April 20th, 8:30 p.m. Midtown, New York City

There has always been a fine line between an acolyte and sycophant. One absorbs what she can from her superiors in order to learn the ropes of her job and the business, while the other learns the ropes in order to surpass the superior. Neither of them are mindless, but the acolyte, looking upon the superior with starry eyed naïveté, has yet to learn how to use treachery to her advantage. So it was with Vanessa's latest class of three up-and-coming Frugeré hopefuls who surrounded her like bodyguards sans the dark sunglasses, wearing sheath dresses of varying designs.

Tonight, the cosmetic trade association was holding their annual Spring industry awards event at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel and Vanessa was to be one of its recipients this evening. All the key industry players were in attendance and many of the up-and-comers, too. Vanessa had grown to detest these events in light of her current position. What she loathed most was the press and especially, those fashion groupies; the pasty faced Eurotrash reporters who seemed to succeed every year in crashing the event. But they've never actually created anything in their pathetic lives!

CEO Vanessa Joy Carrie had proven, as others before her, that people will pay for that special look or scent that will distinguish them from others. After all, her company had been the height of "chic" a mere twenty years ago. Styles had changed, yet Frugeré hadn't, at least not in step with current trends enough to maintain its heretofore meteoric rise in the industry.

What's a woman to do if she wants to transform her life? To Vanessa Carrie, the answer was simple—run like hell to the cosmetics counter. Be it lotions, mascara, rouge, fragrances, creams, you name it, beauty business is armed and ready to help anyone make any life changing transition at any time.

To satisfy that need, Vanessa Carrie had been there for over the past thirty years. Following in the steps of Elizabeth Arden, Estée Lauder, Helena Rubenstein and Bobbie Brown, Vanessa Carrie had started Frugeré from nothing. All a woman need to do was take a trip to any department store make-up counter, ground zero for the beauty industry. In fact, anyone can start a cosmetics company on a shoe string. Anyone, that is, with samples and a song. But it takes a skilled and talented marketer to grow the business and Vanessa had proven many times over that she was both. What you didn't know could be made up along the way. Because of her, eyeliner pencils were now 'cosmetic writing instruments'.

"Sell the story the customer wants to hear," Vanessa was once quoted as saying. "That's what women get when they visit the make-up counter."

Vanessa didn't come from money, but she learned quickly how to create her own license. As if taken right out of a Horatio Alger novel, her humble beginning began in relative obscurity in Brooklyn, back when she was Vanessa Cohen. Working behind the fragrance counters of Kossoff's and Bloomingdales, she honed her ability to sell. And sell she did. Though she had no formal college education to speak of, she read voraciously and paid attention to the latest trends. She endured the biannual jaunts to the much anticipated Premiere Vision textile trade show in Villepinte, just outside of Paris, where industry trendsetters learn about what people would be wearing, applying and spraying on them the following spring and fall.

Vanessa was unabashedly honest about her secret to success. "A woman is attracted to cosmetics by stories, promises and possibilities. Just create the illusion that this season's hottest color will be sold out soon, so rush to your nearest cosmetics counter to snatch up the product before it's too late." In other words, customers will buy something no one actually needs, but everybody wants.

Continued success meant throwing more parties, acquiring more couture and art, and donating to more charities. Her reputation was well earned—an aggressive marketer and perfectionist who answered to no one. Although tyrannical towards her employees, she knew how to charm all the industry high fliers and even the press. She became an industry leader and role model for women in the business community, ascending to the industry throne through unapologetic determination.

The present was a different story. Over the previous decade, Frugeré had struggled to keep pace with a dynamic industry. So much so, that the balance sheets showed a company on the verge of collapse. Her license to print money had eventually expired. Suddenly, any competitor's ill will that had been building up throughout was about to boil over. The dream had turned into a nightmare for Vanessa, so she needed a game-changing product to turn the tide.

Vanessa was in full evening gown regalia. For a woman, Vanessa was tall at 5'11". Add to that the fact that she eschewed her signature boots for three-inch high heels on this night, she was an imposing figure. Her imperious demeanor emanated from her very skin. To her, cutthroat ambition was a moral imperative. "I don't meet competition. I crush it!" she once said in an interview.

