I’m relieved to see him crack a joke.
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I have no clue. If I had one ounce of pride, I’d leave, but I’ve invested so much time in this place, I can’t just throw it all away. I can’t believe it.” He drops his head into his hands and begins to sob. “What will I tell my wife? She’ll be furious.”
“Are you doing this for you or for your wife, Nathan? She’s supposed to be supportive. That’s why she’s your wife, remember?”
“I know. But this is so embarrassing.”
“No, it’s not. You could find another job in a minute if you wanted to. You’re a great lawyer.”
I try my best to encourage him, even though I know that lawyers who don’t make partnership after a certain number of years are being sent a not-so-subtle message about their prospects at the firm.
“Why don’t you go work for Harry?”
“He didn’t offer me a position,” he answers, looking even more dejected.
“So what? Maybe he thinks you wouldn’t leave the firm. Call him!”
“Hmm. Not sure. I need to think about it. But thanks, Catherine. You’re the best.”
After Nathan leaves my office, I wonder why it is that I can get everyone else’s career on track but mine. I take a walk along the firm’s spartan hallways and look at the portraits of the founding partners, Messrs. Edwards and White, with bemusement. Why did I become a lawyer anyway? I get a flashback of gruelling law school exams, endless hours slaving over legal documents, the painful preparation courses endured to be admitted as a lawyer in Paris and New York. If Nathan didn’t make partner, do I really stand a chance? Is leaving the private practice of law the right decision? A junior associate from the litigation group walks by and confirms my decision.
“Love what you’re wearing. Great outfit.”
Chapter 40
Absence might make the heart grow fonder, but it’s turning mine into cheese fondue, thick and heavy. Although it’s been less than a week since we left California, I miss Antoine dearly and the only thing on my mind is getting across the Atlantic as soon as possible.
“You’ll never guess what happened today.”
“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” Antoine responds jokingly while pointing his finger at the tiny camera. I can see his warm smile thanks to one of the miracles of modern technology: a webcam.
“Both Bonnie and Nathan announced they’re leaving Edwards & White to join Harry’s firm.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Um, hell no!”
“You’re starting to talk like a local. It’s definitely time to get you back to France.”
“Believe me, I’m working on it!”
“Aren’t you glad you declined Harry’s offer? You’d be working for Bonnie again!”
“Ha! It’s the best move I decided not to make.”
“Any news from Sandrine?”
“No. I sent her an email with my resumé, but she didn’t respond. Rikash is now working on some diabolical plan to get me an interview. I’m a bit worried.”
“I wouldn’t be! He’s probably out filming a short documentary on your life to send to the legal department.”
“That would be the most depressing film ever.”
“Gee, thanks a lot!”
“Um, I mean it would be all about work, until the fairytale ending.”
“Now that sounds a lot better.”
“I’m having lunch with Lisa and her boyfriend, Charles, tomorrow.”
“I wish I could join you.”
“So do I. She can’t wait to meet you.”
“Where are you guys going?”
“Artisanal Bistro.”
“That’s one of my favourites! This is really painful. I miss you, Catherine.”
I say nothing in response.
“Catherine? You’re going silent on me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m finding this really tough too.” As soon as we sign off, I receive a text message.
Close together or far apart, you’re always in my heart.
A.
XXXX
I meet Lisa and Charles at Artisanal and the strong smell of cheese takes me back to my childhood. I inhale deeply while we wait to be seated. Charles greets me with two kisses on the cheek; he’s tall with dirty blond hair, a freckled nose, and straight white teeth. He’s wearing khaki combat pants and a leather bomber jacket and could be a model for the J. Crew catalogue. He graciously pulls out my chair as I take a seat at our table.
“Finally I get to meet you, Catherine. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Yes, and I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I’m sure you have. Lisa has probably complained about how bad a boyfriend I’ve been,” he responds jokingly, and reaches to hold Lisa’s hand. I notice the diamond glittering on her left ring finger.
“Mon dieu! Lisa! You didn’t tell me!”
“Yes.” She gazes at Charles lovingly. “We’re engaged!”
