Window Dressing
Jared Worsley, son of real estate magnate Hershel Worsley, stepped out of his limousine without bothering to acknowledge the chauffeur who had opened the door for him. His eyes took in Van Devere's Department Store, from the main entrance on the ground floor to the store's four-star restaurant on the twelfth. Although dwarfed in height by the surrounding skyscrapers, it was the largest shopping emporium in the world, consisting of more than two million square feet of floor space. Opened in 1900 by one of New York's old Dutch families, Van Devere's was as much a landmark in New York as the Empire State Building, the Brooklyn Bridge, Radio City Music Hall and the Statue of Liberty.
And now it's all mine, he thought.
Never before had a business deal brought him as much personal satisfaction. It was not that the department store would significantly add to his net worth. In all honestly, he didn't care one way or the other if it made a profit or a loss. His sole reason for purchasing the retail behemoth was a matter of family pride.
At sixteen, long before he made his fortune, Hershel Worsley had worked as a stock boy at Van Devere's. Even at that young age, the future multibillionaire was ambitious. Through hard work, intelligence and occasional blackmailing of someone in a supervisory position, he rapidly rose through the ranks, eventually being promoted to head buyer for menswear. It was at this level that he came into contact with Tunis Van Devere, III, the major stockholder and chairman of the board of directors. At first, the elderly Van Devere was impressed by Hershel's natural abilities and eagerness to learn. When he discovered the less scrupulous side of the young man's nature, however, he fired him on the spot.
"You are a scoundrel," Van Devere cried. "Completely lacking in morality, integrity and simple human decency. I don't ever want to see you in my store again."
"You needn't worry about that, old man," Hershel retorted disrespectfully. "I don't need you or Van Devere's. Someday I'll own my own company and make enough money to put this miserable establishment out of business."
"Ha! That's what you think. You mark my words, Worsley. You'll never amount to anything!"
Jared couldn't remember how many times his father had told him about that acrimonious parting of the ways. Whatever the number, it was enough to leave a lasting impression on his mind. It was as though he had actually been present the day his father was fired from Van Devere's. As he walked down the tenth-floor hall to the chairman's office, he could almost hear the words of the long-ago conversation echoing from the past.
On the walls of his new acquisition were portraits of Van Deveres going back to the founding of the company. They represented one hundred and sixteen years of a growing business being passed down from father to son. The last face, that of the most recent owner, was a familiar one. It was Schuyler Van Devere who, after a good deal of persuasion, agreed to sell the store to Jared.
The poor bastard had no choice, the new owner thought with a sense of triumph. It was either sell it to me and turn a nice profit or hold on to it and lose his shirt.
Jared's eyes moved from Schuyler's portrait to the one immediately to its left. It was a painting of Schuyler's father, Tunis Van Devere, III, the man who had fired Hershel Worsley.
"I only wish you and my father were alive to share this moment," Jared said to the two-dimensional likeness of a man he had considered his enemy for most of his life. "My victory would be so much sweeter if my father and I could rub your nose in it."
* * *
It was more than three months later that Jared Worsley visited Van Devere's again. After purchasing the department store, his thirst for retribution had been slaked and he turned it over to a capable manager to oversee the day-to-day operations, returning only for stockholders and board of directors meetings.
"Hello, Mr. Worsley," a voluptuous young woman greeted him as he waited in the lobby for an elevator to take him to the tenth floor.
"Do you work here?" he asked.
"My name is Haley Stant. I just started working in the marketing department. I'm only a trainee, but I have lots of ideas on how to increase sales during the upcoming holiday season."
"In that case, maybe you'd like to have lunch with me after the directors meeting, and we can discuss them."
In truth, Jared didn't give a damn about increasing saleskil. Although a married man, he had a weakness for a pretty face and a curvaceous figure, and Haley Stant had both.
"I'd love to," she replied.
With no interest in Van Devere's beyond its being an instrument of revenge, the chairman of the board found the meeting nigh on unbearable. The only way he got through it was to doodle with his Montblanc Meisterstück sterling silver pen on a sheet of inexpensive foolscap while daydreaming about Miss Stant's large chest and thin waist. When someone finally made a motion to adjourn, Jared was quick to second it. After a vote, the motion passed and he immediately exited the conference room and went in search of Haley.
"There you are," he said when he found her in the Xerox room making copies of the fourth quarter sales projections. "Are you ready for lunch?"
She looked at her watch and replied, "It's after three already. Isn't that a little late?"
"Then we'll make it an early dinner instead. I know this great little French restaurant about an hour's drive north of here."
