The Stroman Affair – Double Dsaster

Just as things started to hum, we had a mishap with the Tony award winning costume designer ( Nine, CrazyforYou, TheProducers, Hairspray, Steel Pier, and Grey Gardens to name a few) If you remember Anita Morris slinking around the stage of the 46^th Street Theater in Nine, red hair flaming against the dramatic nude and black flocked unitard, you would be familiar with William Ivey Long’s work. He’s won 6 Tony’s, been nominated 18 times, in addition to all the other awards and accolades which can conceivably be bestowed upon one designer.       He ruled Broadway.

WIL designed his first costume when he was just 6 years old, a ruffled collar for the family dog. In the Lincoln Center production of Frogs, WIL designed headpieces for the chorus girls in Hell that flamed up like cigarette lighters. In Vegas, he designed space suits for Siegfried and Roy, and the show ran until one of the duo’s treasured white tigers mistook Roy for a snack and took a chunk out of his neck, forcing the Mirage to shutter the show. The tiger was spared, and Roy never performed again due to his injuries. John Simon, the New York Times theater critic once wrote, “William Ivey

Long’s costumes hover between taste and travesty.”

I remembered hearing William speak about his simple philosophy during

some interview or other: “Costume is about helping an actor become someone else and helping them show the arc of development within the play.”

My work with costume designers helped to re-arrange the flesh beneath the clothes to illustrate that arc, and I had the reputation for being able to re-shape or transform any body into any other body with the magic of underwear. While at S&S I had the challenge of helping the costume designers turn boobalicious sex siren Raquel Welch, then starring in the musical Victor/Victoria on Broadway, tame her internationally famous Double Ds with an industrial strength boob masher to help her become a

believable Victor.

I remember working on a show starring Vanessa Redgrave, and her character wore cotton stockings, which we called old lady or grandma stockings, for their not particularly attractive look, heavier denier and practicality. They were knit on machines using different gauge needles so the hose were either dense, or had a lighter, more open stitch. They looked authentic to the type of hosiery people have worn throughout early periods in history until today, in one form or another. It is still a requested item and impossible to find a reliable supplier.

Miss Redgrave’s dresser told me her feelings about her under-structures. “Wardrobe gives me a sense of who my character is – as soon I slip on my stockings and undergarments, I slip into the character I’m playing.”

The first time I started hearing William Ivey Long’s name was probably around 1980 or 81 when Nine was gearing up for Broadway. Shoppers arrived at S&S and announced, “Hi, I’m shopping for William Ivey Long.” That show launched William into the next level of his career. It also signaled a shift in the way Broadway did business with us in my early days there, away from cash and into the future of credit cards.

I had heard horror stories from a few young hopefuls with dreams of a glamorous life in the theater, who scurried back to their small towns after encountering William’s infamous temper.

“He asked me for a hanger, so I brought him a hanger,” said one neophyte who stopped to say goodbye to me before heading home to Missouri to pursue another career option. “Next thing I knew, he was throwing hangers at me, just grabbing them off the rack and hurling them at me with both hands. He yelled, Never, ever bring William Ivey Long a plain hanger when he wants a suit hanger! He scared the shit out of me. This isn’t what I imagined. I thought it would be all, like, sparkles and rainbows.”

I myself had never really interacted with William, only met him in passing once or twice. Most of my dealings with him were through his various assistants, who came to me for solutions for costume conundrums and wardrobe supplies. I was tasked with finding the perfect Kiss O Black tights for the legs in Chicago, and what came to be known as William Red for Usherettes in The Producers. A wardrobe supervisor friend of mine, Lynn Bowling, worked wardrobe for Lincoln Center Theater, and once brought William to S$S so that we could meet, finally, after all the years.

Costume designers, including WIL, chose their wardrobe staffers based on their skills, abilities, past relationships, and where the ‘fit’ was good between cast and crew. Wardrobe crews are the keepers of the clothes, and maintain the cleanliness, functionality, appearance and integrity of the costumes. They are also responsible for actor comfort and preparedness. They ensure that each actor’s dressing room station is filled with whatever underpinnings and accessories they need for each performance, and that all the features of each costume work properly. And that when the clothes come out on stage, they are impeccably true to the designer’s vision. Nobody wants notes from a pissed off WIL. Wardrobe people are among the hardest working people in show business, and they kept us busy night and day.

Thirty second quick changes can be a tricky business, and wardrobe crew makes it happen seamlessly in the wings, in the dark, or even on stage, with nothing but the dim illumination from a bite light to help them snap and unsnap as the case may be, and their own ingenuity and dexterity. We don’t normally think of zippers or Velcro when we’re bedazzled by stage magic, but a wardrobe malfunction can cause a costume calamity that disrupts the entire production.

Dressers assist actors in dressing, changing and undressing, and along with wardrobe supervisors, make up our primary customer base. They assist the performers in and out of their costumes as needed to keep things running smoothly and the show

going.

