‘Of course. Listen, we have a problem,’ he said down the phone.
‘More than we already have?’ mocked Carlotta.
‘I’m afraid the board at Pajaro have called an emergency meeting. They want to meet you girls today.’
‘Today, why?’ asked Carlotta as she walked briskly towards the nearest Pajaro store.
‘They wouldn’t say anything. You need to round the girls up for a 10 o’clock meeting at Fifth Avenue. I’ll meet you there.’
Carlotta hung up and rang her sisters. Violetta didn’t answer, and nor did Grace, so Carlotta left messages.
As she walked into the Pajaro store, she was unimpressed with what she saw. The music was blaring with some tune she didn’t recognise, with a continual beat that felt like someone was operating heavy machinery. The racks were overfilled, making it hard to browse. One of the mannequins was half dressed and the staff were talking at the register, ignoring her presence.
Carlotta pulled a few items and went to try them on in the changing room. The mirror was dirty, the lock on the door broken and a hand written sign warned her not to steal anything. As she pulled on the jeans and long sleeved T-shirt she was shocked at the state of the store. Leon would flip if he saw this, she thought, then remembered he had fled to South America with Melanie.
Carlotta looked in the mirror. She looked fine, she thought. Trying on a few other pieces, she then left the changing room and tried on some flat shoes in black and brown and took a navy pea coat in her size. Standing at the register, she cleared her throat.
One of the young sales girls looked up. ‘Oh, hi.’ She took the clothes from Carlotta, not recognising her as Leon's daughter. ‘Cash or charge,’ she asked as she started to ring up the items and take off the security tags.
‘Neither,’ said Carlotta.’ I have a store account here.’
‘Really? OK, let me check,’ said the bored girl. ‘Name?’
‘Carlotta de Santoval.’
The girl looked up quickly and another salesgirl jumped in and started to fold the clothes carefully.
‘Of course,’ she said, suddenly alert.
Carlotta watched them work. It was only her name that gave her such treatment. When they thought she was a nobody they treated her as such. What the hell was happening, she wondered. If this were the state of the flagship store, what would the other shops be like?
The salesgirls packed her items into the purple and red Pajaro bags and handed them over the counter. ‘Thank you, Miss de Santoval. Please come back soon.’
Carlotta frowned at them, turned on her heel and left.
‘What a bitch,’ said the younger salesgirl as she turned back to gossip with her fellow staff member.
Carlotta walked the short distance back to the apartment. The store worried her, it looked unloved, ignored, fragile. Like Birdie, she realised, and wondered how long Leon had been neglecting Pajaro.
*
Grace had woken with her hair filled with vomit. Her mobile phone was filled with messages from Carlotta and Violetta and Spencer. She moaned and stumbled to the shower. Undressing, she washed herself and her hair until she felt clean and then sat on the floor of the shower. The crying started slowly until she was wracked with sobs and cried until her eyes hurt. It was months since she had drunk like that, not since she had seen Matthew at an auction, leering at her from the front row as she held a Tiffany lamp. She’d nearly dropped it but managed to hold it together until she rushed from the stage and went home, citing a migraine. She had stopped at the liquor store on the way and had been drunk for two days. Then she rallied, visited her therapist and that was the end of it, she thought, until now.
Hearing his name again last night and knowing her father had hurt the one person she loved more than anyone else in world was too much.
Listening to the messages, she realised she would have to be at Pajaro in an hour.
‘Mother fucker,’ she said under her breath. What had her father done now?
*
Violetta listened to her messages, one from Carlotta and one from Adam. She sat in front of her computer in her fabulous but messy apartment. Clothes were everywhere, unopened luxury shopping bags sat around her. She lit her first cigarette of the day. Drawing back the nicotine slowly, she relished the first cigarette after a big night and felt the rush of whatever substances were inside her as they moved through her system again for a small but satisfying high.
Adam had left a message asking her to check out a website and as she clicked on the page she saw her face come up. She was standing outside Le Bernadin, smoking a cigarette, leaning on Adam. Her makeup was halfway down her face and her hair dirty. She looked sexy, Violetta decided. Carine Rotfield with a dash of Kate Moss. She typed an email to Adam.
Thanks for the party. God, those girls know how to party, huh? I still have your stash in my bag if you want otherwise it’s mine. I have to go and do some stuff at my Dad’s work but I will be in later. Call me.
Vx
