.  "You are still young.  You can make a new life.
You have your business and many suitors who would like to get to know you
better.”

“I don’t want
them, Rachael. I want my Samuel.”

Rachael wanted to
tell her that she knew what it was like to lose a child, but she knew it wasn’t
the same.  She had a family and five children.  Samuel had been the center of
Rebekah’s life.  So instead she hugged her.  “I know, Rebekah,” she said softly.
 “Don’t lose faith.  Someday we will find him.  Remember Papa used to say, ‘Faith
makes the impossible possible.’” Then she left her to grieve.

For several weeks,
Rebekah didn’t leave the house.  She ignored her clients and barely ate.  All
she could think of was Samuel and what she could do to get him back.  Sometimes
she pictured him grown in a Russian uniform standing with Misha.  It petrified
her.

Then, suddenly,
one morning she came down for breakfast and told Mrs. Weiss that if any clients
came to call she would see them.  She began to sew again and her client base continued
to increase.  Women were amazed that not only could Rebekah look at a dress at
Bloomindales and copy it for half the price, she could usually improve the
design giving it a unique flare.  “You really ought to make gowns and sell them
to Bloomingdales,” several women had suggested.  But Rebekah had never thought
of herself as a designer.

Now she had
changed her mind.  Her talent would help her find Samuel.  She went to Jacob
with her idea.  “I’m going to start my own business, Jacob.” she said.

“You already have
your own dress-making business, Rebekah,” he told her.

 “I know.  But I
want to sew for Bloomingdales.  If you will show me the latest fabrics, I will
shop the stores for some of the latest fashions,” she told him. “But I have
already drawn up some ideas of my own.  Many of my clients ask me to draw
something for them when they come in and usually they love it. Maybe you can
get me pictures of some of the latest fashions from abroad from some of your
suppliers.  I am going to make up some samples and take them to Bloomingdales.”

Jacob thought it
was a wonderful idea.  Rebekah was so talented and this was just what she
needed to take her mind off of Samuel.

Within two months,
Rebekah had six gowns ready to take to Bloomingdales.  She had Rachael come
over to look at her collection.

“They are
gorgeous, Rebekah,” Rachael exclaimed. “They will love them. Is there a name
for the collection? Or for your company?”

Rebekah had been
thinking about that since she started. “Well,” she said,” I’ve been thinking so
much about Mama.  I would like to call my company, ‘Rachael Rose.’  I might not
always show it, but I do know all that you and Mama have done for me.  I
wouldn’t have even been here with Samuel without the help of both of you.  And,
of course, Jacob, but Rachael Jacob Rose just didn’t work.”

Rachael laughed. “What
about J. Rachael Rose?” she asked, smiling.

“I love it,
Rachael. J. Rachael Rose it is! You’ve been so generous, Rachael. You’re a much
better person than I will ever be.”

Rachael hugged her.
“Thank you, Rebekah.  But if you can’t help a sister, who can you help?”

Rebekah smiled. “When
Mama found out about Misha and that he wanted to take him from me, she insisted
we come to America.  When I asked her how she could send us away and what she
would do being left alone she said that in a mother’s world, all that mattered
were the children.  Even the papa was second. I thought she was just being
brave, but it is so true, Rachael.  I care of nothing but getting my Samuel
back, no matter what the cost.  I’m sorry I was so mean-spirited in my grief.  I
know you suffered little Levi’s death too.  And I don’t imagine that any child
is less precious than another in a mother’s world.”

“It’s okay,
Rebekah.  We aren’t ourselves when we experience that kind of grief.  But, speaking
of Mama,” Rachael continued.  “Do you think we should write to her about
Samuel?”

“No, Rachael, It would
kill her.  I’m going to get him back.  You’ll see.  I have a plan.  Then we can
tell her.”

Rachael couldn’t
imagine what kind of plan Rebekah could have, but she wasn’t going to argue.  And
she agreed that they shouldn’t write to Mama about Samuel.  “Okay, Rebekah,”
she answered.  “We will wait.  Jacob is working on trying to get Mama here.  Then
we can tell her.”

CHAPTER 19

For some reason,
Rebekah felt very confident about her first collection of dresses.  She
designed some J. Rachael Rose labels and sewed one in each dress.  Then she
bought a large soft suitcase to put them in.  She even made a strikingly
beautiful dress to wear when she went to call on the buyer at Bloomingdales.  What
better advertisement for her product?  And, she was not beyond using her looks
to make the sale.

She called Bloomingdales
to find out who the buyer was for evening gowns, and wearing a gown she had
just designed, headed for the store to get an appointment.