Some shows include wardrobes that require maintenance, like mending, beading, gluing, shoe painting, on the fly problem solving when the lead splits his pants during a quick change.

Laundry is a big part of the job. I once made a delivery to 42nd St, the musical on laundry day, and there were dozens and dozens and dozens of bras, hanging from the ceiling, with powerful fans speeding up the drying process.

In one production of Fiddler on the Roof, I can’t recall if it was with Alfred Molina or Harvey Fierstein, the designer traveled to Russia to buy authentic, antique prayer shawls from the era, and how the delicate, fragile garments required daily hand stitched repairs, to keep them looking good, and intact, before, during and after every performance, 8 times a week.

During an interview with Eric Piepenburg of The NY Times in 2011, Patti LuPone credited her dresser, Pat White, who has been with her on and off for over 20 years, with providing more than just costume assistance “She’s a therapist, confidante, cheerleader, life coach, personal assistant, stylist and repairman.”

Julien Havard, Sutton Foster’s dresser for Anything Goes in 2011, garnered a rare and tearful nod when Ms. Foster accepted her Tony award for her role as Reno Sweeney. “He has been my dresser for nine years,” Foster said, sobbing, during her emotional acceptance. “We’ve done six shows together, and now he’s leaving me, which is great!”

When the actor is unhappy with their underpinnings, or the leading lady is busting out of her bras, I’m the one they call upon for help. Martin Pakledinaz, a now deceased and very beloved designer, used to always ask me for a “push up minimizer. That is an oxymoron. You can boost the bust, and push it up, or you can mash it down and into

the armpits to minimize. One bra cannot do both.

But one day, Martin accompanied an actress (back then, that’s how female presenting actors called themselves) to the shop for a costume fitting. We were trying on the kinds of bras he was asking for, but nothing really satisfied him. Until he demonstrated on the woman’s body, the shape he was aiming for, and then I had a lightbulb moment. The shape was what we used to call the “champagne glass”, because the very perky breasts were lifted from beneath the center of breast, almost so that the nipples point up. There was separation between the breasts, and it created a swell across the top of the décolletage, rather than squeezed together cleavage. It draws the eyes up, and opens up the neck and face, there’s more to behold, whereas cleavage focuses the eyes on one spot.        It was said that the most beautiful breast fit perfectly into a champagne glass.

I remember being asked to source the perfect pair of black socks, with a snazzy side pattern, for Liev Schreiber in his role as Ricky Roma in Glengarry Glen Ross. The design team, the star, and the star dresser, looked at a dozen sock samples before deciding on the one that made the actor, and the designer, both happy. From my seat in the orchestra I couldn’t tell the nuances between the $6 sock, and the $36 pair, though I’d bet dollars to donuts that the star’s dresser could tell you all the differences, and why the actor preferred one over the other.

William Ivey Long wielded an enormous amount of power in the surprisingly small and very tight knit theatrical community. Many costume designers also taught the craft in colleges and universities, and travelled around the country, and the world, designing clothes for large and small productions for regional theaters, arena events, movies, Summer stock, Renaissance fairs, opera and dance companies. Bridal dresses for friends and relatives. Fancy clothes for all.

Staffers moved around from one production to another, and some designers had an inside circle of go-to folks that worked on the notable, and not- so, productions. A good or bad word from William could make or break a career.

One morning, shortly after we moved into our new shop, we received a call from William’s assistant, Donnie.

“Hey, y’all, it’s Donnie over at William Ivey Long Studio. William is makin’ a personal request that y’all help his friend Susan Stroman with some undergarments for some clothes he’s makin’ her. Can you pay her a visit, ya know, like a house call?”

Susan Stroman was a powerful woman in the theatrical community, an award winning choreographer and director. She and William had collaborated on Contact, The Producers, Steel Pier, and many others before and since. We shared the same October birthday, though she was born a year before). I’d never met her, but had seen her out of the corner of my eye when I made deliveries to the stage doors. I’d seen her interviewed on countless television news stories involving the theater. She wore a signature baseball cap, blonde ponytail poking through the little hole in the back, and her boobs usually sat too low on her frame for my liking.

Apparently her genius in stagecrafts didn’t extend to dressing herself, and I grimaced each time I saw her being interviewed. I thought she really needed a bra intervention; a woman of her public stature could be a role model for the rest of us, an example of how women can look their best even when making funny movements with their body, but I didn’t have the balls to reach out to her directly. Again, this seemed like

serendipity.

“Donnie, I am sure we can make that happen. Can I call you back in 5 minutes?” He agreed and I hung up.

I was excited! I may have been a jaded New Yorker, but do admit that I felt titillated by helping famous people, especially when they were naked in my fitting room. I got a kick out of knowing that I was “the best” in something, good enough for other “bests” to seek out for help. And let’s face it, there’s a certain amount of prestige in dressing (or undressing) the rich and famous! I felt honored that the esteemed and persnickety William Ivey Long trusted me to take care of his friends.

