But even the best plans are subject to unexpected twists of fate. Our idea of a romantic dinner changed abruptly when I told Jonathan and Jake what I discovered in the student archives.
Jake wanted to discuss the matter tout de suite after I texted him and Jonathan the details. We couldn’t get together immediately since Jonathan was busy at work, so Jake invited himself along to our Sunday-evening dinner date. He’s sitting right between us in front of the roaring fireplace. I can tell Jonathan is a little annoyed, but, ever the gentleman, he’s playing it cool for my sake. This makes him an even sweeter guy in my eyes.
I look at Jake digging into his plate of foie gras, and it makes me chuckle. I can tell he’s excited, but whether it’s about the food on his plate or what I told him about Stella, I’m not sure.
“So, when are you going to tell the whole world that Stella is a freakin’ fraud?” Jake asks with a wry smile. I know that if he were in my shoes, he would’ve sent out a press release about Stella by now.
I pick up my glass and take a long sip of Perrier.
“I’m considering my options carefully. I don’t want any of this to reflect negatively on Bonjour Girl.”
“Whatever you say, madam girl-boss,” Jake says jokingly. The truth is that finding out about Stella has made me even more determined to succeed in my new online venture. I know I have an original concept that showcases talented and creative people who shine from the inside, unlike Stella. And it’s something the world needs right now.
Pumped up by my discovery, I spent all of yesterday and last night holed up in my room, searching for fascinating people to interview for my blog. And boy did I find a gold mine, including a young woman who creates handbags made from Pakistani cotton woven by local artisans.
I sent her questions via Skype and she answered them by the next morning. I uploaded my new post as soon as I finished it and the feedback I’ve already received today has been amazing. I even got a message from an eco-conscious fashion brand offering to send me samples. I just can’t believe my luck.
“Ellie sure did a one-eighty on us, didn’t she? Can you believe that girl? What a badass,” Jake says, taking a sip from his sparkling water. He isn’t drinking any wine either — he’s heading back to school later to work on his collection.
“You can say that again,” I say. “She’s on our side. I guess it took a while for her to show her true self.”
“But what’s her motive?” Jonathan asks, reaching for a piece of bread. He doesn’t seem as willing to trust Ellie as Jake and I are.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “She’s one of the good ones. I was wrong about her.”
“Pfft — you don’t actually believe she’s doing this out of the goodness of her heart, do you?” Jonathan asks, frowning at me. I guess he thinks I’m being naive. This is disappointing. Why can’t we all be on the same page?
“Yes, I honestly do. I know it’s crazy after how weird she’s been but I trust Ellie now. I think she’s trying to help.” I don’t like my intuition being called into question.
“That’s not what you told me when she made fun of your outfit in front of the entire class,” Jonathan says. “You need to watch your back, Clementine. It could be a trap.”
“You’ve got it wrong, Jon. I actually think Ellie changed her attitude toward Clementine when she heard about Cécile,” Jake says in a loud whisper.
Jonathan stares at me quizzically. “Who’s Cécile?”
I shrug. I guess I’ve been too busy complaining about my classmates and my parents to get to the older generations.
“My great-grandmother. She was kind of popular in certain Parisian circles,” I say, trying to downplay the whole thing.
“Certain circles? WTF, girl? She was a muse to Madame Grès, one of the greatest female designers of all time!” Jake shouts, making me want to crawl under the table. People sitting nearby turn around and stare while the waiter rushes to our table to find out what’s going on. I try to make Jake tone it down a notch by handing him a fresh piece of baguette but he ignores me.
“Really?” Jonathan looks at me, puzzled.
“Yes, it’s true,” I finally respond — deep down, I am proud to admit I have a fabulous ancestor. She gives me mental fortitude and inspiration.
“Why am I not surprised?” Jonathan says, shaking his head. “So that’s where you get it from — all that style, elegance, and class.” Jonathan reaches for my hand and I feel on top of the world again.
