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

by Isabelle Laflèche

  At five thirty, the phone rings. Rikash picks up and buzzes me on the intercom: “It’s Phil calling from California, he sounds very agitated. Do you want to take it?”

  “Sure, put him through.” I take the call, assuming it’s my last task of the day.

  “Catherine, it’s Phil Purcell from American Bank. We’re at the printers and we need the document tonight.”

  “Hi, Phil, the document is almost ready, but you told me that you weren’t going to print until tomorrow. Can I send it to you first thing in the morning?”

  “No, I need it now.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Catherine, we need it tonight. We’ve been cooped up in here for the last forty-eight hours, and this is the last piece before we can go to print and go home.”

  Crap. What do I do? I don’t want to seem like I’m blowing off work, but I can’t exactly ditch my biggest client either. I hesitate for a moment before rushing out of my office and down the hallway to see if someone can cover for me. “Where’s Antoine?”

  “He’s out at a client meeting.”

  Every other lawyer in the office is either on the phone or has their door shut.

  “Ah, merde! I’m going to be late!”

  Rikash walks into my office. “What’s wrong? Can I help?”

  “I have to leave right away otherwise I’ll be late and I need to send a document to the printer in San Francisco.”

  “Is it ready? I can send it for you.”

  Given my recent run-in with Antoine about delegating work to secretaries, I hesitate for a moment before handing over the file to Rikash. If I prepare and review everything in advance, nothing can go wrong, right? Besides, I trust Rikash. I quickly make some final changes and email him the file along with the working group list, a detailed compilation of everyone’s contact information.

  “Okay, I’m leaving—you’re sure you’re on top of it?”

  “Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty. Go on, muffin, have a blast.”

  After repeating my detailed instructions twenty-three times, and double-checking my BlackBerry battery, I dash out the door.

  “Catherine!” A voice calls out from the bar.

  “Jeffrey, hi. So sorry about being late. A client called at the last minute.”

  “No problem. Shall we sit and have a bite?”

  He points to a cozy table next to a roaring fireplace with breathtaking views of Central Park.

  “Hope you like my choice,” he says as we take our seats.

  I raise my eyebrows exaggeratedly in response.

  “Are you kidding? This is one of the best restaurants in the city.”

  “It’s one of my favourites,” he responds while putting his Boss suit jacket on the back of his chair.

  “So you eat here regularly?”

  “Yes. The chef is known for his Napa Valley restaurant and I used to take clients there when I lived in California.”

  “And apparently his butter-poached lobster is to die for.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You don’t expect to take a lawyer out for dinner without her doing a bit of research in advance, do you?”

  “No, of course not. Especially a newly transferred lawyer from the Paris office of Edwards.”

  “How d’you know?”

  “You don’t expect to have dinner with a CFO whose company is about to go public without him doing some research on the lawyer he’s just hired, do you?”

  “Touché. Of course not.”

  “We better order right away—the tasting menus run several courses.”

  “I’ll let you pick since you’re the regular.”

  “A lawyer giving up decision-making power. I’m really flattered.” He signals the waiter to our table.

  “We’ll have the chef’s tasting menu with a bottle of that red I had last week. It was outstanding.”

  The waiter nods, geisha-like, and gracefully takes our menus away.

  “I hope they’re serving the peach Melba tonight. It’s really incredible. Foie gras with pickled white peaches in a sauce that—”

  I start to giggle before he finishes his sentence.

  “What’s wrong? Please don’t tell me you don’t like foie gras or that you’re a vegetarian, I’ll cry.”

  “No, it’s actually my favourite. It just makes me laugh that Americans love it so much. It just seems like you can find more foie gras in New York than in all of Paris.”

  “And I hope it stays that way.” He smiles warmly and places his serviette on his lap. “So how are you enjoying New York so far?”

  “I love it. It’s so exciting. The energy here is really intoxicating.”

  “It really is, although some of the excitement will eventually wear off.”

  “I have a hard time believing that. There’s so much going on in this city. I wish I had more free time.”

  “You’re a corporate lawyer in New York. What do you expect? I’m lucky Scott let you out tonight.”

  “He didn’t really let me out. He forced me out!” I joke.

  “Ah, I see. Well, good for me then.”

  “Seriously, I was delighted when he asked me to join you. I haven’t seen a concert in ages and I’m dying to hear some live music.”

  “So you like music, huh?”

  “Yes, love it.”

  “What kind?”

  “All kinds, really. I like to unwind to classical music after work, but jazz is my favourite.”

  His face brightens.

  “Really? You like jazz?”

  “Yes, j’adore”.

  The waiter brings our first course, a cappuccino of forest mushrooms.

  “Bon appétit.”

  “Bon appétit,” he responds after loosening the knot of his tie and flipping it over his shoulder. “Who’s your favourite musician?”

  “I have several, but Wynton and Ella are my favourites.”

  “You’re definitely in the right building then.”

  “How so?”

  “The Jazz at Lincoln Center Concert Hall is right here in the Time Warner building and this is Mr. Marsalis’s home base.”

