Read Online The Last Dreamer by Barbara Solomon Josselsohn - Free Book Online Page A

of Times,’” she finally said. Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I used to watch your show.”
    He folded his arms across his chest. “So,” he said with a Dracula-like accent. “I see you know about my past life.”
    The tension rolled down her body, the way it did when Dara used to run her fingers down her back after pretending to crack an egg on her head. “I’m afraid I do,” she said, sounding flirtier than she intended.
    “Come on, you must have been a baby when that show was on.”
    “No, but that’s nice of you to say.”
    He grinned. “So a New York Times reporter remembers my song. What do you know about that?” He nodded, like he was considering the ramifications of this news and gradually finding them extremely appealing. “Yeah. I like that. I like it a lot.” The lines around his mouth pulled her closer, until she was smiling, too. It was as though they were two people who had just shared a secret—a secret that changed them from acquaintances to something closer. Iliana felt as though it wasn’t just his past they were talking about, but their past, a past that they had shared together.
    He straightened up and clapped the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. “Soooooo. Back to work. This catalog’s gotta be somewhere.” He looked into the filing cabinet once more, and finally pulled out a glossy booklet. She could tell he still had plenty he wanted to share about his business, so she thought she’d let the interview continue in that vein for now. “Here we go, I knew it was here,” he said. “Take a look. It’s awesome.”
    He turned his chair backward and sat down, his chest against the chair back and his knees splayed, and he turned the catalog toward her on the table. She looked at the photos and nodded admiringly as he flipped a few pages, pointing out which were his best sellers. Then he closed the book and slid it toward her.
    “What’s next?” he said.
    She asked him whether price fluctuations in cotton were having an effect on his bottom line and if he would have to pass any increases on to retailers for the fall selling season. He conceded that cotton prices were volatile, but said he had made a commitment to his retailers to hold prices steady this year, and he intended to keep it. She asked whether a small company like his could continue to be viable over the next five to ten years, considering the enormous cost of maintaining a Manhattan showroom and the greater efficiencies of larger companies that supplied the same products. He explained that he had moved his design and administration functions up to Westchester so he could continue to maintain a roomy showroom in Manhattan where retailers could see his product line in comfort. He added that bigger companies weren’t as nimble in spotting trends and changing directions as a small company like his was.
    She asked how “green” his products were and whether sustainable raw materials and environmentally sound manufacturing processes were a priority. He showed her some samples that his design team was working on, using new plant-based dyes, although he conceded that there were still color problems that needed to be ironed out. She asked if she could see the other products in his line, and he took her on a tour of the showroom so she could examine the high-end blankets that his company marketed.
    Finally he looked at his watch and held up one hand. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t expect we’d go longer than an hour. I have a twelve o’clock with one of the merchandise managers at Bloomingdale’s. I’d cancel but it’s really important. Getting some tips for a meeting next week with the whole Bloomingdale’s team.”
    “Oh,” Iliana said. She didn’t move. The time had passed so quickly! She hadn’t asked any questions yet about Guitar Dreams or his life post-celebrity. She had been hoping the conversation would move there naturally, that he would tell an anecdote that would lead him to start