Jake rolls his eyes. Being the third wheel isn’t easy.
I decide it’s time to share some secrets with my two favourite boys. “Oh, and Maddie recently gave me a gift: Cécile’s etiquette manual. It’s filled with tips about being a lady.”
“Oooh, I need to read that!” Jake coos.
“I’ve been following some of them lately and they’ve been working for me. So I’ve decided to apply some of them to Stella.”
Jake puts down his fork. “So, what’s the book suggesting you do now, darlin’?” He leans in conspiratorially.
I take a deep breath before responding. “To act with grace, tact, intelligence, and class.”
“Pfft, that’s it? That’s a bit boring, don’t you think? What else does the book say?” Jake asks.
“Well …” I say, trying to determine whether I should quote passages from the book. I decide against it; it’s best to keep it simple. “Yeah, that’s it. I have all the necessary resources to settle this with tact.”
Jake shakes his head again. He’s not pleased about this. At all.
“Jeez, Clem, I was expecting way more from you and Cécile. This kinda blows.”
I can tell he’s disappointed. He wants me to fight back, and hard. We’ve gone over this a gazillion times. It’s getting exhausting. I’m losing my resolve to argue with my friend. Maybe Jake is right? Before I can say anything further, he gets up from the table, walks over to the waiter, and hands over his credit card in a huff. “What about self-respect?” he calls out from the front of the room. “Didn’t Cécile teach you anything about that?” He makes a dramatic exit and runs off onto the street.
Jake’s bold move leaves both Jonathan and me speechless.
Perhaps my friend is right and I should consider alternative points of view. We’ll see which option I choose after consulting with the lawyer in the morning.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I walk into the office of Jonathan’s lawyer friend, Stephanie, and feel a sudden tightening in my chest. I can’t explain why, but I do.
I really have no idea why I’m feeling this anxious. After all, I had a wonderful dinner with Jonathan yesterday. We were the last ones to leave the restaurant after the waiter politely indicated they were closing for the night. We stood outside the restaurant kissing for some time before hopping in a cab back to Brooklyn, where I insisted we go our separate ways. After the embarrassing club scene, I’m trying to cultivate an air of mystery and fan the flames of desire. I’m happy to report it’s working.
Stephanie’s lobby looks like the inside of a Ralph Lauren store. It’s so refined; I wish I could crash here permanently and call this place my home.
Black and white photographs of runway shows and exclusive publicity campaigns cover the walls. These must be Jonathan’s photographs — I recognize his signature style. That’s how they know each other.
There are also lots of hardcover books lining the walls in an impressive display. I walk over, pull a copy of The Great Gatsby off a shelf, and finger its gold-leaf pages. It reminds me how much I love to read and how little time I have for my favourite pastime these days. I sigh, remembering that this phase of my life is temporary and I’ll get back to reading novels soon.
I try to remain cool, remembering that I’m also launching a fashion business and one day soon, I hope, I’ll be in a position to afford my own chic office and my own legal advice. Unt
il then, I need to be grateful for the freebies I get along the way.
I check in with the receptionist and take a seat in one of the low, modern chairs. I try to relax. After all, I’m here for a friendly legal consultation about a silly Twitter fight, not some major lawsuit. In the grand scheme of things, it’s only cyber intimidation and I’ll survive. Or so I hope.
One side of me feels terrible about digging up dirt on Stella. Is this the right way to fight back? I also feel bad for her — the fact that she doesn’t have the wherewithal to find her own fashion concept makes me cringe. How could Stella not think that Parsons would find out sooner or later?
I wonder what kind of advice I’ll get from Stephanie. Will she recommend that I send a formal demand letter to make Stella stop? Or that I just let things slide?
My thoughts are interrupted when a tall, slender young woman enters the room. She has long, dirty blond hair and the longest legs I’ve ever seen, and she’s wearing a tartan dress, a black motorcycle jacket, and matching boots. She looks like a supermodel. This is not what lawyers typically look like.
