Neither Yolanda or Tim had bothered to ask if I wanted them to get involved in my new endeavor. They just assumed they’d be included. I suppose most people would have been put off, but I didn’t mind. Yolanda and I still had our morning ritual of drinking coffee and doing chores together, but this time she grabbed her purse as soon as she saw me slip into my heels, and she followed me like a shadow. I spotted Tim’s huge Mercedes SUV as soon as we reached the street.
I feigned surprise the first day.
The second day, I scolded them.
By the third day, I didn’t bat an eye.
That was the day I had scheduled to propose contracts to the most chic fashion boutiques and designers on Michigan Avenue. I was looking forward to an epic day. And yet I had not reckoned with the initiative of one Tim Mac Cornick.
As I came out of the first boutique on my list, Hugo Boss, looking crestfallen, Tim shook his head and marched in, signaling me to follow. He demanded to speak to the manager. The manager took his time coming out, but when he did, he saw Tim and rushed to shake his hand. We were in business—the boutique was mine.
“Shirley! Close the door. The boutique is closed. Let the young lady do her job.”
A glass of champagne in my right hand and two advisers at my left elbow, I tried out outfits on one of them while the other took photos.
Every fashion boutique up and down the avenue gave me the same treatment. Even Cartier agreed to work with me, to my amazement. Even though I almost walked out wearing an ensemble worth seven figures.
I had an excuse. I was tipsy. It wasn’t my fault that every boutique had poured me a glass of champagne. And the feeling of power and influence gave me wings, or at least loosened up my elbow to the point where I was taking sips faster than I was shooting photos.
To be continued…
Translated from french by Kenneth Barger 🙂