Bonjour Girl

by Isabelle Laflèche

  “What?” Maddie lifts her hands in the air, as if claiming her innocence.

  “Come on, don’t tell me this wasn’t set up. I’m much younger than you, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “Of course not. It was all very spontaneous,” Maddie says, reaching for her bag. “But he sure is handsome.”

  “Whatever you say, dearest Maddie extraordinaire.” I place my hand on hers. “All I can say is that you’re definitely on a roll. You landed me a scholarship and the man of my dreams,” I say in jest. It’s still too soon to tell but Jonathan really is dreamy.

  I grin. She laughs.

  “You’re right, that’s a lot for one day.” She grabs her trench and stands up. “I need to get back to work. I have a class to teach and a conference to prepare for.”

  In addition to being a terrific mentor, Maddie has a heart of gold. I feel so happy, my heart might explode. Before I can express my overflowing gratitude, she walks past me toward the bar.

  “I’ll be right back.” She pulls out her wallet and her credit card and I can hear the waiter’s response.

  “No, madame. The young man paid for your lunch already.” My heart skips. Jonathan is a real gentleman.

  “Don’t forget to stop by my office later to collect your cheque.” Maddie squeezes my shoulder.

  Honestly, it just can’t get any better than this. We leave the bistro, and my mind goes into overdrive about Saturday: what should I wear, what should I say, and, more importantly, how can such an attractive man be into a girl like me?

  Saturday can’t come fast enough.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hey, Clem, love the outfit today. You look flawless,” Jake says, standing next to me in the school cafeteria. We’re waiting in line for our breakfast.

  “Thanks.” For my second day of class, I’m wearing palazzo jeans and a striped jacket I secretly “borrowed” from my mother’s closet (new with tags, never worn, as they say on eBay), with a light-pink handbag and white sneakers. I’m also sporting a goofy grin on my face. Jake, on the other hand, has toned it down a notch. He’s wearing grey jeans and a grey hoodie with the words Justin 4 Ever written across his chest. He catches me staring at it.

  “I made an effort today, just for you. My standard school uniform is a onesie,” he says. I’m not sure whether he’s being serious, but imagining Jake in a pink unicorn one-piece makes me giggle.

  “Great sweater,” I shoot back.

  “Oh thanks. It’s by Supreme, the sportswear label. You know it, right?” he asks, looking concerned about my potential lack of inside fashion information. Even if I’d never heard of it, I would deny it — I have a reputation to uphold. I do know the brand and frankly I can’t wrap my head around why anybody would spend an absurd amount of money on a big droopy sweatshirt with blatant branding. But I keep that to myself. He probably saved several of his hard-earned paycheques to buy it.

  “Mm-hmm. Yes, of course.”

  “So are you going to tell me why you’re smiling like goofball?”

  I guess he can tell I’m daydreaming. I’m not sure how to respond. Should I tell him about my surprise lunch date with Jonathan yesterday? And the unexpected scholarship money?

  Yesterday was by far the best day of my life. I met Jake, then Jonathan, then picked up my cheque from Maddie’s office. I walked — um, I mean ran — to the nearest Apple store to activate my new phone. Scholarship money in hand, I also splurged on a pair of chocolate-brown boots to wear for my date Saturday. I don’t know Jake well enough yet to tell him everything. But maybe just a bit.

  Jake slides his tray in front of the cafeteria staff, waiting for his hot breakfast to be served. It looks as though he’s ordered enough food for half the class.

  “Well,” I lean in and whisper, “I … met someone.” I hate to admit it, but instead of doing homework, I spent the better part of last night thinking of about my incredible good fortune. The scholarship and the lunch — it was just too much for one day.

  “Whaaat? When did that happen? In your sleep?” Jake frowns. “Don’t take this the wrong way, pussycat, but that’s a bad omen. You know how heavy the workload is around here. This will likely kill your focus, your grades, and most probably, your future,” he adds ominously, sounding a tad neurotic.

