“Did you tell him about us?” Maddie asks.
“No, no. He doesn’t know we’re related. He thinks it was wrong of me to compete for the scholarship at all since my father is already paying for everything. When you think about it, he’s right.”
“If you say so.” She tilts her head sideways and smiles. What a relief. It looks as though she agrees with what I’m saying. “Ah, ce cher Jake. I should have guessed he was behind all this. He has a lot of influence on you, doesn’t he?” She reaches for her coffee and wraps her fingers around her cup.
“He’s a great guy with solid values. He’s struggling to make it like the rest of us. I suggested he apply for a scholarship to get his design project off the ground. I think he has a good chance of getting funding. His project is amazing.”
“Oh? What’s it about?” Maddie is quick to ask, her design instincts kicking in.
“I’m afraid I can’t say. A promise is a promise.” I wink.
“You’re loyal and honest, Clementine, and I really do appreciate that. Just be careful. Not everyone out there thinks the way you do,” she says before getting up and heading back to the kitchen. “Would you like some breakfast? I’m making an omelette.”
“No thanks. I’m in the mood for granola and yogourt. Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”
Before I head to the kitchen, I think about Jake again. Will this scholarship thing destroy our friendship? Then my thoughts move to Ellie. Would she give back the money if she were in my shoes? And more importantly, how will I find the money to fund Bonjour Girl now?
I begin to fret about my decision and wonder if I should cancel my date with Jonathan. This falling-out with Jake and my sudden reversal of fortune sends my morale into the dumps. Am I really in the mood for a photo exhibit? Or should I go hide under the duvet and spend the day feeling sorry for myself?
What to do?
My mind says cancel but my heart says go. We’ll see which part of me is fiercest after I shower and do my nails. That always makes me feel better.
According to fashion designer Prabal Gurung, nails are the period at the end of the sentence; they complete your look. I’d add that they’re like the rainbow after the storm. They make my day much brighter. And as long as this city doesn’t do me in and make my heart as hard as nails, I should be fine.
Chapter Fifteen
“Hey, Clementine, what would you like to drink?” Jonathan asks. We’re standing in line at a hip café in Williamsburg while a barista takes our order. Thankfully, a steaming shower and painting my nails Urban Jungle pink by Essie with added tiny blue and pink glitter stars got me out of my funk. The nail colour aptly describes the city where I’ve landed and makes me realize I still have lots to learn about making friends in New York.
Jonathan and I agreed to meet at this popular hangout. It’s filled with a youngish, hip crowd. There’s a small patio in the back dotted with potted cacti that accentuate the boho vibe. Jane Birkin’s voice booms from the speakers and I’m happy I dressed appropriately for this laid-back ambience. I chose a simple red and white peasant blouse, jeans, and tan sandals. My only true fashion accessory is a vintage red bag that belonged to Cécile.
“Regular coffee, black, thanks,” I answer gratefully. I can’t help but stare at Jonathan while he orders. He looks good in a relaxed pair of washed-out blue jeans, a white linen shirt, and blue Vans sneakers. I love everything about his look. Jake is right, I am totally predictable but I don’t care. My taste in men is not up for discussion.
“No low-fat cappuccino or skinny mocha latte for you?” Jonathan asks jokingly. The way some Americans order coffee makes me crazy. I’m glad to see he seems to share my view. It’s just not my cup of Americano.
“Um, non, I like to keep things simple. At least, most of the time,” I say with a smirk. I’m not always that easygoing, and I do have some quirks and crazy hang-ups, but I’m not going there. I don’t want to scare him off just yet.
“Good. I like that about you, Clementine,” Jonathan responds, sending my heart into a tizzy.
“Would you like anything to eat? The granola parfait is pretty great and the vegan sandwiches are amazing,” he says. I smile inwardly, thinking of Maddie’s comment about Jonathan’s lifestyle. It was pretty silly of me to worry. What a waste of energy.
“No thanks. I already had breakfast. Maybe next time?” I respond.
He winks. I’m in heaven.
“So, how’s school so far?” he asks after we take a seat in a quiet corner.
“Good. I’ve made some friends. Well, at least that’s what I thought until yesterday.” My face drops when I say this. I still feel awful about what Jake said.
“Oh? Why? What happened?” he asks, and I immediately regret saying it. I haven’t heard back from Jake after sending several texts and I’m really sad about it. I just hope our friendship will survive. I look up from my cup and see Jonathan staring into my eyes.