He kisses her tenderly on the lips.
“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!”
She glances at Charles before continuing with the details.
“We’d like to get married in France.”
“Really?”
“We were wondering if we could hold our wedding at your mother’s house since we want to do it by the water.”
I flash back to Madame Simona’s mention of a wedding by the water: it was Lisa’s wedding she was referring to. And, actually, I feel a rush of happiness for her—she deserves this.
“My mother would be thrilled.”
“You’re sure she wouldn’t mind?” Charles asks.
“Positive.”
“Thank you so much, Cat!”
“Yes, thanks, Catherine,” Charles chimes in.
“I want you to be my maid of honour.”
“I’d be very happy to.”
“We have to go shopping for my dress! Maybe in Paris?”
“Absolutely! And I’ll take you to Fifi Chachnil’s shop for some beautiful French lingerie.”
Charles looks pleased with my suggestion.
“Yeah, that sounds great!”
After he says this, I stare into my steak frites. I try not to spoil their big moment but can’t help feeling sad that Antoine isn’t here to celebrate the good news. Lisa guesses what I’m thinking.
“You miss Antoine?”
“Yes, very much so.”
After our lunch, I walk back to the office hoping Rikash made some headway in his grand master plan. The firm has been eerily quiet since Harry announced his departure and I just want to get to Paris as fast as I can.
I sit in my chair daydreaming about Paris when Rikash catches my attention.
“Look what just came for you. They’re gorgeous,” he says, placing a large bouquet of white calla lilies on my desk.
“Thanks, Rikash.”
I tear open the envelope and find a handwritten note:
With all my love.
Antoine
I never expected Antoine to express his feelings so quickly, and I’m deeply touched. I’ve spent the six longest and most painful years of my life working ridiculously long hours, grappling each echelon of the career ladder as if my life depended on it. But I’ve been missing out on one of life’s true pleasures: a rewarding relationship.
Rikash stares at me expectantly.
“So?”
“He’s written something very romantic.”
“Why the long face then?”
“I need to find a way to get out of this place.”
“Come on, sweetie. I already told you not to worry.”
“I’m getting more desperate by the second and I’m having trouble concentrating on my files. I have no drive left.”
“You can’t look desperate. You’ll never get anything that way. You need to act as if you already have the job. Repeat this after me: I am a fabulous diva and they will kiss my feet.�
��
“What kind of mantra is that?”
“A sacred one from India. I repeat it in front of the mirror every morning before leaving my apartment. And you know what? It really works.”
“Right. Sorry, Rikash, but I don’t think my dream job at Dior will magically appear by repeating your silly mantra.”
“Silly?” Rikash stares at me defiantly. “Are you calling my cultural heritage silly?”
“Of course not. I’m just not feeling it, that’s all.” I pull out a plastic glass and an emergency bottle of red wine from my desk drawer. “I need a drink.”
“Don’t tell me you’re actually going to drink some of that cheapo stuff?”
“Yes, sir, I am. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“You can say that again.” He rushes out of my office without saying another word.
The next day, I’m nursing a cheap wine hangover when the word DIOR appears on my office phone screen.
“Catherine? Bonjour, Sandrine Cordier.”
I freeze as I hear her voice.
“Hello, Sandrine, so happy to hear from you. You remember me from our brief conversation in San Diego?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I guess you couldn’t make our appointment. You must be extremely busy.”
“Yes, very busy.”
“Are you calling to reschedule?”
“Not exactly.”
I feel a pang in the pit of my stomach and expect the worst. I hold back tears.
“I’m calling because I just received a FedExed copy of your resumé printed on pink and orange silk taffeta with your initials engraved in gold letters. It makes quite a statement.”
Putain! I can’t believe Rikash went that far. My one chance at getting the job of my dreams and being with the man I love has just been flushed down the drain. I suddenly have visions of finishing the rest of my days locked in my New York office tied to a swivel chair, billing hours until my face turns blue while junior associates plot to have my desk blown up and my coffee poisoned.
“Oh.”
