J'adore New York: A Novel of Haute Couture and the Corner Office

by Isabelle Laflèche

  I jump from my chair and start making my way to the exit; Dior at eighty-five percent off will definitely lift my spirits.

  As I walk past Rikash’s cubicle, he picks up my line. “It’s Antoine. He needs to speak with you urgently.”

  “Tell him that I’ll call him back later. I’m on my way to a client meeting.”

  “What meeting?”

  “I can’t say. Just cover for me.”

  “What if Scott or Bonnie is looking for you?”

  “Just tell them I’ll be back in an hour. Put everyone into my voicemail. I have my cell if the building is on fire, but otherwise it can wait.”

  I take the long way out through the other side of the elevator banks to avoid walking past Bonnie’s office. No one can disrupt my shopping plans, not now.

  I arrive out of breath. The last time I ran so quickly to get anywhere was in law school when I was late for a final exam. Outside the building, a long lineup of impeccably dressed women extends for more than two blocks. Lisa is wearing a black suit and waves at me from the entrance. “Over here. You can cut the line.”

  She greets me with a warm hug. “I’m so glad you could make it. There’s a lot of fabulous stuff here, and it’s all so inexpensive!”

  I take a look around and I feel my pulse skyrocketing: exquisitely tailored ensembles are carefully hung on racks throughout the room, half-opened boxes of gorgeous shoes are piled high along the side of the wall, and hats and costume jewellery are meticulously displayed in glass counters. Clearly, there are no cheap fake copies here. Before we attack the discounted merchandise, I’m reminded of Rikash’s sample sale shopping technique: just tell someone who is trying on an item you desperately want, It’s too bad they don’t have that in your size!

  “I don’t really need anything,” I respond, trying to sound sincere. Who am I kidding? I had friends in Paris who attended these sales, but I never managed to get invited. And I was always desperately jealous.

  “What did you want to talk about?” Lisa asks while perusing the costume jewellery. “I assume it’s about last night? How did it end with the client?”

  “Horribly. After I shot him down, he sent a nasty email to my boss and accused me of getting drunk and embarrassing him.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She picks up a black crystal brooch.

  “I know, can you believe that man? He even sent me a second email telling me I had poor judgment to turn him down. And when I tried to give my side of the story to Scott, he took the client’s side.”

  “Bingo. You’ve got your case right there. If things turn sour, you could always discuss it with someone at my firm. There’s a woman in our litigation department who specializes in harassment cases.”

  “Thanks, Lisa, I might take you up on that. I just hope that Scott will come to his senses.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “At least Antoine seemed to be on my side.”

  “Good. He sounds like a decent one. Is he cute?” She walks toward the prêt-à-porter section.

  “Yes, but very unpredictable. One day he’s yelling at me about work and the next he’s joking around and asking me to be his main contact in New York after he leaves for Paris. I just don’t get it.”

  “Maybe he likes you.”

  I mentally dismiss her statement for two reasons. First, it’s irrelevant—he’s moving to Paris. Two, if that were true, then why would he ignore me after our flirtatious email exchange?

  “I don’t think so. He’s seeing someone.” A pale blue chiffon blouse catches my eye.

  “Men are always seeing someone, Cat. It doesn’t mean it’s serious.”

  “He’s leaving for Paris in a few weeks so I’m sure that’s not it. Besides he has too much of a temper for my taste. You should have seen the screaming match he had with one of the secretaries. Pretty scary.”

  “He’s under a lot of pressure. You know how it is.”

  “Let’s change the subject. Why don’t we discuss the fact that Bonnie and the head of our litigation group were having sex in her office last night. Quel scandale!”

  “What?”

  “Yup, caught them right in the act. They didn’t see me, but I heard them.”

  “Wow.”

  “Rikash had hinted that she was seeing someone in the office, but I never would have guessed it was Harry Traum.”

