Chapter Fourteen
After a caffeine-fueled night of studying business tomes til the wee hours of the morning, I powered through a brutal test in one of my courses. When I filed the exam at the end of the class, submitting it from my laptop, I felt relatively good about my prospects of earning a strong grade. Marks in graduate school were less important than in high school or college since this was the end of the road for me as far as school was concerned. But I wanted to do well so I’d have the skills to grow My Favorite Mistakes. Maybe someday I could even turn it into a business like Made Here, with a board, stockholders, employees and revenues with many zeros. The business geek in me relished that thought as I left the class, headed down the wide wooden staircase to the first floor, and pushed open the door into the late October air.
Fall had coasted into Manhattan, bringing with it crisp air, and the temporary rush of gold and red leaves on the trees in the parks. I looped my orange scarf with white stars around my neck, and pushed on a pair of champagne-colored sunglasses to block out the bright midday rays. My brown boots clicked against the sidewalk as I checked the time on my phone. I had a meeting with Claire Oliver in an hour. She’d finally reached back out to me and asked me to meet her at the cafe at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, adding that since she and her husband were avid supporters of the museum, she had other meeting there too.
On the subway I checked my email for messages. But that was a mere Pavlovian response. There were no emails, no love notes, no sweet whispers at a restaurant, on the street, in public. As the train clattered through the tunnels, a quick burst of unease swept through me.
I thought of all the jokes Bryan and I made about acting.
We were acting in front of Professor Oliver. We were acting in front of the board. Acting as if we were nothing. But what if it was all an act?
What if we were nothing? Because, really, we weren’t anything. We didn’t go out to dinner, to the movies, to the grocery store. We didn’t leave my building holding hands. Because he’d never been to my building. Was he using me for sex? Or, rather, sex talk? Sure, we always chatted before and after. Every day I learned something new about him. I could tell you he liked French toast for breakfast, that he was a rabid baseball fan, and that he played Words with Friends on his phone with some of the guys at the factory.
Did that mean anything though? I didn’t know if we were a thing, or would ever be one. I didn’t want to be just a toy, a treat, an easy 900-number away. I wanted to be more. I want to be his everything.
Then there was the looming thing I didn’t know. Why he hadn’t loved me way back when.
The air felt colder as I emerged at Seventy-Seventh Street, as if October had taken a cruel turn into winter. Or maybe the cold was inside me, in my bones, as I found a new worry to gnaw on. I’d been having so much fun getting off that I hadn’t bothered to ask myself what was next.
I walked up the steps of the museum, hoping against hope that I could shed this desolate feeling for the next hour.
*****
“I showed these around to some buyers I know, and everyone is in love with your necklaces. They think they could be the next big thing,” Claire said, looking very now in a short red linen dress that I’d seen Jessica Biel wearing while shopping on Melrose Avenue in the pages of Us magazine.
“I’m so pleased to hear that, Mrs…Claire.” I quickly corrected myself, and she nodded in approval when I used her first name. We sat in the cafe, drinking afternoon tea in white china cups with a green vine design lacing the rim. “And, while we haven’t talked about this yet, I’d love to know more about the buyers, and who they’re buying for.”
She grinned like a Cheshire Cat, then mentioned two names that made me want to grab a pair of pom-poms and cheer wildly. The first was a distributor that supplied to the trendiest independent boutiques on the east coast, and the second worked for one of the largest and hippest department store chains in the country — Elizabeth’s. The chain was helmed by the reclusive and rarely-seen Elizabeth Mortimer, whose mother, also named Elizabeth, had started the first store in Seattle many years ago, then steadily expanded across the country. Elizabeth’s taste was legendary; a cocktail of trendy and timeless. She stayed entirely out of the limelight though, letting her stores and their displays do the talking. She was simply known.
I leaned back in my chair, gobsmacked. “Let me just catch my breath.”
The smile vacated Claire’s face. “The only thing is, we’d like to see more variety.”
I sat up straight, and pressed my lips together. The comment wasn’t quite a slap, but it wasn’t the compliment I’d hoped for. Whenever a statement is prefaced by the thing is, having said that, or however, chances are you won’t like what follows.
“Did you have something in mind?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I wonder if you’d consider moving beyond the idea of favorite mistakes to include, quite simply, favorites. We thought that might broaden your base, and we all seem most fond of your European stylings, and we were hoping to see more in that vein — European Favorites.”
“So there could be My Favorites Mistakes and also My Favorites?”
“I rather like the sound of that.”
“I can do that. I can definitely do that.” I started flashing back to my time in Paris, then flicking ahead to the quirky little design blogs I visited each night. I’d need to cobble together my own style, of course. But inspiration often comes from looking at the work of others. Or from art, I mused, as I thought about the setting. Here we were in the belly of one of the greatest collections of art the world has ever known. “When would you and the buyers want to see them by?”
“Soon. Very soon. I think we can get your designs into their stores if we can mix up the look and I really want to get them in for the holiday season. Which isn’t that far away. Elizabeth’s is looking for just the right style to focus its holiday jewelry marketing on.” She steepled her fingers together. The look drawn across her porcelain skin and fine features revealed nothing.
I nodded several times. “I better go get started,” I said and I didn’t have to feign enthusiasm. Her “the only thing is” wasn’t that bad after all.
“Actually, Kat. I haven’t even gotten to the proposition part yet.”
“Oh. Okay.” I took a drink of my tea and waited.
She placed her hands flat on the table, her diamond ring catching the light. “Is My Favorite Mistakes open for a small seed round of investment?”
I nearly choked on my tea. I coughed a few times, and I could feel my face turning red as I hacked at the fancy table in the fancy cafe in the fancy museum. “Excuse me?”
“I want to be an angel investor. Think of it as expansion capital to fund the new design work.”
“Right. Yes. Of course. Absolutely. I’ll do it right now.” I wanted to smack myself. I wasn’t making any sense. I was so bowled over I could barely form words.
“So is that a yes?” Claire seemed on the cusp of annoyed.
I collected myself. “I would be thrilled. I would be absolutely thrilled to have you as an investor.”
When she shared the amount, I did everything in my power not to holler and thrust a victorious fist at the sky. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined an investor.
“Now, the money is to be allocated solely to the business. You can’t use it to pay your rent or anything like that.” She wagged a finger at me and narrowed her eyes. She was being playful, but she was also serious. Given her tone, I felt compelled to respond with a salute.
“Absolutely.”
“But I do have some stipulations.”
“Of course.”
“First, you need to finish your MBA. I’m a big believer in the value of education, and even if this helps your business take off, you must finish your degree. Or else I’ll need the money paid back.”
“Totally. I’m definitely finishing my degree. I’m so committed I’m beyond committed.”
“Second, after you finish your degree and can focus solely on the business, I’ll put another round into My Favorite Mistakes at the same multiple.”
My heart sang. Everything seemed possible.
“Great.”
“Third. When we first met and you mentioned the markets in Paris and all the little trinkets and charms to be had there for a steal, and when my buyers mentioned they preferred your European stylings, I started thinking…”