Bonjour Girl

by Isabelle Laflèche

  Jonathan sits across from me on the leather couch. He orders two fancy mixed drinks in martini glasses. “Ginger, vodka, and grapefruit. I hope you like it.”

  I take a few sips and revel in the gorgeous ambience. It feels like I’m on a movie set — except this isn’t fiction, it’s my life. Being here makes me forget the silly Twitter episode. I’m not going to let it ruin my evening or my social life. Stella isn’t worth it.

  “So, what made you change your mind?”

  “All my issues magically disappeared after I texted you,” I say between sips. “That, and my roommate made me leave the house. She has a hot date.” I smile.

  Jonathan hasn’t said anything about it, so he hasn’t seen Stella’s nonsense on Twitter. I should probably tell him about Maddie. I don’t like keeping secrets, especially from the man I’m dating. Before I can say anything, his phone lights up with a notification. It looks like a text message. He picks it up, reads what it says, then turns beet-red. He looks embarrassed and quickly puts his phone away. I wonder who it’s from? The fact that his face reddened has me worried, but I brush it aside and take a sip of my drink.

  “Um, I should probably tell you something.”

  “Sure.” He cocks an eyebrow.

  “It’s about Maddie. She and I are related. She’s my mother’s cousin.”

  “I had a feeling that was the case, but I was waiting for you to tell me.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “Mannerisms, similar facial and verbal expressions. I notice that kind of thing. I’m a photographer, remember? I tend to zoom in on details.”

  “Right.” He’s so easygoing about things. I consider telling him about the nasty tweet, too.

  “I think that’s awesome. Maddie is great. So, she’s the roommate?”

  “Yup. And a terrific one at that.”

  “I bet.” He takes a sip of his drink and I feel relieved about having told him. Onward.

  “Did your problem today have anything to do with your friend Jake?” Jonathan asks. “I hope you two are talking again. You seemed really bummed out about it.”

  I love that Jonathan remembers my spat with Jake. He’s considerate and a good listener. And that hair — my god, all I can think about is running my fingers through it. Okay, Clementine, you need to cut back on the liquor or you’ll be doing things you might regret.

  “No, that wasn’t it. The Jake thing was about my scholarship. We’re good now,” I say, fondly remembering my friend’s apology.

  “You mean the one you turned down?” Jonathan shakes his head and makes a funny face.

  “Actually, not anymore. There’s been a reversal.”

  “What? I can’t keep up!” He throws his hands in the air. Then he waves the waiter over to order another round of drinks. We’re going down a slippery slope here. I don’t usually drink hard liquor; it doesn’t sit well with me.

  “The committee that granted me the money refused to take it back. They insisted I keep it. So, now I have money to start my blog after all.” I lift my empty martini glass in the air again. This time, he clinks back and kisses me.

  I feel the alcohol going to my head and it makes me feel anxious. For some reason, instead of loosening me up and making me feel good, it brings up all my old insecurities about the stuff with my ex-boyfriend, Charles. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been deeply hurt. I try to ignore it.

  “You deserve to keep the money. We can all use a boost when we’re starting out. I remember when I decided to go freelance, I struggled like crazy to make ends meet.” Jonathan rubs his hands together and I notice how strong they look with those leather bracelets on his wrists.

  “Did you get any help?”

  “No, not really. My uncle helped out a bit. He let me stay on the couch at his apartment in Chelsea while I was chasing gigs. That’s about it. The rest was all hustle and heart.”

  This makes me melt. I love a man who works hard to accomplish his goals. Not like Charles, who was a rotten spoiled brat.

  “My family wasn’t in a position to help me out financially,” he continues. “That’s just the way things are.”

  “And now look at you — your work is displayed in museums and galleries all over town.” I touch his arm with a finger and make a sizzling sound. The electricity I feel is anything but fake, and he’s not the one burning up — I am.

  “Right, I’m just one of thousands of photographers covering Fashion Week in Manhattan, but I’ll take it. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  “I can see why. You’re so talented. And respected by the press, too. I read that article about you in the Village Voice. Well done.”