Alan and I had a debate about how to handle the request. Lots of leggy chorus girls in skimpy costumes wore lots of tights and g-strings, and whether all the cleavage visible to the naked eye was real, or not, was a secret we never spilled. Large musicals were our bread and butter, and we both knew that William Ivey Long would be designing costumes for Broadway forever, and we wanted to impress and please him.

While I wanted to accommodate William, being out of the shop for so many hours meant that I’d be unable to see any other customers, and Alan, left on his own, and still unfamiliar with the multitude of products, would be limited in his ability to help them. My absence from the store could be costly, and our start up could ill afford that. We had to consider the immediate benefit versus the cost, and the long term implications. Doing a good deed for someone who could catapult Bra Tenders to the next level was opportunity knocking.

Whatever we decided would set some sort of precedent, and we didn’t want anything to come back to bite us further down the road, either way.          Alan said he knew what to do, and though it didn’t exactly sit well with me, I went along with his plan after making my objection, and conditions known.

Al and I were still figuring out the whole business partner/spousal relationship thing, and still discovering each other’s skills and abilities, weaknesses and flaws. I was well aware of mine. Alan didn’t believe he had any flaws. I trusted that Al wouldn’t do anything to hurt us deliberately, and decided to go along with his solution as an act of good will for our marriage.

I called Donnie back as soon as I could.

“Hiya Donnie. I will make the house call to Ms. Stroman. As a special favor and courtesy to William, we’re going to waive our usual house call rate of $1000 in appreciation of the business we get from his musicals. Please thank William for the opportunity to be of service. Now, let’s talk specifics.”

“Well, Susan wears a 36C or D bra, and needs everythin’ in black and nude. She needs a little slimmin’, ya know what I mean? Someone stayed too long at the fair, if ya know what I mean. Some all in one bodysuits, some long leg girdly things, and bras, smooth, seamless. A strapless too, maybe a corset. Give her whatever she wants and send the bill to us.”

“You got it Donnie. Thanks so much. Now, will you book this appointment, or will she?”

We discussed the logistics of the meeting, and the William Ivey Long designed outfits, the fabrics, the trimmings, the necklines and hemlines, and the galas and opening night parties, and dinners Ms. Stroman would attend. I spent several hours carefully selecting the items I thought would create the silhouette a woman of her status would like: sleek, toned, taut, the curvy figure of a confident, beautiful, powerful woman and role model.

Nine out of ten women came to me wearing the wrong size bra, and/or the wrong style for her body, and most had no idea how a bra should fit properly. Surmising that nothing would be different about this fitting, I made sure to pack a few sizes larger, and smaller, just to cover my bases. The most frequent mistake women make when buying a bra is to buy the band size too big in order to accommodate the need for what is really a fuller cup. Many women have walked into my shop wearing a 40D and walked out in 34FF.   The ‘Uplifting Experience’ transforms women into taller, leaner, more youthful versions of themselves. It’s a boob job without the scalpel.

I wanted Susan Stroman to have this experience. If it was great for her, I thought a door could open to her friends and colleagues who had similar concerns, needs and wants. I’d do private lingerie wardrobe styling in a heartbeat, rather than being on my feet 50 hours a week, listening to Alan breath. I couldn’t wait to uplift her.

I took a yoga class in the morning, and arrived at the shop about noon ready for

action. After collecting the bags of bras, I walked up 42nd Street to 10th Avenue, where I got in a cab. Upon arrival at her studio on 57th Street, one of her many assistants greeted me and asked that I wait a few minutes in the living room. Mirrored walls reflected and refracted slivers of daylight zigzagging across the room, and created an optical illusion which endlessly repeated the contrasting black and white décor. I marveled at how the rather small room felt so spacious, and seemed to float.

Then the diva herself greeted me, extending a hand for an introductory shake, and asked me to accompany her into her dressing room. A large mirror filled one wall.

“Hi Susan, I’m Lori, and very pleased to meet you. I’m a fan of your work.” She smiled.

“Well thanks. I hope to become a fan of your work! Let’s see what you’ve

got.”

“Great, well, first, strip! Everything from the waist up, off.”

She was a little uncomfortable, and hesitant. I knew she had recently become a widow and was still grieving the loss of her dear husband. Donnie had mentioned that she was sensitive about her body, having gained some weight over the past year. She pulled her shiny blond hair into a ponytail. As soon as she removed her flowy top I knew my first chance to make a good impression was doomed. The measurements WIL’s office had faxed over must have been old, because the body of the woman who stood before me did not match the numbers on the sheet. 36? Nope. C? Nope. 38?

Yep. D? Nope. DD. Maybe DDD. Uh-oh.

I assured her the fitting would be painless as she slipped her arms through the straps of the first bra I pulled out. Because I did want the fitting to remain painless, and I could barely pull the hooks and eyes together across her back, I removed it and went onto the next. Crap, this was not the way I wanted this to go. I am better than this. Out of my turf, with bad information, there’s just so much a bra fairy can do.

