Bonjour Girl

by Isabelle Laflèche

  @ClementineL is a suck-up. Expect all content from today’s event to be copied on her stupid blog. #bigyawn

  I sink down in my seat, imagining the entire room bursting into laughter and pointing at me. I feel like such a fool. I begin to shake, imagining all of Stella’s Twitter followers having a chuckle at my expense. I get why cyber intimidation and bullying can hurt so much. It makes you feel small, like really, really small, and terrible inside. Like you want to disappear from the face of the earth forever.

  Tears well up in the corners of my eyes. That’s it: I just can’t take it anymore. I’ve had enough.

  I need to stop Stella’s efforts to destroy my reputation without doing myself in in the process. I text Jonathan:

  Need to talk ASAP

  He responds within seconds:

  Are you OK?

  NOPE

  What’s up? Wanna meet up?

  YES. Please and TY

  I’m at a meeting at Joe Coffee. Meet you out front in 10

  Perfect xo

  Relieved, I shut off my phone and let all the tweets and retweets disappear into cyberspace. If someone wants to laugh at my expense, so be it. I have a gorgeous supporter waiting for me who’ll defend my interests and make me feel good about myself.

  I close my notebook and, after the panellists finish their closing remarks, I stand and stride confidently up the auditorium’s main aisle. Just before I walk past Stella and her nasty entourage, I lift my middle finger into the air, throw my head back defiantly, and laugh out loud.

  I always try to make my mother proud, and I’m sure Cécile would be delighted, too.

  Here’s to a lineage of strong and feisty women. I wouldn’t dare disappoint my ancestors.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Being fearless isn’t being 100 percent not fearful; it’s being terrified but you jump anyway.” Taylor Swift’s words, which I read some time ago in a fashion magazine, echo in the back of my mind as I rush out of the Parsons auditorium and up to the main floor to meet Jonathan.

  Was I scared to do what I just did in public? Of course I was. But more than anything, I’m exhilarated. Clearly, Stella’s meanness knows no bounds, but my willingness to push back is pretty strong, too. I just wish Jake had been by my side when I lifted my finger; I know he would’ve howled with pride. I make a mental note to text him about it later. Right now, I have a far more pressing matter to take care of and it involves one smart and attractive man.

  Elated by my brash move, I rush up the stairs, taking them two at a time in my suede boots. I see Jonathan waiting for me at the top and my heart nearly explodes when he waves. I walk up to him and grab his jean jacket, pull him close, and kiss him passionately right there in front of the school entrance. A few classmates give me side stares but I don’t care. I’m done worrying what others think. It’s a serious disease I’m not willing to contract.

  “Wow, Clementine. I wasn’t expecting you to be so …” His voice trails off as he stares at me incredulously.

  “Thrilled to see you?” I say in jest after I take a step back. He pushes a stray wisp of hair from my face.

  “Yeah, I guess you could put it that way.” He gives me a curious look, cocks an eyebrow, and pulls me in. “Whatever it is, I like it.” He kisses me again.

  From the corner of my eye I notice Jake coming toward us. He makes a funny face and although I’m dying to introduce him to Jonathan and tell him about the Stella episode, he shakes his head, pretending not to see me. He then raises his thumb in the air as he enters Parsons’ main building, thereby giving me his stamp of approval. Guess he hasn’t seen the tweet yet.

  I wish I could respond in kind but I just smile.

  “So, how about we hit the town?” I ask Jonathan brazenly. I don’t usually take the lead in this kind of situation, but something deep within me has been stirred. It must be that wild-child streak I get from my mother.

  “What do you mean hit the town? What do you have in mind?” Jonathan asks, looking taken aback by my proposal.

  “I’m ready to cut loose. I want to have fun,” I answer. It’s as if I’m having an out-of-body experience.

  “Where? In a bar?” he asks, his hands in his pockets, looking sexier than ever.