"But I only get a forty-five-minute lunch break."
"Do you honestly think anyone is going to object to your having a late lunch meeting with the owner of the company?"
"I suppose not," she said with a playful smile and got her coat and handbag from her locker.
Haley heard the rumors about the new chairman of the board and assumed he had more on his mind than discussing her ideas for increasing holiday sales. In other words, she knew exactly what she was letting herself in for, but she was an ambitious woman who wasn't above sleeping her way up the corporate ladder as long as she eventually made it to the top.
"So, about my marketing strategies," she began after depositing her shapely derriere onto the passenger seat of Worsley's late model Mercedes.
"Relax," Jared told her. "We've got plenty of time to talk shop. I just spent the better part of a day listening to facts and figures about Van Devere's. I need a break."
Haley relented temporarily. However, she was not about to let the opportunity of presenting her ideas slip through her fingers. After all, she wanted something out of this meeting every bit as much as he did.
After finishing his médaillons de veau, Jared sipped his wine in silence while he waited for the waitress to bring the dessert menu. Haley chose that moment to bring up business again.
"I think all our existing marketing strategies need to be updated, beginning with a complete revamp of the store's interior design. Everything is so old-fashioned. Those mannequins look like they were left over from the 1950s. And Christmas—the busiest time of the year for all retailers—is the absolute worst. Just take our windows, for instance."
"Van Devere's is known worldwide for its holiday displays. People bring their kids to the store every year just to see them."
"You've hit the nail on the head. The windows are designed to appeal to children."
"Well, it is Christmas, after all."
"And how many of those kids do you think shop at Van Devere's?"
"But their parents ...."
"Don't do their holiday shopping with their kids in tow. They bring them to the store to see the windows, and then they take them inside to sit on Santa's lap and get a free candy cane. They don't go to the toy department to buy gifts. The mothers don't head for the jewelry, cosmetics, women's clothing or lingerie departments either. They usually want to get their kids home afterward. I'll bet half the people that see our displays later purchase their gifts at Walmart or amazon.com."
Jared had to admit that what Haley said made sense.
"What would you do differently?" he inquired, surprised that she had a brain in addition to a gorgeous face and killer body.
"For starters, I'd get rid of the animated figures and the Disney look of our displays. Trade the stale Santas and elves for a more avant-garde design. Replace the cliché snowmen and Christmas trees with cutting-edge electronics: hi-tech devices to appeal to adults—you know the people that have money in their pockets and plastic in their wallets and actually go inside the store to buy things."
When the waitress brought the dessert menus to the table, Haley decided to take a gamble.
"Excuse me," she said. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," the waitress replied, hoping her cooperation would earn her a larger tip.
"Have you ever gone to Van Devere's at Christmas time to see the holiday displays in its windows?"
"Of course, I do. I take my kids there and then over to Macy's every year."
"One more question. Do you buy your children's gifts at Van Devere's?"
"No way. The prices there are much too high for my blood. I usually go to Target."
"Thank you," Haley said, turning her head to her dinner companion with an I-told-you-so look on her face.
* * *
Edna Goodhall walked into her small basement office, sat in her chair and put a large cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee on her desk. In the world outside, it might be March, May, July or September, but within those four windowless walls, it was always late November with Edna counting down to Christmas. Twelve months a year, a poster of a decorated tree at Rockefeller Center hung above a filing cabinet. To the right of her computer was a Jim Shore Santa, and to the left was a pair of Byers' Choice carolers. It was what Edna loved most about her job: regardless of the time of year, to her, it was always Christmas.
As she was reaching for a file folder inside her desk drawer, there was a knock on her office door.
"It's open," she called.
An attractive, well-built young blonde entered, wearing a dress that, in Edna's opinion, was cut too low for the work environment. Although she didn't know the woman by name, she recognized her as an employee in the marketing department.
"Can I help you?"
"Actually, I'm here to help you," Haley said and introduced herself. "Mr. Worsley wants me to work with you on the holiday windows."
"It's the first I've heard of this," said Edna, who had been the window dresser at Van Devere's since the early Seventies.
"I'm sure you'll get the memo today if it's not in your inbox already."
I suppose I should have expected this, the window dresser thought. I'm getting up there in years. If something were to suddenly happen to me, they will need someone to take over my position.
But was Haley Stant the right person for the job?
"Have you any experience decorating windows?" Edna asked.
"No, but I studied marketing in college."
"Why don't I show you some of the previous years' displays? I've got photographs of all of them in these binders," the older woman explained, opening the most recent one.