“You are one very determined woman.”
“Um, I can explain.”
“There’s no need. I just showed it to a few of the designers downstairs and they loved your idea. They were amazed that you knew about the colours from their upcoming collection.”
“I’m so pleased they liked it.” I go along with it despite having no clue about what she actually received.
“Can you be in Paris next Thursday for an interview with our CEO?”
There’s a long pause. My heart beats at record speed.
“I have a position that might interest you: Monsieur Le Furet is retiring as our intellectual property director. I need someone to replace him and I see from your resumé that you’ve done some work in this area. It sounds like you would be perfect for the job.”
A profound feeling of euphoria fills every inch of my body. I want to tell her that I’ll even work for free, but I take a deep breath and remember Rikash’s mantra; I can’t appear too desperate. I’ll never get anything that way.
“Yes, I do have relevant experience that could be interesting for this position. I’d be delighted to meet with your CEO.”
After I hang up, I throw a miniature pink bottle of POP Champagne toward Rikash’s cubicle. “You are amazing! Catch!”
“You have a well-stocked mini-bar in that office of yours. Do we have something to celebrate?”
“Oui, monsieur!”
He runs into my office, mini-bottle in hand. “So did it work?”
“It certainly did. I can’t thank you enough, you’re the best.”
He lifts his hands in the air Olympic-champion style and then shakes the mini-bottle of champagne. As he opens it, the contents explode all over my office. I don’t care.
“If I get the job, would you be interested in becoming my assistant? We could wage the war on international counterfeiters together.”
“Not if but when. Remember the mantra, dah-ling. God, I think you’ll need me in Paris to keep you in line!” He hugs me, then lifts me off my feet.
“This calls for a celebratory soirée. How about sushi at the Gansevoort Hotel? Dinner’s on me.”
He grabs his suit jacket and starts skipping down the hallway. “Ready when you are!”
I reach into my drawer.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby in five minutes; I have an important letter to drop off in the mailroom first.”
Acknowledgements
Iwould like to thank my family and friends for their love and support—especially my parents, Colette and Réal, who’ve always been my biggest fans. J’adore New York would never have seen the light of day without the encouragement and generosity of Isabelle Rayle-Doiron, Marie-Claude Germain, and Daniel Bourque.
Un gros merci to my editor, Kate Cassaday, for her unshakable enthusiasm, dedication, and impressive savoir-faire.
To the rest of the team at HarperCollins, Catherine MacGregor, Jennifer Lambert, and Iris Tupholme, who helped make a dream come true.
A warm thank you to Professor Charles Ellison, whose generous spirit showed me the way to creating a life filled with improvisation.
A special thanks to a psychic named Christine, who stopped me on the streets of Manhattan one dreary November afternoon to tell me I was missing my calling.
To all who provided encouragement, feedback, and inspiration along the way: Simon Laflèche, Atul Tiwari, Denis Boulianne, Gérard Vannoote, Caroline Lemoine, Line Rivard, Dominique Fontaine, Marie-Josée Fournier, Geneviève Guertin, Julie Drapeau-Crevier, Pascale Bourbeau, Michel De La Chenelière, Caroline Fortin, Yanic Truesdale, Marcy Jezak, Robin Sowers, Joelle Reboh, Olivia Commune, David Jurado, Claude Commune, Isabelle Lamarre, Carolyne Van Der Meer, Rossana Sommaruga, Myriam Caron-Belzile, Julie Rivest, and Daniel Laporte.
And particularly to Patrice Commune for his joie de vivre, patience, and immense support throughout this exciting journey.
Praise
A woman’s perfume tells more about her than her handwriting.
—Christian Dior
Copyright
J’adore New York
Copyright © 2010 by Isabelle Laflèche.
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1 New York Magazine, May 2009.
2 Nora Ephron, New York Times, October 31, 2009.
3 New York Times, January 7, 2010
4 Lucky Magazine, January 2009.
5 Vera Wang, InStyle Magazine, November 2009.
J'adore New York: A Novel of Haute Couture and the Corner Office Page 28
