CHAPTER SIX

NINE YEARS LATER

"Ready?"

"No."

"Great confidence, Renee."

"What do you want me to say? It's like standing in front of a firing squad whenever I go before him. He hates everything!"

"Your work has been very good, I'll admit that."

Renee Riteau, a small Frenchman, hit his hands against his thighs. "Finally, a little appreciation around this place. Thank you, Claudio. Thank you. Maybe Jonni will finally appreciate as well."

"How many times do I have to tell you that you had better never call the boss Jonni to his face. His name is Gee-Or-Gee-O Ja-Nar-dee. Not Jonni . Gio is acceptable. He doesn't mind that. But not Jonni."

"And why not, Claudio? Why am I not allowed to call him Jonni? I've heard others call him that. I'm his top designer. I should have that right too."

"Your name is Renee. Re-nay. What if I call you Re nege ? How would you like that?"

Renee rolled his eyes. "Enough of the word salad! You Americans are such hypocrites. You call him Jonni sometimes yourself. It's behind his back, but you call him that. I've heard you."

"That's because Jonni is reserved for his dearest friends. Of which I am one."

Even the models looked dubiously at Claudio. Nobody who worked for Giorgio Janardi was his friend!

"Enough," said Renee as he placed the back of his hand to his forehead. "All this talk of what I can and cannot call him is not giving me life. It's giving me headache. Let's get back to me. That's the space I enjoy. You said my work has been quite good."

"But it hasn't been great," Claudio said to his top designer. As the Creative Director for The House of Janardi, Claudio Bash knew Renee could someday be the best. Maybe as good as Giorgio himself. But he had to give much more if he expected the big man to know it too. "These designs are as close to great as I've seen you produce in quite some time." But a look of concern filled his soft brown eyes. "Let's hope it's enough."

Renee looked over at the five models as they all stood in the elevator making their way to the top floor. Three males. Two females. All gorgeous. All wearing his painstakingly tailored Janardi suits to perfection. "This is the absolute best I can do. If he wants more from me," Renee said as he threw his hands in the air, "I don't know what to tell him."

"You don't tell him anything. Let me do all the talking. I'd rather have him angry with me than with you and your fragile ego. Say nothing," Claudio added again as the elevator dinged and he and Renee and their models stepped off.

Walking down that long corridor that led to the big man's office was unnerving enough, but they first had to get past Iron Lady: his secretary. Every human being at the world-renowned fashion house knew one thing for sure: Rhonda Kabecky had the boss's ear. Rhonda Kabecky was no joke.

Claudio put on his best smile as they stood at her desk. "Good morning, Rhonda. How are you doing, Rhonda? Is he in?"

Rhonda, being Rhonda , didn't bother to respond nor look up from the document she was typing on her computer. They waited. And waited. All of them hating every inch of her. But they waited.

Suddenly the double doors of the big man's office opened and another top designer with his models came hurrying out. All of his models had tears in their eyes. The designer looked over at Claudio and Renee and angrily shook his head. Then he swiftly walked away.

Claudio rubbed his forehead. "Great," he said out loud. "He's in a mood."

Then Rhonda finally stopped typing, although she never once looked away from her document. "You may go in," she said to Claudio and then continued typing.

All of them had collective eyerolls for that old lady they despised and thought was so beneath them that it wasn't even close, as they left her desk and made their way to the double doors of the big man's office. Just two words were written above the doors: GIORGIO JANARDI. No Founder or CEO or any other title was added beneath the name because none was needed. Because those two words, to all of them as they looked up at that terrifying name, said it all.

Giorgio Janardi. The world's leading designer two decades running. The man who dressed presidents, kings, and emperors alike, and who was not only still on top but was expanding his line to include far more ladies' fashions. His name alone said it all.

When Claudio led the charge and opened the double doors, his sullen demeanor became buoyant, as if he had to become Mister Personality just to get through the encounter. "Giorgio!" he said cheerfully as he made his way toward the massive desk inside the massive office. Renee and the models hurried behind him. "Welcome back, Gio! How was Milan? How was Paris? Please tell me they were fab as usual."

Giorgio Janardi stood in front of the full-sized window behind his desk with his back to his sudden visitors. He didn't say a word to Claudio. With his suit coat off, he wore royal blue suspenders on top of a white Janardi dress shirt that highlighted his large biceps even from behind. He seemed at peace, not enraged as they expected him to be given the previous designer's exit.