  “I’d love to see him play in New York. The last time I saw him play live was at the Montreal Jazz Festival. I was lucky enough to meet him backstage because of a close friend who knows him. He gave us a private concert. I’ll remember it forever.”

  “That must have been amazing! I’m assuming you’ve been to the Marciac festival then?”

  “Of course, it’s fantastic.”

  “I’d love to go, especially in the company of a beautiful French woman.”

  Slightly taken aback, I continue our conversation like nothing happened. After all, it seems like harmless flirting. And it’s billable.

  “So you like jazz too?”

  “Love it.”

  “Who’s your favourite musician?”

  “Miles. I think he’s the greatest musician of our time. I’m also a big fan of Dave Holland and Charlie Mingus.”

  Pleasantly surprised by his level of musical appreciation, I smile before responding. “I just finished reading Miles’s biography. He led a really tragic life.”

  “Didn’t they all? When do you find the time to read with such a busy legal practice?”

  “Mostly on weekends, but I try to read before I go to sleep every night. Although I haven’t read anything other than the Securities Act these past few weeks.”

  “You mean that brick that sits on a shelf in my office? I don’t think I’ve opened it more than twice.”

  “Lucky you,” I say jokingly.

  “Lucky me for having someone like you to read it for me.” He smiles in a way that emphasizes his dimples.

  I feel my cheeks becoming as deep a red as our wine. Although it’s getting more difficult by the second, I try to keep the conversation purely professional. Reminding myself of what just happened with Mel helps. A bit.

  “I can’t wait to read something non-legal, but I guess it won’t be fo
r a while, given this IPO.”

  “No, we won’t be reading novels anytime soon. Too much of that legal mumbo jumbo to get through. I get so exhausted after reading that stuff. It puts me right to sleep.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “But this is what you do for a living. Don’t you get tired of it?”

  “It can be exhausting. That’s why I keep a membership at Starbucks. I have my espresso injected intravenously.”

  “Don’t tell me a French woman buys her coffee at Starbucks? Isn’t that a bit sacrilegious?”

  “It is. But there’s one downstairs from my office. I guess I’m becoming a real New Yorker. I put convenience first!”

  “I know a place in Midtown that makes great coffee. We should meet there next time. I need my jolt of coffee too these days; I’m travelling too much, and it’s getting tiring.”

  “You travel a lot?”

  “Back and forth between New York and San Francisco every week but now that the office has moved here, it should get better.”

  “Travelling for business isn’t what it used to be. Those security lineups are ridiculous.”

  “Tell me about it. I got stuck in security at an airport in Arizona for at least an hour last week.”

  “Try getting through security in high heels with a French passport.”

  “No thanks, not interested. At least not in the heels. I wouldn’t mind the French passport though.”

  “Oh?” I wonder why he would say something so odd.

  “Because I could follow you back to France in case you decide to leave the country.”

  I sit up nervously, unsure how to react. He clearly has moved into full-blown pickup mode. Not wanting to be caught in another Mel Johnson–type situation, I try bringing the conversation back to the IPO.

  “The public offering is looking very exciting, isn’t it?”

  “It is. I hope it isn’t making your workload too heavy?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll manage.”

  “Are there any developments I should be aware of?” he asks after the waiter serves us our second course.

  “Everything is on track so far. We filed the necessary paperwork with the SEC on Friday and we’re on target for the start of the due diligence process.”

  “What about the directed share program? Is everything okay on that front?” he asks with intensity. “We have a lot of key business partners who we want to offer shares to, so I want everything to go smoothly.”

  I’m a bit surprised he wants to get into this much detail—but then, this is a working dinner. A directed share program allows company officers, employees, and their customers and vendors to purchase shares as part of the public offering. My mind races through the quantities of stocks we’ve set aside for their partners and buyers, and the paperwork that has been filed with regulators.

  “It’s looking good. Everything’s with the SEC.”

  “Good to hear. I’ll be travelling again early next week and I don’t want any hiccups.”

  “Leave it with me. There won’t be any problems,” I say, trying to appear confident and in control.

  “So, Catherine, what made you decide to become a lawyer?” he asks after our final course arrives.

  “I love to analyze things, and I take pleasure in simplifying complicated issues and explaining them to people in understandable terms.”

  He smiles. “I’ll enjoy working with you then. I don’t like spending hours trying to decode complicated legal details. I’m into numbers.”

  “Sounds like we’ve both ended up in the right field. How did you become involved with Browser?”

  “I studied accounting in college and then got involved with a few start-ups in Silicon Valley. One of the investors in my previous company lured me away to join Browser. It wasn’t a sure thing at the time, but I’m really glad I did it. Things have gone really well since I’ve started. And look at us now, ready to go public.”

  He remains silent for a moment and smiles tenderly while gazing into my eyes.

  “So did you leave some poor guy back in Paris to move to New York?”

  Here we go again, back into slippery non-work territory. I need to steer the conversation back into professional mode with the grace and strategy of Mary Pierce playing against one of the Williams sisters at the U.S. Open.

