“It’s nice to meet you, too, Jake.” Maddie flashes her elegant smile. “Welcome to the Parsons family.”
“Thanks. Speaking of family, did you know that Clementine’s great-grandma was famous?”
Maddie shoots me a sideways glance. I shake my head so she knows I haven’t told him that we’re related.
“Her family has probably been featured in Paris Match,” he says loudly, swinging his large backpack over his shoulder. “I’ve asked for adoption and I’m waiting to hear back.”
“Really?” Maddie responds coyly. “I had no idea.”
He’s right: my family has been featured in gossipy French magazines, especially after my mother was caught by the paparazzi leaving a Paris nightclub, inebriated, in the company of her daughter’s boyfriend. I keep that to myself and know Maddie will, too. We don’t need to spread the family gossip any further.
“Maddie’s into vintage. That’s why we get along.”
“Right. I can see that. My family owns tons of vintage: piles and piles of stuff people dropped off and never picked up,” Jake says. “Feel free to stop in at Fancy Free Dry Cleaners anytime and help yourselves to the merchandise. My father has no clue what to do with the stuff.”
“Thank you, Jake, that’s kind of you,” Maddie says. I know she shops for vintage at fancy boutiques in Paris, London, and L.A., but she acts as if his offer is enticing. She’s a class act.
“By the way, I signed up for your upcoming lecture and I can’t wait,” Jake says excitedly. “You’re a true legend around here.”
“Thanks, Jake. I look forward to seeing you there,” Maddie says. It brings a sparkle to his eyes.
“I need to run; I don’t want to miss my next class. I’ll see you in the a.m., Clem.”
I watch him saunter off, thrilled about having such a cool new friend. I’m already looking forward to seeing him tomorrow.
“What a charmer. I’m happy you met him,” Maddie says. “The school does have a reputation for being competitive. Not all students make friends so quickly.”
I want to say that I’ve already witnessed that first-hand but I keep it to myself. I don’t want to sound like a child.
“When’s your next class?” Maddie asks, looking at her watch.
“Not until after two. Why?” I ask.
“How about we go for lunch?”
“That sounds great. I’m in.”
“Okay, follow me, ma chérie,” Maddie says, as if she has something up her designer sleeve.
I don’t know it yet, but I am about to be truly inspired.
Chapter Six
I walk into Le Midi, a charming French bistro on 13th Street just around the corner from Parsons, and it feels like home.
I look around the restaurant with its pressed white tablecloths and its long wooden bar where bottles of French wines are lined up. It reminds me of lunch dates with my father in the Saint-Germain neighbourhood of Paris.
To add to the excitement, Maddie seems to know everybody in this place. She waves and nods to every front table. I guess it’s a popular hangout for the Parsons faculty. She introduces me around as one of her foreign exchange students. It feels really good.
We take a seat at a corner table overlooking the bustling street and I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Today can’t get any better.
“Thanks for your support, Maddie. It means a lot. I just hope I can meet Parsons’ standards.”
“Of course you will. I know how smart you are.”
“Thanks. I’m ready to put in the hours. But enough about me. What about you? Any hot dates lately?” I ask.
“Well, if you want to know the truth, I dated that guy over there for a few months last year,” Maddie whispers conspiratorially.
I discreetly turn my head and spot a man in his midforties wearing a crewneck sweater. He catches me looking so I quickly turn back around.
“What happened?”
“Nice guy, but really boring.” She gives a fake yawn.
“You shouldn’t have problems meeting fun-loving creative types around here,” I say, putting my napkin on my lap.
“Right,” she says nonchalantly. “Let’s order some food. I’m starving.” She picks up her menu, in part to hide a strange grin on her face. She’s hiding something. But what?
“What do you recommend?” I ask, looking over the menu. I recognize all the traditional French dishes.
“Everything. I come here all the time; this place is like my second office. The organic chicken is delicious and so is the trout.”
“I’ll have the burger,” I say. I’m in the mood for something American. “With a side of truffle fries. And I won’t share until you tell me what’s going on; I can tell you’re hiding something.” I know her weak spot.
She closes her menu and responds with a sly grin. Busted.
After we place our orders, she finally talks. “Clementine, I have some amazing news: you’ve been awarded a fashion scholarship.” Maddie removes her glasses and her green eyes shine bright like a million sparkly diamonds. I sit back feeling dazed and confused, as though she’s just told me I’m about to fly to the moon on a rocket with Karl Lagerfeld.
“I — what?”
Maddie sees my confusion. “You told me you wanted to launch your own website, right?” she says, looking for validation.
“Yes, totally. That’s my dream.”
“The school offers resources that can help students launch online platforms while they’re still learning their craft. This scholarship is relevant to what you’re doing, so I filled out an application on your behalf.”
“Wow, thank you!” I can’t believe my ears. It’s surreal. “But what is it that made me … deserve it?”
“Well, you were eligible for several reasons. You have a strong academic record, and you worked hard as an intern for that magazine in Paris. Your writing skills are impeccable. Your resume did the job for you.”
