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Chapter 1

           It was Friday night. As the sun was settling over the western slopes of Las Vegas, the lights were simultaneously dimming in the Sun Coast showroom in preparation for the show. There was a gaggle of men and women waiting behind the red velvet rope for the usher to unlatch the superfluous lock. The women were dressed in simple cocktail dresses, strappy sandals, tiny, embellished clutches, lots of make-up and little jewelry. The men were dressed in black or cream linen pants and Tommy Bahama shirts, their hair was slicked back, and the cologne lightly applied. There were two silver haired curmudgeons complaining about the waitress who had taken their dates’ half-drunk cocktails away too fast, but then one turned and smiled as he anticipated the music. He glanced left, then right and turned around and smiled at a lady standing right behind him.  They were all here for the same reason; they wanted to be taken back to their youth through the nostalgic songs of the NiteKings.  Those first in line rushed to their usual places, selecting a small booth on the dance floor. Others grabbed tables, in the upper levels and hastily ordered drinks while they waited for the band to appear. There were tables filled with single women, couples, single men, and families. As the cocktail waitresses scurried around the showroom, the hushed sounds of the audience were fraught with conversations of reminiscing.                                                          At each table there was a different story to be told of how they had met the NiteKings, who they were dancing with, the place, the city and the decade. These were the events that created their memories, and the music that defined their lives. With each lyric resonating from their huge repertoire of songs, recollections of former lives are brought back to life.                                              This is the story of the NiteKings….