  I don’t know why but I just nod. It’s not like me to care about nightclubs or the city’s nightlife. But I want to get out of this poisonous environment and forget about my classmates for tonight.

  Jonathan stands in front of me, runs a hand through his messy hair, and puts an index finger to his lips, as if considering our options. He clearly wasn’t expecting this kind of request. I wonder if he’s well versed in the New York City club scene. Although Maddie likes to joke that he’s a vegan homebody, something tells me Jonathan is, or at least has been, a man about town.

  “All right, Clementine, your wish is my command.” He reaches for my hand as we run onto Fifth Avenue to hail a cab. The sun has set on Manhattan and I can feel the pulse of the New York City nightlife beginning to buzz. If we’re hitting the fabulous, fashionable club circuit, I’m underdressed for it in my high-waisted jeans, simple T-shirt, and blush-coloured leather jacket, but I don’t care.

  Once in the taxi, I pull out my phone, but quickly feel a lump in my throat when I see it lit up with countless notifications. Screw it — I throw it back into my bag.

  “Are you okay?” Jonathan asks, looking concerned.

  “Well, no, but I will be,” I say. Despite my bold attitude, I’m still feeling the sting from Stella’s second tweet. If I read it again or tell him about it, I’ll likely lose it and cry.

  “Please keep that phone in your bag. Tonight, it’s just you and me,” Jonathan says, then slides his fingers through mine. After he gives our driver directions (“Lower East Side, please”), I buzz with anticipation. I stare at him up close, the bristle on his chin, his liquid brown eyes, and his white shirt next to his skin. He rubs his palm against mine and I just know that tonight will be an evening to remember.

  Just before the cab stops, he looks into my eyes. “All right, Clementine. Before we hit the town, we’re going to get some food into you. No clubbing before you eat.”

  “That sounds perfect.” I look up appreciatively.

  The truth is, I do feel an appetite building from deep within. But it has nothing to do with food.

  “That was delicious.” I wipe my chin with my napkin, having finished my second zucchini cake. “Thanks for bringing me here. I love it,” I say, looking around at the all-white modern space. I guess Jonathan has a thing for white spaces. That’s cool — I love them, too.

  We’re at Dirt Candy, an award-winning vegetarian restaurant. It was the first vegetable-focused restaurant in New York and the first restaurant in the city to eliminate tipping and share profits with its employees. I love everything about this place, especially the company.

  “So, where to now?” I ask, after he kisses my hand.

  “Are you sure you want to go out? On a school night?”

  I give him a naughty grin. The glass of red wine I had with dinner has put me in a party mood.

  “Okay, then. Off we go,” he says.

  After a short walk, Jonathan leads us to Mehanata, a Bulgarian nightclub that’s famous for wild parties, mesmerizing techno music, and a wicked vodka ice room.

  “This place is a wild card. A lot of people on the clubbing scene overlook it,” Jonathan says after we check our coats. It feels like we’ve just entered a totally different universe, far away from New York. I noticed Jonathan slipping a twenty to the club bouncer to get us in earlier. I doubt I would have been able to get in otherwise, since I didn’t have fake ID. This clandestine behaviour fuels my excitement even more.

  “This place is amazing!” I’ve never seen anything like it. The look is Eastern European party house. I’m dying to explore it further. “Great choice,” I say into his
ear.

  “I’m glad you like it. Where else can you sit on swings at the bar, dance to punk and R&B, and travel to Bulgaria without leaving the city?” he shouts back into my ear. I get a whiff of his cologne that makes my knees turn to Jell-O. I feel intoxicated by Jonathan’s sexy scent, the loud, thumping music, and the sultry downtown vibe. Now I see why New York is called the city that never sleeps. There’s a raw energy here I’ve never experienced before. I could totally get used to this party scene. Despite my conflicted feelings about it, I now get why my mother loved it so much when she went on tour here.