"This was one of my most successful designs. The theme was Christmas around the world. Each of the ten windows represented the traditional holiday celebrations in a different country. Here's Père Noël by the Eiffel Tower, Father Christmas near the Tower of London, Sinterklaas beside a Dutch windmill, Ded Moroz or Grandfather Frost in front of Saint Basil's in Moscow."
"Very nice," Haley commented unenthusiastically.
"The following year I was inspired by the carol The Twelve Days of Christmas."
"But the store has only ten windows."
"True, but the two turtle doves and the three French hens shared the first window with the partridge in the pear tree."
"How clever."
The window dresser took down another binder and showed the young woman Christmas displays based on The Nutcracker, buildings found at the North Pole, preparations for Christmas and Edna's personal favorite: the windows inspired by scenes from Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol.
Haley, bored with the window dresser's stroll down memory lane, asked, "Have you any ideas for this year's holiday windows yet?"
"Are you kidding?" Edna laughed. "I begin thinking about a theme for the following year's windows once a display is up at the end of November. Every December, I begin sketching out each of the ten windows, a process that takes two or three months to complete. Once I have a good idea of what the displays will look like, I need to see if we have any usable items in our warehouse in Jersey. For instance, we have a large selection of Santa Clauses, elves, reindeer and snowmen from previous years. If there are new pieces I need, I have to either order stock items from one of my suppliers or have them custom-made."
"Aren't custom-made items expensive?"
"They can be. That's why my next step is to try to fit everything into my budget. If I don't have enough money to spend, then I have to start cutting costs by tweaking my designs."
"You do all that yourself?" Haley asked, not realizing how much work was involved in the job. "In addition to dressing the windows throughout the year? Don't you have an assistant or a secretary that can help out, at least with the administrative tasks?"
"No. This has always been a one-person job. Usually, the only assistance I get is a few stock boys to help me put out the heavier pieces. But I have no difficulty handling things. For most of the year, it's usually a matter of dressing the mannequins with the seasonal styles and adding a few props and backdrops. But with the holiday windows, it's eleven plus months of planning, design and prep work followed by seventy-two hectic hours to actually decorate the ten windows."
"That's not even a full day per window!"
"Well, if you're going to be my helper, you can count on a lot of long hours the week leading up to Thanksgiving. The displays must be unveiled when Santa Claus arrives at the store that evening. There have been times when I've worked through the night, catching a quick nap here in my office before going back to work."
Haley developed a grudging respect for the old woman who had dedicated her life to Van Devere's, but she was determined that when she became the window dresser, she would demand a year-round assistant and several helpers during Thanksgiving week. Being on intimate terms with the chairman of the board, she was certain her requests would be granted.
"So what is your theme for this year's windows?"
"Christmas through the years. I plan to begin with 1900, the year Van Devere's opened. I'll follow that with the World War I era, the Roaring Twenties, the Depression era of the Thirties, World War II and the Forties, the Fifties, the Kennedy era of the early Sixties and the psychedelic era of the Seventies. The ninth window will represent the present and the tenth will be the future."
Edna walked to her four-drawer file cabinet and took out three manila file folders.
"Here is a list of all the items I'll need. Those highlighted in yellow we have in our warehouse. Those in blue are standard items available through our usual suppliers. And those with red asterisks beside them are custom-made items. It usually takes eight to twelve weeks from the time the order is placed to when the completed figures are delivered to the store, so we want to make sure to place our order no later than the end of July."
By the time Edna went over the paperwork contained in the other two file folders, it was time for the women to break for lunch.
Here, I thought I was going to walk into this office, pitch my ideas for more modern, adult-oriented window displays and that would be that, Haley thought, discouraged by the amount of work she faced. The old lady would then help me put the display up, and when we were finished, my promotion to window dresser would be announced. I had no idea that months' worth of preparation have already gone into the project and that so much more still had to be done.
* * *
Although the November deadline was still weeks away, it was a busy time nonetheless for Edna Goodhall. Items for the display were being delivered every day. They had to be unpacked, checked for damage and then either approved for payment and put into temporary storage or sent back to the supplier for replacement.
During this time, the window dresser became increasingly dissatisfied with her young assistant. For one thing, Haley seemed to have an aversion to administrative work. Also, time management was not her strong suit. She was frequently late in the morning, took long lunches and left early at the end of the day. Worst of all, several times when the young blonde was supposed to be working, Edna found her talking on the telephone or sending text messages. Although displeased, the window dresser did not take her complaints to the personnel department.
It's not as though I need her help, Edna rationalized. I've been decorating the windows by myself all these years, and—God willing—I'll continue doing so for years to come.