I searched for some larger band sizes in my shopping bags, but hadn’t brought any that also had a fuller, larger cup. 36C may have been her size at some point in her life, but not at that moment. We tried a bustier, but when I squeezed it closed, her flesh bulged over the top, and the garment created more problems than it was supposed to

solve.

                After a few minutes I aborted the fitting.    Even with the array of sizes I brought,

nothing fit right.

“Susan, I know you’re a busy lady, but please make an appointment and come to my shop for a proper fitting. It will be easier and faster – I have everything I need to work my magic at my fingertips. You’ll be in and out in 45 minutes.” She seemed disappointed, maybe inconvenienced. Maybe she was a woman disgusted with herself for being this size, which she’d never been in her life. Whatever the reason, I was mortified by my failure.

Under the best circumstances it was just not feasible for me to transport every combination of garments in an array of sizes to an offsite location. Fitting her in the shop gave me easy access to the plethora of styles we carried. The whole process would take half the time with all my ‘tools’ at hand. Once I knew which brands, sizes and styles fit her figure best, the rest would be a piece of cake.

The only way off site fittings work is if a first time visit to assess the situation takes place first. Once I see a body, I’ll know what I need within 3 minutes. Then I’d look at the clothes, and see which garments needed which type of underpinnings. Then on the second visit, I’d bring things in the proper sizes, or a variety much more in line with size du jour. women’s bodies fluctuate for dozens of reasons, and I’ve had customers buy bra wardrobes in all the known sizes.

“Ok, I’ll have my assistant make the appointment. Thanks for coming. Scott will show you out. I have to run.” I was dismissed.

I stuffed all the pieces she’d tried back into the bag and felt terrible about the

whole thing. I had so wanted to make a good impression. I felt foolish. I hailed a cab on West 57th Street in front of her building, and turned onto 9th avenue heading back to the shop. I’d been gone just over 90 minutes.

“How’d it go?” Al asked when I returned to the store.

“Not good. Her size is totally different than when those measurements

were taken. I thought 36D would be her size, but she camouflages herself well with her loose fitting clothes. She’s a 38, probably DD, maybe DDD.”

I quietly started putting things back into stock, disappointed in myself and the lost opportunity to wow the diva. Later that afternoon, her assistant called the shop and scheduled an appointment for 2 weeks later, when she had a break in the action from her responsibilities on Broadway.

Business continued, and we were suddenly barraged by brides. The salons who had referred customers to me at S&S, upon learning I no longer worked there, had gotten Bra Tenders phone number and address from Denise, my former employee at S&S, who still worked there. Whenever a bride from Amsale, Reem Acra, Vera Wang, or Saks went to S&S for wedding undergarments, and could not find what they needed, Denise surreptitiously redirected them to me. The brides went back to the salons and mentioned Bra Tenders, and soon we had more brides than I had hands to fit them.

We implemented our by-appointment policy then, as I became flustered when four women showed up simultaneously, demanding to be helped NOW. We had one, four by four fitting room, and back to back fittings, in a room with no ventilation, for ten hours, every day, six days a week, which exhausted me. I had no time to eat, no time to pee. Being on my feet for so long made my legs and back ache, and at the end of a 12 fitting day, all I wanted was a drink or three, and some quiet.

But at night there was more work to do. Orders needed to be placed, bills had to be paid, vendors needed to be followed up with for order statuses, checkbook reconciled, arcane specialty items had to be sourced, taxes, insurances. It seemed endless. Small business ain’t for wimps.

It became clear that we needed another able body to help us, both with fittings and clerical work, and that Bra Tenders was growing quickly! I felt enormous pride that in such a short time, Bra*Tenders had gained the reputation as being the place for busy women to shop for items they normally hated shopping for.

For many women, finding a proper fitting bra seemed as daunting and mysterious as finding a golden egg, and that caused a lot of frustration and body image angst. Having professional help from me took the terror out of trying on bras. Some customers have told me that it’s like bra shopping with your best friend. I’ve received many hugs for helping women change their lives by reconnecting them to their self confidence. The great majority of our customers left the shop thrilled with their purchases, and the Uplifting Experience. They often referred their friends and family members who also needed a lift.

The day arrived for Susan Stroman to have her fitting. We didn’t book other appointments for an hour before and after her time slot, because, ya know… About 15 minutes before her appointment, her office called and canceled.

“Yeah, she’s sorry, but there’s a problem.” Blah blah blah.

That riled Alan, as every time we scheduled an appointment, other women could not shop and we lost money.

I urged him, “Let it go, it’s just business,” but he fumed over it, thinking people in show business could be so inconsiderate.

“Take it easy Al, shit happens.”      The assistant called back later in the day and booked another appointment for a week later.

I felt hurt that my time was so cavalierly blown off, not respected or valued. I wanted the same respect that Scafati the men’s suit maker got, that the shoe guy LaDuca got, that TriCorne and Carelli costume shops got. Everyone’s time was valuable, even mine, and no one ever had enough of it, regardless of social status. Time was the one commodity that after it had been spent, you never recouped it, it was gone forever.