But when he said nothing to Claudio's excited entrance, the group became even more wary than they already were. One wrong move and he could fire every one of them on sight, and they knew it. And even though it would be an impulsive move to the extreme, he was not the kind of man that would ever change his mind and reinstate them. They knew that too.

But Claudio kept talking in exclamation points as if they were friends from way back, even though it was strictly a boss-employee relationship. "I was glad when they said you had returned! Absolutely thrilled beyond measure! Welcome back, Gio," he said again as if his excitedness led him to forget he had said it before. "Welcome back!"

There was a long pause as nothing but Claudio's last screed stood in the silence.

And then the big man spoke without turning around. "Each coat hem three-quarters of an inch longer."

They all began looking at the clothes. Renee was immediately annoyed. The hem was as he had ordered it to be.

"But," he started to say, but Claudio quickly covered Renee's mouth with his hand and looked at him with that do you want to get fired look in his eyes. It worked. Renee remained silent.

Claudio removed his hand. "We will adjust the hems right away, sir," he said to Giorgio.

"Double belt the red one," said Giorgio.

The woman wearing the red one didn't think that would look good at all. And Renee, telepathically agreeing with her, blurted it out: "That won't look good at all."

As soon as he said it, tension slammed against the walls. And Giorgio slowly turned around.

Claudio's heart dropped as he turned. Renee's heart nearly stopped. He didn't mean to say it out loud! But the two female models, both of whom would give a limb to spend just one night with the great man and get on his radar just like Penelope did, smiled their best smiles.

But Giorgio only had eyes for his designer. "You disagree with me?"

Renee was nervous, but he was going to stand by his words. "I believe," he began saying.

But those two words caused Giorgio to explode. He hated when his question wasn't answered as asked. "DID I ASK WHAT YOU BELIEVED?" Giorgio yelled out, his entire body shaking with rage. "WHY SHOULD I GIVE A DAMN WHAT YOU BELIEVE? ANSWER MY QUESTION! DO YOU DISAGREE THAT THE RED SUIT SHOULD BE DOUBLE-BELTED?"

By now Renee was having heart palpitations. But he also knew he had no choice now but to stand his ground. "Yes, sir. I disagree vehemently. I took your vision and turned it into a masterpiece, if I may say so myself. One belt gives it gravitas. One belt gives it a commanding presence. Two belts? Tacky. Sorry. But tacky. My view."

"Whose house?"

Although the big man asked that question quietly, Renee knew in that instance that he was doomed. That he had crossed the line. "Your house, sir."

"Is this the House of Janardi or the House of Renee?"

They all knew what that meant. Claudio knew all along Renee was breaking a cardinal rule: never fight with the man that signs your paychecks. Never fight with the man that can ruin your career, never to be recovered again.

Renee straightened his spine. "This is the House of Janardi, sir."

"When it becomes the House of Renee, one belt will be fine. Double belt it!" he said firmly.

Renee swallowed his nerves. "Yes, sir."

Claudio smiled and slapped his hands together. "Well then," he said. "Does all else meet with your approval, sir? Beyond the hem and belt issues, of course."

Giorgio looked over the suits again. It took him nearly an entire minute. He had already seen them on his monitors. But up close, he still saw flaws. Mainly because his entire aesthetic wasn't based on traditions and sameness, but on feelings alone. What felt right to him for his garments became what was right for his garments. "Drape the collars on the ladies' suits," he finally said. Then he looked at Renee. "My design called for draping."

Renee wanted to tell him that he thought draping would be too over the top, but he held his tongue.

But Giorgio would not allow that. "Did it not?" he asked him.

"It did, yes sir."

"Why was it not done?"

Renee glanced over at Claudio. "I agreed with Renee," Claudio said, "that it would be a bit much."

"You agreed?"

"Yes."

"How many Designer of the Year awards have you received, Claudio?"

"It was merely an observation--"

Giorgio's temper unleashed again and his voice rose above the air. "HOW MANY DESIGNER OF THE YEAR AWARDS HAVE YOU RECEIVED?!"

"None, sir."

"Then do not tell me how to design clothes that carries MY NAME! Do I make myself clear, Claudio?"

"Yes, sir."

"Drape the collars. Lower the coat hems. Double belt the red suit." Then he looked at Renee.

"I will do as you ask, sir," Renee said, although his disdain and disagreement showed through.

"You will do no such thing," Giorgio responded.

Everybody looked at him. "Why not, sir?" Renee asked.