Upon arriving at
Bloomingdales, she went directly to Mr. Weissman’s office.  It was a large
corner office overlooking Lexington Avenue.  A very attractive girl sat behind
the receptionist desk.  Her golden blond hair hung to her shoulders, framing
her perfect creamy skin.  She had large, brown, doe-like eyes that almost
matched the simple brown dress she wore.

“May I help you?”
she asked.

“Yes, please.”
Rebekah responded. “I am Rebekah Brodsky, owner of J Rachael Rose, and I’d like
to make an appointment to show Mr. Weissman my evening gown collection.”

“Have you seen Mr.
Weissman before?”

“No, but I’ve been
told that he selects the finer gowns that you sell and to make an appointment
with him.”

“I see,” the
secretary answered.  “Well, usually, Mr. Weissman only reviews new lines at
market.”

“I know that,”
Rebekah said.  “But this line will be bought up before market.  It will be sold
exclusively to one store, so if Mr. Weissman does not want to meet with me, I
have other appointments.”

“You’re awfully
sure of yourself for someone with a new line, young lady.”

“That’s because I
know what I have.  When Mr. Weissman sees it at another store, he will wonder why
he had never heard about it.”

The secretary
chuckled, “Well, then.  Let me go check to see if I can set an appointment for
you.  What is your last name, Rebekah?”

“Brodsky,” Rebekah
answered.

“Okay, Rebekah
Brodsky.  Wait here a minute and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,”
Rebekah replied.  She held her breath waiting for the woman to return.

“You’re quite a
little saleswoman, Rebekah,” she started. “I told your story to Mr. Weissman
and he has agreed to meet with you.  To be honest, I embellished your story a
little bit.  I like someone with your confidence.  I often wish I could be that
way.”

“Oh, thank you so much–”
she paused. “What is your name?”

“Miranda.”

“I appreciate what
you just did, Miranda.  Not everyone would do something like that.  Don’t
underestimate your own confidence.”

“Thank you,
Rebekah.  Now what day next week is good for you?”

Rebekah giggled,
“Any day he will see me.”

“How about Tuesday
at ten o’clock?”

“I’ll be there. And,
Miranda thanks again.”

“No problem.”  Miranda
answered and paused. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Of course not,”
Rebekah replied.

“The dress you are
wearing is just beautiful. Did you make it?”

“I did.”

“Well, if that is
a sample of your work, I can’t wait to see the evening gowns.”

“I appreciate
that, Miranda. I’ll be back with them Tuesday. And thank you, again.”

CHAPTER 20

Rebekah was up
bright and early to get ready for her appointment.  She was apprehensive, but
not scared.  She felt confident about her collection.  She had done her
homework and read all the fashion magazines and kept up with the women’s
section in the
New York Times
.  Her designs and fabrics not only matched
up, but also added the sophisticated details they lacked.

Miranda greeted
her warmly. “It’s great to see you again, Rebekah. You’re a little early.  Mr. Weissman
is just finishing up a meeting, but I will let him know you are here.”  With
that she got up and walked across the room and knocked on a closed door.  As
she opened it, Rebekah could hear her say, “Mr. Weissman, Your ten o’clock is
here.”

She could also hear
his reply, “I’ll be done shortly, Miranda. I’ll buzz you when I am ready.”

Miranda sat back
down. “May I get you something to drink, Rebekah?” she asked.

“No, thank you,
I’m fine.”

“Your accent is
very charming.  May I ask where you are from?”

“Of course.  I
come from Russia,” Rebekah replied. “I have been here two years.”

“Your English is
quite good.  It must have been difficult to learn a new language.”

“Yes,” Rebekah
replied smiling.  “But there is no choice. And it seemed to come easy to me.  It
is like learning music.”

Suddenly Miranda’s
phone buzzed and she quickly picked it up. “Yes, Mr. Weissman.  I’ll bring her
in now.”

They walked into
Mr. Weissman’s office.  “This is Rebekah Brodsky,” Miranda said.  “She is with
J. Rachael Rose.”

Mr. Weissman came
around the desk and took Rebekah’s hand. “It is very nice to meet you,
Rebekah,” he said looking directly into her eyes.  “Miranda has said that I
must see your fashions so that you don’t take them to my competition.”

Rebekah smiled.  “I
am sure you will feel you’ve made a wise decision in seeing me today Mr. Weissman.”

“I hope so,” he
said as he motioned Rebekah to a chair near the window.  “Please sit down so we
can chat for a minute."

Rebekah sat on one
of the two chairs separated by a little table in front of the window.  Mr. Weissman
walked over to his desk and leaned against the edge.  “I believe I hear a
Russian accent,” he said.  “Where are you from, Rebekah?”

“Yelizavetgrad,”
she told him.  “A little town south of Kiev.”