  For some strange reason, a rush of sadness hits me. I stare into my martini glass. Maybe it’s the alcohol getting to me, but talking about the media reminds me of Stella’s tweet.

  “What is it?” Jonathan asks. “I don’t mean to pry, but … the problem you had earlier, is that … actually resolved?” He looks worried. I’m touched that he cares.

  I sigh. “It’s about this girl at school,” I finally admit with the vodka’s help. “She tweeted something nasty about me, but I’m over it now. It’s okay,” I lie.

  “Are you sure? It doesn’t look like it,” he says, reaching for my chin and brushing it delicately with his fingers. “And that’s not okay. What’s on Twitter leaves a trace. What did she say?” He moves in closer, looking like a media strategist. I’m grateful he’s looking out for me but I’m embarrassed to talk about this silly cat fight. It’s making me feel weak.

  I take a deep breath. This is humiliating. “Well, if you really want to know, she tweeted that I only got a scholarship because I’m related to Maddie.”

  “Say what?” He almost spits out his drink. “What’s her problem?”

  “I’ve asked myself that question a gazillion times. I have no idea.”

  “You can’t just sit on this, Clementine,” he says confidently. “You can’t let this slide. Otherwise, she’ll walk all over you. That’s how bullies operate.”

  “That’s what Jake said. I’m going to prove her wrong by becoming a huge success. That’s my strategy.”

  “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I think you need a new game plan. This is New York. People are tough. She’ll eat you alive if you let her.”

  “Jake said that, too. What do you propose?” I shoot back, taking a sip of my drink. I may be young but I’m not naive. I have my own ideas about how this should be handled. But I’ll gladly listen to what Jonathan has to say. I know he’s looking out for me.

  “A gallery owner in New York once stole one of my Instagram photos, blew it up, and sold it for thousands of dollars without my consent. There are all kinds of dishonourable people out there online. But I learned my lesson and now I have some people looking after things. I know a lawyer who could help.”

  “A lawyer?” I’m surprised by his suggestion. Why would I retain a lawyer for some silly tweet? “I think that may be overdoing it. I don’t want to spend all my scholarship money on legal fees; that’s just not productive,” I say.

  “I have a good friend who has a small legal practice here in Brooklyn. She’ll give you some good advice. Why don’t you call her? She won’t charge anything, I promise.” He picks up his phone and texts me the woman’s contact info. I smile gratefully. It can’t hurt to have some backup advice just in case.

  “Okay, I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

  “Good — I’m glad that’s resolved.” He gets up from the white leather couch and comes over to my side. “Now we can move on to more important matters.” He places his fingers on my chin and we kiss for a long moment. My thoughts drift away from the fact that we’re in a bar, I’m under the legal drinking age, and most importantly, that I was harassed by Stella.

  And I finally reach for that delicious hair.

&nb
sp; Chapter Eighteen

  “So, Clem, did you get any sleep?” Jake asks me the next morning. We’re sitting in the school cafeteria before class. He brought in a box of miniature cupcakes to help me get over yesterday’s Twitter saga — he offered me the pink ones and kept the chocolate ones for himself. Not that I’m keeping score or anything.

  “Yes, I did,” I say confidently. I haven’t told him about my dreamy date yet.

  Jake’s attending the design class with Maddie today; they’ll be working with fabrics and patterns, and he’ll be using the fabric we picked out together. He’s dressed the part, looking dapper in a checkered shirt, dark denim pants, and a colourful bow tie that matches his brightly coloured socks. He’s carrying an attaché case with peach and light-blue pockets. The look is preppy new wave with a twist and it suits him perfectly. I can tell he’s excited.

  After eating a cupcake and taking a sip of coffee, I look around. I’m getting funny looks from some classmates. Actually, they’re more like dirty or quizzical looks and frowns. One side of me, the sensitive side, wants to crawl under the table and sob. I guess they all think I’m a fraud. I can’t believe how quick people are to judge me based on one tweet. But I decide to keep my head high and devour another pink cupcake instead.

