Free Redemption by Kathryn Barrett

customer delivery, comfortable chairs in the retail areas—then we have a chance at grabbing them.
    “And if we offer exclusive products,” she continued, “a brand of jeans no one else carries, or a line of cookware not stocked in the other department stores, for example, we can count on a return visit. But our buyers must have first-hand knowledge of what the customer wants, to prevent future markdowns that are killing our profit margin.”
    And that was the bottom line. The different department heads were so often intent on maximizing their own department’s performance that they forgot the reason they existed in the first place. Claire saw it as her job to make them aware of the overall picture whenever possible, a task that often overlapped boundaries. At various times she found herself expounding on the intricacies of marketing, the esthetics of store design, or the finer points of customer service, but she constantly emphasized the bottom line.
    “Aren’t we shooting ourselves in the foot by operating Kaslow’s Closet at our downtown store?” Chester Wheaton asked. “Our customers have to know they can sooner or later find an item marked down in the basement.”
    “I agree.” Evan Kaslow sent a snide smile around the table. “We’re giving customers a mixed message: Shop our store for quality, and buy your bargains in the basement.”
    “Yet it still gets that price-oriented customer into the store,” Claire replied, resisting the urge to recite the retail statistics she’d learned in Management 101. “She may browse through the basement, but when she sees what exciting things are happening upstairs, she’ll stop and linger. Spritz on our exclusive perfume, schedule a visit to the fifth-floor spa, sit in our comfortable chairs and enjoy the string quartet on Thursdays. Shopping at Kaslow’s is still the best entertainment in town.”
    “That will certainly be true this week,” Bob Berry inserted. “Too bad we can’t leave the store open while Matt Grayson is filming here. That would bring the customers pouring in.”
    Chuckles of agreement echoed around the table.
    Claire’s reply was sharper than normal. “Stargazers, not customers. More interested in getting an autograph than checking out our new spring apparel.”
    The head of security, Leon Griffin, looked up. “That reminds me…We’ve got a potential problem as far as security’s concerned. There’ll be upwards of a hundred of their crew roaming the premises. They’re providing their own security, but they don’t know the first thing about inventory control. I’m afraid our merchandise will start walking out of here.”
    He addressed his comments to Claire, who, as a result of the successful negotiations in October, was now the unofficial point person for any concerns regarding the filming. She didn’t mind; in fact, she preferred having at least some measure of control over the operation.
    “Make sure the most expensive items remain locked in their cases,” she answered. “And our CCTV will be up and operating, I assume?”
    Leon nodded. “The problem is, they want access to the whole building. They’ll be holding the extras in our auditorium, using our lounge areas and fitting rooms, moving equipment in our service elevator—there’s no way to monitor the entire situation, even with closed-circuit TV.”
    “Post security personnel outside the main entrance and lock the other doors. If anything suspicious leaves here, have them demand to check it out. Remember, these aren’t customers we have to worry about offending,” Claire pointed out.
    Evan spoke up. “You seem to have a poor opinion of anyone associated with Hollywood. I guess for someone who grew up in…Oklahoma was it…?” He lifted his brow in question. “It all must seem very…depraved.”
    Claire gave him a cool look over her wire reading glasses. “You’d be surprised the degree of depravity I’ve seen in the boardroom, Evan. Which is exactly why I