It was a good day for one of their talks, and Bernie smiled at him. They chatted informally like this from time to time, and their impromptu talks never failed to give birth to some marvelous ideas for Wolffs. The decision to hire a new fashion director for the store had come from their last session like this, and she was doing a fabulous job for them. They had stolen her from Saks. “I think everything is pretty much in control. Don't you, Paul?”

The older man nodded his head, not quite sure how to begin, but he had to start somewhere, he told himself. “I do. Which is why the board and I feel we can afford a somewhat unusual move.”

“Oh?” Had someone taken Bernie's pulse just then, they would have felt it escalate. Paul Berman never mentioned the board unless something pretty serious was going on.

“You know we'll be opening the San Francisco store in June.” It was still five months away and construction was in full swing. Paul and Bernie had already gone out several times and everything seemed to be moving on schedule, for the moment at least. “And we just haven't been able to come up with anyone to head the store.”

Bernie heaved a silent sigh of relief. For a moment he had thought something was going to happen to him. But he knew how important Paul felt the San Francisco market was. There was a lot of money there, and women bought high fashion as though it were pretzels being sold on the street. It was definitely time for Wolffs to get a share of that. They were well entrenched in Los Angeles, and they all agreed it was time to move north. “I keep thinking that Jane Wilson would be fabulous, but I don't think she'd leave New York.”

Paul Berman frowned. This was going to be even harder than he thought. “I don't think she'd be right. She's not strong enough. And a new store needs someone powerful, someone in control, someone who thinks on their feet and has innovative ideas. She's better suited to what's happening here.”

“Which leaves us back where we started again. What about hiring someone from outside the store? Maybe even someone from another store?”

It was time to move in for the kill. There was no avoiding it. Paul looked him squarely in the eye. “We want you, Bernard.” Their eyes met and Bernie blanched. He couldn't be serious. But the look on his face …my God … he was. But he had done his time. Three years in Chicago was enough. Wasn't it?

“Paul, I can't… I couldn't…San Francisco?” He looked genuinely shocked. “Why me?”

“Because you have all of the qualities I just described, and we need you out there. No matter how hard we look, we'll never find anyone as good as you are, and that store is important to us. You know it yourself. There's a tremendous market out there, but a touchy one, high class, high fashion, high style, and if we open our doors wrong, we'll never recover from it. Bernie”—Paul looked at him pleadingly— “you've got to help us out.” He looked at him piercingly and Bernie sank back in his chair.

“But, Paul …San Francisco? …What about my job here?” He hated to leave New York again, he was so happy where he was, doing what he did. It was really a hardship leaving now, although he didn't want to let Paul down.

“You can fly back and forth. And I can pitch in for you here. Where we need you is there.”

“For how long?”

“A year. Maybe two.” Maybe more.

Bernie was afraid of that. “That's what you said when I went to Chicago, Paul. Only I was younger then …I've earned my stripes now. I don't want to live in the boondocks again. I've been out there. I know what it's like. It's a pretty town, but it's provincial as hell.”

“So go to Los Angeles to play. Do whatever you have to do to survive out there. But please … I wouldn't ask you to do it if we had any other choice, but we just don't have anyone else. And I've got to get someone out there fast, before things start going wrong for us. Someone has got to supervise the last of the construction, make sure everything is running smoothly for the opening, set the tone of the advertising, check the promotion …” He waved an impatient hand. “I don't need to tell you what needs to be done. It's an enormous responsibility, Bernard. It's a brand-new store, and the finest one we have, aside from New York.” In a way, it was a feather in his cap, but it was one he didn't want. Not at all.

He stood up with a quiet sigh. It hadn't been such a great morning after all, and he was almost sorry he had come in now, even though it would have been handed to him eventually anyway. There was no avoiding it once Paul made up his mind, and it wouldn't be easy talking him out of it now. “I'll have to give it some thought.”

“Do that.” Their eyes met and held again. And Paul was afraid of what he saw this time.

“Maybe if I had a firm commitment that it wouldn't be for more than a year, I could live with it.” He smiled ruefully, but Paul couldn't promise him that. If the store wasn't ready to be handed over yet, then Bernard couldn't leave that soon, and it was unlikely he could, they both knew. It would take two to three years of tender loving care to get a new store settled anywhere, and Bernie just wasn't willing to commit to that long. And San Francisco didn't look all that great to him.