With only three days until the curtains went down in the windows and the race to assemble the Christmas displays began, Edna was shaken out of her complacency when she unintentionally overheard Haley talking on the telephone.
"Come January when the old lady leaves and I'm promoted to window dresser, I want a different office," the young woman said to Jared Worsley, although Edna did not know the identity of the person on the other end of the line. "This place is the size of a closet. I want a larger office, one that's not in the basement and preferably one with a window."
Edna was flabbergasted. All this time she had been training Haley, she was blindly unaware that her job was on the line. In the face of this discovery, she finally went to see the head of human resources.
Walter Cohen, who had been with Van Devere's for about the same length of time as the window dresser, lowered his head, unable to look her in the eye.
"I'm afraid it's true," he said, confirming her worst fear. "I was instructed to wait until after the holidays to ask for your resignation."
"I thought everyone was satisfied with my work."
"We are," Walter quickly reassured her. "I think our windows are the nicest in the city, even better than Macy's."
"Then why does management want me to leave?"
"It's the new owner."
"Jared Worsley? But I've never even met the man."
"No, but he's met Haley Stant, and she's made quite an impression on him. Frankly, between you and me, she's filled his head with notions that our windows have to appeal to adults, not children. She wants to put cell phones, designer clothes and expensive jewelry in the windows, not mechanical figures of Santa Claus and elves."
"Why not just tell me? I can change the displays if they want ...."
Walter shook his head.
"There's more to it than that. Mr. Worsley ... well, he ...."
"Wants to reward Haley for services rendered," Edna said bluntly.
"The company is prepared to offer you a generous severance package. And, of course, you'll be able to collect social security and your pension."
"Oh, don't worry, Walt. I have more than enough money to get by on."
It was not a matter of financial necessity that had kept the window dresser at Van Devere's beyond normal retirement age. She had no family, no close friends and no pets. For most of her adult life, Edna had lived for her job. Where else could she enjoy Christmas twelve months a year and be paid well for exercising her creativity?
What will I do if I don't have my work? she wondered, her eyes filling with tears.
Although well aware that her days at Van Devere's were numbered, Edna did not slacken her pace one bit. The moment the curtains went down in the display windows, she began removing the existing mannequins and backdrops and replacing them with the holiday displays. For two straight days, she labored long into the night, recreating Christmases from times gone by.
On the day before Thanksgiving, she arrived at the store long before most other employees, including the young woman who would take over her job, come January. Nine of the windows were completed, and work was to begin on the tenth and largest one. In the four hours before her assistant finally arrived, Edna managed to get most of the scenery set up.
"Good morning," Haley called. "I hope you don't mind, but I've got to leave early today. I'm going to spend the holiday with my sister in the Poconos, and I want to avoid the rush-hour traffic."
"That's not a problem. I came in at four, and I've managed to get a lot done. In fact, I'll have no difficulty finishing number ten by myself. Why don't you see to the last-minute details on one through nine? Afterward, you can head out to Pennsylvania."
"Are you sure you don't mind?"
"Not at all. I've got nowhere to go."
"Are you going to be here for the unveiling tomorrow evening?"
"Of course! I haven't missed one yet."
"It's at six, right? My sister's serving the meal at one, so I'm going to try to get back here by then."
"Oh, do! You won't want to miss it. I understand even the new chairman of the board will be here with his wife and children to greet Santa."
Haley shot a suspicious look at the older woman. Was the mention of Jared's family meant as a deliberate reminder that she was having an affair with a married man? No, she realized after giving the matter some thought. The old lady did not appear to have a mean bone in her body.
* * *
The weather on Thursday was seasonably cold but clear. Many New Yorkers as well as people from New Jersey and Connecticut lined the streets to view Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. After Santa's float signaled the end of the procession, the crowds broke up, and people scattered across the Big Apple. Later that evening, many of them gathered in front of Van Devere's to await the arrival of Kris Kringle.
The section of street in front of the store was closed, and a VIP platform was erected for celebrities and members of the board of directors and their families who wanted a bird's eye view of the festivities. At six o'clock sharp, the program began. The cast of a Tony-winning Broadway musical sang a medley of Christmas carols followed by the Radio City Music Hall Rockettes who performed their much-loved toy soldier routine. Finally, officers from the NYPD cleared an opening in the roadblock to let in Santa Claus who arrived in a holiday-decorated, horse-drawn hansom cab.
Jared Worsley, holding his four-year-old son in his arms, had the honor of welcoming Santa to the store.
"Before you go up to the toy department on the seventh floor to sit on your golden throne," the chairman of the board said in a microphone, "will you give the order to unveil our holiday windows?"