  “Power is a strong aphrodisiac. Besides, that stuff happens everywhere. Here, you should try this. It would look great on you.” She adds a stunning turquoise cashmere sweater to my load. I follow her to the back of the room where complete strangers stand side by side in various states of undress in front of tall mirrors.

  “I wonder if she’s the reason behind Harry’s divorce. Anyway, the less I know about it, the better. Enough about moi. How is Charles?” I slip into the tweed dress.

  “Great. We’re going away for the weekend to the Bahamas. He arranged it, not me,” she says, admiring the cut of her ensemble in the mirror. “I love this. I’m getting these pants.”

  “How do you like it?” I ask after I’ve added a black patent studded belt to the dress. “It’s the New Look revisité.”

  “Wow! That looks stunning, Cat! You look like Marion Cotillard in the Lady Dior ads! You have such a great eye. You should work in fashion, not in law!”

  I go back to discussing her romantic life. “I totally misjudged him. He seems to be treating you like the queen you are, ma chérie. I can’t wait to meet Charles.”

  “Don’t worry, you will. I just hope I’m not wasting my time dating him. I’m looking for commitment.”

  “Then what you need to do is create some mystery. Deneuve put it perfectly: I like the idea of mystery, it’s the pleasure of being a woman.”

  “Thanks for the tip. I’ll try to create some mystery while we’re on vacation,” she says jokingly.

  “Trust me, the best way to hold on to a man is to keep him guessing.”

  I try on a light pink wool coat Lisa had picked out for me. As I stand in front of the mirrors, several women in the room start cooing, “Oooh, that looks gorgeous, you have to get it.”

  A quick glance at the tag reveals the original price: $2,500. But hey, it’s eighty-five percent off.

  “They’re practically giving it away,” a woman next to me comments.

  “That’s a classic and you’ll have it forever,” Lisa raves.

  “But that’s just the problem. I’m not into monogamous relationships with my coats.”

  She ignores my comment. “Try on the navy suit. Every woman needs one.”

  “I already own a navy suit. I really shouldn’t buy another one.”

  “But is it a Dior?”

  “Well, no.” I’ve always dreamt of owning one but couldn’t bring myself to pay full price.

  “Okay, so you don’t really own one. Just try it on! Don’t forget the evening dress and these black patent-leather shoes. You can’t leave without them. They’re the last pair in your size.”

  After I finish trying on all the items, we make our way to the exit and I get hit with a wall of financial guilt.

  “Lisa, I really shouldn’t be buying all this. I need to furnish my apartment.”

  She stares at me in disbelief.

  “Listen, these are bargain basement prices. Besides, it’s never a bad time to buy something you’ll have for the rest of your life. And, honestly, when are you ever in your apartment?”

  I hand my credit card to the cashier. As she swipes it, I cringe, knowing this will put a dent in my budget.

  “Aren’t you excited? You picked out such great stuff!”

  “I am. The retail therapy was just what I needed. I’m just not used to spending this much money on clothes—I’ve been spoiled by vintage! I just need some time to digest.”

  “Don’t think about it too much! I’ve got to get back to the office for a meeting. I’ll call you later.” She air-kisses me on both cheeks and disappears into the bustling streets with three large
bags.

  On my way back to the office, a strong feeling of buyer’s remorse comes over me. Did I really just blow off Antoine to go shopping? Although my BlackBerry didn’t go off, so whatever it was that he wanted couldn’t have been that important. Lambert, for once and for all, get your priorities straight. But first, get back to the office without getting caught. Holding two huge white shopping bags, I tiptoe through the back door, hoping that no one will see me. Luckily, Nathan has his door shut and Rikash is out of sight. Attempting to make a run for it, I dash up the hallway and abruptly come face to face with Roxanne.

  “A bit of shopping?” she remarks, staring at my bags disapprovingly.

  “Yes, um, it’s my mother’s birthday. It’s a big milestone, she’s turning sixty. You know how it is.”

  “No, I really don’t.” She sneers.

  Ah, merde.