“That’s amazing!” I jump from my seat, nearly knocking over my glass of water. I dive over the table to give her a giant hug. This garners a few awkward stares from the people nearby, especially her former flame. I don’t care — it’s not every day that a girl receives a scholarship to help launch her own business.
This news is so unexpected that tears of joy roll down my cheeks. I wipe them away with my serviette. “This is incredible, Maddie. Not to sound greedy but … how much is it?”
“Five thousand dollars. Not bad, right? It should cover your blog’s start-up fees and pay for some graphic design and advertising to get your site off the ground,” she says proudly.
I can barely sit still. I’m so grateful. I’ve already contacted a graphic designer to help me build the site. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.
“Thanks, Maddie. This means a lot to me. You’re already putting me up at your place, and now this? You’re an angel.”
She waves her hand dismissively and takes a sip of water.
The waiter brings our food and I dig into my truffle fries with gusto. Being psyched sure builds an appetite.
“It’s too bad that I need to teach and you have class this afternoon, otherwise I’d order a bottle of red,” Maddie says, sipping her sparkling water.
“A glass of Bordeaux never hurt anyone, especially when you’re from France,” a male voice says behind my back.
I whip my head around. A very good-looking guy has come up right next to our table. He’s medium-tall with dark, curly hair, dressed in baggy cargo pants and a striped shirt, and carrying a large camera bag. I catch a whiff of his intoxicating cologne — it’s an intense, smoky mix of sandalwood and leather and it throws me off a little. Um, I mean a lot. A hot blush covers my cheeks. And I haven’t touched a sip of wine. But if this guy is offering some, I might just try it.
“Hello, Jonathan, it’s nice to
see you again. Jonathan’s a freelance photographer who works with us on several projects,” Maddie says, while I keep my eyes riveted to his attractive face. I’m relieved to hear that he isn’t a Parsons student. It would be distracting to have him in any of my classes.
“This is Clementine, one of my foreign students. I’m advising her on a few matters.”
Jonathan beams a megawatt smile that accentuates his dimples. Mon dieu — I’m turning into a puddle of sweat in my seat.
“Hey, it’s nice to meet you.” He puts down his black bag and extends a hand. Tattoos run up his arm. As soon as his hand touches mine, I can almost feel the electricity running all the way down to my toes. Thank god I’m sitting down, otherwise I’d probably keel over.
“Clementine. What a great name.”
“Thanks,” I respond nonchalantly while replaying the compliment at least a dozen times in my head. He runs his fingers through his hair and moves in closer. He smiles and I swoon.
“Are you French, too?” he asks.
“Can’t you tell?” Maddie says, pointing at my outfit. “Clementine is one of the few at school not dressed in head-to-toe black.”
“You do look European,” he says, glancing at my dress. Whoever this handsome man is, he’s just scored some points. “And you’re the only woman here who isn’t glued to her phone or tablet.” He nods at the French novel sticking out of my bag.
“I’m old school when it comes to reading,” I shoot back. “I mean, I do have a phone but I haven’t activated it yet.”
“My point exactly.” He smiles wryly.
“Why don’t you join us?” Maddie asks. Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about that. I mean, I was just getting started discussing my blog and its upcoming launch and I was hoping to get some feedback from Maddie. And before I talk to this guy any further, I’d love to check whether I have anything stuck between my teeth.
“Okay, just for a few minutes,” Jonathan says, taking a seat next to me. There’s a sudden powerful heat that emanates from my solar plexus. Am I really that attracted to him? I try to control my heart palpitations. It’s not easy. Come on, Clementine, keep it together. You’re not going to get thrown off by the first handsome guy that crosses your path in New York.
“How are you enjoying the novel?” he asks. “There were great reviews of it in the Times. I can’t wait to read the translation,” he says, and this unsettles me even more. It’s one thing to find him good-looking but to be impressed by his intellect — that’s unexpected. I hand him the novel and while he elegantly flips through its pages, I catch another whiff of his cologne, and this time it sends all of my senses into overdrive. My heart pounds wildly in my chest. My cheeks turn the colour of my dress. This is embarrassing. I try to cover up my attraction but it isn’t working. He must be able to tell.
I try to act cool as I reach for my glass of water. I wish Maddie would just say something but she continues to nibble at her salad, looking amused. I force myself to speak.
“It’s really terrific so far,” I manage to say. “The characters are well-developed and the setting is eighteenth-century Scotland. The author is particularly skilled at combining history with intriguing plot twists. If you like suspense and historical pieces, I think you’ll love it.” He looks impressed. Score.
“I always appreciate a little suspense,” he says. He shoots me a mischievous side-glance, his eyes sparkling with amusement. My insides melt like cheese over pizza.
“Clementine just found out she’s getting a scholarship,” Maddie says.
For some reason, I’m uncomfortable with Maddie sharing this information. I guess I’m still digesting the news myself. This will likely bring more attention my way like I got in class this morning and I was hoping to avoid that.
“Really? That’s great. Congratulations! This definitely calls for some wine. I’m ordering a bottle — it’s on me.”
My face turns bright red. But why? Is it the compliment or the fact that Jonathan seems interested in me? He’s a fashion photographer and I don’t look anything like the model types walking around New York. I think about my ex-boyfriend for a split second and have a flash of anxiety and doubt. His behaviour really affected my self-confidence and I’m still trying to recover from it all. I push those thoughts aside and tell myself to enjoy the moment and relax.