But we were a new business, relative nobodies in relation to the well known costume shops who had been around for ages. And the truth was they could buy any bra at Macy’s. What I brought to the table was expertise that wasn’t readily available before Google. I had connections with vendors that allowed me to provide large quantities of goods in a short amount of time. We had the ability to place special orders where the majors did not. I was given a list of needs, and my job was to fill them. Save the shopper from having to roam around the bra department helplessly. Where does one begin to find what they need in the vastness of a sea of intimate apparel?

I guess I was willing to put up with such things because of that newcomer status. I knew that patience would be valued and rewarded, eventually. The thing was, I already had relationships with these people, many for 20 years or more. Hadn’t I proven myself? Isn’t that why they called?     I was confused.

I understood the crazed nature of showbiz, and how ‘tech’ – putting the whole show together for the first time, and implementing what has only been conceptual until then – can take a show from zero to sixty in under a minute. People work 15, 20 hour days, for days on end, some never see the daylight, until all the disparate parts that make up a Broadway extravaganza are synchronized and running like clockwork.

On the day of Stroman’s next appointment, I spruced the place up a bit, and even bought flowers, despite Moonbeam’s, our live in feline exterminator, fondness for nibbling them. We put out a spread of coffee, juice, muffins, bagels, fruit. As I put the finishing touches on things, the phone rang. Before I even answered the phone, I knew it- Stroman’s office cancelled the appointment, this time declining to reschedule.

My emotions ranged between pissed-offedness and feeling sorry for myself. I looked at the breakfast spread, and stuffed a muffin in my mouth, but couldn’t swallow for the huge lump in my throat. I blamed myself- if I had done my job correctly on the first and only chance to make a good impression, things would be different. I had failed to Wow someone who I really wanted to wow.

We picked up the plates of food and brought them next door to our neighbors Lenny and Victoria in the hair salon, Victory of the Saints. Their Yorkie Norbie was best friends with Moonbeam. I was annoyed, yet not to a point that compelled me to do anything I might be sorry for later. I was fearful of backlash from WIL. I thought pissing him off could have serious repercussions for our fledgling business, and didn’t want to risk our copacetic relationship.

Alan, on the other hand, let his emotions get the best of him, took the whole thing personally. He impetuously prepared an invoice for Susan Stroman for $1500 for the missed appointments, travel time, and the first disaster fitting at her office.

“Someone has to pay for the loss of income and wasted time.” Al proclaimed. As if it was his time that had been spent and wasted. The nerve! I did agree that the loss of a thousand or so dollars in missed fittings did sting.

“We agreed to do this as a courtesy to William. I gave my word. NO BILL. Just tear it up and forget it. Besides, You do not want to fuck with William Ivey Long.”

“Yeah well, William Ivey Long doesn’t want to fuck with Alan Kaplan.” And they say women are too emotional.

Al wouldn’t let it go, despite my plea. Between rants, he sought advice from a few of his trusted confidantes. He first called our wise friend Stanley, a father figure to us, affectionately known as the Wizard of Is because of his deep connection to the Source of All That Is. Sometimes we drove out to Massapequa for Satsang with Stanley, and a group of other people who, like Al and I, had studied ‘Knowledge’ with Maharaji, Prem Rawat.   Stanley talked to his inner Wizard daily during his meditation practice, and asked for guidance on our behalf. Besides being deeply spiritual, Stanley also ran a successful dental practice for over 40 years, and could offer advice from a business perspective.

“It would be pointless to send a bill Alan. Doing so would create very Bad Karma. You know how that guy is, why provoke him? In business, sometimes you have to let things roll off your back,” Stanley offered. “This is one of those times. Let it go.”

Al consulted with our accountant, who also opined that sending the bill could not help us in any way. “You won’t gain anything from sending a bill. It could hurt you.”

And he talked to a few other of his mentors, who all advised similarly – don’t do it. Alan said he had to sleep on it.

“Al, I am your partner, and your wife. Do not send that bill. Please. Don’t

do it.”

Alan sent the bill.

I was flipping furious!           I felt so betrayed and disrespected by this man who would command others to respect me. A man who said he loved me, but who’s actions hurt me to my core.

“How could you go against my wishes? And the advice of all the others you so trust? How dare you! Fucking asshole, how could you do that?”

‘I did it for you. I did it to defend your honor.”

I was too stunned to speak. The man who just did everything I asked him not to do is worried about honor. That’s rich.

I stormed around the shop like a maniac, slamming and banging anything and everything I could get my hands on. My whole body tensed with rage, and I thought my heart would fly out of its bony cage. As angry as Alan’s blatant disregard of my wishes made me feel, I also panicked about how this could impact Bra Tenders. I began to doubt whether I could really trust Alan, and thought that maybe being partners with a sabotaging snake was a bad idea. Maybe being married to one was too.

Alan’s narcissism and need to have his own way, his need to be right, caused him to make an irrational, perhaps irrevocably damaging decision that affected both of us. I couldn’t stand to look at him. I spent the rest of the day with brides, and found myself holding my breath much of the time.