  I stash the bags behind my office door and return to my desk to check my voicemail.

  You have seven new messages in your voicemail. Double merde. Panicked, I check my silent BlackBerry—battery is dead. Triple merde.

  “It’s Phil Purcell from American Bank in San Francisco, this is urgent. Please call me back as soon as possible.”

  “Catherine, it’s Antoine, please come by my office when you have a moment. I need to discuss a file before I leave.”

  “It’s Antoine again; where are you?”

  “Bonjour, Catherine, c’est Maman, just calling to say hello.”

  “Catherine, it’s Phil again. I expect a quick call back, okay? We’re not paying your exorbitant hourly rates for nothing. And I hope you’re not billing your time while listening to all of my messages.”

  “Catherine, it’s Scott. Phil Purcell just called me saying that he’s been trying to reach you all morning. Are you not familiar with our fifteen-minute client call-back policy? Oh, and by the way, don’t forget to bill your time listening to all of his messages.”

  “Catherine, it’s Rikash. Where are you? I tried your cell but it’s off. Scott is looking for you and he doesn’t seem to buy the client meeting alibi, not sure what else to tell him. Please call me if you pick up your messages.”

  Ouh! I’m in major trouble now. I pick up the phone to return my calls when Rikash suddenly bursts into my office doorway. “Where have you been? Everybody’s been looking for you, including your mother.”

  “I engaged in a little retail therapy. I was a bit depressed about the Mel episode.”

  He walks into the office and looks behind the door where my giant bags are overflowing with shoe boxes, clothing hangers, suits, and sequins.

  “I’m afraid that this is more than a little therapy. This looks like an entire psychoanalysis. Oh my god, Christian Dior? Look at all this stuff. Did you win the lottery?”

  “Rikash, shut the door. I was invited to a sample sale, I didn’t pay full price for it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” He goes into a pout. “Did they have anything for men?”

  I cross my fingers behind my back before I answer his question; I wouldn’t want to be the victim of Rikash’s nasty sample sale retaliation tactics.

  “Nothing, I checked.”

  “This is gorgeous,” he says as he picks up a black lace cocktail dress delicately embroidered with tiny black pearls. “Try it on. I want to see this on you.”

  “Rikash, I’m not going to change in front of you in my office.”

  “Why not? I’m gay, who cares?”

  “What if someone walks in?”

  “They’re all out for lunch.”

  “I need to call Phil Purcell back before he sends one of his men over.”

  “Come on, try it on. It’ll only take a second.”

  I slip behind my door and put on the dress.

  “Okay. What do you think?”

  “Sweetie, it’s absolutely ravishing.”

  I strut before him, pretending I’m on the catwalk.

  “When will you wear it?”

  “Not sure. I have an important client event coming up.”

  “With who? Mr. Browser?”

  I answer with a nod.

  “You have to wear it. Let me feel the fabric.”

  I’m standing on a pile of files in my bare feet while Rikash sits on my desk holding up the bottom of my dress when Scott opens my office door. He stares at us for a moment and shakes his head with a look of exasperation.

  That’s it, I’ll never become partner.

  “Sorry to interrupt the fashion show. Catherine, Phil has been looking for you, did you call him back? And can you please come to my office?”

  “Sure, I’ll be right there.”

  Ooh la la. What have I done? I feel like a complete idiot. I should have stayed in my office and got the jump on that Browser file instead. This is the last thing I needed after the whole Mel incident; I just hope I still have a job after our meeting. I throw a blazer over my shoulders and follow Scott down the hall.

  “Listen, Catherine, I really don’t care what you do in your spare time, but shopping while your client’s calls go unanswered is a bit much, don’t you think? We’re completely swamped and not paying you to be out gallivanting on Madison Avenue.”

  Embarrassed and ashamed, I squirm in my seat, simultaneously cursing myself and trying to make the dress cover my thighs. This shopping excursion could cost me my future at the firm. I want to kill Roxanne for ratting me out.

