“Diffusion…designer…” The first consultant is scribbling in his little book. “We should speak to Brianna about that. She’ll have the right connections.”
“I believe she’s on holiday at the moment,” says Eric. “With Mr. Laszlo.”
“Well, when she gets back. We’ll progress that idea.” The consultant snaps the book shut. “Let’s move on.”
They all stride off again, and I wait till they’ve rounded the corner before giving a harrumph of frustration.
“What’s up?” says Jasmine, who has slumped back down on the sofa and is texting something on her phone.
“They’ll never get anything off the ground! Brianna won’t be back for weeks, and anyway, she’s hopeless. They’ll just have meetings and talk…and meanwhile the shop will go bust.”
“What do you care?” Jasmine gives an indifferent shrug.
How can she just watch a business collapse and not try to do something?
“I care because…because this is where I work! It could be a success!”
“Get real, Becky. No designer’s ever going to want to do an exclusive range here.”
“Brianna could call in some favors,” I protest. “I mean, she’s modeled for Calvin Klein, Versace…Tom Ford…. She could persuade one of them, surely? God, if I had a famous designer friend—” I stop, midflow.
Hang on. Why didn’t I think of this before?
“What?” Jasmine looks up.
“I do know a designer,” I say. “I know Danny Kovitz! We could get him to do something.”
“You know Danny Kovitz?” Jasmine looks skeptical. “Or, like, you’ve bumped into him once?”
“I really know him! He used to live above me in New York. He designed my wedding dress,” I can’t help adding smugly.
It’s so cool, having a famous friend. I knew Danny when he was a nobody. In fact I helped get him his first break. And now he’s this international fashion darling! He’s been in Vogue and had his dresses worn to the Oscars and everything. He was interviewed in Women’s Wear Daily last month about his last collection, which he said was based on his interpretation of the decay of civilization.
I don’t believe a word of it. It’ll have been something he threw together at the last minute with lots of safety pins and black coffee and someone else sewed up for him.
But still. An exclusive Danny Kovitz line would be fabulous publicity. I should have thought of this before.
“If you really know Danny Kovitz, ring him up,” says Jasmine challengingly. “Right now.”
She doesn’t believe me?
“Fine, I will!” I whip out my phone, find the number for Danny’s mobile, and dial it.
The truth is, I haven’t spoken to Danny for quite a long while. But still, we went through a lot together while I was living in New York, and we’ll always have that bond. I wait for a while, but there’s no reply, just a bleeping sound. He probably lost his phone and canceled it or something.
“Problem?” Jasmine raises one immaculate eyebrow.
“His cell phone isn’t working,” I say coolly. “I’ll call his office.” I dial international directories, get a New York number for Danny Kovitz Enterprises, and dial. It’s nine thirty A.M. in New York, which means there’s not much chance of Danny being up, unless he’s had an all-nighter. But I can leave a message.
A male voice answers. “Danny Kovitz Enterprises. May I help?”
“Oh, hi there!” I say. “It’s Becky Brandon here, nee Bloomwood. I’d like to speak to Danny Kovitz.”
“Please hold the line,” the voice says politely. Some kind of rap blasts my eardrum for a few moments, then a bright female voice comes on the line.
“Welcome to the Danny Kovitz fan club! For full membership information, please press one—”
Oh, for God’s sake. I switch off and dial the main number again, avoiding Jasmine’s gaze.
“Danny Kovitz Enterprises. May I help?”
“Hi, I’m an old, very close friend of Danny’s,” I say briskly. “Please put me through to his personal assistant.”
The rap booms in my ear again, then a woman is saying, “Danny Kovitz’s private office, Carol speaking. How may I help?”
“Hi, Carol!” I say in my most friendly manner. “I’m an old friend of Danny’s and I’ve been trying to contact him through his cell number but it doesn’t work. Could you possibly put me through to him? Or leave a message?”
“Your name?” says Carol, sounding skeptical.
“Becky Brandon. Nee Bloomwood.”
“And will he know what this is in regard to?”
“Yes! We’re friends!”
“Well, I’ll pass your message to Mr. Kovitz….”
Suddenly I hear a familiar voice, faintly in the background, saying, “I need a Diet Coke, OK?”
That’s Danny!
“He’s there, isn’t he?” I exclaim. “I just heard him! Could you quickly put me through? Honestly, I just want a very quick—”
“Mr. Kovitz is…in a meeting,” says Carol. “I’ll be sure to pass your message on, Ms. Broom. Thanks for your call.” The line goes dead.
I switch off the phone, seething. She’s not going to pass anything on, is she? She didn’t even take my number!
“So,” says Jasmine, who’s been watching all along. “Close friends, are you?”
“We are,” I say furiously.
OK. Think. There has to be a way to get through to him. There has to be….
Wait a minute.
I scrabble for the phone again and dial international directories. “Hi,” I say to the operator. “The name is Kovitz, the address is Apple Bay House, on Fairview Road, if you could put me straight through….”
A few moments later a voice answers. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mrs. Kovitz,” I say in my most charming manner, “it’s Becky here. Becky Bloomwood? Do you remember me?”
I always liked Danny’s mum. We have a good old chat, and she asks all about the baby and I ask all about her award-winning gardens in Connecticut, and the conversation ends with her expressing sympathetic indignation at the way I was treated by Danny’s staff, especially after I was the one who first introduced his work to Barneys (I reminded her about that, just casually), and promising to get Danny to call me.
And literally about two minutes after we’ve finished talking, my cell phone rings.
“Hi, Becky! Mom says you called?”
“Danny!” I can’t help shooting a triumphant glance at Jasmine. “Oh my God, it’s been ages. How are you?”
“I’m great! Except my mom just gave me a total rocket. Jesus!” Danny sounds a bit shaken. “She was like, ‘Don’t you stop appreciating your friends, young man.’ And I’m like, ‘What are you talking about? ’And she’s like —”
“Your assistants wouldn’t put me through,” I explain. “They thought I was a fan. Or a stalker or something.”
“I do get stalkers.” Danny sounds quite proud of himself. “I have two at the moment, both named Joshua. Isn’t that wild?”
“Wow!” I can’t help feeling impressed, even though I know I shouldn’t be. “So…what are you up to at the moment?”
“I’m taking some time to work on my new collection,” he says with a practiced smoothness. “I’m reinterpreting the whole Far Eastern vibe. Right now I’m at the concept stage. Gathering influences, that kind of thing.”
He doesn’t fool me. “Gathering influences” means “Going on holiday and getting stoned on the beach.”
“Well, I was just wondering,” I say quickly. “Could you do me a massive favor? Could you do a little diffusion
