“We’ll get them next time.”

  “Why do they think all Jews have big noses? I do not have a big nose,” Lilly said as she pulled down the passenger vanity mirror to inspect her face.

  “No, you don’t, it’s a beautiful nose,” Vivian said in a warm tone, reaching out to squeeze Lilly’s arm.

  “Yes, it is.”

  In silence, the two ladies drove to the top of Mount Royal Park. Got out of the car and enjoyed the breathtaking view that overlooked the city.

  Vivian, The Kennedy’s Don’t Live in Canada.

  Two weeks later, with a typed presentation and a large cardboard that was decorated with magazine pictures of women traveling in cars, trains, and even airplanes, Vivian and Mr. Sand were set to present the idea of the Travel Set in the department store office at 7:30 in the morning, so as to not disrupt Vivian’s and Mr. Sand’s shifts.

  The presentation ensemble, if you please: One elegant crepe navy blue knee-length skirt and matching blazer and a silk white blouse, framed with a strand of pearls, simple solitaire pearl earrings, and the perfect shade of red lipstick, called Love That Red. Her hair was pulled away from her face, so as to not distract her or anyone else, and tied back in a bun, secured with a gold hairpin that was handed down from her grandmother.

  “This should bring you good luck,” her mother said to her as she twirled the pin in mid-air as Vivian was styling her hair that morning in her bedroom. “May I?” her mother asked, while Vivian’s face lit up as if her own grandmother, whom she never met, was giving her the hairpin herself. As she bent down a few inches so her mother could reach her head to accommodate her mother’s petite frame, to fasten the hairpin in place, Vivian backed away a few feet and raised her hands to her sides. “Voila!”

  “You’re going to be smashing!” her mother announced while clapping her hands together, while they both laughed.

  “Thanks, mom,” Vivian said, while a wave of happiness hugged her. She finally felt supported.

  The Travel Set was a plastic transparent case, filled with five items: a cleanser, face cream, pressed powder, mascara, and a neutral shade of lipstick, one that was not too red and not too orange—a daunting task to find the right color, after Vivian tried on about fifty shades on her wrists. Of course, there was still room to add in a rouge and a nail polish if the customer so inclined. This Travel Set contained the standard basics that every woman needed while traveling.

  One final trip to the Sunderland’s ladies’ room, to make sure not a hair was out of place, nor a smudge of lipstick was seen on a tooth. Vivian stared into the mirror and smiled at herself.

  “Go,” she said out loud and didn’t care if anyone was in the stalls.

  “Go where?” said a female voice from a bathroom stall. “Vivian, is that you?”

  “It sure is,” Vivian answered to one of the salesgirls from the floor as she exited the ladies room en route to the boardroom where she was going to change the world.

  The room sat six balding men and Elaine around a large boardroom table. The men were smoking pipes and cigars while Elaine was smoking a cigarette. Coffee and cookies from Sunderland’s coffee stand were placed in the middle of the table, that Vivian purchased from her own pocket, earlier that morning but was given a generous discount as the coffee shop manager knew what these refreshments were for. “Go, get ‘em Viv!” She told her young and tenacious cosmetician as she walked away, profusely thanking the manager, and giggling with excitement.

  Vivian began her presentation by introducing herself in a shaky voice, but eventually relaxed when she began to repeat the story that was experienced at the Revlon counter with Mrs. Linton only a month ago. With a prepared typed script, research was shared that she found from visiting drugstores, other department stores and magazines while she pointed to the pictures that were posted on her cardboard. Although Vivian didn’t need to read from her script, as she knew it by heart. And so did her parents, as they heard her rehearsing for days in her bedroom each evening until that very day. Mr. Sand piped in and shared a few thoughts on the clientele that entered the store and what they were buying.

  After Mr. Sand finished talking, Vivian put her Bristol board down on a chair and waited. The presentation was over, and the room fell silent. Vivian’s heart wouldn’t stop pounding through her chest and her mouth felt as if she had a cotton ball in it as she waited for someone in the audience to speak. All that was heard was the puffing of cigars, the occasional cough, and Elaine tapping her fingernails on the desk. One man got up and helped himself to a cup of coffee and a cookie.

