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Fashionably Late
Olivia Goldsmith
Classic Olivia Goldsmith – a vibrant and witty novel about fashion, family and what happens when having it all isn’t as easy as you thought.She’s got the designer label, but she hasn’t got the designer genes…Wherever she goes, Karen Khan is fashionably late. She can afford to be: the star of the New York fashion scene, with her own company, a handsome husband and a deal that could make her millions, she is the apple – and the envy – of everyone’s eye.But, at forty, is she too late for the ultimation in creation? Motherhood is proving to be elusive – as elusive as her own parentage – and as difficult as the cut-throat business of couture. Yet Karen is not one to take no for an answer, and late is better than never…
OLIVIA GOLDSMITH
FASHIONABLY LATE
Copyright (#ulink_e1f24666-55ed-58a3-aa9f-1462671e6bf6)
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 1994
Copyright © Olivia Goldsmith 1994
Olivia Goldsmith asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
Source ISBN: 9780006479727
Ebook Edition © MAY 2015 ISBN: 9780008154073
Version: 2015-06-16
Contents
Cover (#u7a1a2af1-dd5c-552b-8da4-9f52c2463cd9)
Title Page (#u0680de58-6a65-5d04-a2e8-95128fd612d4)
Copyright (#ulink_59579f37-85a8-504b-9e51-5c59b53d17cb)
Part One: Designer Genes (#ulink_acc34e40-fc3e-5643-ad10-8c3905b83eb1)
Chapter One: Reaping What You Sew (#ulink_6d13fbc8-ef13-530a-88c9-ac601541c05a)
Chapter Two: Barren Karen (#ulink_79637bdf-8d0d-5e29-aebd-8c531dff5a8a)
Chapter Three: Cut from a Different Cloth (#ulink_f5d14aef-d69c-5741-b7de-6320b6afd8e5)
Chapter Four: The Cutting Edge (#ulink_6d14403b-6dab-53fa-b42f-204d4adab990)
Chapter Five: Hard Labor (#ulink_4c4d7af1-79c9-5958-9d42-b711bd7bfe3a)
Chapter Six: Fashion Cents (#ulink_e3a128c4-8d0d-540a-b025-e60756c716c2)
Chapter Seven: Cut and Dried (#ulink_d5c6a17f-4ec2-5d03-94a8-6442a05ba4bd)
Chapter Eight: Everyone Has One (#ulink_5e51398b-10d4-5cf4-91e6-718dbeecbd22)
Chapter Nine: Dressed for Success (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten: Out of the Closet (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven: Marriage à la Mode (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Two: Hemming and Whoring (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve: Fashionable Collection (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen: Hemming It Up (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen: Dressing Her Wounds (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen: A Friend in Tweed (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen: What’s My Line? (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen: Dollars and Scents (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen: Dialing for Daughters (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen: The Waist Land (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty: Whirling Dervitz (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One: Tongue in Chic (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Three: Slaves to Fashion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two: An Affair to Remember (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three: By a Thread (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four: Rags to Bitches (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five: Paris When It Sizzles (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six: Womb for Rent (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Fashion Plays (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Pulling the Wool (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Slaves to Fashion (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Four: A Real Mother (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty: Thread Bare (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One: Cut on the Bias (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two: In Stitches (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Three: Case Clothed (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Four: Fashion of the Times (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Five: A Stitch in Time (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Six: Nothing as it Seams (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Clothing Allowances (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Eight: For Whom the Belle Tolls (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Nine: What’s in a Name (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty: A Horse With No Name (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-One: A Friend Indeed (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Two: Fashionably Late (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Praise (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Though it contains incidental references to actual people and places, these references are used merely to lend the fiction a realistic setting. All other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
PART ONE (#ulink_73185953-175a-58a7-8d2a-5bce068d0f95)
Designer Genes (#ulink_73185953-175a-58a7-8d2a-5bce068d0f95)
He who only sees fashion in fashion is nothing but a fool
Honoré de Balzac
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_c991af3c-24e6-5c84-9043-40bbf9f8f9b3)
Reaping What You Sew (#ulink_c991af3c-24e6-5c84-9043-40bbf9f8f9b3)
Fashionably late, Karen Kahn and her husband, Jeffrey, walked past the flash of photographers’ lights and into the Waldorf Astoria Hotel on Park Avenue. Karen felt, for that moment, that she had it all. Tonight was the annual award party and benefit held by the Oakley Foundation, and Karen was about to be honored with their Thirty-Eighth Annual American Fashion Achievement Award. If she couldn’t arrive fashionably late here, where could she?
Stepping through the lobby and into the Deco brass elevator, alone together for the last moment before the crush began, Karen looked at Jeffrey and couldn’t repress a grin. Soon, she’d be among the crème-de-la-crème of fashion designers, fashion press, and the wealthy society women who actually wore the fashions. Despite all of her hard work, despite dreaming that this could happen, Karen could hardly believe that she was the woman of the moment.
‘It’s taken me almost twenty years to become an overnight success,’ she wisecracked to Jeffrey, and he smiled down at her. Unlike Karen, who knew she was no more than ordinary-looking, Jeffrey was handsome. Karen was aware that tuxedos make even plain men good-looking, but she was still taken aback by how much they did for a looker like Jeffrey, who was both sexy and distinguished in his formal clothes. A lethal combo. The gleam of the black satin of his peaked lapels set off his thick pepper-and-salt hair. He was wearing the cabochon sapphire shirt studs and cuff links she had given him the night before. They perfectly matched the washed-denim blue of his eyes, as she knew they would.
‘Not a moment too soon,’ he said. ‘It’s important to schedule your Lifetime Achievement Award before your first face-lift.’
She laughed. ‘I didn’t know that. Lucky it turned out that way. Although if I had the lift first, I might still be considered a girl genius.’
