Bonjour Girl

by Isabelle Laflèche

  I recall my father telling me about some famous writer who said that you shouldn’t share any creative concept until it’s fully executed. I tend to agree — that’s great advice.

  Stella squints, looking unhappy with my response, but I quickly change the subject.

  “So where can I buy these patches? I definitely need that smiling avocado. And the timing is perfect — I just bought a new phone cover.”

  She smiles nervously. I’m not sure why. We’re all good.

  Or so I think.

  Chapter Twelve

  I sit at Maddie’s kitchen counter while she makes dinner. I really lucked out; in addition to being a generous, fun roommate (who also has a great sense of style), she’s an amazing cook.

  I pop an olive into my mouth and look around. Her kitchen looks like the ones you see in interior decor magazines: modern appliances, a few antiques, touches of refinement peppered with pops of colour. Some exposed beams run the entire length of the ceiling, pots and pans hang from a copper ceiling rack, and lots of greenery provides a fresh touch. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlook a courtyard where a wrought-iron bistro table and chairs nod to our French heritage.

  Maddie looks much different at home. She dresses down. Today, she’s wearing black yoga pants and a white cotton T-shirt, and her hair is pulled up in a casual ponytail.

  “How do you handle the competition?” I ask, staring down at my nails. I’m doing my best not to bite them before my date with Jonathan. I just gave them a fresh coat of pale-pink lacquer.

  “The what?” she asks, adjusting her glasses.

  “You know — with colleagues?”

  I asked the question breezily but the truth is I’m feeling uneasy about what happened in the library today. I’m tired of getting dirty looks and being followed around. Also, the fact that I haven’t told Jake about the scholarship bothers me.

  This idea that we need to compete for grades, internships, jobs, and money brings up complex emotions. It makes me feel insecure, afraid of overexposing myself and shooting myself in the foot. The struggle between these feelings and my ambition is real — and I’m not sure how to handle it.

  Maddie turns away from her stove and gives me a concerned look.

  “Why, Clementine? Is there something I should know?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. I know she’s concerned about me and I know she’s taking her role as my guardian seriously. And as a teacher, she’s aware of the pitfalls of being my age: the bullies, the haters, and all those self-esteem issues. Oh, the joys of being nineteen.

  “Don’t worry, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just petty nonsense,” I say. I avoid telling her there’s a woman at school giving me nasty looks — this will only cause her to worry and, frankly, it’s just plain stupid.

  “Oh? What do you mean?” she shoots back.

  “It feels like there’s a lot of competition at Parsons. That’s all. Have you ever felt that way?”

  “Of course, sweetie. Who hasn’t?” She wipes her hands on her apron. “My god, I’ve dealt with pressure my entire life: to get decent grades, to get grants — you know my parents didn’t have the money for graduate school. I also competed with thousands of candidates to become a judge on the TV show. I know it’s challenging, but you need to adapt — that’s just part of life. One way to handle it: don’t worry about the others, just focus on your own path.”

  I exhale loudly. “It’s not always that simple. People like to get in your way. And I hate the word competition — I prefer collaboration.”

  She senses my uneasiness and walks over to give me a warm hug. I feel better already.

  “I know you do, you’re a thoughtful person. But you need to find ways to relax and deal with the pressure. You just can’t avoid it. But, if you handle it the right way, it can take you very far.”

  “You think?”

  “Sure. When I created a collection for my master’s thesis, there was tons of competition. And so much pressure. When I presented my pieces, the judges were so strict; the cut had to be impeccable,” Maddie says, thinking back on her fashion school days. “And if there was any imperfection, you failed. The school, the program, and yourself.” She points her wooden spoon at me as if to make her point.

  “Ouf! I can’t imagine that kind of pressure.” I shake my head. “It’s a good thing my future plans revolve around writing. Although I love designer clothes, I don’t think I could handle the stress of putting together collections like that.”