I feel out of place in my bubble-gum-pink blouse and funky pineapple-print skirt, with a blue bandana in my hair. And I feel short — really short. I repeat a mantra I read in Teen Vogue, “My body doesn’t define me,” over and over in my head as she struts my way. The mantra is supposed to help with my self-esteem issues. So far, it’s not working.
“Clementine? Hello! It’s so lovely to meet you!”
I nod. “Yes, thanks for meeting me. I really appreciate it.” I shake her hand and it occurs to me that I probably look like a five-year-old next to this glamazon. I may as well be getting legal advice from Gigi Hadid. In other words, it feels weird. I know attractiveness doesn’t cancel out brains but this creature is making me feel insecure again. Big time.
My body doesn’t define me … My body doesn’t define me …
“Jonathan told me all about you!” She flashes a megawatt smile.
All about me? Hmmm. What did he say? That I’m the victim of some silly cat fight on Twitter? Or that I made a complete fool of myself while dancing at some nightclub? I feel ridiculous and so very small. I want to hide underneath her expensive coffee table.
I follow her into her office and my heart drops again. The space is spectacular, with a view of lower Manhattan that most people only get to see in movies. She takes a seat behind her designer wooden desk, fresh cut flowers on either side of her. There are bouquets of white peonies and stacks of beautiful books everywhere.
I have hair, office, wardrobe, and flower envy. I try to remind myself of the lyrics to “Scars to Your Beautiful,” Alessia Cara’s song about self-image and loving yourself.
I try to push away my insecurities but it’s hard. Why do I feel so worthless next to this woman? Is she triggering issues from my past? Most likely. And god knows, there are tons of those. Issues with my parents, especially my mother, who was so overbearing and competitive, and being betrayed by my first love. The list goes on.
My body doesn’t define me … My body doesn’t define me …
Come on, Clementine, you need to keep it together. Stephanie’s doing you a favour and there’s nothing to worry about. Is there? My mind fills with dark thoughts: she and Jonathan share similar taste in decor, fashion, and books. Who is this mystery babe and how did they meet?
“I hope you didn’t have too much trouble finding my office. I know you study in the city,” she says, flipping her hair back and leaning back in her chair. She’s twirling an expensive Montblanc pen with her delicate fingers. I try to guess her age — she can’t be much older than her midtwenties. How could she have such an enviable legal practice so young? She must be super smart on top of it all. This woman totally won the gene-pool lottery.
My body doesn’t define me … My body doesn’t define me …
“It was no trouble at all. I live in Brooklyn,” I respond coolly.
“Ah, that’s perfect, then. So, what can I do for you?” Stephanie stares at me intently.
I freeze in my seat. I guess Jonathan didn’t tell her my story. Now I regret coming here. The reason seems so juvenile. I feel a lump in my throat and I reach for my neck.
“Are you okay?” she asks, looking worried.
“Um, I think so. My throat is scratchy. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”
“Let me ask my assistant to get you some water.” Stephanie rushes out the door. I stand up and look out at the breathtaking view. Maybe this will help me calm down.
I take a deep breath and tell myself to be more confident — after all, Jonathan cares about me. He introduced me to his fabulous friend in order to help and I should be grateful, not act like a child. I need to follow Cécile’s book and embody tact, elegance, and grace. Not so easy.
Staring out at the view, I cross my arms and try to imagine what it would feel like to reach this kind of success. I’ve heard of a visualization technique that helps you attract your deepest desires. I try to take a mental snapshot of the amazing view in my mind in order to attract it. I imagine Bonjour Girl employing a team of smart and talented women in a similar office. After a few seconds, I open my eyes. Unfortunately, what I see is far from desirable.
Sitting on a console by the window is a large paper agenda. I can’t believe my eyes. Under tomorrow’s date, in bold, red ink, are the words dinner with Jonathan.