  I shake my head and laugh at his over-the-top remark. “I think you’re taking it too far. We’ve only shared one meal.”

  “You already shared a meal? Jeez, In New York, that really means something. Most people never make it past Joe Coffee,” he says, referring to a small coffee shop on 13th Street. “So when’s the wedding?” I ignore the silly question. “Listen Clem, we can’t have you dating so soon in the school year, okay? I’m here to look after your interests and meeting men is not one of them,” he finishes categorically, reaching for his coffee.

  “Don’t you want details? You’re supposed to be my friend, remember?”

  He sighs wearily. “All right, sweet pea, let her rip. Tell me everything.”

  I know he’s just playing with me; he’s dying to hear the details. Before I can say another word, he raises the palm of his hand in the air. “Wait! Let me guess: he’s easy on the eyes, looks like Adam Levine with his tattoos, wears plaid shirts, is into music and the arts …” His voice trails off as his breakfast arrives.

  I stand in front of Jake with my hands on my hips. He nailed it.

  “How d’you guess?”

  “Oh honey, I’m sorry, but that was so predictable. You’re like an open book. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re charming and all — but I saw that coming from miles away.”

  “Are you saying I lack taste? Or originality?” I mean, doesn’t he see my Claude Montana jacket from the 80s?

  “No, that’s not what I said. I just knew right away you’d be attracted to a certain type. It’s a great type, make no mistake!”

  “Okay, well, I hate to admit it, but you’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” He smiles triumphantly. “So, what’s the story with this dude?”

  “He’s a freelance photographer. He likes to read novels and drink coffee and red wine. That’s all I know about him so far. He’s taking me to his photo exhibit on Saturday in Brooklyn. I’m really excited.”

  “A photographer? Oh come on, Clem, you should know better than that. They’re notorious modelizers who can’t keep it in their pants,” Jake says, stirring milk into his coffee. “Haven’t you heard?”

  My stomach drops. My new friend is giving me a lecture before I’ve even had the chance to think this through myself. Modelizer? It’s true that some photographers have a bad reputation. But Jonathan seems to be such a gentleman. I don’t need Jake putting any doubts in my mind. I want to respond that what’s on Jake’s breakfast plate is far more dangerous for his well-being than me going on a casual date with a photographer is for mine, but I bite my tongue.

  “What else do you know about this guy?” Jake asks, like the big brother he’s trying to be.

  I shake my head. The truth is that other than Jonathan’s photography work for Parsons and the connection with Maddie, I don’t know much about him.

  Maybe Jake is right — I could have done some more research before accepting Jonathan’s invitation. But Maddie had nothing but good things to say about him. It seemed safe enough to go for a coffee and to a gallery.

  “It’s just a casual flirtation,” I respond defensively. “Nothing more. But you’re right — I do need to focus on school. Thanks for reminding me. My father will be thrilled I met you.” I give him a friendly nudge on the elbow.

  “You can always count on moi to keep you in line, sweetie pie. I’d love to meet your dad. I have a feeling he and I would gel famously.”

  I nearly cough up my tea. He has no idea what my father’s like. He’s far from being relaxed and cool about stuff. He’s the opposite: uptight, conservative,
and sometimes a bit snobbish. Not exactly the kind of guy who’d want to meet up to share a slice of 99-cent pizza on an NYC street corner.

  I watch him dig into his bacon, eggs, and sausage, but I’m distracted. I was so excited about seeing Jonathan on Saturday; now I’m more nervous than anything. I’ll have to keep an eye out for troubling signs.

  “Mind if I have a bite?” I ask, pointing at his chcocolate-chip muffin. I’ve learned that men come and go, but chocolate never disappoints.

  I let the chips melt in my mouth and feel a gazillion times better.

  “So, now that we’ve gone over the boy situation, I need your help, Clem.”

  “Oh? For what?”

  “Shopping for Maddie’s design class. I need to pick up some supplies, including some fabric for my first assignment. Are you free later? At lunch?”

