Daddy's Gone a Hunting

5

The highlight of Wednesday’s end-of-the-day senior staff meeting at Hathaway Haute Couturier was the announcement that Hannah Connelly would receive her own designer label for a number of garments to be shown at the summer fashion shows.

Hannah’s first thought was to share the wonderful news with her sister Kate, but it was almost 7 P.M., and she remembered that Kate was meeting their father and his latest girlfriend for cocktails and dinner. Instead she called her best friend, Jessie Carlson, who had been at Boston College for two years with her before Hannah had switched to the Fashion Institute of Technology. Jessie had gone on to Fordham Law School.

Jessie whooped with delight at the news. “Hannah, my God, that’s great. You’ll be the next Yves St. Laurent. Meet me at Mindoro’s in a half hour. My treat.”

At seven thirty, the two were seated across from each other in a booth. The dining room of the popular restaurant was crowded and noisy, a tribute to the excellent cooking and friendly atmosphere.

Roberto, bald and round and smiling, their favorite waiter, poured the wine. “A celebration, girls?” he asked.

“You bet it is.” Jessie raised her glass. “To the world’s best designer, Hannah Connelly.” Then she added, “Roberto, one of these days we’ll both be saying, ‘We knew her when.’ ”

Hannah touched Jessie’s glass with hers, took a sip of wine, and only wished she could stop worrying about what might be going on between her father and Kate. Because of the way the family business was floundering, their relationship was going steadily downhill.

It was as though Jessie were reading Hannah’s mind. “How’s that handsome father of yours?” she asked as she dipped warm Italian bread into the oil she’d poured onto her plate. “Have you told him about this yet? I know he’ll be thrilled for you.”

Only Jessie could have put it with such an ironic tone in her voice. Hannah looked affectionately at her former classmate. Jessie’s curly red hair was pulled back in a clip, then cascaded down past her shoulders. Her vivid blue eyes were sparkling and her milk-white skin was devoid of makeup. At five feet eleven inches she towered over Hannah even sitting across from her at the table. A born athlete, Jessie’s body was slim and taut. Totally indifferent to fashion, she depended on Hannah when she needed to have something to wear for a special occasion.

Hannah shrugged. “Oh you know how excited he will be.” She imitated her father’s voice. “ ‘Hannah, that’s wonderful. Wonderful!’ And then he’ll forget what I told him. And a few days later he’ll ask how the designer business is going. The playboy of the Western world never did have much time for Kate or me, and the older he gets the less he has to do with us.”

Jessie nodded. “I caught the tension the last time I had dinner with you guys. Kate let off a few zingers to your father.”

Roberto was heading back to the table, menus in hand. “Do you want to order now or wait a few minutes?” he asked.

“Linguine with clam sauce and the house salad.” It was Hannah’s favorite pasta.

“Salmon, with tricolor salad,” was Jessie’s choice.

“I shouldn’t have bothered to ask,” Roberto said. He had been there for fifteen years and knew every customer’s favorite meal.

When he was out of earshot, Hannah took another sip of wine and shrugged her shoulders. “Jessie, you’ve been around us since college. You’ve seen enough and heard enough to get the picture. The market has changed. People aren’t buying fine reproductions of antique furniture that much anymore, and the fact is that our productions are no longer all that fine. Up until five years ago or so, we still had a few of the great craftsmen, but now they’re all retired. After my grandfather died thirty years ago, my father took over the reins with the help of Russ Link, who had been my grandfather’s right-hand man. But after the accident, my father took a long time to recover, and when he did, he had lost interest in the business. From what I gather, neither he nor his brother ever really got involved with the day-to-day workings of the business. I really think it’s the old tale of the hardworking immigrant who wants his sons to have every advantage he didn’t have.”

Hannah realized it was good to talk so openly to the friend she could absolutely trust. “Jess, it’s absolutely coming to a head. I can’t understand it. Dad is getting more and more reckless with money. Can you believe that last summer he leased a yacht for a month? Fifty thousand a week! He’s leasing yachts while the family ship is sinking. I wish to God he’d met someone and gotten married when we were young. Maybe a sensible woman could have kept him in bounds.”

“I’ll be honest. I’ve wondered about that. He was only thirty when your mother died and that’s nearly twenty-eight years ago. Do you think he was so in love with her that he could never replace her?”

“I suppose she was the love of his life. I only wish I could remember her. How old was I? Eight months? Kate was only three. And of course it was a terrible tragedy. He lost my mother, his brother Connor, and four close friends. And he was at the helm of the boat. But I must say any guilt didn’t keep him from having a succession of girlfriends or whatever you want to call them. But enough of the family woes. Let’s enjoy the dinner you’re paying for and hope that Kate and Dad and whoever-she-is are being civil to each other.”

Two hours later, on the way home to her condo on Downing Street in Greenwich Village, Hannah was again reflecting on the past. I was just a baby when we lost our mother, she was thinking as she got out of the cab. She thought of Rosemary “Rosie” Masse, their nanny, who had retired to her native Ireland ten years ago.

God love Rosie. She raised us, but she always told us that she wished Dad would get married again. “Marry a nice lady who will love your two beautiful little girls and be a mother to them,” was her advice to Dad, Hannah thought with a faint smile, as inside her apartment, she settled into her favorite chair and turned on the television and DVR to watch a few of the shows that she recorded.

The fatal fishing accident that had killed her mother, her uncle, and four other people had happened because her father’s boat hit a cable between a tanker and a barge in the predawn darkness. They were headed seventy miles out into the Atlantic to where tuna often gathered at daybreak. Her father, Douglas Connelly, was the only survivor. He was found lying unconscious and badly injured in a life raft by a coast guard helicopter crew when the sun came up. He had been hit in the head by debris of the sinking boat.

He wasn’t totally an absentee father, Hannah mused as she fast-forwarded through the commercials. It was just that he wasn’t there a lot-either traveling for business or just too busy with his social life. Russ Link ran the business and Russ was a perfectionist. The guys who worked there, like Gus Schmidt, weren’t just craftsmen. They were artists. Rosie lived with us on East Eighty-second Street and was always there for summers and holidays when we came home on school vacations. God knows Dad sent us to boarding schools as soon as they’d take us.

Hannah was not sleepy and did not turn off the television until midnight. Then she undressed quickly and slipped between the covers at 12:20 A.M.

At 5 A.M. the phone rang. It was Jack Worth. “Hannah, there’s been an accident-some kind of explosion at the plant. Gus Schmidt and Kate were there. God knows why. Gus is dead and Kate is in an ambulance on the way to Manhattan Midtown Hospital.”

He anticipated her next question. “Hannah, I don’t know why the hell she and Gus were in the museum at that hour. I’m on my way to the hospital. Should I call your father or will you?”

“You call Dad,” Hannah said as she bolted out of bed. “I’m on my way. I’ll see you there.”

“Oh God,” she prayed. “Don’t let this be Kate’s fault. Don’t let it be Kate’s fault…”