My hand flies to my mouth. The room spins. My stomach clenches and my mouth goes dry. Scenes of my doomed relationship with Charles flash through my mind like the lights on a pinball machine. I’m going to faint. I grip the side of the console.
Stephanie walks in holding the glass of water and I take it from her, slug it back, and hand her the empty glass. And then I do what any sensible, classy lady would do in these circumstances.
I rush out of her office to call Jake.
“What’s the matter, princess?” Jake says when he picks up. I don’t know how he’s guessed something is off, but he has. He must have a sixth sense. I’m standing on the sidewalk outside of Stephanie’s office, barely keeping it together. After the bullying, now this.
“Are you okay?”
Silence. Tears. Tight knots in the pit of my stomach. My heart jackhammering in my chest.
“Clementine? Are you there?”
Silence. I can’t utter a word. I feel lost and confused.
“HELLLOOO? Girl, talk to me! ”
More silence, muffled tears, and a lump in my throat.
The dinner date marked in Stephanie’s agenda has completely thrown me. Is Jonathan dating her, too? Are they sleeping together? More importantly, what am I to him? A silly game? A cute side project?
All the self-doubt and pain caused by my ex and my parents’ extra-marital affairs, and all the damage it caused our family, comes flooding back. The disagreements, the fights, the screaming matches — all left me feeling scarred and bruised. And all that baggage is coming back to the surface.
“Jake, um” — sniff — “can we … meet? Something came up with …”
“Let me guess. Pretty boy?” His tone is flat. I can feel the I told you so between the lines and this hurts even more because the reality is that he did tell me so.
“Mm-hmm.”
“What happened? Just yesterday you guys looked like the only two people on earth.”
“It’s a long story. I’d rather tell you in person. There’s room for interpretation.”
“Interpretation?” I can tell I’ve piqued his curiosity.
“Yes, the situation is murky … and I need your advice. You’re good at making sense of these things.”
I can feel his smile across the line. He’s happy to feel needed and is pleased with my compliment.
“I was on my way to a runway show. Why don’t you join me?” he asks. “I promise it’ll make you feel better.”
I
totally forgot it’s New York Fashion Week. Jonathan told me he’d be busy shooting some of the runway shows. Now I know what other activities are keeping him busy this week.
I imagine him with her, dressed to the nines, attending the most sought-after fashion events this week, and it makes me sad. Honestly, Fashion Week is the last place I want to go to right now.
“That’s not a good idea. Jonathan might be there — he’s a fashion photographer, remember? I don’t want to see him before I talk to you.”
“Oh, stop it. He won’t be. It’s a runway show for plus-sized underwear. Trust me darling, this ain’t his kind of gig,” Jake responds, and I finally smile. He knows how to cheer me up. And there’s a sliver of hope: I might find some interesting material for my blog.
“Okay, where is it?”
“Milk studios in Chelsea. I’ll meet you there in an hour, pussycat. I’ll save you a spot in the FROW.”
“The what?”
“Oh, sorry, hon. In fashion-land, FROW is an abbreviation of ‘front row,’ which is just one too many syllables.”
“All right. Got it. Thanks.”
“Don’t be late — you don’t want to miss that sexy view.”
I shut off my cell, hoping my mood won’t be a total buzz kill for the cool FROW vibe.
I walk into the impressive white loft and my mood darkens again. The tall, white columns and concrete floors remind me of Jonathan. I try to push my negative thoughts aside to avoid ruining a big moment: my first New York runway show. I want to take it all in.
I text Jake and, with the help of a PR intern, find my friend at his seat. We’re sitting in the FROW thanks to Jake’s budding friendship with the talented plus-size designer. Apparently this collection celebrates women whose sizes fall outside of the fashion industry’s typical size range. Beauty from outside of the mainstream is sweeping the runways; the time for massive change has come. Despite my broken heart, I’m thrilled to be here.
Bonjour Girl Page 15