  Jonathan hands me a shot of vodka, the house specialty, and I swallow it in one gulp. Then the waitress hands us a second glass on the house. I know that if I drink this, I will likely do things I’ll regret. It only takes a few seconds for me to decide to throw it back. I feel the hot, fiery liquid burn my throat deliciously and I grab Jonathan’s arm and drag him onto the dance floor.

  The throbbing music, the hippie vibe, and the wildly attractive people dancing around me all put me in a hypnotic trance that takes over my senses.

  Jonathan and I dance cheek to cheek to the pulse of the music. He holds on to my waist and begins kissing my ear. I let my head tilt backwards as he kisses my neck slowly and deliciously. He then lifts the back of my shirt and runs his fingers up my spine and down the small of my back. His firm hand on my skin sends shock waves through my body. I pull him close and kiss him back in a way that I’ve never kissed a man before. There’s a desire burning from deep within me. I follow his rhythm and slowly lose all my inhibitions. I lose track of time and forget there are people around us as we sway to the sensuous remix of DJ Calvin Harris’s “How Deep Is Your Love.” The lyrics hypnotize me and ask the questions that are swirling around in my head: How deep is his love? Could it be like the ocean? And what devotion is he?

  I run my fingers down his back and hold on to him as we move to the sexy beat.

  Something tells me that tonight will be memorable in more ways than one.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I wake up the next morning to a phone beeping, but I’m not sure whether it’s actually happening or in my dreams — or should I say nightmares? I roll over and bury my face in the comforter to avoid facing reality. When I finally muster the courage to do so, I see that I’m in a strange bed wearing nothing but my pink camisole and men’s pyjama bottoms. And my head hurts. A lot. I squint as I look around the room: I’m in an open loft with low, modern furniture, black and white photographs lining the walls, and clothes strewn all over the floor. My clothes. I assume the worst: in a moment of drunken laissez-faire, I lost control and had wild sex with a man I still know little about. I went against my own principles and all the advice Jake gave me. The sad truth is I don’t remember much about the latter part of last night. After the vodka shots, it’s a total blackout.

  Shame washes over me. What have I done? It’s not like me to do this. I’ve seen enough drama play out in my parents’ marriage to understand the effects of not having any restraint, and it’s not pretty. Is this what they call self-sabotage? It could be; it runs in my family. Maybe I’m just creating drama to avoid more pain. If so, that needs to stop.

  Jonathan walks into the bedroom with two espressos in tiny cups. He’s wearing jogging pants and a white T-shirt. His hair is massively dishevelled, making him look even hotter. I wish I could remember how it got that way. It feels like I’m in a TV ad for designer coffee, minus the elegant hairstyle and makeup. I haven’t seen my face in a mirror yet but my guess is that I look as bad as I feel.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Hey.” I guess he doesn’t mind. At least there’s that. I wish I could run to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I know I have morning-after breath.

  I smile shyly. I cover my torso with the sheets. I am massively embarrassed.

  “Something to help begin the day.”

  I take the cup and look away.

  “Thanks. I need this.”

  He places the palm of his hand on my head then runs his fingers through my hair. Ouch, my throbbing head. But I don’t dare tell him to take his hand off me; his caress is both gentle and soothing. I have flashbacks of us throwing back some shooters at the bar and dancing. Lots of dancing. And maybe some more shooters. The thumping sound still echoes in the back of my mind.

  “You were on fire last night.” He kisses the side of my head. I have no clue what he means by that. Is it a sexual reference or a partying one? I wait for more details while sipping my coffee in silence. I feel like a total lush. “You were a real dancing machine. The entire club was mesmerized by your moves, and so was I.”

  “Really?” I don’t remember any of it. I want to escape this room, this conversation, and my skin.

  “You don’t remember the pole routine?” he asks incredulously.

  Oh no. Please no. I begin to shake and nearly spill some coffee on the white sheets. Thank god, I catch myself before it happens. “The what?”

  “They had this pole set up on the far end of the dance floor and well, let’s just say you put on quite a show.”

