that won’t matter.”
“Danny… you can’t do this! You can’t just… put your stuff on the racks!”
“I’m doing it.”
“But—”
“I have no choice, OK?” says Danny, turning his head. “Randall’s on his way here right now, expecting to see a Danny Kovitz line at Barneys.”
I stare at him in horror.
“I thought you said he would never check!”
“He wouldn’t have!” Danny shoves another hanger onto the rack. “But his stupid girlfriend has to poke her nose in. She never showed any interest in me before, but as soon as she hears the word Barneys, it’s like Oh, Randall, you should support your brother! Go to Barneys tomorrow and buy one of his pieces! So I’m saying, you really don’t have to do that — but now Randall’s got the idea in his head, he’s like, well, maybe I will pop in and take a look! So I’m up sewing all fucking night…”
“You made all of these last night?” I say incredulously, and reach for one of the Tshirts. A piece of leather braid falls off, onto the floor.
“So maybe the finish isn’t quite up to my usual standards,” says Danny defensively. “Just don’t manhandle them, OK?” He starts to count the hangers. “Two… four… six… eight… ten. That should be enough.”
“Danny…” I glance around the sales floor to see Carla, one of the assistants, giving us an odd look. “Hi!” I call brightly. “Just… helping one of my clients… for his girlfriend…” Carla gives us another suspicious look, then moves away. “This isn’t going to work!” I mutter as soon as she’s out of earshot. “You’re going to have to take these down. You wouldn’t even be stocked on this floor!”
“I need two minutes,” he says. “That’s all. Two minutes for him to come in, see the sign, then go. Come on, Becky. No one’s even going to…” He freezes. “Here he is.”
I follow his gaze and see Danny’s brother Randall walking across the floor toward us.
For the millionth time I wonder how on earth Randall and Danny can have come from the same parents. While Danny is wiry and constantly on the move, Randall fills his double-breasted suit comfortably, and always wears the same disapproving frown.
“Hello, Daniel,” he says, and nods to me. “Becky.”
“Hi, Randall,” I say, and give what I hope is a natural smile. “How are you?”
“So here they are!” says Danny triumphantly, moving away from the rack and gesturing to the Tshirts. “My collection. In Barneys. Just like I said.”
“So I see,” says Randall, and carefully scrutinizes the rack of clothes. I feel sure he’s about to look up and say, “What on earth are you playing at?” But he says nothing — and with a slight dart of shock I realize that he’s been completely taken in.
There again, why is that such a surprise? Danny’s clothes don’t look so out of place, up there on the rack.
“Well, congratulations,” says Randall at last. “This is quite an achievement.” He pats Danny awkwardly on the shoulder, then turns to me. “Are they selling well?”
“Er… yes!” I say. “Very popular, I believe.”
“So, for how much do they retail?” He reaches for a T-shirt, and both Danny and I involuntarily draw breath. We watch, frozen, while he searches for the label, then looks up with a deep frown. “These have no price tags.”
“That’s because… they’re only just out,” I hear myself saying hurriedly. “But I think they’re priced at… erm… eighty-nine dollars.”
“I see.” Randall shakes his head. “Well, I never was one for high fashion—”
“Telling me,” Danny whispers in my ear.
“But if they’re selling, they must have something. Daniel, I take my hat off to you.” He reaches for another one, with rivets round the neck, and looks at it with a fastidious dismay. “Now, which one shall I buy?”
“Don’t buy one!” says Danny at once. “I’ll… make you one. As a gift.”
“I insist,” says Randall. “If I can’t support my own brother—”
“Randall, please.” Danny’s voice crackles with sincerity. “Allow me to make a gift to you. It’s the least I can do after all your kindness to me over the years. Really.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” says Randall at last, with a shrug. He looks at his watch. “I must go. Good to see you, Becky.”
“I’ll walk to the elevator with you,” says Danny, and darts me a jubilant look.
As they walk away, I feel a giggle of relief rising in me. I can’t quite believe we got away with it so easily.
“Hey!” comes a voice behind me suddenly. “Look at these! They’re new, aren’t they?” A manicured hand appears over my shoulder and plucks one of Danny’s Tshirts off the rail before I can stop it. My head whips round and I feel a plunge of dismay. It’s Lisa Farley, a sweet but completely dippy client of Erin’s. She’s about twenty- two, doesn’t seem to have a job, and always says whatever pops into her head, never mind whether someone might be offended. (She once asked Erin in all innocence, “Doesn’t it bother you, having such a weird-shaped mouth?”)
Now she’s holding the T-shirt up against her, looking down at it appraisingly.
Damn it. I should have whipped them down off the rack straight away.
“Hi, Becky!” she says cheerily. “Hey, this is cute! I haven’t seen these before.”
“Actually,” I say quickly, “these aren’t for sale yet. In fact, I need to… um… take them back to the stock room.” I try to grab for the T-shirt, but she moves away.
“I’ll just take a look in the mirror. Hey, Tracy! What do you think?”
Another girl, wearing the new Dior print jacket, is coming toward us.
“Of what?”
“These new Tshirts. They’re cool, aren’t they?” She reaches for another one and hands it to Tracy.
“If you could just give them back to me—” I say helplessly.
“This one’s nice!”
Now they’re both searching through the hangers with brisk fingers, and the poor Tshirts just can’t take the strain. Hems are unraveling, bits of glitter and strings of diamante are coming loose, and sequins are shedding all over the floor.
“Oops, this seam just came apart.” Lisa looks up in dismay. “Becky, it just fell apart. I didn’t pull it.”
“That’s OK,” I say weakly.
“Is everything supposed to fall off like this? Hey, Christina!” Lisa suddenly calls out. “This new line is so fun!”
Christina?
I wheel round and feel a lurch of horror. Christina is standing at the entrance to the personal shopping department, in conversation with the head of personnel.
“What new line?” she says, looking up. “Oh, hi, Becky.”
Shit. I have to stop this right now.
“Lisa—” I say desperately. “Come and see the new Marc Jacobs coats we’ve got in!”
Lisa ignores me.
“This new… what’s it called…” She squints at the label. “Danny Kovitz! I can’t believe Erin didn’t tell me these were coming in! Naughty naughty!” She wags a finger in mock reproach.
I watch in dismay as Christina looks up, alert. There’s nothing to galvanize her like someone suggesting her department is less than perfect.
“Excuse me a minute,” she says to the head of personnel, and comes across the floor toward us, her dark hair gleaming under the lights.
“What didn’t Erin tell you about?” she says pleasantly.
“This new designer!” says Lisa. “I never even heard of him before.”
“Ow!” says Tracy suddenly, and draws her hand away from the T-shirt. “That was a pin!”
“A pin?” echoes Christina. “Give me that!”
She takes the ragged T-shirt and stares at it bewilderedly. Then she catches sight of Danny’s laminated