            The first musical note Rich Perez ever heard emulated from his father’s sweet soulful saxophone. There were rare moments in the Perez’s household when his father would put aside the constant strife and commotion, open up the revered guitar case, and play the polished instrument. For a brief time, the family would quiet, worries would be tossed aside as the music would be captured through their ears, into their minds, stopping in their hearts. These were the sounds that began Rich’s career, standing quietly in his background for over five decades. These notes were the building blocks of a musical career few will ever emulate. He was number seven of nine children, six sisters and one brother, all living in a cramped one-bedroom apartment on the south side of Pontiac, Michigan. His mom, Connie and dad, George, met in Brownsville, Texas. She was a migrant worker from Mexico, and he had found his way to America by route of the Canary Islands. An unlikely couple, he with his Spanish background, and she from poor Mexican immigrants, met, fell in love and began producing babies faster than the crops they picked.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Migrant workers’ lives are hard. They had to endure all the elements mother earth puts in their way in order to feed their family. In early spring, the two picked the crops in Texas, and then piled the children in an old jalopy, following the crops north, until the fall season ended in Michigan. Cooler weather was a welcome respite from the persistent heat of Texas. Although the work was just as grueling in Michigan, with the freshness of the cool breezes, life was just a little easier. Climbing the cherry and apple trees, the parents plucked the fruits off the limbs tossing them into large wicker baskets below. Often times a few of the children would accompany their parents, grabbing the fruits as they were picked, tossing them in the baskets, and stealing some for their empty stomachs. The family stayed until late October, finishing the season with apple picking, and harvesting the pumpkin patches. This was the children’s favorite time of year. The mornings were sunny and cool, the afternoons warm, and the evenings cool enough to make sleep easier for the large brood sleeping inside the small apartment.                                         The arduous life of the migrant workers was tempered as they boarded their jalopy and made the slow steady journey back to Brownsville. For the next few months, the parents would relax, tending and doting on their new and burgeoning family, and dreaming about a better future. The money they made during the last several months would be hoarded and carefully spent, as this money had to tie the family over until the beginning of the next Texas harvest. But it was just enough to ensure the older girls attended the local elementary school, and the toddlers had the nutrition they needed. The Perez family didn’t know what it meant to ask for a handout. Welfare, food stamps, and unemployment benefits were not options. They did the best they could, and they survived. This routine continued for several years, with each winter bringing another child into the fold. It was next to impossible to find a legitimate job in Brownsville as a Mexican. Although both parents searched continually, they rarely obtained a job that lasted more than a few weeks. A dishwasher job, or a part time maid were the only types of work they could find.                                                                                                                   The Texas harvest of 1925 was the last year the Perez family would be labeled migrant workers. After the usual laborious picking season, they packed up the family, working the fields north until they again ended up in Pontiac, Michigan. This year the town was different, there was an excitement and anticipation that even outsiders could sense; this was the opening of General Motors automobile plant. The city was fraught with natural resources that were the necessary ingredients for the production of heavy industrial manufacturing. As early as 1844, the city began producing carriages, which evolved into the production of automobiles. Pontiac became one of the capitals of the auto industry. What the city lacked in temperate weather was made up for in an abundance of resources poised for the industrial revolution. Walking through the crowded streets, the parents saw hundreds of men carrying lunch bags to the newly opened plants. They noticed that the men were of every race and color, yet they were all the same, chatting, smiling, and happy they had steady well-paying jobs. George turned to his wife and told her he didn’t want to be a migrant worker. Pointing to the stream of men snaking through the city and into the plant, he swore he would do everything he could to obtain one of those jobs. Kissing Connie, he stood in line, filled out an employment application and waited until his name was called. After a short interview, he was hired as an apprentice with a promising future. The Perez family seized upon the opportunity to join in the revolution and George was hired as a blaster on the production line. There was a grand celebration in the household of their father’s new full-time job.                                                      It was during the industrial revolution that many immigrants found a way to succeed and grab the American dream. George excelled, proving himself every day on the job. He was determined to gain the respect of his co-workers and his family. General Motors rewarded the family with a company house. Small and unassuming, it was the first time they had a permanent place to call home. A one level, two-bedroom home, with the bathroom on the outside, Connie, made this a warm and comfortable place. Each child found their own space, and for the first time a sense of security imbued the household. After the last bell rung on Friday evenings, George would join a few of his friends at the local bar, sharing beers and family stories. It was on one of those evenings, he arrived home a bit drunk, wrapped his arms around his wife, and proceeded to make love. Nine months later, Connie found herself quite pregnant with twins, a true double whammy. A boy and a girl were born, but the infant son died shortly after childbirth, for causes unknown. The family was devastated. The mom shut down shop, vowing never to birth another child. Looking around her very busy household, she had more than enough healthy mouths to feed and clothe. It was time for her to go to work. Delegating the older daughters to take care of the toddlers, Connie ventured out and began preparing for the workplace. A neighbor had told her about numerous places to purchase clothing and household goods cheaply. Dressed in an old coat and worn shoes, she boarded the city bus and got off at the Salvation Army. The store was enormous, packed full of used goods at cheap prices. Locating the woman’s section, she purchased a sturdy girdle, a black street dress, and a pair of gently worn black patent shoes. Standing in front of the mirror, she arguably agreed she didn’t look half bad. Her face still youthful, her eyes clear, her mouth full, her hair still captivatingly rich and long, and her thin shape reflected a woman of beauty. The only telltale sign of hardship was an extended stomach, stretched from so many pregnancies. Putting on a girdle, that problem was quickly rectified. Grabbing the garments, she stood in line with several other young women, paid the bill, and then began walking the city streets in search of a job. With little knowledge of the English language, her options were few, but the city was thriving and growing, someone would need help. After several hours of canvassing the small businesses, she spied a help wanted sign at a quaint coffee shop. Bodacious, she marched into the store and asked to see the manager, explaining that she would like the position on the help wanted sign. An elderly woman lumbered out from the kitchen, introducing herself as the owner. Jessie Smith explained her husband and son both had run the restaurant, but when the auto plant opened up, they abandoned the place, leaving her to run the place on her won. Connie promised she could do the job, and she would work whatever hours needed in order to get the job done. The pleading in her eyes held just enough sympathy for the owner to oblige her. She was hired and she would begin the next day. The busy restaurant was open from six o’clock in the morning until ten o’clock in the evenings. With two shifts at the auto plant, there was a steady stream of hungry men and women walking in at all hours. The only alcohol that was sold was beer, but that was pretty much what the clientele mostly drank. The restaurant was closed on Sundays to allow Jessie one day of peace and quiet, and for that Connie was thankful, as she too would have one day of rest. Shaking hands they parted. The new employee would begin working the following afternoon into evening shift from Tuesdays through Saturdays. Connie didn’t care, she was thrilled she could begin earning money and the cash tips would come in handy feeding and clothing her children.                                                                                                 Boarding the bus for the short ride home, she was exuberant. This was her first real job that didn’t entail crawling in the dirt at some farmer’s field. For once, she could behave like a lady, and she knew if she smiled, the tips would be plentiful. She would practice smiling, applying makeup and styling her hair. With the assistance of her six older daughters, they would help turn her into a real beauty. Life had been more difficult that she had dreamed, but finally, she and her husband seemed to be on the right track. He with a great job, a real home, and she with a new job. For once they could breathe a sigh of relief. The couple had embarked on the American dream, and the reality was slowly coming to fruition. She could hardly wait until her husband came home from work to relay the great news, but there was plenty to do until five o’clock to keep her occupied until the front door opened. Laundry, cooking, changing endless diapers, preparing meals, tossing out garbage, and playing with her children, kept her busy and endlessly exhausted. She made a mental note to teach the older three daughters the art of changing a diaper and bathing the toddlers in the kitchen sink before she set off on her first day as a waitress.                                                                                                     When the front door opened, several of the children sprang from the floor and relinquished their mom’s surprise, a job. So overcome with happiness, George grabbed his wife and began to cry with joy. He thanked Jesus for bestowing this blessing. Stepping back, he announced he had some news of his own. After eight months on the job, he was promoted from the apprentice position to a full-time welder and sander, with a substantial raise in pay. Everyone in the household cheered as they sang Jesus’s name.  For once, in a long time they felt blessed. The father shook his finger at his family and promised this was just the beginning. No more were they to be discarded by society. Here, in Pontiac, amidst hundreds of other immigrants, they were the same. Pontiac was their home, and they would endure the cold damp winters, for the opportunity that the two jobs could provide.                                                                                                                      Sitting down at the mental table, Connie laid out a sparse meal of burritos, rice and beans. Tonight, she added a few additional peppers and onions to the chopped meat for a little extra flavor. While the children ate, she gave the details of her job to her husband. The hours were great; she would waitress for two busy mealtimes, and she might be able to bring home leftover food at the end of the evening. She was a bit dubious to ask the owner where the leftovers were discarded, but after proving herself as a top-notch waitress, she would ask. She wasn’t proud, she had a huge family, and they loved to eat. Putting extra food on the table each night would make everyone a lot happier. She would never again have to send one of her children to bed with a gnawing empty stomach. It took little effort to mesh the family into the new routine with both parents working, but with the rewards of more food, and clothing and a bit of change jingling in their pockets, the children rose to the occasion.