I mostly ignored Alan, thinking it best to say nothing. I had a lump in my throat, and churning in my gut that wouldn’t subside. I feared I’d made a huge mistake, and had exercised faulty judgment where Alan was concerned.

The next day when we got to the shop, I picked up the phone and called

Stroman’s office.

“Hi, this is Lori from Bra Tenders. We had a snafu in the office yesterday and a new employee mistakenly mailed an invoice to your office that was meant for the shredder. When you get it, please, just tear it up and trash it. It really is so hard to get good help!” I felt uncomfortable telling the lie. “Please, any mail from Bra Tenders should be disregarded. Forget you even saw it.”

Stroman had many people helping her. The person who answered the phone simply stated, “I think we got an envelope from you in this morning’s mail. We forwarded it to William Ivey Long’s studio.”

Oh My God. Too late. For once, the United States Postal Service had swiftly completed their appointed rounds. Crap!

I called Ivey Long’s studio and explained the situation to Donnie. I implored him to please disregard the bill, to tear it up. The assistant was curt, said he would pass the message on to William. Donnie normally sounded happy and upbeat, but not now. Panic set in and I could feel acid gurgling in my stomach. Again I avoided speaking to Alan, and at five o’clock, I poured a double vodka and set out to get drunk.

“Lorelie, listen to me, please.” Alan cajoled. I would have shot him in the

face if I had a gun just then. I had a reel running in my head, of all the ways I could cause him pain and make him suffer – cutting his penis off, ice pick in his ear. I stayed silent instead, which as I learned later in our marriage, was the worst form of torture I could inflict.     Silence is violence.

The next day we got an envelope from WIL Studio in the morning mail. My hands shook as I sliced the envelope open. I pulled out a check for $1500, and marked in bold, black Sharpie script across the memo portion – FINAL.           Well if that wasn’t the mother of all William notes.

“Shit, damn, fuck!” I exploded. “What a fucking mess. Good going Alan, you asshat.”        I had worked really hard to never curse Alan, denigrate him, or call him names, and had put a lid on my sarcasm, too, because I believed it to be in the best interest of intimate communication in the relationship. But this was different, and a lousy F bomb seemed mild compared to what I wanted to do to him, and what I believed he had done to hurt our business.

Alan defended his actions. “Lorelie, I am just protecting you, defending your honor! I want them to know they can’t fuck around with us. If we don’t set a boundary now, William, Stroman, others like them, will continue to take advantage of your good nature. This was a business decision. Trust me. I did it for you!’

‘Trust you? You just murdered our business, asshole. You did the exact opposite of what I asked you to do! Trust you? Fuck you!’

I understood that Alan, like many men, wanted to be a hero, and that his actions seemed a valiant gesture to him. But all I needed and wanted was a partner who had enough respect for me to honor my wishes; a man who not only listened to me, but heard me.

I left Joel because I had outgrown my need for him, and had grown weary of his dumb sabotaging of the business I’d labored lovingly and long to build, my hope for the future.

Now, in one stupid moment, Alan had put the first nail in the coffin of Bra Tenders. The word divorce crossed my mind for the first time. Everything I had worked for and created over twenty years, fucked in one stupid, impetuous move. I didn’t know that Alan’s narcissism would present bigger problems down the road, or that life with such a man would always require me to subvert my needs and wants for the sake of

his.

“Lorelie, listen to me, please honey. We’ll write a letter to William and

explain that it’s all just a silly mistake. He’ll laugh about it.”

“No, he won’t. I know this man, Alan, you don’t. I said Don’t Send a bill

for a very good reason. I wasn’t just talking trash out of my ass. He is a cruel, unforgiving man, and you just put us on his shit list.”

“Please help me explain to him. Help me write a letter. You’re so good at getting through to people.”

“‘I’ll help, but it won’t get us out of this mess.” I wondered how I could trust Alan to do anything on his own again.

That night, after much loud discourse and the palliative effect of Grey Goose, we decided to compose a letter to WIL to explain what we had rationalized the situation to be: a comedy of errors. I wasn’t laughing, and we worked on the letter until two in the morning, revising, editing, trying to crystallize what we wanted him to know without further offending him.

Alan thought we ought to stick to the lie about the incompetent employee sending the bill by mistake. I was not comfortable with it, and didn’t know how to explain anything to a megalomaniac like William. But we gave it our best shot.

I’ve had some great results writing letters, some to big companies, like the time I wrote to Michael Dell when we received a defective computer and couldn’t find a resolution with any of the customer service people. It said, It’s your name on the box, Mr. Dell. How will you resolve this issue? He sent us brand new upgraded equipment and a personal note, “Because it is my name on the box, hope you enjoy the new

computer.”

‘William, Alan and I want you to know how much we appreciate your business and trust, and how much we respect and admire you. We apologize for this mis-communication – it’s really such a comedy of errors. We would never do anything to harm you, inconvenience you, or jeopardize our relationship with WIL Studio. Please forgive this silly mishap for what it is – a silly mishap. We will do anything to prove to you that there was no malice in our intentions, and this was all a huge mistake.’

