Danielle Steel - The Apartment

“You’ve had three calls from some woman named Prunella,” she told her, and Sasha stared at her in disbelief.

“Is she kidding?”

“She told me I had to get you right away, and I said you were in the middle of a delivery. Was it urgent?”

“No, it wasn’t. She’s my wedding planner. It can wait.”

Sally laughed as Sasha disappeared into the next room, just as the woman having twins at thirty-four weeks was brought in on a gurney by paramedics. They had to bring in one of the attendings for her, Sasha couldn’t be everywhere at once. The paramedics signed her over and wished her luck.

It was one of those insane days when they delivered babies nonstop all day. She was there till midnight, and Alex was at the apartment when she got home at almost one. He was asleep in her bed, and he rolled over groggily and looked at her when he heard her come in.

“Prunella is mad at you. You didn’t call her back,” he said sleepily.

“Really? Tough. I was busy.” The Elvis Chapel was sounding better every day. She pulled off her scrubs, kicked off her clogs, and climbed into bed with him, and five minutes later, they were both asleep. Prunella could wait.

Claire and her mother boarded the plane to Milan at JFK on Valentine’s Day. It seemed appropriate to Claire to spend it with her mother this year, and they were both excited about the trip. They were flying coach for the sake of their budget, but even that couldn’t spoil the fun for them. The plane was full of Italians anxious to get home, and as she listened to the conversations around her, with people next to her, or shouting over them to friends in other rows, Claire couldn’t help but remember the exquisite luxury of George’s plane and the trips they’d taken together, and the wonderful time they’d had. But now look where he was and who he had turned out to be. It was still hard to believe. First his shocking abandonment of her, and then the discovery of the crimes he had committed. He was clearly a man without a heart or a conscience, a perfect sociopath.

She forced him from her mind and concentrated on what they were doing and where they were going. Claire had brought her computer with her, to show her mother her latest designs. There was so much to do to get their fledgling business off the ground, and her roommates had been patient about deliveries of color swatches, leather and fabric samples, and all the tools and materials they would need to show customers eventually. And they found a lawyer who helped them set up the company. The first trade show they were going to would be in Las Vegas, which sounded like fun to both of them. But not nearly as much as a trip to Milan.

Parabiago was in what was known as the shoe district of Italy, where the finest factories were. They were staying in Milan, less than an hour away, and had located a small hotel near the Via Montenapoleone, where the best shopping was, and where they planned to go after they finished their meetings. Milan was mecca to the fashion world, and Sarah had never been there before. The city was known not only for the important brands located there, like Prada and Gucci, but also for fabulous furs. Claire was aching to shop while they were there, but was trying to save her money for their business. Her mother had been generous, but Claire wanted to make a contribution too. They agreed to one day of shopping in the city before they left.

Sarah loved the designs Claire showed her on her computer. They were sophisticated and sleek, in basic neutral colors that would be solid additions to any wardrobe, and then there were half a dozen more whimsical, frivolous shoes that Claire hoped no woman could resist. There were two basic, very elegant evening shoes, and three pairs of pretty flats. And eventually Claire wanted to add boots. If they produced all of the drawings they had brought with them, there would be twenty different styles in their first line. From the orders they got at the trade show, they would get a good sense of what stores wanted from them that would supplement the brands they already carried. And once they were at the factory, they would have to choose quality of leather and the colors of each style. There was a vast range of quality and possible price points, and they would have a lot to decide on their limited budget. But thanks to her mother, they had a fair amount of leeway to work with, far more than Claire had had when she was designing for Walter Adams, and she was finally getting to design shoes she loved. She was infinitely grateful to her mother for the opportunity she was giving her.

They chatted all through lunch on the flight, and Sarah watched a movie, while Claire caught up on back issues of Women’s Wear Daily. She had fallen behind recently, while working on the collection, and she wanted to see the fall runway shows from Fashion Week in New York, to make sure she was going in the right direction with the designs for her shoes. There was a lot to incorporate in their plans. And the inner construction of their shoes, and the materials they used, would be important as well. After reading the papers she’d brought with her, Claire fell asleep, and woke up when they were landing in Milan.

Malpensa, the Milan airport, was notorious for chaos, long delays, and an inordinate amount of theft, and it took them an hour to get their bags, and finally get a cab to their hotel, which was small, spare, and clean. It was all they needed, and they went for a walk to take a look around. It wasn’t a beautiful city, but it was the center of the fashion world.

They had dinner at a small trattoria, and Claire noticed that the local men were admiring both her and her mother, and assumed they were two friends. Age didn’t matter in Italy, her mother was still a beautiful woman, and men looked at her as often as they did at Claire, and Sarah seemed to be enjoying the attention. Even when they didn’t try to pursue it, Italian men made it clear when they thought you were attractive. It did a lot for both their egos, and Claire made more of an effort the next day when they got dressed. It made a difference when you knew that someone noticed, even if it was a stranger, and you got a casual eye and a glimmer of a smile as they walked past.

The next day they took a car and driver to the town of Parabiago. There were three factories that Claire had honed in on as good options for them, and one was the factory that Walter Adams used. They had appointments at all three. And by ten o’clock that morning, they had gotten down to business. The first factory they went to was the one she had been to several times with Walter, and they remembered her. She knew it was one of the most reliable and respected factories in Italy, they did solid work, and they did the manufacturing for several important brands in the States, and all over Europe. Claire thought it was a good possibility that they might use them, but she wanted to see the others too to compare them. This was one of the most important decisions they would make.

By eleven o’clock they were at a smaller and more artisanal factory, and many of their shoes were handmade. They fabricated beautiful shoes, with amazing intricacy and delicate detail, but she thought they were too fussy for her designs, and probably not durable enough for their customer. Their strength was evening shoes, the tour of their workrooms was fascinating, and their prices commensurately higher, due to the many hours of craftsmanship they invested in the work. They made the shoes for two haute couture houses in Paris, and the founder of the company, centuries earlier, had made shoes for Marie Antoinette, and all the queens of Italy, and they were extremely proud of it. Claire loved the tour but didn’t feel like it was a match for them. They needed something younger and more contemporary and more serviceable for the customer she wanted to target.

The third factory was strikingly modern and had impressive showrooms to showcase their current and past work. They produced shoes for almost every popular high-end brand, and several secondary lines at their price point. The factory was owned by Biagio Machiolini and his two sons, and like the others had been a family business for generations, and they were cousins of the owners of the second factory they’d seen. Everything about this one was modern, new, and exciting, and the owner’s second son, Cesare, was enthusiastic about their new brand and Claire’s designs. She showed him everything she’d done, and explained her vision, and the three of them talked for two hours, and then his father and brother, Roberto, joined them and invited Claire and Sarah for lunch and an even more private tour. They left the factory at four o’clock after arriving at noon. They’d been in Parabiago since ten that morning, and the prices they had quoted her, with a reduction for the first year to help them get off the ground, would be very helpful. Claire had a copy of the contract in her briefcase, written in English, so she and her mother could go over the fine print at their hotel, and e-mail it to their lawyer in New York. Claire was familiar with the contracts, as she had handled them for Walter and knew what to expect. And when she read it over carefully in their hotel room, there were no surprises, it was exactly as they had said. All three factories had excellent reputations, and she knew they would be in good hands with any of them. It was a matter of choice and preference, and a certain amount of chemistry, since they would be working together closely, and the factory would have to be responsive to their needs and demands.

“What do you think, Mom?” Claire asked her as she lay on the bed and put the contract down. They had had a great day, and had both learned a lot about the intricacies of the business. It was impossible not to be impressed by the history and skill at each factory they’d seen.