ordering fabric to negotiating with retailers.
When Jonathan
returned from his own war in 1946, with little training in anything else, he
wanted a chance to run the business himself. His infamous father, Jonathan
Horvath I, was losing the business because of gambling debts and lost military
contracts. Jonathan knew how to turn it into a successful, large-scale
enterprise. So he developed a plan to save it. But it needed a lot of money to
get started, or rather, keep it going. The banks wouldn’t lend enough to cover
both labor and fabric costs, so he approached Ellen’s Uncle George. Ellen
wasn’t surprised when Uncle George lent him the money. He did owe her
something, some compensation at least, for his … transgressions.
Soon, the failing
uniform business turned into a thriving coat business. It wasn’t until the
Vietnam War started that they returned to making uniforms, and that’s when
things took off financially. By the mid-seventies, they started making private
label activewear and sportswear as well. Ellen studied the crowds of pedestrians
scurrying in front of her car, no doubt on their way to appointments with
fabric vendors or trim houses. The loud hustle of the district surrounded her,
as workers pushing rolling racks filled with plastic-covered garments
crisscrossed among the trendy designers and students.
Ellen reached for
the car phone in the bar and dialed Brianna’s new number. Ellen lost track of
how many places Brianna had lived in, how many times she changed jobs. She
seemed incapable of any sort of stability or commitment to either a man or a
career. And the latest one—teaching meditation, writing, and doing yoga—meant
she would never meet a decent man. A complete waste of time.
Ellen shook her head
as the phone went to her answering machine. “Hi, Brianna. It’s Mother. I was
hoping to say goodbye before we leave—”
“Hey …” Brianna’s voice cut in, sounding
groggy. “Where are you going?”
“Barbados, remember?
It’s our fortieth next Friday,” Ellen said. “Our second honeymoon.”
“I thought he wanted
to leave you.” Her voice was icy and indifferent.
“Your father
intends—”
“He intends to screw
around on you again and again. God, Mother, face it.”
“Brianna, he’s your
father.” Ellen strained to inhale the dense muggy air.
“He may be my
father, but that doesn’t mean I respect him. I can’t stand what he does to you.
How can you just sit back and ignore everything? It’s pathetic.”
You’re pathetic is what she actually meant, Ellen knew that. “Brianna, I … we’re working—” Ellen fought her need to argue, it would
prove pointless as always. She pushed the button to unroll the car window
partway. “How’s your new job? Do you think it’s one you can stick with for a
while?”
“Honestly, Mother,
you act like nothing’s wrong with your marriage. After this trip, he’ll be back
with her, or another one. God, why won’t you just leave?”
“And give up on my
marriage? You’re joking. You do not understand anything about—”
“Your marriage is
the joke. Is it really worth saving?”
“How can you even
ask that? Our marriage is blessed by God, and only God can end it. It’s the
most important thing in my life.” Ellen opened the window all the way,
breathing deep to slow her racing heart. The air was rank with garbage. She
abruptly raised it. “Leave? That’s absurd.” Ellen turned on the fan. “You know
what happens to women who leave their husbands.”
“Yeah, they get a
life. They discover—”
“No, dear. Maybe in
your world. In my world, women my age end up alone. Men of equal status and
wealth don’t want them. Society discreetly shuns them until they are
conveniently forgotten about. There they sit and age, until one day people ask,
‘Is she still alive? I thought she was dead.’ So you see, there isn’t a place
for older, single women with no status.”
“Status? You really
care about
When Jonathan
returned from his own war in 1946, with little training in anything else, he
wanted a chance to run the business himself. His infamous father, Jonathan
Horvath I, was losing the business because of gambling debts and lost military
contracts. Jonathan knew how to turn it into a successful, large-scale
enterprise. So he developed a plan to save it. But it needed a lot of money to
get started, or rather, keep it going. The banks wouldn’t lend enough to cover
both labor and fabric costs, so he approached Ellen’s Uncle George. Ellen
wasn’t surprised when Uncle George lent him the money. He did owe her
something, some compensation at least, for his … transgressions.
Soon, the failing
uniform business turned into a thriving coat business. It wasn’t until the
Vietnam War started that they returned to making uniforms, and that’s when
things took off financially. By the mid-seventies, they started making private
label activewear and sportswear as well. Ellen studied the crowds of pedestrians
scurrying in front of her car, no doubt on their way to appointments with
fabric vendors or trim houses. The loud hustle of the district surrounded her,
as workers pushing rolling racks filled with plastic-covered garments
crisscrossed among the trendy designers and students.
Ellen reached for
the car phone in the bar and dialed Brianna’s new number. Ellen lost track of
how many places Brianna had lived in, how many times she changed jobs. She
seemed incapable of any sort of stability or commitment to either a man or a
career. And the latest one—teaching meditation, writing, and doing yoga—meant
she would never meet a decent man. A complete waste of time.
Ellen shook her head
as the phone went to her answering machine. “Hi, Brianna. It’s Mother. I was
hoping to say goodbye before we leave—”
“Hey …” Brianna’s voice cut in, sounding
groggy. “Where are you going?”
“Barbados, remember?
It’s our fortieth next Friday,” Ellen said. “Our second honeymoon.”
“I thought he wanted
to leave you.” Her voice was icy and indifferent.
“Your father
intends—”
“He intends to screw
around on you again and again. God, Mother, face it.”
“Brianna, he’s your
father.” Ellen strained to inhale the dense muggy air.
“He may be my
father, but that doesn’t mean I respect him. I can’t stand what he does to you.
How can you just sit back and ignore everything? It’s pathetic.”
You’re pathetic is what she actually meant, Ellen knew that. “Brianna, I … we’re working—” Ellen fought her need to argue, it would
prove pointless as always. She pushed the button to unroll the car window
partway. “How’s your new job? Do you think it’s one you can stick with for a
while?”
“Honestly, Mother,
you act like nothing’s wrong with your marriage. After this trip, he’ll be back
with her, or another one. God, why won’t you just leave?”
“And give up on my
marriage? You’re joking. You do not understand anything about—”
“Your marriage is
the joke. Is it really worth saving?”
“How can you even
ask that? Our marriage is blessed by God, and only God can end it. It’s the
most important thing in my life.” Ellen opened the window all the way,
breathing deep to slow her racing heart. The air was rank with garbage. She
abruptly raised it. “Leave? That’s absurd.” Ellen turned on the fan. “You know
what happens to women who leave their husbands.”
“Yeah, they get a
life. They discover—”
“No, dear. Maybe in
your world. In my world, women my age end up alone. Men of equal status and
wealth don’t want them. Society discreetly shuns them until they are
conveniently forgotten about. There they sit and age, until one day people ask,
‘Is she still alive? I thought she was dead.’ So you see, there isn’t a place
for older, single women with no status.”
“Status? You really
care about
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