SEVENTEEN
Morning of March 9
For a split second when Anna arrived at her desk and saw the Harry Winston box sitting on her keyboard, she thought it was a gift for her. Then she saw Mrs. Von Bizmark’s black Sharpie note:
Please return for credit toward the Lariat. Selma will know which one.
Quite possibly the entire Harry Winston staff knew exactly which piece Mrs. Von Bizmark had been lusting after for years. She had been “saving her pennies,” as she put it, returning each of Florence’s various Christmas, anniversary, and birthday gifts to Selma, her personal shopper there. When Anna called Harry Winston, Selma herself answered the Fifth Avenue flagship store phone on the first ring without even a hello. “I think I know why you’re ca-alling,” Selma cooed.
“With the bracelet, will we—”
“Have just enough with tax!” Selma cheered.
These were all excellent signs. Never had Anna known Mrs. Von Bizmark to wait for something. And now she would have that very coveted bauble for the Opera Ball that night. What luck! This singular event could be enough to jolt Mrs. Von Bizmark into a rare stellar mood.
Which meant it was time to ask for a raise. Of course, it always helped if your boss was in a good frame of mind, but in the case of household staff, where there were hardly any quantitative measures of success, this was true in the extreme.
When Mrs. Von Bizmark appeared in the office before going to Pilates and a massage, it was like her face had frozen overnight into a new position, no longer placid and unlined: she wore a permanent satisfied grin. She breezed in like a happy, fluffy cloud and thumbed through various correspondence and items left for her to see. She hummed an indiscernible tune, her demeanor the manic opposite of yesterday’s moping.
Oh my God. Mrs. Von Bizmark got laid.
The time was ripe to carve out a piece for the downstairs team.
“How was last night?” Anna asked, as if the answer wasn’t written on her blissed-out face.
“Extraordinary, unforgettable, total delight.” She sighed lightly. “I’m the luckiest woman on earth.”
“How wonderful to feel that way after twenty-five years!” Anna remarked. Surprisingly, the Von Bizmarks rarely experienced their own serendipity. The rest of the time, they were like fish: as long as it was inexhaustible, the money was only water to them.
“Isn’t it, though?” Mrs. Von Bizmark leaned over the bistro table, chin in palm, and gazed wistfully out the window. Anna slipped a purple file folder in front of her marked Anniversary Correspondence.
“We hid these from you yesterday to heighten the surprise.”
“You devil!” Mrs. Von Bizmark said playfully, chuckling to herself. She paged through cards and printed emails, but in her absolute disinterest she made it clear that nothing mattered after the glory of the previous evening.
“Mrs. Von Bizmark, before you leave for the day, I was hoping for two minutes of your time,” Anna said. Mrs. Von Bizmark wasn’t really listening. “In the library,” she added. The mere mention of the library—with its built-in bookshelves, leather club chairs, and dim lamps—practically communicated the entire conversation. This was serious business.
“I see,” Mrs. Von Bizmark said, looking Anna in the eye. “All right, then.” She proceeded down the long hallway, humming a distinct “Love Is Here to Stay.” Despite the positive vibes, despite her quick thinking, Anna’s heart hammered her rib cage, and that icy sweat broke out along her spine. But this was something she had to do—as a professional. As a grown-up.
The two women ducked under a drop cloth into the library and closed the door, interrupted by only the occasional banging of the Silver Fox’s crew. Mrs. Von Bizmark sat in one of the jade leather chairs, leaned back, and crossed her legs, placing each hand on the armrest, every polished finger relaxed. Even in Lululemon and sneakers, she was without question the lady of the house. Anna sat at a diagonal, which meant she had to perch on the edge of her chair to fully face Mrs. Von Bizmark.
“As you may recall, it’s been over two years since the last staff salary raise,” Anna began. The corners of Mrs. Von Bizmark’s mouth twitched. “We have the best people in town, and we want to retain them. We’ve all been working very hard with the luncheon, last night’s celebration . . .” Anna paused to let her reflect a bit on that one. “And of course the ball tonight. Everyone from Josefina to Julie has been going above and beyond.” Here was the hardest part. Spit it out, Anna, she said to herself. “I propose twenty percent across the board with additional midyear cash bonuses at your discretion.”
Mrs. Von Bizmark considered. “Hmmmm . . . ,” she said, choreographing an index finger to her chin, a satire of someone thinking about something. Anna stopped breathing. Mrs. Von Bizmark sighed, but her eyes smiled. “I think that’s a wonderful idea!” she finally agreed.
“Terrific!” Anna said, so relieved she forgot what else there was to say. Perhaps this had been the best-timed meeting. Like, ever. As they left the library, Mrs. Von Bizmark added, “And, Anna. Thanks for everything.” She gripped Anna’s shoulder. Did she know who’d planned the anniversary? Of course she did.
“You’re quite welcome,” Anna said, more warmly than usual. Mrs. Von Bizmark went back upstairs to continue various day-of-the-ball ablutions. Julie, who had slipped into the office during the two-minute library summit, finished up a call at her desk. She wore a purple kimono and sweeping updo. Enamel flower pendants swung from two large sticks in her hair. Wooden Japanese platform flip-flops and socks with a notch next to the big toe stuck out from under her hem.
“Told you so,” Julie said. Anna’s eyes traveled back up to her hand, brandishing Mrs. Von Bizmark’s note to return the bracelet.
“I’ll take care of that while I’m out. I have to go hang the art!”
“Exciting!”
“Look, I feel bad leaving now,” Anna said. The phones sparkled and beeped.
“Everything’s already done for tonight, right?” Julie said, waving her off. “All she has to do is get dressed!” She turned to the phone, answering three lines in a row: “Kissy Von Bizmark’s office, please hold.” Anna rushed out the door; the sooner she went, the sooner she could get back.
Anna had the car wait while she ran inside Harry Winston. It made her nervous to ferry such a valuable item around, and she was eager to hand the bracelet back to Selma. The personal shopper waited for Anna by the door in her sharp black suit and four-inch heels, like a sentry. This one sale would net a massive commission for Selma, a number more than double her annual salary. She brought Anna directly to the second-floor private lounge, where a bottle of champagne waited in a platinum ice bucket wreathed in gemstones and the lariat itself nestled on a black velvet pedestal under a spotlight.
“It’s actually a sautoir,” Selma confided as she popped the cork.
It wasn’t as blingy as most of the oversize gemstones on offer at Harry Winston: coral, onyx, and a lot of diamonds. A lot. Of diamonds. Selma poured the champagne, handed Anna a flute, and, as they both gazed at the piece, whispered, “Commissioned by Coco Chanel herself.”
“No!”