  “Oh, now you’re talking my language. Absolutely.”

  “I’ll meet you out on Fifth Avenue at noon. I have a few things to take care of, then I’m off. See ya in a few, my precious gabardine.”

  I smile and wink back. Photographers may love to chase models, but more than anything, I love to dress and adorn them. And shopping for fabric is one of the ways I get to do that.

  And that’s plenty to make me happy.

  Chapter Eight

  “Honey, I’m home!” Jake sings as soon as we enter Ankara Designs, a fabric emporium on West 39th Street.

  A young woman with blue hair standing behind the counter waves at Jake. He sends her an air kiss. He obviously comes here a lot.

  I look around the store and it does feel like home. It’s filled with bolts of fabrics of every colour and style including candy-coloured cottons, cool denims, luxurious silks, wools, funky plaids, polyesters, and tons of lace. There are buttons of every style and colour, loads of thread, zippers, patterns, and all kinds of yummy accessories. To me, it’s like Disneyland, Dylan’s Candy Bar, and MGM Studios all rolled into one. I could spend hours in here.

  “This place is amaze-balls,” I gush, inhaling the odour of fresh textiles. To some, it might smell like dust and mildew, but to me it’s a fragrance that makes my heart sing. I’m like a bloodhound on the prowl for fresh game, except that I’m hunting silk shantung.

  The place is packed with people of every age, style, and ethnicity. I recognize a few Parsons students from my class.

  “In case you’re wondering, I basically live here. It’s my second favourite place in New York.”

  “What’s your favourite?”

  “Ah, that’s a secret, but if you help me find what I’m looking for, you may just find out.”

  I look around the loads of fabrics. Unlike most fabric shops I’ve seen, the fabric bolts here are organized vertically so it’s easy to look for patterns. If I were Jake, I’d want them all.

  “So many styles, so little cash …” Jake sings. “How can I choooose?” He shimmies his hips behind a rack of velvets while humming the tune to “So Many Men, So Little Time.”

  He cracks me up.

  “What do you need? Are you looking for anything specific?” I’m keen to help out.

  “Maddie asked us to create an outfit with unconventional materials.”

  Hmm, interesting concept. “What about this?” I point to a bolt of gold lamé.

  “Nah, sweetie. That’s too Golden Girls, circa 1985.”

  “Qu’est-ce que tu veux? What do you want?”

  “I need something a bit out there, but not too much. Crazy-cool but polished. Catch my drift?”

  “All right, let me take a look and see what I can find.” I’m not 100 percent sure I understand what he’s looking for, but I’m up for the challenge.

  I walk up to the second floor and let my imagination run wild. I imagine cut-out sundresses made from plastic flowers, shorts and midriff-baring tops made with silver and gold shoelaces, a cocktail dress made of feathers and tiny seashells. It’s what happens when my creativity is cut loose. I’m enjoying every second of it.

  Something catches my eye. It’s a bolt of tie-dyed pink and white cotton. The material is also coated in plastic; it’s known as oilcloth. The bright pink reminds me of summer picnics by the pool, gelato, and childhood vacations. The vibe is happy and sugary sweet. I think Jake could make something spectacular out of this. I grab the bolt and head back downstairs where Jake is inspecting some silver lace.

  “What about this? The look is trippy ice cream truck gone wild. Or Lilly Pulitzer on acid.”

  “Wow, you’ve outdone yourself, Clem. I love it! It’s Miami meets Cape Cod.”

  “You like it?” I ask, surprised. I’m happy that my instincts were on point. He gets me.

  “Yeah, totally. I could make some palazzo pants and a sexy tube top. I could even accessorize the look with a beach umbrella and some ginormous white vintage sunglasses.” I can tell the right side of his brain is as stimulated as mine.

  “You nailed it. That’s something I’d love to wear,” I say.

  “Clementine, you are my sunshine …” he sings, then moves in for a hug and spins us around. And right there in the middle of New York City’s Garment District, our friendship is officially sealed.