Paul Berman stood up and looked at him. “You give it some thought. But I want you to know my bottom line.” He wasn't going to jeopardize losing Bernie, no matter what the board said. “I don't want to lose you, Bernard.” And it was obvious that he meant every word as Bernie smiled fondly at him.

“And my bottom line is that I don't want to let you down.”

“Then we'll both make the right decision, whatever it is.” Paul Berman stretched a hand out to Bernard and they shook hands. “Give it some very serious thought.”

“You know I will.” And he sat alone in his office after that, with the door closed, staring out at the snow, feeling as though he had been hit by a truck. He couldn't even imagine living in San Francisco now. He loved his life in New York. It would be like starting all over again, and he didn't look forward to the prospect of opening a new branch store, no matter how elite and elaborate it was. It still wasn't New York. Even with the blizzards and the filth and the intolerable heat of July, he loved it here, and the pretty little postcard town by the bay had no lure for him. It never had. He thought of Sheila with a grim smile. It was more her style than his, and he wondered if he would have to buy his own combat boots to move out there. The whole thought of it depressed him horribly, and he sounded it when his mother called.

“What's wrong, Bernard?”

“Nothing, Mom. It's just been a long day.”

“Are you sick?”

He closed his eyes, trying to sound cheerful for her. “No. I'm fine. How are you and Dad?”

“Depressed. Mrs. Goodman died. Remember her? She used to bake cookies for you when you were a little boy.” She had already been ancient then, and that was thirty years ago. It was hardly surprising that she had finally died, but his mother loved reporting things like that. And now she moved back onto him. “So what's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong, Mom. I told you. I'm fine.”

“You don't sound fine. You sound tired and depressed.”

“I had a long day.” He said it through clenched teeth …and they're moving me to Siberia again…. “Never mind. Are we still on for dinner for your anniversary next week? Where do you want to go?”

“I don't know. Your father thought you should come here.” He knew that was a lie. His father loved to go out. He found it refreshing after the intensity of the work he did. It was his mother who always thought he should come home, as though to prove something to him.

“How about '21'? Would you like that? Or something French? Cote Basque …Grenouille? …”

“All right.” She sounded resigned. “‘21.’”

“Great. Why don't you come to my place first for a drink, at seven o'clock? And then we'll have dinner at eight.”

“Are you bringing a girl?” She sounded pained, as though it were something he did all the time, although the truth was they had met none of his lady friends since Isabelle. None of them had lasted long enough to bother with.

“Why should I bring a girl?”

“Why wouldn't you? You never introduce us to your friends. Are you ashamed of us?”

He almost groaned into the phone. “Of course not, Mom. Look, I've got to go. I'll see you next week. Seven o'clock, my place.” But he knew that repeating it wouldn't keep her from calling four more times just to make sure they were still on, that he hadn't changed the plans, that the reservation had been made, that he didn't want to bring a girl. “Give Dad my love.”

“Call him sometime …You never call anymore …” She sounded like one of those jokes, and he smiled to himself as he hung up, wondering if he would be like her one day if he ever had kids, not that there seemed to be a danger of that anyway. There had been a girl the year before who had thought she was pregnant for several days, and for a moment he had considered letting her have the child, just so that he'd have a baby after all. But it turned out she'd been wrong anyway, and they were both relieved. But it had been an interesting thought for a day or two. He didn't want children desperately anyway. He was too involved in his career, and it always seemed a shame to him not to have a baby born of love. He was still idealistic about that, and there was certainly no likely candidate at the moment to fill that bill. He sat staring at the snow, thinking of what it would be like to give up his entire social life, to stop seeing all his favorite girls. It almost made him want to cry as he left the office that night, on a night that was as cold and clear as an icy crystal bell. He didn't try to catch a bus this time, and the wind had finally died down. He walked straight to Madison Avenue, and then walked uptown, glancing at the shops as he strode past rapidly. It wasn't snowing anymore, and it looked like a fairyland, as a few people skied past, and children threw snowballs. There hadn't even been any rush hour traffic to mess it all up, and he felt better as he walked into his house and rode the elevator upstairs. It was a hideous thought leaving New York now. He couldn't even imagine it. But he couldn't think of a way out. Unless he quit, and he didn't want to do that. There was no way out for him, he realized, as his heart seemed to fall against his ribs. No way out at all for him.