  “You think being a writer or a fashion critic is easier? Think again, sweetie. There are lots of talented and eager writers out there.”

  “Right. Point taken.”

  I think of Jake, who’ll be subjected to that level of scrutiny with his own collection. I haven’t yet seen his sewing or execution skills. I just hope he makes the cut.

  “Are you thinking about your friend Jake?”

  She’s obviously a mind reader.

  “Yes. I really like him. We’ve only just met but already he’s like a brother. But the thing is, I feel guilty about the scholarship.”

  “Oh, Clementine, I can tell he adores you. You know he’ll be thrilled for you. It’s your time to shine. You can’t hold back now, that would be a terrible mistake. You’ve only just begun, and you show so much promise. Friends that matter will always support you, no matter what.” She waves her spoon at me again, sending flecks of sauce my way. I duck to avoid them.

  “You’re right. I guess my insecurity comes from my mother, who taught me that if you get a part, you’re taking it away from someone else.”

  “That’s silly! You’re not taking anything away from him! I’m not worried about Jake. He’s got tons of charisma, passion, and drive. He’ll do well. I can feel it … I’m clairvoyant, you know.”

  “Yes, and a good matchmaker, too, by the way,” I say with a wink. Thinking about Jonathan puts me in a good mood. I start to relax a bit. “Those psychic skills of yours … do they explain why you’re not seeing anyone? You can read men’s minds and know in advance whether things will work out?”

  “Very drôle. If only it were that simple, ma chérie. You know dating in New York isn’t easy. It’s enough to drive any woman mad … or to drink,” she says, pouring some red wine into her glass.

  Right. I hope that Jonathan won’t add to my anxiety. I already have enough to deal with. Maybe Jake is right; dating while at Parsons is a bad idea. Only two days to go before our date. Not that I’m counting or anything.

  “So what do you know about Jonathan?” I ask, remembering Jake’s comment about photographers.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Do you know anything about his past? Any crazy ex-girlfriends? Drug abuse? Illicit activities?”

  Maddie chokes on her wine. “Come on, Clementine, are you being paranoid again?”

  She’s probably right. I need to chill.

  “I really don’t think he has too many skeletons in the closet. I haven’t seen him attend any of the Fashion Week parties. He looks pretty clean. I bet he’s into yoga and meditation and is vegan,” she says, placing the roast chicken on the kitchen counter. We both burst into giggles.

  “Well, if that’s the case, I have a bigger problem on my hands,” I say as I dig into my dinner. Learning how to deal with your emotions sure builds an appetite.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Are you ready for your hot date with hipster boy?” Jake asks, sitting next to me in the school auditorium. We’re here for Maddie’s lecture. She’s the moderator, and a few teachers, editors, and designers will act as panellists. Jake looks sleek today in a black turtleneck sweater, a grey wool blazer, and faux leather jeans. He accessorized his chic look with a matching black leather man bag that has me drooling. It’s the first time I’ve seen him so dressed up and he looks fabulous.

  “Mmm … yes, I guess so. I am a bit nervous and
I definitely have butterflies. I guess that’s a good sign, right?” Jake is rapidly becoming my confidant. He’s so open about everything that I feel as though I can share things with him that I don’t feel comfortable saying to Maddie.

  “Don’t worry, pumpkin, that’s just excitement,” Jake says, patting my knee. “I bet he feels the same way about seeing your beautiful face again.”

  His comment soothes me. Thank god I agreed to come here with him today.

  The auditorium is buzzing with staff members shuffling around the room wearing headsets and carrying microphones and other technical gear. The crowd is getting denser by the second, and I can tell this event will be a major success.

  The title of the conference is Fashion & Diversity, a popular topic these days in the media and within the industry. Issues of race on the runway, cultural appropriation of symbols by fashion designers, and diversity in employment and advertising are all on the agenda. Maddie told me that her lecture is part of a series featuring lively conversations on the intersections of fashion and culture, women and media. I’m thrilled that Parsons is forward-thinking enough to host such an event and I can’t wait to hear her speak. She’s been preparing for this for weeks.