“My parents came
from St. Petersburg.  I was only ten at the time.  It has been good for us
here.”

Rebekah studied
him as he spoke.  He had curly dark brown hair that just touched his collar in
the back.  The suit he wore was beautifully tailored and the green of his tie
brought out the greenish gold of his eyes.  He was about five-foot-eleven, and
had a well-conditioned medium size frame. Although he was not what Rebekah
would call handsome, when he smiled, his whole face lit up and it made her feel
like she wanted to smile too.  “I have been fortunate to do well, also,” she
told him.

“Tell me about
your company, Rebekah.”

“I have been
sewing dresses for well-to-do clients since I came here.  At first, they would
bring me a picture of something they liked.  Sometimes they would take me to
your store and point out a dress they liked.”  She paused and smiled.  “Usually
I reworked the design into something they liked even better.  Then I started
drawing my own designs and I realized that I could sell these dresses in a
store like Bloomingdales.”

“Well, let’s see what
you have brought me,” Mr. Weissman said.

Rebekah went to
pick up her case, but he reached for it first and brought it over to the
conference table that took up one side of the room.  He placed it at one end.

“Thank you, Mr. Weissman,”
she said as she unzipped the bag. Lifting the first dress out and laying it
across the table, she turned to him.  “Almost all of my fabrics come from
Europe and the far east.  I’ve brought six dresses with me today.”  Then she
proceeded to take them out one by one.  Since there was not enough room on the table,
she would take one away and hang it over one of the chairs that were at the
table.  She made no commentary as she presented the gowns.

Mr. Weissman
watched in silence also.  He didn’t know whether to look at the gowns or
Rebekah.  She was surely one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen—and
so poised and confident.  There was no hint of intimidation at presenting her
work to the head buyer of such a prestigious store.  He walked around the table
looking at the gowns, feeling the fabrics, and checking the workmanship.  They
were truly amazing.

Rebekah waited for
him to speak.  Finally he said, “They are beautiful, Rebekah.  You have a real
talent.  Have you priced your collection yet?”

“Yes,” she replied.
“They run from eighteen to twenty-five dollars each.”

“That’s very
expensive, Rebekah.”

“Yes it is, Mr. Weissman.
 It is more expensive than anything you have in your finest group of gowns, but
you have the clientele who will buy them.  And they want the quality and
exclusivity that I can give them.  If what I hear about mark-up is true, you
can make more money on these gowns than any that you are selling now.”  To
herself she said a silent thank you to Jacob who had helped her gather all this
information.

“She is not only stunning,
but she obviously is smart.  She has really done her homework,” he thought to
himself.

“Let’s sit down
and talk some more,” he suggested, moving toward the chairs in front of the
windows.  This time he sat in the other chair.

 “Your gowns are
wonderful, Rebekah,” he started.  “You have a flare for design and an uncanny
instinct for how to use the fabrics.  You are right. Bloomingdales can sell
your dresses.  And I believe they will sell well.  But how will you keep up
with the demand?”

“I have thought
about that,” she answered.  “I will hire some women to sew for me.  I will do
all the designing, make the patterns, and supervise them.  I’ll be honest, Mr. Weissman.
 I don’t know how all of it works, but I know I can produce collections for you
that will sell.”

“Then hold on to
your hat, Rebekah, because I am about to make you New York’s and maybe
America’s newest, hottest designer.  Let me put together some paperwork and we
can plan to get together next week.  Meanwhile, I would love for you to leave
your samples with me to show the executive staff.”

“I really need to
take them with me, Mr. Weissman, but if you want to set up a time, I would be
glad to present them to your executive staff.”  Jacob had told her not to leave
the gowns there under any circumstances.

Mr. Weissman
smiled. “That will be fine, Rebekah.  I will call you in a few days to set
something up.”  He headed over to the conference table. “Here,” he said. “Let
me help you pack these.   He gave her a big smile. “And the next time you come
in, I will have a rack for you to hang your gowns on.”  Then he had a thought,
“How about just one dress, Rebekah? I’d really like to lay out some advertising.
 I won’t show it to anyone but the girl who does our ads.  I promise.”

Somehow she felt
she could trust this man.  “Okay, Mr. Weissman—one,” she said.  She couldn’t
help the smile that flashed across her face in response to his.

He walked her to
the door.  “Again, Rebekah, I’m glad you came in today.  I believe we will have
a great relationship. And please, call me Martin.”

“I think we will,
Martin,” she responded.

Martin noticed
immediately that although she smiled, the smile didn’t reach her beautiful
turquoise eyes.  “She is sad,” he thought to himself. “I wonder why.”

It was less than a
week when Miranda called Rebekah to set up another meeting for Wednesday at ten
o’clock.

