“Great idea!” James said. “And he can lock the elevator electronically, if he’s not expecting guests.” He took the floor plan and drew in the lobby and elevator shaft. “And he’ll still have the freight elevator for bringing up furniture.”
“Just make the private elevator big enough for that,” Herbie suggested. “That way, you won’t have to extend the freight elevator shaft, and it will be in use all during the renovation.”
“Herb, you should have been an architect,” James said.
“I know, I know,” Herbie said. “I’m such a fucking design genius!” They both laughed.
“How long to do the whole job?” Herbie asked.
“We’ll be done with the main building in a month,” James said. “Because of the recession in the building business, I’ve got three shifts working on it, with a foreman for each shift. We’ll be done with the executive floor next week. Right now, Mark and his people are working one floor down. When they move upstairs we can start construction on the penthouse. The lower floors will be finished, but without interior walls, until they’re needed for new staff. The garage is being plastered and painted and is going to look great, and the outside will be stuccoed. Mark has some big paintings that he can hang in the garage. I’ll make an entrance from the garage to the private lobby, so that his guests can park there before going upstairs.” James was sketching very quickly now.
“You should get the finished building in Architectural Digest,” Herbie said. James had been the executive art director for the magazine before going out on his own.
“Good idea,” James said. “There won’t be another building like it in the city. We’ll be doing extensive planting on the roof, too, so the apartment will have gardens on four sides.”
Cookie buzzed Herbie. “Marshall Brennan on line one,” she said.
Herbie pressed the button on the phone. “Hello, Marshall.”
“Good morning, Herbie. I want to take you up on your offer to help me into a new wardrobe.”
“I’d be delighted to help,” Herbie said. “What time?”
“How about right after lunch?”
“All right. Meet me at two o’clock, and we’ll get started.” Herbie gave him an address on Lexington Avenue.
“What is this place? I don’t know any stores in that block.”
“It’s my Chinese tailor. You’ll like his work better than expensive off-the-rack stuff, and it’s no more expensive.”
“All right, I’ll see you there at two. How long will this take?”
“We’ll have a couple of other stops to make, so don’t make any appointments for the rest of the day.”
“Whatever you say.” Marshall hung up.
Herbie had a sandwich at his desk, then took a cab to the tailor’s shop. Marshall simultaneously got out of another cab, and they walked up the stairs together. Herbie introduced him to Sam, the tailor, and they went to a wall of fabric books and a rack of bolts.
“You like lightweight or heavier cloth?” Herbie asked.
“Lightweight. I’m always too hot.”
“Yeah, me too. Let’s look at the Loro Piana and Zegna fabrics. I love the Italian stuff.” Herbie picked fabrics for a dozen suits, a tuxedo, cashmere for a blazer, and four tweeds for jackets and gabardines for trousers. Sam measured Marshall, and Herbie dictated the details of the suits and jackets. They were done in an hour.
“That was quick,” Marshall said.
“You’ll need to come back three times for fittings,” Herbie said. “I know it’s time-consuming, but after that, all you have to do is pick a swatch and Sam can go straight to the finished product, assuming you haven’t gained or lost weight.”
“I still weigh what I weighed when I graduated from Harvard,” Marshall said. “It’s arranged a little differently, though. What’s next?”
“Shirts,” Herbie said, hailing a cab.
“I have to have shirts made, too?”
“You don’t want to let off-the-peg shirts make your suits look bad.” They went into Turnbull amp; Asser on East Fifty-seventh Street, and Marshall was measured, then Herbie helped him pick two dozen fabrics, then they went downstairs and Herbie picked out two dozen neckties.
“What about shoes?” Marshall said.
“Let’s see if we can get away with ready-made shoes,” Herbie said. They took a cab to Seventy-ninth and Madison, the Ralph Lauren store, where Marshall tried on a lot of shoes. “The workmanship is as good as with custom shoes,” Herbie explained, “as long as they fit properly. And you don’t have to wait for them.” Marshall had ten pairs of shoes sent to his home.
“That’s it,” Herbie said, when they were back on the sidewalk. “In a couple of months you’ll have everything in your closet. I want you to promise me that, after everything is delivered, you’ll throw away every single suit, jacket, shirt, tie, and pair of shoes that you own. The Salvation Army will be glad to see them.”
“I promise,” Marshall said.
“I’ll go with you to your final fitting at Sam’s,” Herbie said.
“Thanks, Herb,” Marshall said. “Oh, I almost forgot: a friend of mine is looking for new legal representation.” He handed Herbie a business card. “His name is Kent Holbrooke. He’s an entrepreneur, into lots of things. Call him.”
“First thing in the morning, Marshall.” Herbie shook his hand and got a cab home, pleased with his day.
27
Shelley swam slowly into consciousness and found herself in what looked like the guest room in some tasteful person’s home, except for the hospital bed she lay in and the equipment surrounding her, ticking and beeping. A nurse sat at her bedside reading a newspaper. She looked up. “Oh, you’re awake!”
“I seem to be,” Shelley said. “May I have a mirror?”
The nurse laughed. “Oh, you don’t want that,” she said, “at least not yet. You have a bandage across your nose and two black eyes. You look like a raccoon.”
“Swell,” Shelley said. “What do I do now?”
“The doctor will be in in a moment, then you can relax, read, watch TV, or just rest. He’ll discharge you tomorrow morning.”
The doctor came in, smiling. “Everything went perfectly,” he said.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“You’ll be out of here in the morning, and by that time I can minimize the dressing.”
“And I’ll look like someone who’s just had a nose job,” Shelley said.
“No, like someone who’s had an accident, maybe in the car.”
“Can I go to the hairdresser’s tomorrow?”
“Of course, as long as you’re feeling up to it.”
“I’m feeling up to it now.”
He patted her on the shoulder. “Just rest today. You’ll feel fine tomorrow, and I’ll give you something for the pain.”
“Pain? You didn’t mention pain!”
“There’s always some pain associated with any surgery, but I’ll give you some medication that will make it go away.”
“Right now I just feel numb all over.”
“That’s normal. Now, if you need the nurse or me, just use your bedside buzzer, and we’ll be here. In any case, I’ll stop by to see you again before I leave the office, around seven.”
“Thank you, Dr. Charles.”
The doctor left, and Shelley drifted off to sleep again.
Herbie dialed the number, and a woman with a British accent answered. “The Holbrooke Group, good morning.”
“Kent Holbrooke, please.”
“And who may I say is calling?”
“Herbert Fisher, of Woodman and Weld.”
A moment later, Holbrooke came on the line. “Herb Fisher?”
“That’s me.”
“Marshall Brennan says good things about you.”
“Marshall is my smartest client.”
“We need to get together. Where do you want to do it?”
“If you want to see what we look like, you can come here, otherwise I’m happy to come there or meet you somewhere.”
“There’s nothing to see here except a lot of steel furniture and grubby offices. You’re in the Seagram Building, right?”