Danielle Steel - Remembrance

“Is something wrong?”

“You tell me. That cosmetics ad you did that ran in The New York Times … the ad agency received a call from the parent company, telling them that if they ever used you again they'd lose the account. Now how would you explain that? You seem to have come to New York not with a clean slate but with some old scores to be settled. And frankly I don't want your goddamn wars interfering with my business. Now what the hell is going on?”

Serena looked totally amazed as she sat and stared, and then suddenly the light dawned. “Oh, my God … no …” Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes filled with tears. “I'm so sorry. I'll resign from the agency at once.”

“The hell you will.” Dorothea looked even angrier. “I have eighteen bookings for you in the next two weeks. Don't play virgin in flight, just tell me what I'm dealing with. Then let me decide whether or not to kick you out. I make the decisions around here, and don't you forget it.” Serena looked awed by the woman's harsh words, but had she looked closer, she would have seen that there was concern in Dorothea's eyes. She was well aware that Serena was more than a little naive, and she had an overwhelming urge to protect her. Despite her brutal ways she had felt that from the first, although she hadn't confided her feelings to Serena. “Okay, start talking, Serena. I want to hear what this is about.”

“I'm not sure I can discuss it.” The tears were pouring slowly down her cheeks in little black mascara-filled rivers.

“You look like hell. Here, use this.” She handed her a box of tissues and Serena blew her nose and took a deep breath as Dorothea poured her a glass of water, and then the tale came out, all of it, from the beginning. Of losing her family in the war, of how she had met Brad and how much she had loved him, the broken engagement to the debutante from New York, and the rage of Brad's mother. She even told her about the contract Margaret had made her sign, and then she told her of Brad's death, and the baby she had lost, and the last three years of working to support Vanessa.

“That's all of it.” She sighed deeply and blew her nose again.

“That's enough.” Dorothea was more than touched by the story —she felt a fury, a call to arms. “She must be an incredibly evil woman.”

“Do you know of her?” Serena looked bleak, there was no way she could defeat Margaret Fullerton. And after five weeks in New York, Serena knew her mother-in-law was already out to get to her. She had been afraid of her when she had decided to come to New York, but she had lulled herself into the false hope that her fears were unfounded.

“I only know her by name. But by God, now I'd like to meet her.”

Serena smiled a small wintry smile. “You'd regret it. She makes Attila the Hun look like a sissy.”

Dorothea looked her new model straight in the eye. “Don't kid yourself, sister, she's just met her match.”

“There's a difference. You're not rotten.” She sat back in her chair, looking exhausted. “The only thing for me to do is quit and go back to San Francisco.”

“If you do”—Dorothea's eyes didn't waver from her face—”I'll sue you. You signed a contract with this agency, and like it or not, I'm going to hold you to it.”

Serena smiled at the older woman's way of protecting her. “You'll lose all your clients if I stay.”

“She doesn't own every major corporation in New York. And as a matter of fact, I want to check out her tie-in with that line of cosmetics.”

“I just don't think—”

“Good. Don't think. You don't need to. Go put on a fresh face, you have a go-see in twenty minutes.”

“Mrs. Kerr, please …”

“Serena.” The head of the agency came around her desk and, without saying another word, put her arms around Serena. “You have had more rough breaks than anyone I've ever heard of. I'm not going to let you down. You need someone to protect you.” Her voice gentled almost to a whisper. “You need a friend, little one, let me at least do that for you.”

“But won't it do your agency harm?” Serena was once again seized with terror.

“It'll do us more harm if you leave, but that's not why I want you to stay. I want you to stick it out, because I want you to beat those bastards. Serena, the only way you'll do that is if you stand your ground. Do it for me … for yourself”—and then she played her trump card—”do it for your husband. Do you really think he'd want you to run away from his mother?”

Serena thought it over before she spoke. “No, he wouldn't.”

“Good. Then let's fight this one out side by side. I'll put the old bitch back in her place, if I have to go and see her myself.” And Serena knew she would.

“Don't do that.”

“Any good reason why not?”

“It'll create an open war.”

“What do you think you've already got? She called a cosmetics company and an ad agency and had you canned. I'd say that's pretty open.” Serena smiled in dismay. “Just leave all that to me. You do your job. I'll do mine. It isn't often I get to fight for someone I like, and I like you.” The two women exchanged a smile.

“I like you too. And I don't know how to thank you.”

“Don't. Just get your ass to that go-see. I'll call and tell them you'll be late.” She shooed Serena out of her office, but just before she reached the door, she turned again with a smile and whispered, “Thank you.”

Dorothea's eyes were damp when the door closed, and ten minutes later she was on the phone, arranging a meeting with Margaret Fullerton.

The meeting between Dorothea Kerr and Margaret Fullerton was short but not very sweet. When Margaret discovered what the meeting was about, her eyes went icy. But Dorothea didn't give a damn. She told her to stay out of Serena's career, or without a moment's hesitation Dorothea would sue her.

“Am I to understand that you are her representative?”

“No, I am the president of her modeling agency. And I mean what I say.”

“So do I, Mrs. Kerr.”

“Then we understand each other.”

“May I suggest that your client change her name. She no longer has any right to it.”

“Legally, I believe she does. But that's of no importance. She's not using your name, she is using her own title.”

“Characteristically vulgar.” Margaret Fullerton stood up. “I believe you've said everything you came here to say.”

“Not quite, Mrs. Fullerton.” Dorothea stood to her full height. She had once been a very tall and very beautiful model. “I want you to know that I have hired an attorney for Serena, as of this morning. He will be made fully aware of your harassment, of your already costing Serena one job, and if there is any further problem, the press will have a field day. Won't your fancy friends just love reading about you in the Daily News.”

“I believe that is an empty threat.” But it was obvious that Margaret Fullerton was livid. She had never been threatened before, and she had seldom met her match, certainly not in another woman.

“I wouldn't try my luck if I were you. I mean every word I say. Serena is going to be the most successful model in this town, with or without your interference, so you'd better adjust yourself to it.” And then as she turned in the doorway before she left, she looked scornfully over her shoulder.

“I would think you'd be embarrassed after all you've done. You know, sooner or later those things get out. And I suspect you won't like it.”

“Is that a threat?” Her hands were trembling as she stood and glared at her opponent.

“As a matter of fact,” Dorothea said, smiling sweetly, “yes.” And then she was gone, leaving Margaret Fullerton wanting to kill her.