            It was Friday afternoon, and the final bell of the day shift rang out. Hordes of men walked out of the plant in anticipation of a restful weekend, and popping a few celebrity beers.  Geoge had bragged to his friends and his brother about his wife’s new job at the café. Rather than drinking at their usual pub, his brother, Thomas, and three other friends hopped in the car and drove the short distance to the diner. Connie lit up when her husband and his entourage entered. Noticing they smelled as if they hadn’t bathed in a year, she selected a table at the rear of the dining room. While servicing the first round of beers, she overhead the men chatting about the hazardous conditions of some of their jobs, especially jobs like her husband’s, where he was exposed to sand blasting most of the day. George’s cheeks held a constant bright red glow as if he had just returned from a day at the beach. He dismissed the warnings, claiming it was just part of the job. As his wife was circling the table serving the second round of beers, he put his arm around her waist, drew her close and bent down her head for a kiss. He loved his wife and wasn’t shy to display his emotion. Embarrassed, she pulled back, continuing her work without missing a beat. George’s brother was laughing, kidding him that he couldn’t wait to get home to finish the job. Chastising him for having such a large family, he suggested he keep his pants zipped. The men broke out laughing. George had beat his friends fathering the greatest number of children. He suggested he was probably the best in the bedroom. Of course this didn’t sit too well with the guys, but they retorted with a battery of jokes.                                                          The hour was getting late. Thomas gulped down the last drop of his beer, and drove his friends' home, leaving George to wait for his wife’s shift to end. He didn’t mind sitting by himself for an hour, it was a rare respite the tumult of his home. Jessie allowed the waitresses two meals per shift. When Connie saw her husband enter the cafe, she set aside her dinner and gave it to her very hungry husband. She would nibble on leftovers from the plates of other patrons. She was proud she could provide a decent hot meal to her husband, even if it meant she might go without. Popping open another beer, George was content to sit, eat, relax and watch his beautiful wife scurry around from table to table. On the bus ride home, he put his arm around his sleepy wife and suggested they do this every Friday evening. This was rare having a couple of shared hours alone, just enjoying each other’s company. They had to jog their memory for the last time they had been alone; it had been years. This night was a romantic interlude in a life that was filled with obligations. He kissed her and told her he would love her forever. She hugged him tightly but suggested he listen to his friends and keep his pants zipped.                                                                                                                       Oh, for love, we live our lives in such richness and fulfillment. The family was thriving, and Connie insisted the three older girls be sent to school. The fourth and fifth daughters would care for the younger toddlers at home. She had gone to the school and arranged for the middle daughters to attend school on Mondays, as that was her day off. The principal was understanding and empathetic and allowed the unusual request. The girls would happily go to school each Monday and the teachers would provide the homework and necessary textbooks for the balance of the week lessons. The following Monday, the work would be turned in and graded by the teacher. The older sisters acted as tutors and were supportive of the arrangement. The four daughters had quickly adapted to school, new friends and a new environment, and would do as their mother asked so they could continue. For the older girls, school was a privilege, not something they took for granted. If tutoring the younger sisters meant staying in school, they would happily oblige.              Another week ended and another Friday evening began. George entered the café with his group of friends and as usual Connie escorted the smelly cohorts to the back table. She served up the first round of beers and noticed her husband’s face contorted with pain. Setting down the serving platter, she rushed to his side and asked him what was wrong. He waved her away and told her he was fine, but she knew he wasn’t fine. For the moment she let it go and continued taking care of the dinner crowd. When his friends prepared to leave, she whispered into her husband’s ear to allow his brother to drive him home instead of waiting around for her to finish her shift. Admitting that perhaps he was exhausted from the week, he acquiesced and left the restaurant with Thomas. She noticed the usual gait in his walk was shaky and unsteady and she knew one beer couldn’t have had that much effect on her husband. Connie could hardly wait until her shift was over. She raced around collecting dirty dishes, washing down the tables, and sweeping the floors as fast as she could. Jessie had been kind and allowed her to take home leftovers that would be unusable serving the customers the next day. Grabbing the warm package, she raced out the door, catching the bus just before it pulled away. Luckily the bus driver had become accustomed to his single eleven o’clock patron and waited for her before pulling away.              

