Danielle Steel - Fine things

But more important than that, even in its unfinished state, the store was fabulous. And when he called Paul the next day, Paul sounded relieved just knowing he was there. And everything was moving on schedule. The construction was going well, the decoration was all lined up and ready to be installed as soon as construction would allow. He met with the ad agency, talked to the public relations people about how they were starting to warm up, and had an interview with the Chronicle. Everything was exactly the way they had hoped it would be. And Bernie was in charge.

All that remained to do was to open the store, and find an apartment for himself, hardly two minor tasks, and he was far more concerned about the store. He rapidly rented a furnished apartment in a modern high-rise on Nob Hill; it had none of the charm of the houses he saw everywhere, but it was convenient for him, and it was close to the store.

The opening was fabulous. It was everything they had all wanted it to be. The press had been favorable beforehand. There had been a beautiful party at the store, with models wearing spectacular clothes, while impeccably dressed waiters served caviar, hors d'oeuvres, and champagne. There was dancing, entertainment, and the freedom to roam around the store with no one else there. And Bernie was proud of it. It was really beautiful, with a light airy feeling combined with enormous style. It had all the chic of New York, with the ease of the West Coast. And Paul Berman was thrilled, too, when he flew out.

The crowds that came the day of the opening required police cordons and hordes of smiling PR people just to hold them back. But it was all worth it when they saw the record sales for the first week, and even his mother had been proud of him. She had said it was the most beautiful store she'd ever seen, and she had told every salesgirl who helped her for the next five days of shopping there that the manager was her son, and one day, when he went back to New York, he would run the entire chain. She was sure of it.

When they finally left San Francisco, they went to Los Angeles, and Bernie was surprised to realize how lonely he felt once they were gone, as well as the rest of the contingent from New York. All the board members went back the day after the opening, and Paul had flown on to Detroit that night. And suddenly he was all alone, in the town he had been transplanted in, without a single friend, and an apartment that looked sterile and ugly to him. It was all done in brown and beige, and seemed much too dreary for the gentle northern California sun. He was sorry he hadn't rented a pretty little Victorian flat. But it didn't matter too much anyway. He was always at the store, seven days a week now, since in California they were open every day. He didn't have to come in on weekends at all, but he had nothing else to do anyway, so he did, and everyone noticed it. Bernie Fine worked like a dog, they said, and they all agreed that he was a nice man. He expected a lot of them, but he expected more of himself, and it was difficult to argue with someone like that. He also seemed to have an infallible sense of what was right for the store, and what merchandise they should have, and no one dared quibble with him about that. He was definite, and from what they could see, most of the time, he was right. He had an innate sense of what worked and what didn't, even in this town he barely knew, and he was constantly shifting things, and adjusting to the new information he found out. He kept things moving constantly, shipping things to other branches when they were wrong for San Francisco after all, moving things in, having buyers reorder constantly. But it worked. It was extraordinary, and they all liked him in the store. They didn't even mind the habit he had of roaming the store every day for several hours. He wanted to see what people wore, what they did, how they shopped, what they liked. He would talk to housewives and young girls and single men, he even took a personal interest in their children's wear. He wanted to know everything, and the only way to do that, he said, was to be in the front lines.

He was frequently being handed things to ring up and items to return, and he did what he could, and found a salesperson as quickly as possible, but he was happy to meet the customer every time, and the store personnel were getting used to him. They were used to seeing him everywhere, with his auburn hair, the well-trimmed beard, warm green eyes, and well-tailored English suits. He never said an unkind word, and when he wanted things done differently, he spoke calmly and quietly, explaining what he wanted done so that the employee understood. And as a result, they all had enormous respect for him. In New York, just looking at the sales figures, Paul Berman knew they had done the right thing, and he wasn't surprised at all. Bernie was going to turn Wolffs San Francisco into the finest store in the chain. He was their man all right, and one day he would step into Berman's shoes very successfully. Paul was sure of it.

Chapter 4

The first month was hectic for all of them, but by July they had things fairly well in control, and the autumn merchandise coming in. Bernie had several fashion shows scheduled the following month, and the big event in July was the opera show, which meant a great deal. The opening of the opera was the hottest event of the San Francisco social season, and women were going to be spending five and seven and ten thousand dollars on a single dress.

The racks of exquisite opera gowns were already hanging in a locked room downstairs with a security guard outside at all times, to be sure that no one pirated what they had, took unauthorized photographs, or worse yet, stole the merchandise, which was worth a small fortune. And it was the opera collection he was thinking about in mid-July as he made his way upstairs. He got off the escalator at the children's floor, just to make sure that all was well there. He knew they had had a problem getting some of their back-to-school merchandise the week before and he wanted to be sure that everything was in order again. He met the buyer behind the cash register, instructing some of the saleswomen, who all smiled at him, and he glanced around casually at the racks, and then ventured further into the department on his own, until he found himself facing a rack of bright-colored bathing suits that would be going on sale the following week, and looking into the big blue eyes of a very little girl. She seemed to look at him for a long time, neither smiling nor afraid of him, just watching, as though to see what he would do next, and he smiled down at her.

“Hi. How are you?” It seemed an odd line for a child who couldn't have been more than five years old, but he never had any idea what to say to children like that. And his best line—”How do you like school?”—seemed hopelessly out of date, particularly at this time of year. “Do you like the store?”

“It's okay.” She shrugged. She was clearly more interested in him. “I hate beards.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” She was the cutest thing he had ever seen, and someone had braided her hair into two long blond braids, and she had pink hair ribbons on, and a little pink dress, with a doll she dragged along in one hand. The doll looked well loved and was obviously a serious favorite of hers.

“Beards scratch.” She said it matter-of-factly as though it were something he should know, and he nodded seriously, stroking it. It seemed reasonably soft to him, but he was used to it, and he hadn't been testing it on five-year-olds. In fact, since coming to San Francisco, he hadn't tested it on anyone at all. And she was the best-looking girl he had seen since he'd arrived. So far the women of San Francisco weren't his type. They wore their hair long and loose, their feet bare in ugly sandals which were obviously comfortable, and they all seemed to favor T-shirts and jeans. He missed the pulled-together look of New York …the high heels …the hats …the accessories, the perfectly groomed hair, the earrings that seemed to frame a face …the furs …They were frivolous details but they made a difference to him and one saw none of it here.