  “At least carry your cell phone so that we can reach you.”

  “I’m terribly sorry about all this,” I answer, my voice shaking.

  He changes the subject. “I just received a call from Jeff Richardson. He wants to meet with us to discuss the prospectus next week when he’s back in town.”

  “Yes, of course. No problem.”

  “I understand he called and gave you the details for their event at Cargenie Hall?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Good, that’s all for now.” He goes back to his computer.

  Relieved, I exit Scott’s office as Roxanne smirks while typing away at her computer.

  Rikash was right. She. Is. Nasty.

  Chapter 16

  There are two types of people that work in law firms: those who get stomach ulcers and those who give them. As Rikash hands me a memo I prepared for Bonnie yesterday, it’s obvious that she falls into the latter category. Scribbled on the front page is a handwritten note:

  This is NOT what I was looking for. It needs a LOT more work. Please see me to discuss.

  An entire afternoon and evening of legal research and drafting wasted. Rikash was obviously right that Bonnie was extremely difficult about reviewing associates’ legal research. She had won some writing competition in law school, was the co-editor in chief of the Columbia Business Law Review, and graduated in the top five percent of her class. She prided herself on her ability to dictate a faultless memo in record time and was quick to provide painfully detailed criticism of everyone else’s legal writing. I wonder whether she engages in this type of critique with Harry behind bedroom doors?

  Just as I was fantasizing about throwing her note into my wastebasket, the phone rings.

  “Catherine, when can I expect your revised memo?”

  I take a deep breath. I had been hoping to leave the office early to change before meeting Jeffrey for dinner but was clearly having a delusional moment.

  “I’m working on a few deadlines for the Browser deal. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

  I’m not sure why I even bothered asking since I already knew the answer to the question.

  “No, I need this now.”

  “Right.”

  “And when I say now, I mean right now so you better get on it. This is a major antitrust case involving one of my biggest clients.”

  I dash to the firm library to ask for help locating a few books that were missing from the library shelves yesterday.

  “Sorry, Catherine, they’re still out,” the librarian shrugs.

  This must be karmic paybac
k for the time I hid a treatise on Maritime law from a colleague who was desperately searching for it at two in the morning because he had badmouthed me to my boss. I immediately dispatch a paralegal to search every lawyer’s office for the books I need for Bonnie’s memo, and I ask her to start in Nathan’s office.

  The plaintiff is a large maker of computer hardware parts that believes our client secretly agreed with others in that industry to raise prices in violation of competition laws. I jump onto the LexisNexis and Westlaw research services to find additional precedents for similar cases. After printing out every commission decision, statute, press release, and article ever written on the subject of antitrust violations, I sprawl myself out over three tables, pull my hair into a messy bun, and kick off my heels. I index each document with Post-it Notes to classify my research. My motto: Fail to prepare and prepare to fail.

  I concentrate for at least five hours without taking any breaks. I quickly synthesize my findings and furiously scribble notes in the margins of the first memo so that I can delegate the typing of my revisions while I continue doing some final research.

  By the time I’ve finished reading all the precedents and rewriting the memo, Bonnie struts into the library.

  “Catherine, are you still working on that memo?”

  “Of course.”

  “Didn’t you hear the news? We settled right after lunch.”

  I want to throw my stack of research in her face but storm out of the library shoeless instead.

  “So where’s he taking you for dinner?” Rikash asks as he hands me some new files.

  “Per Se.”

  “How very sophisticated. It’s one of the best restaurants in the city.”

  “Promise me you’ll keep my dinner plans quiet. Even though it’s a client event that Scott asked me to attend and even though the dinner is billable, I don’t want anyone in the office to know that I’m going out, given the Mel Johnson incident.”

  “Of course, dah-ling, your secret is safe with me.”

  At four thirty, I make a mental checklist of the things that need to get done before I go: call the printers, contact the SEC to make sure they received the draft Browser documents, return phone calls. I quickly work through my list and prepare to leave the office.