  “My, these are so good. What do they put in them?” he asked with a mouthful.

  “These types of women do come into the store!” Vivian blurted out, trying to make sure the topic wouldn’t sway from her presentation to the cookies they sold at Sunderland’s.

  “The Kennedys don’t live in Canada, Vivian,” the cookie monster spoke while chewing, while helping himself to another.

  All the men laughed.

  Elaine gazed at Vivian and the men who sat beside her, and put her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, crossed her arms, and didn’t smile or frown. Vivian began to panic, as that comment wasn’t funny at all. She knew that there were women out there, like Mrs. Linton, that needed a Travel Set exactly like the one she envisioned. She racked her brain to say something. “Women travel. To their country homes an hour from Montreal or across the border to Vermont to ski,” Vivian bravely said, feeling pleased with her additional comment.

  “Mmm-hmmm,” one of the balding men smoking a pipe grunted, placing Vivian back in her spot, where she was jumping up and down inside yelling someone believe me!

  “You’re talking about 1 percent of the population here,” another man said.

  “Thank you, sweetheart, for taking the time to present to us today. You are very cute,” said one man as he smiled at Vivian as if she was six years old.

  “I’m cute?” Vivian questioned, feeling incredibly insulted.

  “You are adorable. Everyone loves you around here. You come into work each morning, all bright-eyed and bushy tailed and ready to take on the world! The crowds of women that come in here to listen to what you have to say about makeup is quite impressive,” one man said.

  “To top it all off, you are in your early twenties! We really love that about you and want you to keep doing what you’re doing,” said another man.

  “That’s just it! I deal with these women all day and I know what they want!”

  “Really? Did they all tell you that they wanted this particular Travel Set?” asked a man, which caught Vivian off guard, as he was right. Only Mrs. Linton asked for it, while the rest of the clientele wanted their regular order. A lipstick here. A face powder there. There was no mention of a Travel Set from any other woman. Vivian was at a loss of words.

  “Vivian, did any other woman want a Travel Set?” The man said again.

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, there you have it,” the man said as he raised and lowered his hands.

  Vivian whipped her head to her right to meet Mr. Sand’s hazel eyes, hoping he would hand her a life preserver to keep from drowning, but there was nothing to hang on to, except for a warm smile while he shrugged his shoulders, which she took, as an empathetic gesture was desperately needed.

  “Uh, ok,” Vivian softly said, as she walked out of the boardroom, shaking, holding her Bristol board under her arm and the script in one of her hands. As she closed the door behind her, she walked a couple of feet away, and stopped once she got to a corner, not knowing where to go. Her Bristol board and script fell from her hands onto the floor, and she watched them lie there. Motionless, as if they had been shot with a gun.

  Mr. Sand caught up with Vivian. “Where did you disappear to?” He picked up her wounded presentation materials.

  “Oh, I just needed some air,” Vivian responded, looking away, quickly wiping away a tear. This was partially true, as Vivian’s disappointed and crushed thoughts needed somewhere to evaporate.

  “You did great in there,” Mr. Sand sweetly said, studying Vivian to make sure she was alright, and handed back her things. He knew she was not.

  “Yeah,” Vivian said while playing nervously with her pearl necklace, trying to force a smile, but couldn’t. The click clack of heels were coming closer, and Vivian knew who it was, and she closed her eyes to breathe deeply to gather strength to face her, begging her tears to not move down her cheeks.

  “Hey… you guys gave it your best shot. Really, they know their stuff there. It won’t work. Look, if a woman comes in and wants another face powder or lipstick, or a face cream, sell it to her, no matter if you sold her the same one the day before,” Elaine told Vivian, and Mr. Sand. Vivian felt as if Elaine was handing over a consolation prize that would be as welcome as a vacuum cleaner for Mother’s Day.