  I brought a new notebook to get all this insight down on paper. Maybe I’ll write about this event on my blog.

  All this talk about diversity reminds me of a runway show I recently saw on YouTube from Beijing Fashion Week. Chinese fashion designer Sheguang Hu sent seventy-nine-year-old Chinese actor Wang Deshun shirtless down the runway. Not only did he look dashing as he sauntered down the platform, he literally stole the show, smiling at the cameras and the crowd. That’s the type of thing the industry needs. Diverse models that break the mould, that shake things up.

  “This anxiety you feel about seeing Jonathan … it’s totally normal,” Jake says, munching on some peanuts while staring at a good-looking staff member wearing tight jeans.

  “If you say so. Whatever it is, I’m definitely feeling it. I barely slept last night. Anyway, I’m looking forward to checking out that photo exhibit.”

  “Yeah, right. Photo exhibit my ass,” he says, popping another peanut into his mouth. “Whatever you do, please avoid checking out other things — if you catch my drift. It’s too soon. Unless you have little interest in seeing him again.”

  “I know that. Don’t worry, I’ll behave.”

  “Just play it cool, Clem. Everything will be fine. Be super chill about it all — but call me right after you get home, okay? I want all the details,” Jake adds, smiling and revealing his dimples.

  I chuckle inwardly. Jake acts like he isn’t into my romantic prospects but I can tell he’s totally into it, like a cheerleader on the sidelines of the Super Bowl just before the teams come out on the field. He’s living vicariously through my dating, or so it seems.

  “Did you look into those scholarships I told you about?” I decide to change the subject. I don’t want to discuss going out with Jonathan anymore — it’s making me super nervous.

  “Are you kidding? Yep, of course I did. I could really use an inflow of cash. I even sent in all the paperwork. I worked all night to complete it. All I can say is that if I get it, I’m taking you out on the town to celebrate. Somewhere swanky, like the Carlyle. Just toi et moi.” He puts on a posh French accent that makes me laugh.

  “I’m really happy you did that. I have a feeling you’ll get it. Your project is so on point. I mean, if anyone deserves financial aid, it’s you. Speaking of which, I have something to tell you,” I say, remembering Maddie’s comment about how Jake would be thrilled for me. I move in closer so that no one else can hear. “I just found out I received a scholarship to launch my blog.”

  Jake whips his head around dramatically and his bag of peanuts falls into his leather satchel. I can hear the nuts dropping to the bottom of his bag one by one.

  His eyes narrow and his face reddens. “Really, Clem? You got a scholarship? You really do have everything going for you, don’t you?” he snaps. Out of nowhere his happy outlook has morphed into an angry one. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. His reaction takes me completely by surprise.

  He brings his face close to mine. I freeze in my seat.

  “Why would you need a scholarship? Won’t your papa pay for everything?” he says with a snarl. “I have to work two jobs to pay for my tuition at Parsons. It sure would be nice if you could leave some crumbs on the table for the rest of us.”

  Ouch. My face drops, and there’s a sharp pain in my chest. I want to run out of the room but my legs remain glued to the auditorium seat. I should have followed my intuition and kept my mouth shut. Merde, I’m such a loser.

  Shame washes over me. He’s right. I didn’t get this money on my own; I had help from Maddie. I feel terrible for accepting it, cashing it, and worse still, using it to pay for designer boots. I’m disgusted with myself.

  I look at all the talented students walking around the room, many of whom have taken out major loans to come to Parsons. Why should I be the one to benefit? I’m not about to ask my parents to pay for my blog launch, but I have my allowance and I know that if I ever have to, I can fall back on their support. My mind spins — it’s not right. I need to give the scholarship back. I’ll find another way to get some money. I’m a resourceful person; I’ll find some alternative. I’ll get a job.