 Chapter I

It couldn’t have been a bleaker day. The blistering wind was blowing finely severed granules of snow with a biting force instantly icing the face of brave souls who were crazy enough to venture out into the oppressive climate.  Louise turned abruptly to her demanding toddler, and stoically announced they would be plunging into the harsh elements for an afternoon of delightful, yet frigid ice-skating. Grabbing Izzy's grimy winter coat, layering him with his plushest scarf, red furry mittens, and black water-proof boots, they set out to find some happy experience in this most dreaded day. Vigorously slamming the front door of their two bedroom Manhattan apartment, Louise trusted she would be able to distract her mind from the seemingly insurmountable problems of the family business. Between the bitter cold, and the constant attention Izzy, her five year old son, needed, she would surely be preoccupied, at least for the afternoon.

            Earlier that Sunday morning, Jake awoke at his usual ungodly predawn hour. Never mind that it was Sunday, and the temperature could freeze the inside of your lips within ten seconds, he had to leave. He had work that must be attended to or there would not be a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or for that matter, any business day left of his family’s waning company. Dressing himself in thermals, jeans, and a worn Eddie Bauer red plaid shirt, Jake ventured out of the warm apartment into the street. He hated leaving Louise and Izzy on Sunday. His passion for his son and wife was unconditional, but he knew that saving the family business was paramount to the security and well-being of his own family. Pacing outside the upper eastside brick building, Jake impatiently waited for the appearance of his brother. Perfectly on time, Clark arrived in his newly leased oversized SUV, which reflected the image Susan, his wife, had so carefully selected. Clark's wife did not believe in keeping up with the Jones's. She truly believed she was the Jones's! With a somber grimace, Jake gave Clark a perfunctory nod as he hastily slid into the passenger seat. Ever the astute brother, Clark had stocked the car with steaming hot coffee, and Jake's favorite bagel slathered with cream cheese. After thirty years, Clark knew his brother was in a much healthier state of mind if his stomach was properly filled, and today anything that would prove to be comforting and would aid in lessening the massive anxiety they faced together, would be worth the extra effort. New York City, especially in the dead of winter, seemed to reflect the tone of the season. Few if any pedestrians were negotiating the snow-laden sidewalks, as a scant amount of cars traversed the pot-holed laden streets. That day there was a feeling of quiet solitude in a city where bustling was always the norm.