After Vanessa stepped out of her Crown Victoria, one of many lined up on Fifth Avenue, her three assistants followed. A few reporters stepped up and started asking questions about her business, "Is it true Frugeré will be filing for bankruptcy at the end of this month?" one reporter asked. "Will you be laying off more employees?" another one asked. "Can you comment on the rumor that Frugeré will be on the market for a suitor?" from someone else.

Always gracious to a fault in public, she responded radiantly, "I assure everyone that Frugeré is a financially healthy company and will be one for as long as I'm around. My new product line will be coming out this June, and it will be eye opening."

Having successfully assuaged the interrogation, she continued inside.

The main hall was enclosed in what appeared to be a glass dome. Attendees and the press had already poured in. The grand art-deco design with off-white walls and beige trim harkened back to a bygone era of Guy Lombardo at New Year's Eve. The polished parquet dance floor shined bright, surrounded by a crimson carpet's checkerboard design. A mezzanine encircled the hall's perimeter giving the venue an opera house feel. Above the mezzanine rested railed sky boxes.

Vanessa, her entourage in tow, entered the hall and was immediately greeted by young admirers hoping to hear words of inspiration from the Queen. For tonight, she was to receive her lifetime achievement award. It was nice to see that young crowds still adored her.

Over the din of clattering flatware and the tingling sounds wine flutes, servers snaked through the crowd with hors d'oeuvres of risotto balls with white truffle and teriyaki chicken bites on toothpicks. Nothing was more prevalent than talk of the sexy looks and the hot colors of the summer ahead. The color this year? Mauve. Last year, it was Char-gold. The year before that? Gray.

As she approached table six, she met three of her contemporaries with hugs and kisses. There sat Harlow Odette, herself a prominent industry executive, as was Miranda Korda. All of them divorcees. Although her three assistants had taken their seats, Vanessa didn't bother to introduce them.

"It's so good to see you, Vanessa," said Harlow. With her dark complexion and willowy hairstyle, she could have been mistaken for Vanessa's twin, except that she had managed to keep her age in check much better. "Congratulations on your award, darling."

Miranda, sporting a perm of brunette hair the size of Manhattan knew just where to probe for weakness. "So, we were wondering why Frugeré hadn't issued its press releases yet to the buyers about your fall line."

Friendly, but competitors just the same, the conversation turned from cordial to discomforting in the flick of an eyelash. Vanessa wasn't from as cultured a background as the other three, but she was easily the toughest.

"It's all part of the grand strategy, girls," Vanessa said, managing a forced smile and a barely audible laugh, shoulders tensed. "The anticipation factor this season is intended to add a little spice to the buzz."

"Vee," Francesca, alabaster skinned, with short brown hair and was the thinnest of the bunch, wore a patterned sheath dress, entered the fray. "I just hired six of your former employees. I do hope all is well over at Frugeré."

Vanessa cursed inside but maintained her endearing smile. "No worries, dear. Frugeré's just as strong as ever. We all know how challenging it is to market our products year after year. I dare say that each of us have experienced down years at one time or another."

Her statement brought a sudden chill to the table. The arrows successfully redirected, Vanessa started talking about general popular trends, avoiding any further shop talk discussion. After a catered dinner of garden salad and chicken Cordon Bleu, the award portion of the evening began as dessert was being served.

As the crowd settled down, the master of ceremonies thanked everyone, then started announcing the awards. Finally, it was Vanessa's turn. The emcee welcomed her as she approached the impressive, solid oak dais with an air of confidence. She adjusted the microphone upward as all eyes gazed upon her, and prefaced her speech by thanking the Association for the honor.

"Some say that a superior intellect is the key to success in this industry," she began. "Others say that to make it you have to appeal to people's good graces on the way up because you'll meet them on the way down. Still some others insist that appearances are everything. Well, I wasn't smart, I wasn't nice to people and, well, you all see what I'm wearing this evening."

