CHAPTER 7: JULIE LUXURY LOFT

The first month of Julie LUXURY LOFT was not luxury. It was suffering, which was ironic because the whole sign said LUXURY WITHOUT SUFFERING in gold letters that Julie had paid $2,000 for from a sign guy in Elizabeth who kept calling her ma'am and she kept saying just Julie, please, just Julie, I'm from Avon, not Park Ave.

The AC broke day three. July in Newark, 98 degrees, no AC, clothes sticking to mannequins. Her mother said, This is why rich people stay in Tribeca, baby, this heat is ghetto. Julie bought three Dyson fans with her own card, not Tommy's Black Amex anymore, her own business account that had $250k inventory credit but only $8k cash flow because wholesale takes 60 days to sell through and rent was still $0 because she owned building but electric was $900 and insurance was $1,200 and she had hired two girls from the block, Keisha and Amira, $18/hour, because she refused to pay Newark girls $12 like other boutique owners did.

She woke at 5 AM now, like Tommy taught her. Not Peloton, but she walked from her new apartment — she had moved out of Tribeca penthouse, kept it for 12 months as per contract but rented a 2-bedroom in Ironbound for $2,200 because she wanted to be near to the store — to Halsey Street, opened, steamed clothes, did T****ks. Her T****k was @Julieluxuryloft

Day 1 of former billionaire wife turned Newark boutique owner, luxury without suffering but also luxury with suffering because entrepreneurship is suffering.

Video 1: Thrifted Chanel blazer for $89 that she got from estate sale in Montclair, paired with Zara pants $29, gold hoops $12 from beauty supply on Broad, red lip. Caption: You don't need $50k/month husband to look rich. You need eye. 12k views overnight.

Tommy came week two, unannounced, with Mark, with Eleni, with security Avi carrying spanakopita and a check. Not a personal check. A business check from Asher Capital Ventures.

What's this? Julie asked, wiping sweat, hair in bonnet because AC still broken and Dyson fans not enough.

First month sales report you sent Eleni, Tommy said, looking around store, touching racks with respect, not like rich man judging, like brother checking sister's work. You did $14k revenue. That's good. This is $100k for NYFW. As per Chosen Family Contract clause 4. No approval needed on designs. Even if designs are crazy. So go crazy.

Mark added, He wanted to give you $250k, I told him $100k is more responsible. Don't be mad at him, he doesn't know small business, he only knows billions.

Eleni walked around, picked up a thrifted Dior scarf Julie had for $120, said, This is real Dior, 1970s, worth $600, you price too low, koritsi, you are giving luxury away, you must charge luxury, you must believe you are luxury. Then she taught Keisha and Amira how to fold scarves like at Hermès.

That night, after they left, after store closed, Julie sat on floor again, among racks, with $100k check on lap, and realized luxury without suffering was never about not working. It was about working for yourself, not for a man, not for rent, not for landlord, not for approval.

She texted Tommy at 11 PM: AC broke. Girls melting. Can Avi know a guy?

He replied at 11:01 PM: Avi knows a guy for everything. He will be there 6 AM tomorrow. And Mark says raise your prices 30%. You are undercharging because you think Newark girls can't pay luxury. They can. They will. Trust your block.

Avi's guy came 6 AM, fixed AC in 2 hours, charged $400, refused tip, said, Mr. Asher already paid, Mrs. Asher. I'm not Mrs. Asher anymore, she said. He smiled, Once family, always family, Mrs. Asher.

She posted that on finsta, private 3 followers: Former fake wife, current real owner, AC still broken but fixed by ex-husband's ex-Mossad security guy who still calls me Mrs. Asher. Life is weird. I love weird.

Tommy liked it instantly.

Week four, Leo came back, with painting of her in red gown from first cover, but now painting had store background, not Tribeca penthouse. He said, You look more powerful here, in your own store, than you ever did in that penthouse.

She kissed his cheek, not lips, boundary, because she had learned boundaries from Tommy.

Thank you, she said. For seeing me before I was Mrs. Asher.

He said, You want to get coffee sometime? Not Bushwick, Ironbound, public, daytime, no scandal.

She said, Yes, but slow, I just divorced a billionaire, I need to be just Julie for a minute.

He said, Just Julie is my favorite Julie anyway, Newark Julie, not Tribeca Julie.

Sales month one ended $22k. Profit $4k after everything. She paid Keisha and Amira bonus $500 each, paid mother $1k for helping, kept $2k for herself, first time in her life she paid herself from her own business, not from a man, not from a contract, from her own eye and hustle. She cried in back room, not sad, proud.

She texted Eleni photo of sales report: $22k.

Eleni replied: My daughter makes money. My son makes money. Both my children make money. I am blessed. Come Sunday, pastitsio.

Sunday dinner at Eleni's, new normal: Eleni, Julie, Tommy, Mark, sometimes Avi, sometimes Keisha and Amira invited because Eleni said, My daughter's daughters are my daughters too. Greek logic.

Mark held Tommy's hand openly now at table, no hiding. Eleni didn't flinch, she served Mark extra.

Julie realized she had not just wanted luxury without suffering. She had wanted family without suffering. And she got both, but only because she walked away from $5 million and chose building over bonus.

September, NYFW week. Julie LUXURY LOFT first show — not at Spring Studios, too expensive, $30k for slot. At 125 Halsey Street, rooftop, Newark skyline, 80 guests, folding chairs from Home Depot, champagne from Trader Joe's but poured in fancy glasses, models are girls from block, from Avon, from community college, sizes 2-22, all in Julie's designs: Newark Luxury — thrifted luxury remixed with street, Chanel blazers with durags, Dior scarves as tops, Zara pants tailored to be luxury, gold hoops always, red lip always.