            Neither brother uttered a word as they drove to the factory; they had a daunting situation to face, fraught with uncertainty. Both brothers had families, children, private schools, the ubiquitous mortgages, maids, and the proper pedigreed pets.  They did not want to loose the one thing they held dearer than their wives and children- the loss of a family business. One hundred years old. How can we salvage this god forsaken clothing company? They wondered.

            Louise’s distracted state made her leave the apartment in hurried fashion, so much so, she had forgotten the ice-skates. Grabbing Izzy’s hand they reentered the yellow washed brick building, flung open the gray metal door, and yanked the purpose for their outing; the ice-skates. Entering the crowded elevator the morning dog walkers were assembled and ready to go. Mrs. Grant, whose short fluffy dog closely resembled her hair do, and then there was Mr. Silas, whose dog seemed to have the same swagger as his owner. Only in New York, do the contained dogs seem to reflect so many nuances of their owners, one can only guess how these pets are fed let alone how they are entertained.

            There was that ridiculous Ms. Pratt, who gave her dog that same bloody manicure she received. Why look at the dog’s toe nails! They are painted bright red, the same red that coated her owner’s wrinkled liver-spotted hands. Decadent! Living in this environment, Louise hoped Izzy would learn to think straight, and that he would understand the insanity of all this absurdity. It seemed as though New Yorkers saw themselves as players in a Fellini film, not wishing to disappoint their audience. Dressed in a coyote coat, with matching earmuffs, and rhinestone-studded gloves, Ms. Pratt would surely be playing her part well today. Where the hell does she buy those contraptions?  pondered Louise, she must seek the far ends of the Manhattan to purchase such bobbles.

            The frigid air knocked Louise out of her caddy stupor, and into the now busy streets of the city. Louise’s thin five foot-four inch frame held a thick head of curly brown hair twirling and flying every way as the cold winds and snow pricked at her sharp nose.  Crying from the wintry air, she reminded Izzy of the grand time they had in front of them. It was only a few short blocks to the local ice-skating rink, as they gallantly charged forward in the sunshine and the biting cold air. “Ok, answered Izzy, “As long as there is a hot chocolate waiting for me at the end.”                               Now who could deny a son, especially one as adorable as Izzy, such an anticipated treat? Izzy’s eyes were truly baby blue, and his mound of ringlets could compete with Italian versions of sweet babes in arms. Louise was not, nor would ever remotely be the perfect mother, nor ever be referred to as mother earth, but she did love her son. Appeasement was simply an essential part in making that happen. 

            “Hot chocolate it will be,” she said, as her teeth commenced to chatter, “as soon as we arrive.” Just then her curly haired son sneezed a loud, messy sneeze, one only a toddler can do so well. Bending down to clean up what seemed to be a mile of mucus Louise knocked him in the nose with the sharp serrated edge of her skate. Blood everywhere! Pulling all the new and used tissues from her pockets, forcing her cherub to stand still, she began mopping up the blood that seemed to be spurting at an unexpected devastatingly rapid rate. Both crying loudly, they hurried to a bench at the edge of the rink, waiting patiently for the leakage to cease, and the shock to wear down.

            Louise had sunk to a new low. Wanting to be the perfect mother, she almost killed her kid on a simple outing! “Oh God can it get any worse,” she screamed.  Her husband, off with his brother, to conjure a way to salvage his business, her darling son bleeding profusely, and she hating her job that she had spent years training for. “What was this life all about?” she questioned. Did she need to make a change? She was quite sure that her parenting wasn't going to improve. She predicted her few mothering instincts would probably degenerate as Izzy quickly figured out how to easily maneuver around her unsuspecting mind. She felt compelled do something, to make a difference in the family, something that counted. It sure wasn’t motherhood. Turning thirty, perhaps she needed to change her life. Perhaps it was time she stopped living in the shadows of her husband and be resolved to do something valuable for him and the family business.