  “Okay, sure, right,” Vivian whispered while still trying to smile, but her mouth wouldn’t budge. A rejection like this was worse than she ever experienced. Sure, she struggled in school as a child, but it was well deserved because of boredom. Her first few months at Sunderland’s was not a walk in the park as there were plenty of lessons to learn, but after a short while, she became a pro and sky-rocketed quickly. But this! Weeks of research and rehearsing, giving it her all and working to the bone—down the drain. And she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  The rest of the day was a complete blur. If you happened to be on the same bus ride home with Vivian that day, and ask her what she sold at Sunderland’s, who she spoke to, and even what she had for lunch, she wouldn’t remember.

  “And…?” Miriam shouted from the kitchen as she heard the front door open. Waiting for a response, she took off her apron and walked to greet her daughter and found her crouched down on the floor, with her coat and hat still on, crying. There was nothing Miriam could do but hug her.

  “How am I going to go to work tomorrow?”

  “With your feet,” Miriam said, while Vivian looked at her mother as if she grew an extra head. “You may have lost this battle, but don’t let them get all of you.”

  And after her favorite supper and a warm bath, Vivian went to bed and got up the next morning and let her feet lead the way, feeling grateful that her mother placed her meet-a-man-and-get-married-already wishes on the back burner so that she could properly comfort her.

  * * *

  For the rest of the week, Vivian dove right back into her work and shoved her feelings of rejection to the bottom of her boudoir and slammed the doors shut so she didn’t have to face them. Downtime was spent buying stacks of fashion magazines and devouring them one after the other. Watching TV commercials, studying every female that she encountered—on the bus, at Sunderland’s and on the streets. How did they put themselves together? What lipstick shade is that and where did you buy that blouse? These were questions that flew out of her mouth, as Vivian needed to be kept busy and help her not think about that morning in the boardroom where she felt like a rich spoiled princess whining about what she thought rich spoiled princesses needed. Just how Mme. Tremblay described her on the very first day she started. Maybe Mme. Tremblay was right all along, she thought, second guessing her true talent, but she still stood by the fact that there was nothing wrong with her hair.

  “They just don’t get it,” Mr. Sand reassured Vivian over coffee one morning. They don’t know a good idea if it hit them on the head,” he added.

  “Next time, finish your research,” Elaine whispered to Vivian, in the stockroom on another day, while placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She quickly looked around to see if anyone was standing by and leaned in a little closer to whisper “Between you and me, I think you really got something there. It takes a long time to produce a product. You need more data—that’s all.”

  “I don’t know what happened with your idea in the boardroom the other day, but whatever it was, I’m here to talk about it,” Lilly said. A gesture that was appreciated, but declined as mentioned earlier, Vivian locked her boudoir, for now.

  Comments like these lifted Vivian’s spirits up and helped her go on and do her job that she loved. And to not give up.

  On the Friday of that week, she stood up tall, looked around the department store, and said, “I’m not giving up.”

  “No giving up what, chèrie?” Mme. Tremblay asked.

  At that point, in Vivian’s eyes, due to the update from Mr. Sand, her relationship with Mme. Tremblay had changed. Yes, she was still hurt by her judgements, but she was just another sales lady that she worked with, and Vivian no longer felt threatened by her. As Vivian was about to explain her plan for her Travel Set to Mme. Tremblay, a customer came by, and Mme. Tremblay began to serve her. All the better, as Vivian would tell her another time. Perhaps when her plan worked out.

  Vivian had work to do. Her blinders were needed again to focus on her job. She held on to her Bristol board and notes and placed them away in her bedroom closet as she knew that she would need them again, someday to present the Travel Set to somebody, but first, a need to play Frank Sinatra was requested.

  Lilly and Vivian Play Frank Sinatra!

  Sunderland’s employees worked in separate departments, but when it came down to certain activities and situations, they had a secret code. A language that they used that only they understood.

  A selective choice of words that described anything from a very much needed coffee break to a customer that made you want to rip their hair out from their scull. But the one code that was used for as long as Mme. Tremblay, Vivian and Mr. Sand could remember was to request to play a Frank Sinatra song, when a certain illegal deed occurred. A first for Lilly, in more ways than she ever expected.