  “No, I’ve found it nearly impossible to mix personal relationships with the demands of my career.” (15–love)

  “I can’t believe a girl like you is alone in the big city.” (15–all)

  “My job is my priority at the moment.” (30–15)

  “All work and no play makes Catherine a dull laday.” (Ouch! 30–all)

  “You’ll be glad work is my priority when you try to reach me at two in the morning to discuss your prospectus.” (Good shot! 40–30)

  “When I call you at two in the morning, you can definitely assume that it won’t be to discuss the IPO.” (Wow, impressive backhand stroke! Deuce.)

  “As a lawyer, I never assume anything. I rely solely on facts.” (Okay, pretty strong return, advantage Lambert.)

  “And I would just love to learn every little fact about you, Mademoiselle Lambert.”

  My cheeks go from Shiraz red to Port burgundy as I stare down at my empty dessert plate. Sensing my uneasiness, he waves at the waiter to bring us the bill and hands over his credit card with the satisfied smirk of victory.

  Game. Set. Match.

  At Carnegie Hall, I put my BlackBerry on vibrate. Just in case.

  After Jeffrey introduces me to the entire Browser executive team, we take our seats.

  “I hope you’ll enjoy this. It’s a spectacular lineup tonight.” He hands me a copy of the program and I flip to the concert details: Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major.

  As the orchestra begins, it transports me into another world. I’m in the most exciting city in the world, in a concert hall that gives me goosebumps, listening to some of the world’s best musicians in the company of a gentleman—I mean, fantastic client. What else could a woman ask for? I’m basking in the moment when my left leg begins to vibrate: my BlackBerry is flashing with an email from Antoine.

  I have a choice: ignore it for fear of being rude—and risk becoming unemployed—or read it quickly (after all, I can do it discreetly).

  As I take a few seconds to consider my options, my BlackBerry vibrates a second time.

  Then a third.

  And a fourth.

  All this vibration is strong enough to cause a microseism in the parquet and lower-tier sections of the concert hall. We’re so close to the orchestra pit that I’m convinced I just heard BlackBerry interference come through the speaker system. I fumble to switch it to silent mode as I open the messages.

  The first email reads:

  Catherine, are you there?

  A.

  The second:

  Where are you? I have an angry managing director from American Bank on the line; he says you sent him the wrong document. Please call ASAP.

  A.

  The third:

  I’m in the middle of a conference call with a client. Where the hell are you?

  The fourth:

  CATHERINE, PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE WHEREVER YOU ARE AND CALL THE OFFICE NOW.

  I’m in deep caca.

  I count the number of seats between mine and the end of the row: six. That’s really not that bad, is it? I lean in toward Jeffrey. “I’m terribly sorry, but I need to excuse myself for a moment. I’ll be right back.” He looks puzzled as I awkwardly scramble over the knees of the entire Browser executive team and run to the back.

  “Antoine, it’s Catherine. What’s going on?”

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I’m at a client event at Carnegie Hall.”

  “What?”

  I stay silent.

  “That’s just fuckin’ great, Catherine. You’re out at some concert while the rest of us are slaving over here at the office.”

  “S
cott asked me to fill in for him at a Browser function, okay? I read your message about the document. Is Rikash around?”

  “No, he left for the day.”

  “I don’t understand what happened. I gave Rikash the document before I left so that he could send it to Phil.”

  “Haven’t we gone over this before? How many times do I need to tell you? You shouldn’t be delegating your work to a secretary.”

  My pulse starts to race and beads of sweat trickle down the back of my dress. Catherine, how could you have let this happen, again?

  “I didn’t delegate the actual drafting, just the sending. If I tell you where the document is located in our database, can you send it to Phil?”

  “Jesus, I don’t have time to handle this. I’m working on a huge deal and I’m in the middle of a call with a client. Just come back to the office and take care of it.”

  I stand dumbfounded in the middle of the empty lobby. Did he just tell me to go back to the office in the middle of a Beethoven concerto? How can I explain this to Jeffrey? The team player and new-kid-on-the-block side of me responds: “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  I look around and walk toward an older gentleman who appears to be an usher. I ask him if he could slip a note to Jeffrey. Please? Seeing the desperate look on my face, he agrees. I scribble a message on a piece of paper, show him my ticket so he knows exactly where Jeffrey’s sitting, and run outside to catch a cab.

  On my way back to the office, my feelings waver from anger to fear. I hope I don’t get fired over this; I’m sure I gave Rikash the correct information. And if I didn’t, I’ll be completely mortified.

  I rush past Antoine’s office and shut my door. As I sit down in front of the computer, I only have one thing on my mind: getting back to Carnegie Hall. I try to compose myself before dialling Phil’s extension at the printer’s.

  “Phil, it’s Catherine from Edwards and White. What’s wrong with the document we sent you earlier?”

  “We received it, but it didn’t have the revised offering price on the cover page and the company logo is missing.”

  “Can’t you guys add the price and logo from over there? The printer has the graphics and all that information.”