Shopaholic & Baby
Page 30
With a gloomy sigh, Jasmine turns a page and starts reading the horoscopes. That’s the other problem: it’s hard to keep your staff motivated when business is down. (Jasmine is my staff.) Before I started this job I read one of Luke’s management books to get some tips on how to be a boss, and it said it was “crucial to keep giving your team compliments in bad times.”
I’ve already complimented Jasmine’s hair, shoes, and bag. To be honest, there’s not a lot left.
“I like your…eyebrows, Jasmine!” I say brightly. “Where do you get them done?”
Jasmine looks at me as though I’ve asked her to eat baby whale. “I’m not telling you!”
“Why not?”
“It’s my secret. If I tell you, you’ll go there too and then you’ll have my look.”
Jasmine is skinny, with trails of bleached-blond hair, a nose stud, and one blue eye and one green eye. She could not look less like me if she tried.
“I won’t have your look!” I retort lightly. “I’ll just have good eyebrows! Go on, tell me.”
“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head. “No way.”
I feel a surge of frustration.
“When you asked me where I have my hair done, I told you,” I remind her. “I gave you a card and recommended the best stylist and got you ten percent off your first haircut. Remember?”
Jasmine shrugs. “That’s hair.”
“And this is eyebrows! It’s less important!”
“That’s what you think.”
Oh, for God’s sake. I’m about to tell her that I don’t care where she gets her stupid eyebrows done (which is a lie, as I’ve now become obsessed with them), when I hear footsteps. Striding, heavy, senior-management kind of footsteps.
Quickly Jasmine shoves her Heat magazine under a pile of sweaters and I pretend to be adjusting a scarf on a mannequin. A moment later, Eric Wilmot, the marketing director, appears round the corner with a couple of smartly suited guys I’ve never seen before.
“And this is the personal shopping department,” he says to the men with a fake-jovial air. “Rebecca here used to work at Barneys in New York! Rebecca, meet Clive and Andrew from First Results Consulting. Here to throw a few ideas around.” He gives a strained smile.
Eric was only promoted to marketing director last week, when the previous one resigned. He really doesn’t look like a man who’s relishing his new job.
“We haven’t had any customers for days,” says Jasmine flatly. “It’s like a morgue in here.”
“Uh-huh.” Eric’s smile tightens.
“An empty morgue without any dead people,” she clarifies. “It’s deader than a morgue. ’Cause at least in a morgue—”
“We’re all aware of the situation, thank you, Jasmine.” Eric cuts her off briskly. “What we need is solutions.”
“How do we get people in through the doors?” One of the consultants is addressing a mannequin. “That’s the question.”
“How do we maintain their loyalty?” chimes in the other one thoughtfully.
For goodness’ sake. I reckon I could be a consultant if all you do is wear a suit and ask totally obvious questions.
“What’s the unique selling point?” the first chimes in again.
“There isn’t one,” I say, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer. “We’ve got the same old stock as everyone else. Oh, and by the way, you might get ill or injured if you shop here. We need an edge!”
The three men all stare at me in surprise.
“The public perception of danger is obviously our greatest challenge,” says the first consultant, frowning. “We need to counter the negative coverage, create a positive, healthy image—”
He’s totally missing my point.
“It wouldn’t matter!” I cut him off. “If we had something unique, that people really wanted, they’d come in anyway. Like, when I lived in New York I once went to a sample sale in a condemned building. There were all these warnings outside saying Do Not Enter, Unsafe, but I’d heard they had Jimmy Choos at eighty percent off. So I went in!”
“Did they?” says Jasmine, perking up.
“No,” I say regretfully. “They’d all gone. But I found a fab Gucci trench coat, only seventy dollars!”
“You went into a condemned building?” Eric is goggling at me. “For a pair of shoes?”
Something tells me he isn’t going to last in this job.
“Of course! And there were about a hundred other girls there too. And if we had something fab and exclusive at The Look, they’d come here like a shot! Even if the roof was falling in! Like some really hot designer diffusion range.”
I’ve already complimented Jasmine’s hair, shoes, and bag. To be honest, there’s not a lot left.
“I like your…eyebrows, Jasmine!” I say brightly. “Where do you get them done?”
Jasmine looks at me as though I’ve asked her to eat baby whale. “I’m not telling you!”
“Why not?”
“It’s my secret. If I tell you, you’ll go there too and then you’ll have my look.”
Jasmine is skinny, with trails of bleached-blond hair, a nose stud, and one blue eye and one green eye. She could not look less like me if she tried.
“I won’t have your look!” I retort lightly. “I’ll just have good eyebrows! Go on, tell me.”
“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head. “No way.”
I feel a surge of frustration.
“When you asked me where I have my hair done, I told you,” I remind her. “I gave you a card and recommended the best stylist and got you ten percent off your first haircut. Remember?”
Jasmine shrugs. “That’s hair.”
“And this is eyebrows! It’s less important!”
“That’s what you think.”
Oh, for God’s sake. I’m about to tell her that I don’t care where she gets her stupid eyebrows done (which is a lie, as I’ve now become obsessed with them), when I hear footsteps. Striding, heavy, senior-management kind of footsteps.
Quickly Jasmine shoves her Heat magazine under a pile of sweaters and I pretend to be adjusting a scarf on a mannequin. A moment later, Eric Wilmot, the marketing director, appears round the corner with a couple of smartly suited guys I’ve never seen before.
“And this is the personal shopping department,” he says to the men with a fake-jovial air. “Rebecca here used to work at Barneys in New York! Rebecca, meet Clive and Andrew from First Results Consulting. Here to throw a few ideas around.” He gives a strained smile.
Eric was only promoted to marketing director last week, when the previous one resigned. He really doesn’t look like a man who’s relishing his new job.
“We haven’t had any customers for days,” says Jasmine flatly. “It’s like a morgue in here.”
“Uh-huh.” Eric’s smile tightens.
“An empty morgue without any dead people,” she clarifies. “It’s deader than a morgue. ’Cause at least in a morgue—”
“We’re all aware of the situation, thank you, Jasmine.” Eric cuts her off briskly. “What we need is solutions.”
“How do we get people in through the doors?” One of the consultants is addressing a mannequin. “That’s the question.”
“How do we maintain their loyalty?” chimes in the other one thoughtfully.
For goodness’ sake. I reckon I could be a consultant if all you do is wear a suit and ask totally obvious questions.
“What’s the unique selling point?” the first chimes in again.
“There isn’t one,” I say, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer. “We’ve got the same old stock as everyone else. Oh, and by the way, you might get ill or injured if you shop here. We need an edge!”
The three men all stare at me in surprise.
“The public perception of danger is obviously our greatest challenge,” says the first consultant, frowning. “We need to counter the negative coverage, create a positive, healthy image—”
He’s totally missing my point.
“It wouldn’t matter!” I cut him off. “If we had something unique, that people really wanted, they’d come in anyway. Like, when I lived in New York I once went to a sample sale in a condemned building. There were all these warnings outside saying Do Not Enter, Unsafe, but I’d heard they had Jimmy Choos at eighty percent off. So I went in!”
“Did they?” says Jasmine, perking up.
“No,” I say regretfully. “They’d all gone. But I found a fab Gucci trench coat, only seventy dollars!”
“You went into a condemned building?” Eric is goggling at me. “For a pair of shoes?”
Something tells me he isn’t going to last in this job.
“Of course! And there were about a hundred other girls there too. And if we had something fab and exclusive at The Look, they’d come here like a shot! Even if the roof was falling in! Like some really hot designer diffusion range.”
