In 1985, Levin picked up a phone, called Milan and asked to build the first single-designer boutique in Chicago: all-Versace, only Versace. ”The family said that though I was young, Versace was a young company and I had the spirit. I called Joy and said, `If I do this, will you join me?` She said yes. Then, my lawyer and friend, Alan Engerman, and I had to fight for exclusive Chicago rights. And I had to win out over the San Francisco Versace; they wanted to open here, but I felt it should be me because I was local.”
The building that once housed My Sister`s Circus was gutted to create the world`s largest Versace store (5,000 square feet). Milanese architect Lorenzo Carmellini and 30 Milanese workmen arrived; building materials were shipped. Recalls Levin: ”We unloaded the Italian granite manually, had to park the semi trucks on Oak-took three parking spaces. The forklift driver got sick, and the only one who could operate a forklift was me, so I did. One Sunday, my friend Alan Pearl-he`s in the business now with me-and I got an assembly line of friends going, one granite piece at a time. We had a big show at the Field Museum, and Gianni came to town for it. The fashions arrived long before the store was ready, and I kept them on racks for weeks at my home-everyone came to work pricing goods in my home. The night before opening, April 1, I slept in the store. This fellow knocked on the window, and I yelled, `Come back tomorrow.` He did, and it was Luther Vandross. He ended up spending $10,000, my first sale.” Sandler, Levin says, is the kind of manager retailers die for: ”She loves the store like it`s her own.”
”I develbecome a buyer at a suburban store, she left after 11 years to model, tried personal shopping, became co-manager at Handmoor in Deerfield for seven years. ”I was the European buyer and manager for Arthur`s in Highland Park when Jimmy called me. I already owned some Versace, and no one had to tell me how wonderful his clothes were.”
Married to the owner of Carpet Mill Outlet in Barrington, Sandler has two grown children, Scott, 29, and Jody, 26, and ”can`t imagine a life without being involved in fashion. A shipment of clothing is like a bowl of caviar to me.” Sixty percent of the business is personal contact. ”I call my customers to come in, see the merchandise. Our customers aren`t stereotypes. They`re women in power jobs from Chicago, Minneapolis, Omaha, Wisconsin, North Carolina, Atlanta . . . .”
Why not patronize Versaces nearer their homes? I ask.
”Because they like me,” Sandler says briskly. ”You have to trust a salesperson, particularly when you buy high fashion. I tell people when something`s wrong on them. I say if you can`t afford a whole Versace outfit, buy some pieces, update. Have your own style, mix things, have fun. You need a good eye or good help. Fashion`s so costly, what`s wrong with wearing a wonderful outfit over and over? Versace`s clothes give women confidence, investment clothes, like two-year-old pants with a new blouse.” She eyes my wrinkled skirt. I wonder if she knows it`s an outlet gem from the boondocks. Maybe, after shopping, she`s too tired to care.
Once the showroom work is done, Jim hastens to gyms, health clubs or tanning salons (”more intense rays here than in the States”). Joy joins Milan`s late-hour mercantile madness. A full day of ”I`ll take that and that,” and she`s ready to repeat the mantra, shopping for herself. As a wishy-washy shopper who can spend hours selecting a Chiquita banana without spots, I like tailing Joy and watching her instantly, decisively determine what is wonderful.
”I don`t have time to shop in Chicago,” she says. ”I wear Versace and work six days a week, so my only shopping is when I come to Milan four times a year.” Speeding through the streets, she buys at least six pairs of shoes, and I lose track of the clothes.
On Monday and Tuesday evenings, Levin (growing increasingly tanned) and Sandler join other buyers for dinner at Langat (”Jerry Lavin`s place-the Pompian Shop Lavin”), and at Osteria Terza (”world`s best pizza”)
Carbonaia. On their final evening, the two are feted by Santo Versace and his wife at Milan`s elegant Champagneria restaurant. Joining the Chicagoans are Versace people from Honolulu, Germany, and a pretty woman from Florida named Melissa who buys for the Bal Harbour shop.
I am seated beside Santo. Indicating his wife, whom I`ve mistaken for Donatella (they`re both blonds with flowing hair), I tell him his sister is lovely, and he gives me a puzzled thank-you. He is attractive and intense, with a slight facial twitch. He says he loves so many cities in America that ”it sounds overdone,” and especially he loves Chicago, which he visited for Jim`s store opening, and in 1988.
”I like the lake and the people.” He directs the waiters to present each couple with a silver epergne, each holding 12 oysters. ”Wonderful,”
Joy says. ”In Europe,” Santo continues, ”I like Rome and Calabria.”
In answer to my question, he says: ”Yes, I think the Common Market will be of great advantage for all of us. We are one world in fashion right now.” Across the table, marketing director Ann Marie eschews dessert. I ask her why the Milanese are so slim, and she says, ”Because we cook with olive oil and eat fresh fruits and vegetables.” She grins. ”Also because every Milanese is always on a diet.”
Thursday, aboard Chicago-bound Alitalia, Jeem sleeps. Joy reads and sips wine. ”The flights are not wonderful,” she says, but she can`t wait to tell Mrs. C. about the black velvet number. –