            The bleeding finally ceased; both Louise and son were able to enjoy the balance of the day in what often was referred to the quintessential day in the life a young child trapped inside the island of Manhattan. Later they did share the promised hot chocolate, although Izzy did not seem as excited about its taste. They made endless rounds on the ice, with the brisk winds serving more as an impetus, then a determent. “I have had enough,” announced Louise. Not waiting for her son’s concurrence, they immediately began changing their ice-laden skates, albeit blood tipped, to toastier, street shoes for the eternal walk home. Izzy anticipated his mom’s mood. He sensed her unhappiness, and he knew in this precarious state he could probably ask for and receive almost anything. Settling on a late afternoon lunch, he loudly said that he was hungry, “Let’s go to the Hole With the Chicken restaurant.” A reasonable request, they set their sites on four city blocks, walking at a hastened pace. Food, warmth, and playtime were just around the corner for this toddler of the city

Returning to the apartment, the room seemed unusually still. It was Sunday, the one day they all spent together and dad was no where to be seen. Grabbing the oversized edition of the Sunday Times, Louise scouted, as she did every weekend, for the latest in everything: clothing, shoes, the perfect make-up, and the proper jewelry. It didn’t matter that they couldn’t afford all those luxuries; just being in the midst of the fashion capital of the world sufficed as the purpose for the relentless search for utter perfection. Informed of all the refinements embedded in the New York life style, when the business struck pay dirt, she would be poised and ready to make those purchases.

I am sequestered in a private room at Elizabeth Arden. “The works,” I uttered most profoundly to my assigned beauty consultant for the day. “I need a total redo, just short of plastic surgery.” Oh as I bathe in layers of vegetables, and body oils, I need to think of my first stop for refinement: shall it be Bendels, Saks, or shall I hop in a cab and ransack the racks of Barneys. These decisions are simply too overwhelming for one to make while lying in milk/tulip water," she daydreams.

The front door slowly cracked open. Jake’s head was hung low, resembling a duck that had just had his wings clipped. He was not totally dead, but not living a masterful life. Louise’s day- dreams spontaneously combusted as she assessed the depth of Jake’s mood. Never had she seen him in total despondency, he could hardly utter the activities of his day.  The one thing that Louise was certain of was her intense love for her husband; she allowed her love for him to be the binding ties to her life and nothing had as much value or meaning as her love for Jake. Izzy, her career, her family, always came second to Jake’s happiness. On this bleak winter day, Louise found herself unable to alter the desolate situation that her beloved was so unattainably involved with- the demise of a family business.

            Sunday ended with the usual, pizza, and beer, and then off to bed for Izzy. After their son was fast asleep, Louise pried Jake for a solution to the daunting problem. She wanted to help her husband, and the business, but the question was how. Both endured a sleepless night, replete with agonizing thoughts as to their future. It was the first time Jake seemed inconsolable-there was no instant cure for this seemingly insurmountable problem. Louise loved her husband passionately, more than reason could escape. Nothing could surpass her deep unrelenting love she had for him, and there was nothing that she wouldn’t do for him. Her love lacked reason, she unabashedly gave her heart, never questioning or wondering if there was another mate for herself. When others jealously referred to her husband as her soul mate, she would retaliate, “What I found is my soul.”

Resolutely, Louise promised to call Roberta, Jake’s mom, first thing Monday morning. Maybe between the two of them they could come up a plan the menfolk were unable to visualize.

            Roberta, Jake’s mother, was born and bred in Brooklyn, raised with the propriety of a virtuous Jewish girl. The five-foot-nine- inch brunette promptly fell in love on the first day of her first day of college. Hysterical, Roberta’s mom, resolved herself that her one and only child would marry an Italian man, in the garment business of all things! Ignoring her parent’s plea, the next day Roberta promptly changed her last name as the judge decreed them: John and Roberta Aaron,  husband and wife for as long as they both should live.

            Grand as Roberta envisioned her passage into womanhood, John, her now loyal and endearing husband, would prove more than a handful for the lackluster sexual knowledge she brought to the marriage. The bride was a beauty in supreme nature; dark brown eyes, shiny long flowing chocolate hair, and a bow-lipped mouth that begged for constant kisses. But John’s passion for his new wife started and ended with his obsession for her legs, often spending more time on them during their lovemaking, than the more conventional zones. But what set her apart from other women were her sharp-witted intellect, and a savvy style she engendered on any given topic. She held the true essence of a woman’s intuition; she could make logic and sense out of any situation, however absurd. A gift for gab, and memory for every word she had ever heard, made her the perfect dinner companion. Any topic during the entire spectrum of polite conversation could be easily supplanted and rightfully construed as valuable, once Roberta had labeled it so. She saw every individual as worthy of respect and charm was her stellar persona. Roberta’s beauty emulated through her heart, her eyes, and yes from the long slim perfectly proportioned legs.