  I can’t believe how excited I am. Can my time in New York get any better? Unfortunately, something brings my joy back down a notch. I can feel someone staring at me, as if their glare is boring holes into my back. The vibe is heavy and disturbing. I turn around and there’s Ellie, giving us that weird look again. I wonder why? I nod and give her a tight smile. I’m not going to let some weirdo with bad energy and salty vibes get me down. I’ve worked way too hard to get myself here.

  I decide to ignore her and follow Jake while he orders his fabric. He spends a few more minutes feeling the material with his fingers, and once he’s confident it can be sewn into a wearable outfit, he orders several yards. The store employee cuts the fabric generously, which makes my friend giddy.

  “I just love a store with generous cuts, don’t you, Clem?” he says, batting his eyelashes at the woman helping us. What a charmer. I guess this is how he gets such good service.

  After he pays for his load, he stares at me with a childish grin. “We need to celebrate this fabulous find with something sweet, my love. Follow me, it’s my treat!” He hails a cab as soon as we exit the store.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To my favourite place in New York. It’s named after the art of making happy discoveries. You know, like meeting you and finding my funky fabric.”

  “Huh?”

  “Serendipity 3. It’s an ice cream parlour for grown-ups. Haven’t you heard of it? There was a movie made in its honour.”

  I shake my head.

  “They serve stupid drinks like apricot smushes, big burgers, and towering sundaes. But the frozen hot chocolate will melt your heart.”

  I wrap my silk shawl around my shoulders and smile from ear to ear as I slide into the cab’s back seat. I can confirm that thanks to my new friend, my heart has already melted several times over.

  Chapter Nine

  “Another day, another slay,” Jake says as soon as I take my seat next to him in class. I’ve shown up early so we can catch up. After our shopping trip yesterday, the two of us are joined at the hip.

  “You bet. With that killer fabric, it’s a slam dunk,” I say with a wink.

  “All thanks to you, love. I can’t wait to start using it. Tonight after work, with the help of my mom’s sewing machine, I begin my hot-pink masterpiece.”

  “Cool. I can’t wait to see it. And thanks again for lunch. That hot chocolate was sinful.”

  “But totally worth it, right? Shopping can be such a gruelling exercise. It burns tons of calories,” he says, pretending to flex his muscles.

  “Whatever. I like you just the way you are, fit or not.”

  He grins. My comment makes him blus
h.

  “Now that we’ve worked on one of my projects, it’s time to work on yours. I don’t want to pressure you, but have you thought about Bonjour Girl ?” Jake asks, just as Stella, the former law student, walks by.

  “What’s Bonjour Girl ?” she asks. “It sounds familiar. Is that a new French clothing line?”

  I shake my head and glance over at Jake as if to say this topic is off limits. Even if Stella seems nice, I don’t want her to know about it. I’m still working out the details in my mind.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a French magazine I wrote articles for a long time ago. They’ve shut down since,” I say, trying to change the topic.

  “Oh, Clementine, don’t be so modest,” Stella says breezily. “You wrote for a French fashion magazine? That’s amazing. You should let everyone know about it!” A few heads turn our way.

  Oh man, here we go again.

  “Thanks for saying that.” I try to brush her off politely. She senses that I’m in no mood to talk so she walks back to her seat.

  “Oops. Sorry,” Jake says, looking embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it out loud.”

  “No worries. We’re good.”

  “So what’s your timeline for the launch?” Jake whispers, taking a sip of coffee from his Namastay on the Couch mug.

  “Funny you should ask. I’ve started writing a business plan and creating a mock-up of the site,” I whisper back. This takes Jake by surprise. I don’t tell him about my scholarship and that getting it allowed me to pay for a graphic designer. I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging — I’ll bring it up when the time is right.

  “No way! Really? Between running into fabulous men, dissing your detractors, and having a fabulous family, you’ve got it going on, girlfriend. Do you have any secret powers I should know about? And can you please be my manager? I could use a kick in the pants.”