I must say the final letter was an ingratiating, ass-kissing masterpiece. We tore up the check and included the pieces in the envelope with the letter. I had no confidence that it would help. William discarded people as easily as toilet paper. I knew a few wardrobe supervisors who had been banned from working on William shows just for disagreeing with his opinion.

When we arrived at the shop In the morning, I pulled an assortment of garments to send to Ms. Stroman, things I thought she would like, and that would meet the needs of her wardrobe. I enclosed a simple note ‘For your enjoyment’ from Bra*Tenders. We bought a case of Piper Heidsieck champagne for William, included our lengthy letter in the box, and shipped it to his studio. I thought as long as I kept moving, kept busy, took some action, I’d be able to breathe. Otherwise I was happy to become a victim of inertia and just curl up in the corner and suck my thumb for the rest of my days.

Alan reiterated his stance that he had been protecting me, and the disagreement continued. I wanted to smack him upside the head with a heavy object.

“I made it to this point in my life without your protection. I don’t need

protecting. I need a partner who listens to me and respects my wishes.”

“But Lorelie…”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it.” Would Mars and Venus ever understand

each other?

I couldn’t see past my rage, could not fathom how Alan believed he’d actually done something heroic. I had no appetite and couldn’t sleep. The phone seemed eerily quiet, as if someone had turned off the tap. Two days later when we came to work, the box of champagne was sitting on our doorstep, returned to sender. The refused gift spoke volumes. My heart missed a beat.

It didn’t matter how helpful or kind we had been to WIL, his friends, staff, colleagues and peers in the recent past. It didn’t matter the royal treatment we gave everyone, the late night stage door deliveries, the Sunday morning special deliveries. Whenever a William staffer asked for something, we jumped. I had done all the right things to build that relationship and gain William’s trust over time. Alan had interfered in that relationship, however tenuous it had been. Now all that mattered was that we had pissed him off, and given him the perfect excuse to be an egotistical, unforgiving little

tyrant.

My mind would not stop. I remembered when WIL designed Contact for Broadway, we still worked from home in Brooklyn. When Tom Beall, William’s number one on that production, called asking for a meeting, we agreed.

“William would like to see what you’ve got in the way of fishnets, stockings and tights, and different size nets. We need some dance trunks and g-strings. The only time he can meet is Sunday morning at 9:00 at the Beaumont. Can you swing that?”

“We’ll be there.” Tom explained their other costume needs, especially for the Yellow Dress, the key costume for the act of the same name in that three act dance play. (It’s one of my favorite productions. We still work with Karen Ziemba.) They also wanted to see samples of a variety of hosiery styles, and underwear for the other cast members.

We cancelled our plans for that day, packed a suitcase full of samples, and drove the Bra Mobile into the city at 8:00 a.m to make our presentation to the WIL team. I didn’t know of many businesses that jumped through hoops for their customers the way we did.

Sometimes, I felt like the Fuller Brush man from my childhood, men who went from door to door selling household products, cleaning supplies and equipment to homemakers. The analogy resonated with customers in our age bracket, who referred to us as the Fuller Brush of Lingerie. Our dedication to providing stellar service set Bra Tenders apart, and we built our business on that foundation.

At Christmas, we hand delivered bottles of WIL’s favorite small batch bourbon to his brownstone in Chelsea. “We just want to give you some Christmas cheer William.

Enjoy!”

When we bumped into wardrobe staffers at local restaurants, we picked up their dinner tabs, or sent them rounds of drinks. I went to the theaters to do bra fittings when rehearsal schedules didn’t allow the actors to come to us. On birthdays, marriages, anniversaries, we gifted tins of popcorn, champagne truffles, jars of NYC Rooftop honey, hand crafted maple syrup from Vermont. On opening nights, or after a show got a great review, we sent congratulatory bottles of champagne, or the adult beverage of choice for a particular crew. We planted memorial trees for crew members who’d lost loved ones, and gifted them under garments or lingerie for their weddings or special occasions. We outfitted their kids on Halloween, and tracked down the last six pairs of their granny’s favorite bloomers which had been discontinued for 30 years. We practiced kindness, and shared our good fortune with all who had contributed to it.

Business, for me, was all about relationships. But now, our past acts of kindness no longer mattered. The bend-over-backwards service had been completely negated because of one stupid move. The What have you done for me lately mentality prevailed.

The community grapevine started buzzing. We heard that wardrobe personnel on William’s shows had been ordered to boycott us – he was hell bent that we not benefit from his musicals. We worked with other Broadway shows, and some touring productions, too, but William Ivey Long designed musicals were the current meat and potatoes of our business. Without revenue from those, we’d never be able to meet our monthly expenses. We held a lot of inventory for those productions, too, had tied up what little money we had to stay well stocked in the staples the current crop of shows used. What would we do with all the stock? How would we turn it into cash now?