"You have the audacity to believe that my designs are your designs BECAUSE YOU SEWED THEM. That's why!"

Then Giorgio calmed back down as he often did after an outburst. But Renee, unaccustomed to such treatment, was greatly offended. It was he, after all, who had won the prestigious Woolmark Prize for rising fashion stars just two years ago. And now this? "Are you implying that I'm fired , sir?"

"You're fired," said Giorgio, his hard blue eyes staring unblinkingly at the younger man. "That is not an implication. That's my view, as you say. And since my view is the only one that counts in my house, then yes. You're out. You are to leave these premises immediately." Then he looked at his creative director. "Contact Security to provide the escort."

Claudio knew it would come to that. He had warned Renee. Now Claudio knew, if he didn't want a similar fate to visit him, he had to wash his hands of the young, hot shot designer quickly. "I will contact them right away, sir. He will be off of these premises within the hour." Then he looked at a stunned and speechless Renee. "Let's go," he said to him with venom in his voice.

Renee knew it was a cut-throat business. He knew one day you could be in, and the next day you could be out. But he always thought his talent would allow him to rise above any such indignities. But not in this space. He'd never worked for a fashion house so authoritarian!

He looked over at Giorgio, hoping to plead his case, but he could see the fire still in the big man's eyes. It was done. He was a casualty just like so many other hot shot designers who had deigned to enter those double doors with visions of taking over in their heads. And there was nothing more to be said. It was legendary: Janardi never changed his mind.

Renee and the rest of the group all hurried out of that office. They could not get out of there fast enough.

When they had gone and the door was closed, Giorgio turned back toward the window, his hands now in his pants pockets. Everybody always questioned his design sense, as if the streetwise, scrappy Italian could not possibly be as good as his reputation said he was. Everybody always had something to criticize, or to add, or to change as if they knew better than he could ever know. Until he outshined every designer at every fashion week on the planet. Until his designs won every fashion award for bestselling designs on the planet. Then they proclaimed how they knew it all along. How they had no doubts. How his consistency and unparalleled success always forced the fashion world to grit their teeth and come to terms with the fact that a man like Giorgio Janardi, twenty-five years as the top designer in the world, knew exactly what he was doing.

But every new season they were gunning for him.

Every new season he had to prove himself all over again.

Every new year they were hoping, even praying , that he would finally fall on his face and have his first failed season.

What they didn't know was that every new season he was hoping for the same thing.

Because he knew, if he failed, that the unrelenting pressure that dogged him ever since he was a twenty-three-year-old fashion phenom would finally ease up. The only reason it hadn't happened after all these years was because he loved fashion too much to sabotage himself.

His office door opened again and Rhonda Kabecky, his long-time secretary, peered in and reminded him that he was late for the luncheon.

He exhaled and then turned as if his look would say what his mouth would not: How dare she bother him ? Just that look was usually enough to end conversations and grant him his peace. But in all of her years working for him, she never backed down from him. The only human being on earth who didn't.

She was also the only human being on earth he could be vulnerable with. "I would rather eat bricks," he admitted to her.

"You're the one who asked that child to marry you, which still astounds me to this day. You did that, Jonni. Now she's being given a great award and you've got to show up. How would it look if her own fiancé didn't show up? What will people say?"

"When have I ever cared what people said?"

"You're her fiancé. This is the time to care. You're going."

Giorgio knew it was a mistake the moment he asked Pen to marry him. But Rhonda was right. He had to make an appearance, and he had to make it for her sake.

He put on the coat of his Janardi suit, a suit known for its fine lines and perfect fit, pulled down on his shirt sleeves to ensure their proper placement at the very tip of the arm of his coat, and then walked toward the exit. When he got to Rhonda's side, he stopped and looked at the woman that was ten years his senior and had been his secretary for twenty years. She'd been a force of steadiness in his life since his younger designer days, although neither one of them would ever admit it. "I don't like to be bossed around," he said to her. "You do realize that, right?"

"I realize it."

"Tell me what to do again and you're fired. You realize that too?"

She used to say fired, hired, what's the difference , and he would laugh. But she had a different ready answer ever since he asked Pen Winton to marry him. "Yet another question you have no business asking," she said.

Giorgio grinned. His solemn face came to life, it seemed to Rhonda, on those rare occasions when he smiled.

And then his smile was gone as quickly as it had appeared. As he thought about what he was about to do. As if he could never give himself even a moment of happiness. And then he left.