  OMG. I can’t believe I pole danced in front of Jonathan. I probably did that burlesque routine I picked up at dance school in Paris. My mother had wanted to experiment to add some spark to her marriage (cringe) and brought me along. We did have lots of laughs that day. I guess I inherited my mother’s stage presence. Well, sort of.

  “I hope I didn’t embarrass you,” I say quietly.

  “Embarrass me? Oh no, you were the life of the party. Strangers were coming up to me asking who you were.”

  “Oh crap. I hope you didn’t give them my name and number. I’m trying to launch an online business,” I say, but trying to be funny is painful when you have a splitting headache.

  “No, of course not. I wanted to keep you all to myself,” he says and moves in for a hug.

  “So … did we …?” I finally ask, my cheeks turning crimson red. This is so very embarrassing.

  He grins, then shakes his head. “No, Clementine. We didn’t have sex. But you definitely tried to get us there.”

  “I did?” I have no idea how to respond to that. Why do I feel like such a fool?

  “We made out when we got back here but I made sure we kept most of our clothes on.”

  I look up gratefully. I was right about him: Jonathan is a gentleman.

  “Okay, there was some groping. But minimal,” he jokes, kissing my shoulder tenderly. “Are you hungry?”

  “Huh, not really. What time is it?”

  “Eight.”

  “Oh, dear god. Where’s my phone?” I say, thinking of Maddie, who must be going out of her mind looking for me.

  “I hid it. Somewhere over there.” He points to the couch in the living room.

  “You hid it? Why?”

  “You were looking for it last night when we got here. You wanted to send Stella a nasty message. I didn’t want to be responsible for any drunk texts.” He winks.

  It all comes back to me now, the nasty tweet in the auditorium. That explains all that drinking and acting up on the dance floor. I was trying to drown my sorrows and forget it ever happened. The truth is it now feels a lot worse.

  “Thanks for saving me from myself in more ways than one.” I extend my arm and he fetches my phone. “But I’m sober now — I can handle my enemies like an adult.”

  He looks up. “Is she at it again?”

  “Mm-hmm. Yep. That’s why I made such a fool of myself last night. I’ll never forgive her or myself.”

  “Come on, Clementine. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You needed to blow off some steam. We’ve all been there. Why don’t you get ready and I’ll make some toast. You can tell me about it on the way to class. I’ll get a cab — I have a meeting there at ten.”

  I quickly send Maddie a text to at least let her know I’m fine. I can deal w
ith the consequences of this immature behaviour later.

  I get up from Jonathan’s bed, give him a kiss on the cheek, and make my way to his bathroom and into the shower. The hot water pours over my head, shoulders, and entire body as I recall Stella’s hurtful words. All that pain and all that shame. No wonder I craved an escape. Now I feel silly. In an attempt to forget, I only hurt myself more. Under the hot water, I vow to never let myself fall so low again. No bully is worth it.

  After I towel off and comb my hair, I hear a ping on my phone. I cringe and my stomach drops — I feel nauseous and hold on to the shower door to maintain my balance. I fear it may be another cruel social media message. I hope not. I can’t take anymore. I take a deep breath before I look and am relieved to see it’s a text from Jake:

  Hey Clem, SO sorry the bitch is at it again … Where are you?

  I quickly respond:

  You don’t want to know

  Oh boy. You ok? Are you in trouble?

  No I’m fine. Talk to you later. Heading to Parsons now

  OK. I want DETAILS and a side order of REVENGE!

  I splash some cold water on my face, use some mouthwash to get rid of the lingering taste of vodka, and reluctantly slip into yesterday’s outfit, ready to do the walk of shame, in more ways than one.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  My mind wanders while the taxi drives us to Parsons. I stare at all the pedestrians rushing to work. They look totally energized, ready to face the day with determination. I, on the other hand, look like a melted piece of Camembert. Jonathan looks my way and smiles. I can tell he’s trying to be kind and reassuring but frankly, I don’t deserve it.