  “Stella didn’t get under your skin. But it looks like lover boy sure did,” Jake says, the corners of his mouth rising into a sly smile.

  “What do you mean?” I know what he’s talking about but I’m being coy.

  “You have chafed skin under your chin, sweetie pie. It looks like a delicious carpet burn to me.” He lifts his glasses off his nose to inspect my skin up close and I shoo him away like an annoying fly.

  It’s true that Jonathan and I spent a considerable amount of time kissing last night; first at the hotel bar, then on a park bench on my way home. His stubble rubbed deliciously against my skin and I enjoyed every second of it, until I woke up this morning with a sore chin and Maddie’s pointed comments. She knew exactly what it was. She gave me some magic balm to soothe it, and then a hard time. I didn’t get the chance to ask about her own date with her secret caller. We’ll get to that later — a girl wants to know.

  “Yes, we did make out, as you Americans would say. But it was very PG-13.”

  He smiles at my comeback and raises an eyebrow. “If you say so, love. Just make sure you don’t let him get into your designer underpants too quickly. Like I said — he’s a fashion photographer. These guys have a reputation.”

  I know he’s partly joking and is only saying this out of concern … but it took me forever to get intimate with Charles, and now in hindsight, I totally regret it. What a mistake. I lost my virginity to a jerk, and he left me emotionally scarred. And I don’t know about Jonathan’s dating history yet. That’s probably because I’ve been so caught up in my own drama. Do I think about having sex with Jonathan? Sure I do. And it’s getting more intense every time we kiss. But I want to move things slowly, especially after getting hurt. I just want to avoid any more regrets.

  “So did you think about your revenge strategy?” Jake asks before devouring another chocolate cupcake. I can tell these mini cupcakes are fuelling him. He’s not going to let this go.

  “Jonathan and I talked about it last night. Just like you, he thinks I should fight back. I still think focusing on my blog is the best strategy. I contacted a freelance web developer this morning and he’s going to start building the beta version of Bonjour Girl. I also created some social media accounts for it on the weekend, and I’m registered to attend the Women and Technology panel at school this afternoon. It’s hosted by the founder of Free Fashion.” Free Fashion is a popular design hub that I love.

  “Way to go, Clem. But you really should put Stella in her place before you launch your website. If you don’t, she’ll harass you again and could really hurt your image. I’m just sayin’,” Jake says, reaching for another snack. “You need to watch your back, girlfriend.”

  Just as he says this, out of the corner of my eye I catch Ellie entering the café. She gives me a nod and a tight smile. I’m sure she’s heard or read about the nasty tweet. I still have no clue why she keeps looking at me that way. It’s so weird. I feel like the world is ganging up on me. I hate feeling so insecure.

  “Jonathan suggested I talk to his lawyer. I thought it was a bit much at first but maybe it’s not such a bad idea.”

  “Why not? It can’t hurt. Besides, I’d love to see you sue her ass.”

  The truth is, all this unsolicited advice is actually making me more anxious and confused. I know I can look out for myself — I just haven’t decided what I want to do yet. I try to imagine what Elizabeth Bennett, the main character in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, would do about this.

  “There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others,” she said. “My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” I mentally high-five Jane Austen. That’s how I want to feel.

  “How about you, Jake?” It’s time to change the subject. I’ve had enough Twitter talk. “Have you made progress on your collection?”

  “As a matter of fact, while you were busy swapping spit with pretty boy, I met Adelina, my new muse, for a nightcap. I was so psyched — we shopped for vintage fabrics and she agreed to model the new outfit I created out of that funky fabric you picked out for me.”

  “Wow, that’s really cool. I’m not surprised she accepted. You’re the best.”