            Being the good Jewish wife, she catered to her husband's Italian values and she failed horribly on the use of birth control. Seven years later, and four sons later, she found herself looking for a more foolproof plan. As the last of her offspring was headed to college, her days were empty- no more endless laundry, grocery shopping or motherly affairs. She found herself with time for her! “Now what to do!” she questioned. Self-scrutiny led her to enroll at the Fashion Institute of Technology, thereby making her the oldest student in class, but definitely the most obsessed. It wasn’t difficult for her to come to this conclusion: she had a zeal for fashion and her husband owned one of the largest men’s wear factories in New York. All Roberta needed to do was to convince John that she was serious about the clothing business. This wasn’t a haphazard plan to whittle away empty hours, this was going to be her achievement. Two years at FIT, winning the top designer awards, and a straight A average was enough evidence to convince John that she was determined and talented enough to take on Seventh Avenue. On a bright September morning Roberta Aaron entered Aaron Men’s Clothiers, and set up shop.

            The premier spring collection consisted solely of a three- piece seersucker skirt suit, and a two-piece bat winged dress. Limited supplies and use of the pattern maker made for a succinct collection, but one that had promise. Roberta was a visionary, her insight spoke to her earnestly, You can do this. You can be successful, and you will be! Just get someone who will work their ass off to sell the product!

            Monday morning, Louise sung her son awake to face another lengthy day at preschool, while she prepared to make a significant phone call to Roberta. Unlike any married friend she had ever encountered, Louise actually loved her mother-in-law, and would do anything needed to aid the family. With Izzy immersed in school, Louise opened up her breakfast of bagel and coffee, lifted up the receiver, and timidly phoned Roberta at the factory. “Mrs. Aaron,” requested Louise hesitatingly. Before Louise could explore second thoughts, she offered her services to Roberta as a salesperson and an aid to developing the women’s collection. Friday morning, Louise tendered her resignation at the accounting firm, and on the following Saturday morning, she officially became the selling force of Aaron’ Women’s Collection. Louise never looked back; she was young, ambitious, and had her entire life to look forward to.  The company could not have been in a worse economic situation, and all she could do was enhance the family business. Maybe Louise wasn’t a knight in shining armor, but she would use every drop of energy to save her husband’s business. She would make her husband smile again. Maybe the factory would be cutting skirts instead of pants, but they would be cutting something………………………..

            She was standing in the background as the slender models pranced down the runway excitedly applauding the latest creations of the Aaron collection. The high intensity of the crowd escalated, the roaring sounds of whistles and cheers filled the auditorium while cameras snapped a multitude of photos. The flashing bulbs blinded Roberta’s and Louise’s eyes as they took their bows for the first collection/ Bravo! Bravo! Women’s Wear Daily screamed, “Yes! Yes!” While the Saks Fifth Avenue buyer ran onto the stage with an order pad waving in her hand. Flowers were thrown, and the crowd stood to continue their accolades, all hands weary from vibrant applause! Yes! Yes!

            “Mom,” demanded Izzy, grabbing his mom’s arm. “It’s Saturday, remember you promised we would go see dad at the factory.” Jarred suddenly from her daydreams, Louise quickly donned her Saturday attire of blue jeans, a pastel wool sweater, and a worn brown suede jacket. Primping more than usual, she wanted to begin looking the part of a Seventh Avenue salesperson. This was her first official business meeting with her new boss/mother-in-law, and Louise wanted to emulate a strong sense of duty and professionalism. Today, they would begin to fulfill a dream, Roberta’s wish to create her own collection, and Louise’s wish to make her husband happy, and secure their financial futures.

            Grabbing a cab, they were quickly flying through the pot-holed filled city streets. The ride resembled a version of a theme park roller coaster. The brisk morning quickly awakened her spirit and the senses, as she rode with great anticipation of her meeting. Izzy loved the factory, the attention, playing endlessly on the carts, ladders, and racks, and the ubiquitous snacking with his grandpa. Izzy was truly the apple of his grandparents’ and uncle’s eyes. Louise was secretly hoping that John, (her father-in-law), would have extra time for his grandson today. "Stop here," Louise shouted. The cab lurched forward, dumping them in front of the building, 200 Fifth Avenue. "Mom," pointed Izzy, "See that's the building that looks like a flat iron, at least that’s what grandpa says."