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" the man in the red suit laughed. "I'd be delighted!"
At his command, the first of the window displays was revealed to the applause of the crowd. Exactly ninety seconds later, the second curtain rose. Ninety seconds after that, the third, and so forth up to and including the ninth window. The crowd waited patiently to see the final window display.
"What's wrong?" Worsley called to Haley Stant when after five minutes the curtain still hadn't risen.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Perhaps Miss Goodhall is still working on it."
"Well, go and find out."
Haley made it only as far as the main entrance of the store when the curtain finally rose on window ten. A gasp went through the crowd followed by several fright-filled screams.
"What the ...?" Jared yelled, quickly turning his son's face away from the scene.
The setting of the final window was indeed a Christmas of the future, but it was not one of hi-tech gifts and holiday decorations in a futuristic home setting. Instead, the future was represented by a cemetery. In front of an open grave was a full-sized coffin. What terrified the onlookers most, however, was the dead body of Edna Goodhall at the end of a rope hanging from the sturdy limb of an artificial tree.
Worsley handed his young son to his wife and told her to take the children home. Then he found Haley in the crowd and unleashed his wrath on her.
"How could you let this happen?"
"I didn't know anything about it."
Many people, especially those with young children, were hurrying away, but others stayed. Cell phones came out of their pockets and purses to take pictures and video clips of the macabre exhibit.
"Hurry up and shut that damned curtain!" Jared screamed, knowing that even as he spoke images and videos were being uploaded to Facebook, Instagram and YouTube.
* * *
The day after Thanksgiving, Black Friday, Walter Cohen called Haley Stant into his office.
"I realize you couldn't possibly have known that Miss Goodhall was going to take her own life," he said. "Still, Mr. Worsley feels you should have known what was going on in window ten."
"I saw her design on paper. I had no idea she was going to change it. I don't see how anyone can blame me for this ... this ... mishap."
"Mishap? This is a nightmare! Not only did social media and the tabloids jump all over the story, but TV news shows around the world ran with it as well. We've got parents threatening lawsuits, claiming their children have been traumatized."
"But it's not my fault!" Haley insisted.
"You wanted the job of window dresser. It was your responsibility to work with Edna to put up the holiday display. If you hadn't left work early on Wednesday, you might have noticed something was wrong with window ten."
"If I go back to marketing, how long ...."
"You're not going back. You're being terminated; your services are no longer required at Van Devere's."
"You're firing me?" she asked with disbelief. "But you can't do that. Jared Worsley himself gave me ...."
"It was Mr. Worsley's decision to let you go. His wife and children were on the VIP platform, so they had a terrifying view of the body."
Haley knew then that any further argument was useless. She lost not only her job but also any hope of continuing her relationship with the store's owner.
Once the despondent former employee left his office, Walter Cohen leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
"What a day! And it's only just beginning. I ought to give serious thought to retiring," he told himself.
His assistant then entered the room, smiling brightly.
"What have you got to be so cheerful about?" he asked.
"Wait until you see this!" she exclaimed, handing him a piece of paper.
"What is it?"
"An employment application."
"Gee," he said sarcastically. "I've never seen one of these before."
"Trust me. You're going to want to see this one."
The application was for the position of window dresser.
"Talk about seizing an opportunity," Walter laughed humorlessly. "This young woman must have read about Edna's suicide in the paper—or learned about it from any one of a thousand other sources—and decided to strike while the iron was hot. Well, at least she's got experience."
"You got any other good candidates?" his assistant inquired.
"Not a one. Give Ms. Owings a call and set up an interview, the sooner the better. Those Christmas displays have to come down on January 2 and something has to go up in their place."
* * *
Less than a week later, Winifred Owings walked into the small basement office set aside for the store's window dresser. She smiled at the poster of the tree in Rockefeller Center, and her heart was warmed by the sight of the Jim Shore Santa and the Byers' Choice carolers.
A larger office with a window, indeed! This is perfect just the way it is.
As she drank her Dunkin' Donuts coffee, she thumbed through several of the binders from the bookcase behind her desk.
What am I going to do next Christmas? she wondered.
Although she had been hired on a probationary basis, Winifred had no doubt she would still be working for Van Devere's come the holidays.
And for many, many years after that!
The ghost of Edna Goodhall then closed the book on her past accomplishments, picked up a pencil and pad of drawing paper and began sketching scenes from Clement C. Moore's classic poem, "A Visit from St. Nicholas."
Every year, I can count on Salem getting into my Christmas decorations.