‘You’re still my girl genius,’ Jeffrey told her, and gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Just remember, I knew you when.’ The elevator reached their floor. ‘And now, see how it feels to really hit the big time,’ Jeffrey told her.
Before the stainless and brass Art Deco doors opened, he bent down and kissed her cheek, careful not to spoil her maquillage. How lucky she was to have the kind of man who understood when a kiss was welcome but smeared makeup was not! Yes, she was very lucky, and very happy, she thought. Everything in her life was as perfect as it could be, except for her condition. But maybe Dr Goldman would have news that would … she stopped herself. No sense thinking about what Jeffrey called ‘her obsession’ now. She’d promised herself and her husband that tonight was one night she’d enjoy to the utmost.
As the elevator doors rolled aside, Karen looked up to see Nan Kempner and Mrs Gordon Getty, fashion machers and society fund-raisers, standing side by side, both of them in Yves Saint Laurent. ‘You’d think they could have put on one of my little numbers,’ Karen hissed to Jeffrey, while she kept the smile firmly planted on her face.
‘Honey, you’ve never done glitz like Saint Laurent does,’ Jeffrey reminded her, and, comforted, she sailed out and air-kissed the two women. One was in an oyster white satin floor-length sheath with gold braid and a tasseled belt – a lot like curtain trimming, Karen thought. Perhaps Scarlett O’Hara had been at the portieres again. The other was in black lace shot with what looked like silver, though, since it was on Mrs Getty, it must be platinum, Karen joked to herself. Both women took their fashion seriously: Nan Kempner had once admitted in an interview that as a girl she had ‘cried and cried’ at Saint Laurent’s when she saw a white mink-trimmed suit too expensive for her allowance. The legend was that Yves himself had come down to meet the girl who cried so hard.
The foyer was already crowded with the usual backdrop of men in exquisite black wool and women in every sort of fabric and color. Funny how men always clung to a uniform. Only the Duke of Windsor had the fashion nerve to wear colored formal wear; midnight blue rather than black. But if men didn’t display much overt fashion, they certainly controlled this world. Despite her success, and the success of a few other women designers, Karen knew that the business was owned and controlled by men. And most of those in control were here tonight.
In addition, tonight there was a larger-than-usual gaggle of paparazzi. Fashion seems to have become the new entertainment, Karen thought, not for the first time, but it still surprised her. There was rarely a fashion event that didn’t draw a wild mix of society, Hollywood, and the rock world. She controlled herself and didn’t do a Brooklyn double take as she was pushed against Sly Stallone, who was there with his latest model. Paulina the Gorgeous stood beside her husband, Ric Ocasek. Clint Eastwood stood beside Frances Fisher, who looked great for a woman who’d just dropped a baby. The Elle Halle camera crew were also there, apparently busy trying to get a shot of Christie Brinkley. Billy Joel didn’t seem to be with her, but David Bowie was there, with Iman. And that, Karen thought, was only in the foyer.
An enormous noise came from the ballroom itself, which was where Karen and Jeffrey were headed. In a matter of moments, Karen greeted Harold Koda from the Metropolitan Museum of Art Costume Institute, Enid Haupt, one of the wealthiest and most charitable of the New York doyennes, Georgina Von Etzdorf, another designer, and bald-headed Beppe Modenese, who worked to polish the Italian fashion industry’s image in the United States. They passed Gianni Versace, standing next to his sister and muse, the impossibly blonde Donetella. And still Jeffrey and Karen hadn’t yet made it to the ballroom. This event was definitely going to be a success, Karen thought, and she was happy not only for herself but for the fashion business in general.
‘Well, the gang’s all here,’ Karen smiled. ‘At least they didn’t give a party for me where nobody came.’
Before she had a chance to exult, they were interrupted: ‘Oh my, if it isn’t Kubla Kahn,’ said a waspish voice behind them. Karen winced, turned around, and was staring into the wizened face of Tony de Freise, another Seventh Avenue designer, but one whose star was fading.
‘It’s Karen Kahn,’ Jeffrey corrected.
‘Yeah, and it’s a hell of a pleasure dome she’s decreed,’ Tony sneered. Looking around, he paused, and his mouth tightened. ‘They did this for me once. Don’t let it go to your head. They just build you up to tear you down.’ He shrugged and turned away. ‘See you on the slopes.’
Karen sighed, but tried to keep her smile visible. There was professional jealousy in every business, but there seemed to be a little more jealousy in fashion. Karen wasn’t sure why that was. Belle, her mother, had once described politics back in the teacher’s room at grammar school by saying, ‘The fighting is so dirty because the stakes are so low.’ Perhaps the fighting in the fashion world had become so dirty because the stakes were so high. In the eighties, fashion had become global; the take was bigger than ever before, and it seemed as if the knives had been sharpened.
‘Well, that was a pleasant omen,’ Karen whispered. ‘I feel like Sleeping Beauty at the banquet when the Bad Fairy appeared.’
‘Oh, forget the Bad Fairy,’ Jeffrey told her. ‘No one pays attention to Tony anymore.’
‘Yeah. That was his point.’
Karen realized all at once that this new visibility would also make her more vulnerable. Other designers could take shots at her now. There were those rare few who continued to go their own way. Bill Blass, probably richer than any other American designer (with the exception of Ralph Lauren), was always friendly, open, and noncompetitive. He’d been one of the first of the established fashion moguls to be nice to Karen. If his talent wasn’t huge and his clothes were sometimes uninspired, he’d be the least offended to hear it. Geoffrey Beene, a true original, was another who went his own way. His clothes were inspired, an example of true artistry, and perhaps that was one of the reasons he was an iconoclast and always above the fashion fray. In school, Karen had learned a lot by simply looking at Geoffrey Beene’s designs.