  “Thanks, love. And that’s not the half of it. After we left the wine bar, I took her to my parents’ shop and we started playing dress-up. We made an impromptu runway in the shop’s back store, modelling old clothes left behind by customers. What a hoot! Let me show you these photos we took.” He pulls out his giant ice cream sundae phone and I chuckle. It’s so anti-fashion that he somehow makes it look trendy.

  As he scrolls through the countless selfies, I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. The fact that he shared an impromptu fashion moment with another blogger who loves vintage as much as I do makes my blood run cold. Is this what they call girl envy? Am I that possessive of my friend? In the photos, I see the giant grins on their faces and the twinkle in their eyes and can only imagine the scene. I’m sure it was right out of the movies.

  “My god, Clem, this woman is so funny, she had me in stitches. She doesn’t have any French blood, but boy, can she wear a beret!” he says, pointing to a riveting photo of Adelina looking amazing in a black lace dress, funky tights, and a red beret. The fact that she’s sitting in a wheelchair makes her look fierce and even more powerful. Compared to her, I feel like a wimp. I try to hide my reaction.

  Why am I jealous of Jake’s friend? Is it because he’s showering someone else with so much attention? Besides, I was having an amazing time with Jonathan — would I have preferred to have been with Jake? A whirlwind of emotions envelops me and takes over my senses.

  “You both look fabulous … what an amazing duo you make.” I excuse myself and rush to the ladies room as tears run down my cheeks. I have no idea where all these crazy emotions are coming from but I try to push them aside, at least for now.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “For an audience to truly engage online, there has to be a well-crafted story,” the creative director of Free Fashion advises the crowd during his opening remarks at the Women and Technology panel late that afternoon. I love the way Parsons invites industry leaders to speak about current issues — there are four of them on this panel alone. I’m really looking forward to their perspective on what’s going on out there and this puts me in a good mood.

  I decided to show up early and sit in the front row. I know Stella will likely be here, too, with her squad. They typically sit in the back of the room. It makes sense, I tell myself — that’s where they belong; they’ll never be front-runners.

  After I jot down some notes, I crane my neck to see i
f I can spot Stella in the crowd. She’s not here yet. I take a second to close my eyes and imagine white light pouring over me to protect me from any negative energy, a trick I learned from Cécile long ago, when I was feeling anxious as a little girl. This fills me with strength and courage. If Stella tries to pull another stunt, I won’t let her get to me. I also try to imagine myself in a few years wearing a lovely dress and heels and standing at the front of this auditorium, telling Parsons students about the strategies I used to make Bonjour Girl a big success. This makes me smile and forget about the negative stuff.

  “One thing you need to understand is that original content is key,” Susie Lau (otherwise known as Susie Bubble, the founder of the famous fashion blog Style Bubble) says in earnest. She’s here to discuss the power of storytelling in fashion. I admire her quirky style, her amazing website, and the way she speaks with confidence. She’s a role model for me. I also love what she’s wearing today: a bright-yellow and black long-sleeved dress with large peonies all over it. She has black patent leather Mary Janes and frilly white and yellow socks. The look is feminine and sweet without being over the top.

  I get what she’s saying; it’s important to stand out. The most interesting websites and blogs are the ones that present the most original ideas. Case in point: Leandra Medine’s Man Repeller. She built a popular platform with the idea that even if some fashion styles can be a turn-off to men, they’re still fun to wear.

  “Storytelling is just one component of the multi-faceted experience that today’s consumers and readers expect from designers, bloggers, websites, and retailers. What’s key is balancing this component with creativity to create a narrative that’s unforgettable,” says the CEO of Free Fashion.

  I’m taking notes as quickly as I can when I hear a ping on my cellphone. I freeze in my seat. I turn my head as discreetly as possible to find out if Stella has made it to the conference. My stomach drops, my palms grow sweaty, and my mouth goes dry. Holy crap, she has. She’s sitting at the back of the room and catches me looking her way. She stares back with a predatory smirk, like a hawk watching her prey. I imagine the worst. I slowly take my phone out of my jacket pocket and there it is, glaring at me in all of its bitchy glory: