Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [151]
“Could we really do it?” wondered Paris. “I mean, would you really want to be partners with me? I can design great clothes, I know I can—despite my failures. But I have no contacts to offer, and no money.”
“Ah, the money! This advice may be a little late, as you’ve already learned your lesson. Never, but never, invest your own money in a speculative venture, even one as good as this. You are investing your talent. What we need to do next is to take our idea and make it a reality. First we find the premises. At the end of the season there are sure to be shops that have had a bad season and are going out of business. I know all the best locations. We’ll snap up something while the price is low, we’ll have your designs—and then we’ll get our backer. I guarantee it. Oh, Paris, how exciting!”
Olympe looked like an exotic bird of paradise as she pranced up and down the tiny cabin in one of Paris’s hot-pink silk chemises, with the brief ruffled skirt. Who would have guessed the bourgeois background? Paris could almost see their boutique now, in St. Tropez or Antibes, a bright white façade, its window displaying her latest sensual temptations. Inside, the shop would be cool and arched, cavelike after the hot sun outdoors, hung with her summery garments and spiced with gorgeous fake jewels. Oh, Jenny would have loved it! But Jenny would never see the boutique, never wear a dress designed by her, never share her pleasure—and hopefully, her success. Yet it was always Jenny who had encouraged her to believe in her own talent, who had sent her out alone—to win. Perhaps she had sought a little bit of immortality through her daughter’s success, a continuation of the Haven name? But Paris had steadfastly denied her that privilege, refusing to use her mother’s name, wanting to “make it on her own.” Poor Jenny, thought Paris, poor, darling Jenny.
“How would this look in the magazines?” she asked Olympe with a grin. “Paris Haven, daughter of the fabulous and lovely star, Jenny Haven, designer of delicious clothes for the innovative Haven Boutique in St. Tropez—owned with her beautiful partner, supermodel Olympe Avallon—frequent visitors to the McBain yacht. The beautiful partners are already planning the opening of their second shop next season in Porto Cervo, on the Aga Kahn’s Costa Smerelda….”
Olympe shrieked with delight as Paris collapsed on the bed, laughing.
“You’re learning,” laughed Olympe, “you’re learning fast, Paris Haven.”
“Jenny was clever enough to send me out into the world to find my own opportunities,” said Paris, more soberly, “and I stupidly thought that meant I must do it all alone. Now, I see what she meant! Find your opportunities—and seize them, she said. I was just too selfish to realize that one of my assets was my name—her name.”
“It’s a name to be proud of,” said Olympe.
“Then can it be the Haven Boutique?”
“Correction”—Olympe grinned—“the Haven Boutiques—after all, we are opening one in Sardinia, too, aren’t we? Wait here,” she called, disappearing through the door. “I’m going to find some champagne to celebrate.”
The smile lingered on Paris’s face as she contemplated her turn in fortune. Olympe was exactly the catalyst she needed. It was stupid—impossible—to try to do everything alone. Two heads were better than one—and when one of those was Olympe’s, it was better than four! They’d make it, she knew they would. She was already thinking of new colors, fabrics, designs … she could just see that pretty boutique with its tempting windows and, across the top, the Haven name in lights once more. How pleased Jenny would have been.
25
It had been a while since Margie had been to Rory’s place. She let herself in with the key she’d stolen from him months ago, wondering if he was home and, if so, whether he’d be glad to see her. They hadn’t exactly parted the best of friends; in fact, he’d told her to get lost. Still, knowing Rory, he’d probably forgotten that by now, and if he hadn’t, well, she