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brilliant decision over the weekend to devote the entire front of the store to cashmere sweaters and boots and it’s ninety goddamn degrees outside.”
    Four years ago, when her father died and left her all of his not insubstantial estate, Deirdre, who had drifted through various corners of the fashion business, never quite settling in, signed the lease for an eleven-hundred-square-foot boutique in the Flatiron district. She had studied the market carefully and knew precisely what the store would look like, its feel, its tone—though she didn’t mention she was even thinking about it until the day she took it over. Despite how close we are, Deirdre rarely tells me of any decision until it is already made. She is not a woman who likes to show her work. Convinced that, faced with too many choices, women end up anxious and confused, she settled on a deceptively simple strategy, classics with a twist, a hem that dipped when it shouldn’t, an asymmetrical neckline, just enough to make each piece unique but wearable, a formula that, if not exactly cutting edge, withstands the vicissitudes of trends better than most. Deirdre champions young designers, some of whom leave her at the first whiff of renown, finds others who have been overlooked andkeeps the prices relatively affordable. After a slow start, Aperçu gained word-of-mouth momentum that tipped when The New York Times did a quarter-page feature on it in the Sunday Styles section. Despite ebbs and flows as new boutiques opened, her business has settled into a steady groove, though lately she, too, has felt the effects of the economic pall descending on the city.
    â€œClaire is still planning on coming in this Saturday, right?” she asks.
    â€œAre you kidding? It’s the only thing she’s talked about for days.”
    When Deirdre offered to let Claire help out in the store in exchange for clothes her face lit up as if the heavens had opened. Not only did it promise close proximity to her idol, but as far as I can tell shopping is Claire’s sole extracurricular interest these days, though she doesn’t have an eighth of the allowance some of her classmates do. She and her buddies have taken to going to Bloomingdale’s and spending the entire afternoon trying on evening gowns, though why on earth the saleswomen put up with this is beyond me. Then again, there are probably some thirteen-year-olds who whip out their credit cards at the first good fit. Though I do worry that Claire’s main area of expertise is the subtle differentials in designer jeans, seeing her look of pure glee at Deirdre’s proposal convinced me. I am not above trying to win points with my daughter these days.
    â€œYou will of course report any tidbits you pick up on boys, drugs or other illicit activities,” I add.
    Deirdre rolls her eyes. “Relax. Deep down, Claire’s a straight shooter just like you.”
    â€œYou make me sound so unimaginative.”
    â€œI can’t help it if your idea of acting out is using your Rose Day Cream at night.”
    â€œJust keep in mind she’s a minor. With a strict budget. I can’t afford for her to develop a taste for accessories.”
    â€œYes, ma’am. So. What did you do this weekend?”
    â€œNot much. Sam went in to work on Saturday and I took the kids back-to-school shopping. A frustrating time was had by all.”
    â€œWas he closing a story?”
    â€œNo. Trying to find one is more like it. He’s doing a profile on Eliot Wells.”
    â€œReally? I’ve always thought he’s kind of hot, in that weird Silicon Valley never-seen-the-light-of-day kind of way.”
    â€œActually, he’s based in Chicago, as odd as that is. Sam is convinced he had some shady financial doings when he was starting out. Something about predating options. This is, of course, confidential.”
    â€œI take that as a given.”
    â€œThe thing is, Sam doesn’t have