“Thank you, Jonathan, that’s very generous of you,” Maddie says. “Clementine, I hope you’ll have a sip. After all, we’re toasting you!”
“Okay then, twist my rubber arm,” I say.
Jonathan responds by leaning into me and pretending to twist my elbow. Again his firm touch sends waves of electricity throughout my body. My insides are going haywire.
I feel hot. I feel cold. I feel I might just lose control.
Could this be a good thing?
“So, Clementine,” Jonathan says, looking amused while making me squirm in my seat, “you must be really smart to get a scholarship. Good for you, I’m impressed.”
The waiter shows up with the bottle of red and Maddie excuses herself to hit the powder room, leaving me alone to fend off the swirl of lustful thoughts swimming in the back of my mind. Never mind freestyle, we’re talking Olympic-level 100-metre butterfly here. It doesn’t help that Jonathan brushes my arm as he pours wine into my glass.
“Thanks. It’s not just about the brains, it’s about the hustle,” I say casually. I have no idea where that came from, but I blame Jake. That’s something he would likely say.
I’ve only had two sips of wine but it has obviously gone to my head. I imagine my fingers running through Jonathan’s thick mane of delicious I-just-got-out-of-bed hair while we sit side-by-side reading books on his living room couch. I’m clearly getting way ahead of myself here.
Having Maddie as a chaperone on this unexpected lunch date is a blessing. I feel more confident with her around, which is preferable when you’re trying to flirt with a member of the opposite sex. Is that what I’m doing? I have no idea anymore. I’m clearly losing it.
All I can say is that I hope Maddie gets back to the table soon. Without her, I’d be a puddle of confused emotions, drunk by noon and stuffing my face with truffle fries. You see, just like my mother, when anxious, I tend to veer toward excess.
“How are you finding New York?” Jonathan asks before taking a sip of his wine.
“Can’t complain,” I say coolly. I try to hide my true feelings about the matter: I want to jump up and down and scream about how amazing New York has been so far. Especially right this second … but I talk myself out of looking silly. “It’s been great so far. I’ve met some fascinating people and I’m really looking forward to diving deep into the fashion program. Parsons is top notch for what I’m interested in.”
“And that would be?”
“Fashion journalism.”
“Cool. I work with lots of journalists, especially those who cover Fashion Week. I can make some introductions if you’d like.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s very kind. But I’m looking to build my own platform and publish there. At least for now.”
“You’ve got spunk. I like that.” He winks.
“Thanks.” I lift my glass, trying to remain calm so as not to shake or spill anything. He definitely has a powerful effect on me.
“Do you have friends in New York? People to go out with?”
“Yes, I’ve made a few,” I shoot back. What I really mean to say is that I have one new friend, but boy, he counts for several people.
“Happy to hear it.” He grins. “New York can be a lonely place. “So where are you staying? The school dorm?”
“No, in Brooklyn.”
“Really? Whereabouts?”
I freeze in my seat. Maddie and I agreed to keep our living arrangement a secret. I just hope she shows up and comes to my rescue. In an attempt to deflect his question, I flick my hair
back and wave the waiter over to order an espresso. I can’t have any more wine; I may say things I’ll regret later. Not that I need the extra jolt of caffeine, either. I’m already jumpy enough as it is. I try to use it as a delay tactic but it doesn’t work.
Jonathan stares at me with a puzzled look. I guess he’s still waiting for me to answer his question.
“In Williamsburg,” I finally say under his watchful gaze. “With friends.”
“That’s awesome. I’m in Greenpoint. I know the area well. I lived there for two years.”
Thankfully both the waiter and Maddie show up before he asks any more questions.
“If you like coffee, there’s this new café that just opened. I could take you there on Saturday? I have a photo exhibit with other photographers at the Pratt,” he says, with a glint in his eye.
“That sounds like fun,” Maddie says, finally chiming in to answer for me. I can tell she’s egging me on. I discreetly roll my eyes at her. I’m dying to gently kick her under the table to make her stop but I can’t reach that far.
“Yes, it does,” I finally respond. I feel ambushed — but in a good way. The truth is that I’m dying to accept — I just don’t want the whole world to be in on it, that’s all. “Sure, count me in.”
“Fantastic. I’ll let you two finish the lunch I so rudely interrupted. I gotta run but I’ll catch you on Saturday. Here’s my card. Do text me your number, and don’t forget to activate your phone, Clementine.” The way he says my name sets my heart spinning.
I watch him heading to the bar to pay for our wine. He catches me staring and winks. I look down at my shoes and when I look up again, he’s gone. Through the tall windows, I see him walking down 13th Street on his way back to the school.
“Isn’t he great?” Maddie asks with the tone of someone who’s trying to fix me up.
“Mm-hmm,” I respond, playing along. She knows that in Paris, dates aren’t “arranged.” You just hang out casually with friends until one of them finds the courage to ask you out. Anyway, no matter his intentions, I’m just thrilled Jonathan invited me to his exhibit.
Bonjour Girl Page 3
