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She stares at herself in the mirror and slowly the animation seeps out of her face. “You know, I always thought he would come to his senses,” she says quietly. “I thought he’d last a month. Maybe two. Then he’d crawl back, I’d send him away, he’d crawl back again, we’d fight, but eventually…” She exhales slowly. “But he’s not. He’s not coming back.”

She meets my eye in the mirror and I feel a sudden pang of outrage. Laurel’s the nicest person in the world. Why would her stupid husband leave her?Advertisement

“I like this dress,” she adds, sounding more cheerful. “But maybe in the black.”

“I’ll go and get one for you,” I say. “We have it on this floor.”

I walk out of the personal shopping department and head toward the rack of Dries van Noten dresses. It’s still early for regular shoppers and the floor is nearly empty. But as I’m searching for another dress in Laurel’s size, I’m suddenly aware of a familiar figure in the corner of my vision. I turn, puzzled, but the figure has gone.

Weird. Eventually I find the dress, and pick out a matching fringed stole. I turn around — and there he is again. It’s Danny. What on earth is he doing in Barneys? As I get nearer, I stare at him. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is awry, and he’s got a wild, fidgety look.

“Danny!” I say — and he visibly jumps. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh!” he says. “Nothing! Just… browsing.”

“Are you OK?”

“I’m fine! Everything’s fine.” He glances at his watch. “So — I guess you’re in the middle of something?”

“I am, actually,” I say regretfully. “I have a client waiting. Otherwise we could go and have a coffee.”

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“No. That’s fine,” he says. “You go. I’ll see you later.”

“OK,” I say, and walk back to my fitting room, rather puzzled.

Laurel decides to take three of the outfits I chose for her, and when she leaves she gives me a big hug. “Don’t let the wedding get you down,” she says. “You shouldn’t listen to me. I have a somewhat jaded view. I know you and Luke will be happy.”

“Laurel.” I squeeze her tightly back. “You’re the best.”

God, if I ever meet that stupid husband of hers I’m going to let him have it.

When she’s gone, I consult my schedule for the rest of the day. I’ve got an hour before my next client, so I decide to wander up to the bridal department and look at my dress again. It’s definitely between this one and the Vera Wang. Or maybe the Tracy Connop.

Definitely one of those three, anyway.

As I walk out onto the sales floor again, I stop in surprise. There’s Danny, standing by a rack of tops, fingering one casually. What on earth is he still doing here? I’m about to call out to him, and say does he want to come and see my dress and then go for a quick cappuccino? But then, to my astonishment, he glances around, surreptitiously bends down, and reaches for something in his canvas bag. It’s a T-shirt with glittery sleeves, on a hanger. He shoves it onto the rack, looks around again, and reaches for another one.

I stare at him in utter stupefaction. What does he think he’s doing?

He looks around again — then reaches into his bag and pulls out a small laminated sign, which he props up at the end of the display.

What the hell is he up to?

“Danny!” I say, heading toward him.

“What?” He gives a startled jump, then turns and sees me. “Sssh! Jesus, Becky!”

“What are you doing with those Tshirts?” I hiss.

“I’m stocking myself.”

“What do you mean, stocking yourself?”

He jerks his head toward the laminated sign and I read it in disbelief.

THE DANNY KOVITZ COLLECTION

AN EXCITING NEW TALENT AT BARNEYS

“They’re not all on Barneys hangers,” says Danny, thrusting another two Tshirts on the rack. “But I figure that won’t matter.”

“Danny… you can’t do this! You can’t just… put your stuff on the racks!”

“I’m doing it.”

“But—”

“I have no choice, OK?” says Danny, turning his head. “Randall’s on his way here right now, expecting to see a Danny Kovitz line at Barneys.”

I stare at him in horror.

“I thought you said he would never check!”

“He wouldn’t have!” Danny shoves another hanger onto the rack. “But his stupid girlfriend has to poke her nose in. She never showed any interest in me before, but as soon as she hears the word Barneys, it’s like Oh, Randall, you should support your brother! Go to Barneys tomorrow and buy one of his pieces! So I’m saying, you really don’t have to do that — but now Randall’s got the idea in his head, he’s like, well, maybe I will pop in and take a look! So I’m up sewing all fucking night…” pqdm.com