  Justin Bieber’s song “Sorry” comes to mind. Is it too late to say it? Given my friend’s reaction, I’d say the answer is most definitely yes.

  “And you know what else, Clementine?” Jake whispers. He’s on a roll now. “Because I’m so busy holding down two jobs on top of heavy schoolwork, I haven’t had sex in over a year. Yeah, that’s right. You heard me. Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of going out on dates with pretty boys who pay for my dinner.” He turns away from me, biting his lower lip.

  I begin to shake as I hold back tears. I want to say something but no words come out. I finally rise from my seat and rush out the door, bumping into Maddie at the exit.

  “Where are you going, Clementine?” she asks, looking shocked by my sudden departure. “We’re starting in a few minutes.”

  “I need to take care of something urgent. I’m really sorry. Good luck!” I know it’s rude for me to leave now, but my reputation, friendship, and self-respect are at stake.

  I rush out the door and let it slam behind me, remembering that Maddie made it through fashion school without any help from anyone in our family. If she could do it, so can I. And if I can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror, how can I expect Jonathan or Jake to look at me with friendship or admiration?

  I exit the Parsons main building and sprint toward Union Square, running past classmates walking in the opposite direction. I have something precious to lose; an important friendship is on the line.

  I walk into the nearest Citibank, where my parents opened an account in my name. I want to get a bank draft to return the funds ASAP. And then I’ll return the boots. My decision is final.

  If Jonathan is real, it won’t matter what I’m wearing on my feet tomorrow. What matters is what’s in my soul and in my heart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Why the dramatic exit, Clementine?” Maddie asks the next morning. I’m sitting outside on her terrace taking in some sunshine and fresh air, trying to relax before I meet Jonathan. I’m also trying to recover from Jake’s hurtful remarks. I had a terrible time sleeping last night — I’m still upset about what he said and I’m not sure how to address it. Should I just call him? Send a text? Or should I take a step back, let him blow off some steam, and wait until Monday? I’m sad and raw and confused. Who knew friendship could hurt so much?

  Maddie hands me a pink and white striped coffee cup with the words Every Day Is a Fresh Start. I take it gratefully and I take in the inspiring message, too.

  I’m wearing my favourite pyjamas, made
with the palest blue Egyptian cotton and decorated with navy piping, which belonged to my mother. She apparently received them as a gift from a secret admirer after a performance in Milan and quickly gave them to me to avoid making my father jealous. I do feel like a diva wearing them.

  “I’m sorry I missed your conference, Maddie. Some­thing urgent came up,” I say, then bury my face in my cup of java.

  “Oh? Are you going to tell me about it?” She takes a seat across from me in an iron chair. She doesn’t look upset, but concerned. She’s wearing the coolest Minnie Mouse PJs made of pure silk that she brought back from a trip to Japan. I hope to be half as cool as she is at her age.

  “It’s about this,” I slide a white envelope in front of her. I know it’s the right thing to do and deep in my heart, I know Cécile would approve.

  “What’s this? A cheque? But why?” She looks perplexed.

  “It’s my scholarship money. I’m giving it back. I just can’t accept it, Maddie. Other students need this more than I do. I feel bad about it. Please don’t be upset. I’m really grateful for what you did. I really am.”

  She looks disappointed and this makes my insides ache even more. “Please don’t take it the wrong way, but I don’t think it’s fair to the other students, the ones working two jobs to cover tuition.”

  After a minute, her face brightens. She takes a deep breath, shakes her head, and smiles. “You know what? I’m impressed with your character. You remind me of my younger self, always looking out for your friends,” she says, patting my hand. “It’s a very mature gesture — I admire your sense of honour. Don’t stop being that way, okay?”

  “Don’t be so quick to throw compliments my way. Jake is the one you should commend, not me. He told me off when I told him about the money yesterday. He was angry as hell and it really opened my eyes. He’s the hero, not me.” I get a frisson down my spine thinking about Jake’s reaction again. He looked really upset and, although the words he used were harsh, he was right.