The Life She Wanted: A Novel(81)

“Women can still dream about buying ball gowns,” Annalise reflected. “I’m lucky to sell gloves and stockings. No one gives parties these days. If they do, women wear whatever is in their closets.” Her brow furrowed. “The worst part is when clients try to sell me gowns they bought years ago.”

Pandora left the shop disappointed. At least she wasn’t trying to open her own boutique.

It was late and she was hungry.

She had been so sure that a local dress shop would stock her sportswear. She had to find someone who would take them.

Her and Esme’s future depended on it.





Chapter Twenty


March 1930, Hyde Park, New York

Pandora flipped through a magazine and tried not to appear anxious as she sat in the reception room at Lord & Taylor waiting to meet with Dorothy Shaver, the head buyer. Dorothy Shaver was one of the most powerful women in the fashion industry, and Pandora had been lucky to get an appointment with her.

Pandora had spent the last month redoing her designs. If wealthy women weren’t buying dresses, she had to focus on working women instead. Knit dresses they could wear for casual evenings at home after a long day at the office or the factory. Practical sweaters and cardigans to wear on the weekends, on a date, or with their families.

“Miss Shaver will see you now,” the secretary announced. She glanced at Pandora haughtily. “She’s very busy; you have thirty minutes.”

Dorothy Shaver’s office was on the seventh floor overlooking Fifth Avenue. She sat at a maple desk next to a large potted plant. Modern art covered the walls, and a small dog was curled up in the corner.

“Good morning, Miss Carmichael.” Dorothy shook Pandora’s hand. Pandora had decided to use her maiden name in business. It felt more familiar, and she wouldn’t be associated with Harley.

Dorothy was in her midthirties, with dark hair and close-set dark eyes. She wore a severe-looking navy dress and bright red lipstick. A triple strand of pearls hung around her neck, and she wore high-heeled leather pumps.

“Please call me Pandora.”

“I don’t often meet with first-time designers,” Dorothy began. “You came highly recommended by Adele Enright. Adele is a loyal customer, and she has the best taste.”

“Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me.” Pandora set her design book on the desk. She hoped her voice didn’t betray her nervousness. “At first, I planned to design clothes for women to wear to sporting events, then I realized women should be comfortable all the time. Fabrics these days make it so easy to move. The best part about my designs is that the pieces mix and match. A woman can wear the same lightweight jacket with a few different skirts and have a new look each time.”

Dorothy put on a pair of reading glasses. She motioned for Pandora to sit down.

“These are quite good.” She flipped through the sketches. “I love the bold colors and shapes. A few other female designers are also creating sportswear: Clare Potter and Lilly Daché. I’m putting together a promotion called the American Look. Some of your pieces would be perfect for it.”

Pandora almost couldn’t believe her ears. She gaped at Dorothy.

“So you’ll take them?” she said hesitantly.

“I’ll make a list of what I want,” Dorothy answered. “I’ll need them soon and in large quantities.”

“What kind of quantities?” Pandora asked.

Dorothy studied Pandora over her glasses. “When Lord & Taylor puts money into marketing and advertising, it doesn’t expect to sell just a few sweaters and skirts.” She paused. “Will that be a problem?”

Where would Pandora find the money to buy enough fabric?

“I’m not sure,” Pandora said honestly.

Dorothy removed her glasses.

“Why don’t you call me later when you sort it out.” She picked up her phone. “My secretary will see you out.”





Pandora stood on the sidewalk and wondered what to do. She could go to Enright’s Bank and ask for a business loan. But Adele would hear about it and insist on lending Pandora the money herself. Pandora had taken enough from Milton and Adele; she had to do this without their financial help.

She marched down Fifth Avenue and entered J.P. Morgan & Co. The bank was almost empty, and it was easier to get an appointment with a loan officer than she had expected. A little man with owl-shaped glasses sat across from her, listening to Pandora’s pitch. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair and gazed at her admiringly.

“This is splendid,” he said enthusiastically.

“Then you’ll loan me the money?” Pandora asked, relief flooding through her. She couldn’t wait to tell Virginia.

“I’m afraid not.” He closed Pandora’s design book.

“You said it was a splendid plan.” Pandora frowned.

“It is, but you’ll need to borrow a large amount.” He folded his arms. “What happens if after a few months you give up the business to stay home and raise children?”

“That’s not going to happen.” Pandora felt the heat rising inside her. “I’m a widow, and I already have a daughter and nanny.”

The man stood up. He rubbed his glasses and held out his hand.