  The following day at Sunderland’s, there was no snow on the ground, but there was a crisp and strong wind in the air. Winter coats—furs and wool, with complimentary hats, scarves, mittens, and gloves were all in full view on the racks and counter tops. Extra moisturizing creams were added to cosmetic lines to fight off the dry Canadian winter skin. Photographs of women modeling soft dewy skin, clothed in cozy warm sweaters were placed in front of the jars and bottles. The same went for the cooler shades for lipsticks and nail polishes. Of course, the classics were still flying off the shelves, as certain colors never went out of style.

  The Christmas decorations were draped tastefully all over the store, thanks to the new company Sunderland hired for the task. Store employees complained on having to work the extra hours, as they were eager to return to their families after a long day of work.

  Mr. Sand oversaw the whole Christmas decoration project that was installed on the evening of Halloween, and he loved every minute of it.

  “It was like I had a blank page, and my job was to color it all in with crayons!” Mr. Sand boasted on the morning of November first as he sashayed around the center of the aisle. He looked as proud as a new father to be. Vivian wanted the chance to speak to Mr. Sand privately about the Travel Set. In particular, what her next move was going to be, but his head was in the Christmas spirit, so she decided to wait a little while longer.

  The color scheme that year was silver and blue, Lilly’s favorite. Vivian didn’t care for it that much and preferred last years’ colors.

  “Oh well … as long as the customers like it, I suppose,” Vivian said as she tapped a silver balloon.

  “Sour grapes! It’s because you don’t celebrate it,” Mr. Sand teased.

  “So not true, Mr. Sand!”

  “Oh yes, true my darling.”

  “Okay, maybe a little true…,” Vivian joked.

  “Time to unload this new shipment,” Lilly announced as she saw a delivery man with a stack of boxes. Mr. Sand’s eyes widened as he clapped his hands in appreciation.

  “Ah yes … the new gloves. I’ve been waiting for these. Viv—you are going to love these. Wait until you see these babies!”

  Mr. Sand and Vivian were hovered over the box as one ripped it open with an exactor knife, and the other took out the tissue paper and raised a red suede glove in the air.

  “Stuunnning!” Vivian gushed.

  More oohing and ahhing over the new merchandise were shared, while Lilly looked on and took in the enthusiasm. She then gazed at her wristwatch as it was 9:45 AM and the store was going to be open shortly. Except for one or two occasions for not arriving on time due to illness or a dentist appointment, Lilly always arrived to work before the doors opened. Yes, of course to first savor the finest coffee in Montreal and yes, to also enjoy a cookie, but also because it was her job to arrive on time. Getting herself ready and her three kids out the door, alone each day was no small feat. Did Mr. Fine acknowledge this responsible behavior? No, but it made Lilly proud on her own.

  At 9:55 AM, before the front doors were officially opened, Lilly walked away from Vivian’s counter, en route to the shoe department, that officially opened at 10, but something stopped her in her tracks a few feet away from her. She saw a young woman slip a perfume bottle into her purse. A wave of nausea moved up Lilly’s chest as she never saw this type of activity happen in real life. As she raised her hands to her mouth, she could feel her pulse quicken. Sure, she heard about people shoplift all the time on the radio dramas, and soap operas on TV, but in real life? In front of her own two eyes? What was she going to do? What was going to happen? Her instinct led the way as she whipped her body around and leaped back to the counter where her co-workers were ogling over the box of gloves.

  “Girl. Bottle—purse,” Lilly whispered like a gasp, and even though her words didn’t make any sense whatsoever, Mr. Sand and Vivian fully understood and followed the protocol. What happened next, Lilly did not expect—especially of herself.

  “Play Frank Sinatra!” Vivian yelped.

  Mr. Sand froze, holding a glove in his hand. He let out a firm breath and put it down on the counter. “Frank Sinatra,” he repeated loudly so that everyone within earshot could hear.

  “Frank Sinatra,” Vivian repeated while Lilly froze in her heels and was completely befuddled as she watched Mr. Sand and Vivian scurry about and each employee on the main floor began to mouth the words “Frank Sinatra” to each other, as that was the official code for a shoplifter on the premises of Sunderland’s Department Store. A few of the employees left their posts one by one to join Vivian and Mr. Sand as backup and two security guards marched to the front doors and stood by.