“All of the women’s
wear buyers and executive staff will be there,” she told Rebekah.  “Even Mr. Leyman,
our president, is coming.”

“I’m looking
forward to it,” Rebecca replied.  “I hope it goes as well as the first meeting
with Mr. Weissman.”

“I don’t think you
have much to worry about,” Miranda offered.  “Mr. Weissman hasn’t stopped
talking about you and your gowns.”

When Rebekah
arrived for the meeting Wednesday, she was wearing another dress she had made.  Miranda
greeted her warmly, “You look great.  The meeting is in the big boardroom at the
other end of the hall.  I’ll take you there.”

Rebekah entered
the conference room to find four men and two attractive women seated at a large
conference table.  Mr. Weissman rose immediately and crossed over to the door
to meet her.

“Welcome back,
Rebekah,” he said giving her one of his great smiles.  “Everyone here is most
anxious to meet you.”

“Thank you,
Martin,” she replied. “I appreciate your having me back to show my collection
to everyone.”

Martin guided
Rebekah to the head of the table where he had been sitting.  He then took a
moment to introduce her to the people at the table.  There were three buyers,
two people from advertising, and Mr. Leyman.  Rebekah remained confident, but a
bit awed by the assemblage.

“Here is the rack
I promised you, Rebekah.” He continued. To his right there was a rack with
hangers and a bag that looked like it was covering a garment.

Martin addressed
the group.  “I’d like to introduce Rebekah Brodsky, owner of J. Rachael Rose.  She
has designed all of these exquisite gowns you are about to see, and we at
Bloomingdales are going to hopefully have the privilege of introducing her to
the world of fashion.  Please, Rebekah, won’t you show each of your gowns to us?”

Rebekah unzipped
her case and started removing the gowns. After she showed one, Martin would take
it from her and put it on a hanger on the rack.  When she finished with the
gowns in her bag, he said, “While they are all amazing, this is my favorite.”  Then
he took the covering off the bag that had been hanging there.  Rebekah saw it
was the gown she had left with him.

“I promise no one
has seen it except our advertising people,” he almost whispered to Rebekah.

She smiled.

Everyone got up
and went over to the rack to further examine the gowns.  The comments were all
favorable.

Then one of the
women picked up some large posters that had been facing the wall and put them
on an easel at the foot of the table. “This is how we plan to roll out the
collection,” she started.

The first poster
had a drawing of a woman that looked very much like Rebekah wearing the gown
that she had left with Martin.  The headline read, “Bloomingdales Invites You
To a Private Showing of the Spring J. Rachael Rose Collection.”  Underneath it
had the day and time, and a promise of meeting the designer.  “This will be the
invitation we send to everyone on our exclusive mailing list,” the woman said.  She
removed the poster to show the next one and continued.  “This will be an ad for
Vogue Magazine
introducing J. Rachael Rose, sold exclusively at
Bloomingdales.”  The third poster was an ad that would run in the women’s
section of the
New York Times
.

“Of course,
Rebekah, you and I have to work out the details, but Bloomingdales is committed
to making J. Rachael Rose the most popular designer fashions of the day.”

“I’m overwhelmed,”
Rebekah replied honestly.

“I’m sure you
are,” he answered.  “If you can stay, we will order in some lunch and figure it
all out.”

            “Of course, Martin,”
she replied and she turned to the group.  “And thank you everybody for all your
kind words.  I hope I can live up to everyone’s expectations.”

            Mr. Leyman came over to
her. “Rebekah,” he said, “If this is any indication of what’s in your head, I
have no doubt that you are going to be a big success.”

            “Thank you, Mr. Leyman,”
she answered. “I am counting on it.”

            The meeting with Martin
went well.  Rebekah would do three collections in the first year: spring, fall
and holiday.  Each collection would consist of twelve gowns.  The collection
would be presented and Rebekah would accept orders for the first month after
the collection was shown in the stores.  Bloomingdale's client list would have
the first opportunity to view and order from the collection.  Orders would be
limited initially to no more than three per item.  This was May; the first
collection would be due in August.  If everything sold out, Rebekah would sell 108
gowns.  Bloomingdales would buy the collection itself at the beginning of the
season.  Whatever mark-up they put on the gowns that were ordered was fine with
her.  Rachael agreed to sell only to Bloomingdales for the first year.

            She was not worried
about completing the rest of the first collection.  She had two months which
was ample time for her to design and make them.  But she knew she would need
help if the sales became a reality.  So she started looking for several women
who could sew in their homes.  She would design the gowns and cut them out and
then have the women put them together.  Of course she would have to examine the
quality of their work.  She knew Bloomingdales expected the same quality that
they saw in her samples.