A ripple of laughter filled the room for a few moments before she continued. "The business world has two kinds of people: you are either a mouse or a lioness. A mouse gets the crumbs, but a lioness fights tooth and claw for what she needs to survive. To make it, you have to be selling all the time, yourself, your products. To achieve greater success, you must believe in yourself. You must let go of the opinions of others and find the greatness that lies within you."

She continued with her speech and accepted her award with her signature Vanessa Carrie smile and grace.

The evening would have ended on a high note, but for the fact that she had decided to remain in the hall a bit longer. It was then that she eyed Sid approaching her and expected one of his signature jibes, but instead was greeted with, "Wonderful speech, Vanessa."

Sid, whom she thought to be a rat-faced bastard of a man, was wearing a conservative gray pinstriped suit with a red tie. His once black curly hair extended slightly over his forehead, giving way to a distinguishing salt and pepper look on the sides.

Vanessa's eyelashes flitted. "Always a pleasure, Sid." So I could throw you into a vat of piping hot oil.

"A word?" he said with the terseness of an order, not a request. "This won't take long." He motioned her to follow him outside to the hallway which led out to the main lobby.

Alone, Sid turned toward her, speaking in sotto voce. "A proposition. Everyone knows that Frugeré's on the ropes. Your product line's old and tired. I can offer you a way out. A merger, we'll call it, to save face. It's the right move for you."

"No sale." she answered with a dark forced smile.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I'm offering you a chance to preserve your precious legacy—before it goes down the shitter."

"I said no, Sid. Not to anybody and especially not to you. Now if you'll excuse me--"

"Face it, Vanessa, Frugeré has run its course and everyone here knows it," he proclaimed, like an argumentative lawyer cross examining a hostile witness.

"Everyone in there just validated my reputation this evening. Which is something I can't say about yours," she responded, while forcing a polite smile.

"That was a retirement dinner for you. A send off. Nothing more. If you don't take my deal, your precious empire will crumble and no one will be around to pick up the crumbs."

Prick. For the first time in as long as she could remember, Vanessa was speechless. Her dead glassy eyes narrowed in on his, both white knuckled fists clenched with fury.

Then sweet as maple syrup, she said, smiling and forcing a laugh "I repeat. No deal. Now or ever. Have a good night, Sid."

Vanessa spun away and began marching out, saying nothing.

In a full voice so that everyone could hear, he said, "Damn shame, we were all so looking forward to kicking your ass again this year." Sid continued to taunt her. "That's right. Just run away, you pathetic bitch!"

She knew it was time to gather the girls and make an exit but Sid was about to cross the line. "So that's what you do when someone pushes you too hard, is it?

"No, this is." She then walked to the center of the floor, as if on a soap box and said, "Excuse me everyone, I have an announcement to make. Sid Barnett just made a most gracious offer to merge with Frugeré."

The sound of muted laughter from some attendees who were in earshot was lost on the two, as bewildered guests in the lobby turned. A small crowd had started to form around them.

Sid said nothing, but one could see him grit his teeth and mouth the word 'Bitch'.

"Oh, Sid. Surely, you'd like to share it with all of us here. Tell us how Halle Ruse has been selling your watered down garbage to the public for years. And I'm sure they'd love to hear about how your legal department routinely gives the FDA the runaround by paying off the inspectors!"

Losing composure, he approached her shouting, "You're through, Vanessa! You'll be crawling back to me for a job in no time, when no one else will hire you."

Confident she'd have the last word, she wheeled around and said, "The only one of us who'll be crawling is you, when we all find out what a fraud you are."

Vanessa left Sid shouting obscenities at her, leaving her adversary in the dust as she walked away into the proverbial sunset.

Her three handmaidens finally caught up. One of them said, "Wow! You were brilliant. I can't believe he said those things to you."

Vanessa adjusted her blouse and then told them to leave her.

As she got in her waiting car, her cell phone beckoned. It was Gunther. "Vanessa, you'd better get over here right away. It's urgent."

"No, tell me now. What happened?"

Gunther's uncomfortable silence on the other end on the line was telling. 'It's the Tri-Meth vials. They're...gone."

Copyright © 2016 by Alan Field. All Rights Reserved.