The repercussions would trickle down later, too, when national tours went out, and later still when small regional theaters produced them, or low budget, non-union touring companies put out a show. Every show has a costume “bible,” which contains details about every costume, and which parts came from which vendors.

If BraTenders name was struck from the Bibles of all William shows, not only would it cost us tens of thousands of dollars in lost sales now, but also in the future, not to mention the inconvenience to crews on road shows. Our product assortment had been specifically curated, and contained unusual, unique and arcane items that didn’t pertain to current culture or fashion. I knew crews on the road couldn’t waltz into the local Walmart in Idaho and expect to walk out with thirty six, coffee brown g-strings in size extra small.

One day while I was in the throes of a full blown pity party, the wardrobe supervisor of The Producers stopped by unexpectedly to chat.

“We heard what happened. That’s just William, it’s how he is. Don’t worry, it will blow over. He needs time to get over it. We’ll still use you, but we’re going to tell William that we’re shopping at Lord & Taylor.” HIs conciliatory tone did little to assuage my anxiety.

“Is there any chance he would listen to reason Douglas?” I asked.

“William is William, and this needs time. It’s really best if you don’t do or say anything right now.”

So we didn’t do or say anything. I was still so angry at Alan, and he still believed he had done the right thing, and though neither of us was willing to budge from our positions, we gradually slipped into an uneasy truce. The world didn’t end, and the phone started to ring again. Some of the wardrobe supervisors didn’t call us, for fear of angering William against themselves, but that was OK. Many came to shop equipped with Lord and Taylor shopping bags, and L&T became a euphemism for shopping at BT.

The whole situation created a buzz, and people who came to the shop asked, “Wow, what did you do to piss him off?” I didn’t know how to answer. Those who knew him understood all too well that it didn’t take much to incur the wrath of William Ivey Long. Many people sympathized with us.

“You guys are so great, I don’t know how we’d all do our jobs if it wasn’t for you, ” said our friend Brendan, a road tour supervisor.

Despite this setback, Bra Tenders continued to grow. I learned that there was life after William, and maybe even without him. And just when we thought it was back to business as usual, 2 planes crashed into two buildings and the world turned upside down.

Two years after we moved to 400 West 42nd, we outgrew the space and started looking for a larger one. Apparently the service we provided to and for the community was more valuable than fealty to the irrational dictates of one pissy little man. We lived our motto: ‘Our job is to make your job easier, ’ and we did that, above and well beyond the call of duty. All that anyone cared about was getting what they needed, when they needed it, and Bra Tenders ALWAYS delivered on that promise.

We moved from 400 West 42nd, to a twenty five hundred square foot loft in the Art Deco office building called The Film Center on 9th avenue and 45th street. We hired an architect to help plan the space, this time with a luxuriously large fitting room, and a Lingerie Lounge where we could entertain clients, and where customers could wait in comfort.

Soon after settling in, Donnie called. It was a happy surprise, as we hadn’t heard from him in two years.

“Hey y’all, this is Donnie at William Ivey Long studio.” Deja vu all over again. “William’s askin’ for a few pair of ‘Kiss O’ Black’ hose for a special client of his. You know, the same ones they use in Chicago.”

“Sure Donnie, come by whenever it’s convenient. We have lots in stock.”

I thought about asking him if we remained on William’s shit list, or if we’d been absolved of our crime, but decided against it. I didn’t want to re-open a can of worms, or put Donnie in a tight spot. We didn’t take money for the hose when Donnie picked them up. Maybe it wouldn’t help, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt. I knew Donnie would mention our generosity to William, though I didn’t expect anything to come of the peace

offering.

Our friend The Wizard asked periodically if we ever heard from William, and if we knew what the true cost, if any, was to our business from the Stroman Incident, as it became known. While we didn’t hear from William directly, we continued to do business with his shows through the years.

After a while the stroman fiasco faded into history, and things went back to business as usual.   His assistants called for special items for new openings and special events – William was designing fashions shows, opera, costumes for characters at

Madame Toussaud’s. We surmised that William knew where his people went shopping – our bags are very distinctive and have our logo splashed across the front. When we lent them merchandise for costume fittings, there were a lot of bags, and a lot of Bra Tenders memo receipts.

Little by little, we got more special requests from WIL Studio, and even did a fitting for a southern belle debutante, the daughter of a friend of his, who was having her ‘coming out’ party. This encouraged us, and provided a sort of closure we never had. Even though we did business with William shows, we never felt free from the doubt of not knowing where we stood, or if we still topped his shit list. .

In 2013, at Tony Award time, Donnie called for a special undergarment we private label, a sexy waist cincher called a ‘Krakowski.’ It’s named for the Broadway/TV star who first wore it in the production of Damn Yankees, designed by WIL, and who’s made it her signature costume ‘skin layer.’ The requested foundations were for (drumroll please) none other than La Stroman herself, ironic proof that karma is only a bitch if you

are. It was also the year I started thinking about divorce in earnest, and how to extricate myself from the business/marital miasma.