            Roberta greeted Louise with a warm motherly kiss, directing her into a tiny alcove, and then handed Izzy over to his father, “Take care of your son for an hour,” Roberta admonished.              And so Roberta commenced explaining her plans sharing all her hopes, dreams and anticipations of grandeur. Louise, listening intently, concurred, and pronounced herself ready, willing, and able to handle the momentous task. Agreed upon goals, Roberta grabbed Louise’s hand and began the tour of the cavernous factory. This time the tour was different, this time, Louise would play a major part in keeping the factory working. She would be responsible keeping the workers employed, resulting in food on the tables for over five hundred families. Scanning the ten-thousand square foot floor, Louise’s panned hundreds of sewing machines poised for action, with no cuttings prepared for production. A veritable ghost town of well-oiled archaic sewing needles silently cried out to be in operation.  The other forty thousand square feet of factory space was listless, void of the once bustling activity. Dust and cobwebs had replaced fabric, buttons, voluminous mounds of linings, and interior jacket canvasses. The smell of musty air was slowly replacing the sharp tinge of heated oil cloth as it intertwined with the hissing of the oversized pressing machines.  This was an awesome responsibility, but it could and would be done; determination had its hold on the will of the Aaron women. As far as the eye could see, Roberta pointed out hundreds of thousands of plaid fabrics; this was where the plan would commence, spinning gold out of those raw materials.

"No wonder why the Irish and English are always fighting," laughed Louise. “Just look at all these contrasting plaids. If someone wanted to settle the political strife in those two countries, they should hire a designer to coordinate all the plaids so they work together!"

            “There were over two hundred thousand yards, just of those tartans!” said Roberta. Walking further, they reviewed thousands of yards of cotton plush velvets, worsted pinstripes, solid worsted flannels, and endless yards of fine English patterns. There was a seemingly limitless supply of unprecedented beautiful fabrics. Few if any of these fabrics had ever been used on Seventh Avenue. Roberta took hold of Louise’s arm, and pointed upward so she could begin to ascertain the immense amount of raw materials available.” Nothing, but our imaginations could stop us,” pronounced the elder Mrs. Aaron. “We are in piece goods heaven!” Louise’s accounting mind quickly noted several million dollars in sales needed to use up the vast quantities of goods. “What do you think know?” questioned Roberta. Responding quickly, Louise stated that it was time to allow those plaids a place on Seventh Avenue. The question of the hour was how?

            “Why in the world would anyone purchase sooooooooooo many yards of plaids?” questioned Louise.  She knew John, Roberta’s husband, was colorblind. What was he thinking, or doing the moment he signed the contract? It must have taken either two bottles of of Irish whiskey, or one very enticing saleswoman to complete the task of that enormous sale.  Knowing John’s reputation, it wasn’t difficult to imagine him in the clinches of another woman- almost any other woman. What was he thinking? Would those fabrics make twelve million plaid jock straps to place prodigiously underneath the Christmas tree, or eight million scarves to sell at Macys?  Regardless, the two women had the arduous task, of undoing the mess John had begun.

            The tour completed, both women grabbed their cold coffee and began the process of designing. Roberta was the true professional designer, in addition to obtaining a degree at FIT, she had spent decades scouring every designer store from the base to the tip of Manhattan and had sharpened her taste. No store had been missed, from the large department stores, to the infiltration of the miniscule boutiques; all had been reverently probed and scrutinized. Her mind had catalogued thousands of designs. Not unlike a computer simulator, Roberta could retrieve the designs, altering them for fabric selections, and then reshuffle them into a coordinated package that could bode well upon presentation. Limited in time, the entire collection would have to be cut and sewn within a week to allow the fall buyers a timely viewing. Mrs. Aaron’s confident walk, earnest, but softly spoken voice, assured Louise that they could be successful. A model at heart, and stunning looks to match, Roberta was appealing to anyone whom she met. She could arouse the interest in any man, and women loved her as they were instantly drawn to her authentic beauty and passion. The partnership of mother and daughter-in-law seemed perfectly complementary: Roberta would design, and Louise would market and sell.

            The lengthy tour of the factory startled Louise into the realization of the daunting task that lie ahead, and the overwhelming sense of duty to fulfill the dream of success. Yes, this was Roberta’s aspiration to make it big on designer row, but Louise felt a compassion to the workers; she wanted to insure they would be able to feed their families, and she wanted success for the sake of the factory workers, not only her own self-pride. Would these two brown hair beauties find success? That was the quandary that only time would prove…………………………………….