“I met the sweetest person in my class. His name is Jake and we really hit it off on our first day. And then he got really upset over something I said. I just hope we can fix this. It’ll be the shortest friendship ever.” I sigh and shrug my shoulders.
“Have you talked to him since?” Jonathan asks, looking genuinely concerned. I have to say that I feel totally at ease talking to him. I like that I can be totally honest and not feel judged. It hits me that I worried way too much about what I said and how I acted around my ex-boyfriend. Beginning today, that’s a thing of the past.
I shake my head and stare at my feet. “I’ve sent him a few text messages but so far … no response.”
Jonathan takes a sip of coffee and a bite from his sandwich. I love the way he mulls things over and measures his words before saying something. “If he’s the person you say he is, he’ll forgive you. We all say and do things we regret,” he reassures me softly. He’s making me feel better and I’m grateful for it. And even more attracted to him, if that’s even possible.
“You’re right. I’m sure things will get back to normal once we clear the air,” I say. Talking about it makes me feel better.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. And just think about all the amazing things you have going for you. Like that scholarship.” His eyes light up and this makes me want to bury my head in the potted plant. I worry he’ll think I’m a total loser for giving the money back. I’m at a loss for words and, as I sometimes do in these kinds of scenarios, I begin to play with my nails.
“Oh, I’m afraid that didn’t work out,” I finally respond as evasively as I can.
“Really? What happened?”
“It’s a long story, but it’s my decision. I didn’t think it was fair to take the money instead of someone under more financial hardship, so I decided to give it back to Parsons … on principle,” I say, averting my gaze. When I look up, his eyes are nearly popping out of their sockets. That’s it; he thinks I’m nuts. He wouldn’t be the first to think so.
“You gave it back? Jeez, Clementine, I don’t know a single person who would’ve done that. And on principle? My god, you are a rare bird.”
A rare bird? He’s comparing me to a strange animal. Oh well, I should have expected it. I am different and sometimes that’s not such a good thing.
“An exquisite, rare, beautiful, winged creature, you are.” He lifts his arms in the air as if flying. I burst out laughing. “You’re interesting and different and I like that.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. I thought you’d think I was crazy.”
“Crazy, no. Supremely original, yes.”
After he finishes his lunch and wipes his lips, he moves in closer and my heart skips a beat. I’m not sure if he wants to share a secret or kiss me but I’m okay with both. “I’m really glad we met,” he whispers. “Are you ready to hit the exhibit? I can’t wait show you my work!”
“Can’t wait to see it!”
I say, although I’ve already Googled him and seen most of his work on his professional website. A girl does some research before a first date. “Let’s go!” I finish my coffee and stand up. The caffeine and heart palpitations have my blood pumping fast.
“I forgot to tell you,” says Jonathan, as we make our way to the door, “there will be some journalists there. It’s sort of like the exhibit opening for the media. I hope you won’t mind — I may have to excuse myself for a little while when we get there for some interviews.”
It’s the exhibit opening for the media? I stare down at my casual outfit and feel underdressed. I am, after all, a Parsons fashion student and I should make more of an effort to look the part. I try to push these negative thoughts aside when it hits me that Jonathan invited me to this important event.
He takes my hand and gently guides me out of the café as we bounce into the streets of Brooklyn. I honestly don’t know what happens for a solid thirty minutes after that. I’m so into him and into us and into this moment that I let my mind and heart wander as he leads the way.
On our way to the subway station to get to the Pratt, we make a few pit stops, including at a sweet candy store where Jonathan buys some old-style liquorice candy swirls I spot in the window; I tell him they remind me of my childhood. Afterward, he takes me to a vintage bookstore with creaky hardwood floors and antique bookshelves filled with contemporary and classic novels. He guides me to his favourite section, Russian literature, and points out some of his favourite books, including Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. We huddle close together between the narrow bookshelves and every time his arm or his shoulder brushes mine, I feel more and more giddy. And with each new book he points out to me, I feel myself falling for him more and more. This is crazy; it’s only our first date. But I can’t deny how close I feel to him already.
At the Pratt, Jonathan leads the way to the exhibit. It’s entitled Suits, Ties, and Dresses, and it’s a series of portraits that capture popular New York City fashion mavens and artists: bloggers, designers, dancers, models, and fashion editors in their own stylish habitats.
As soon as we walk into the gallery, a journalist walks over and asks Jonathan a few questions. Before responding, Jonathan asks if I mind. The fact that he does this makes my heart sing. In addition to being hot, he’s well mannered and classy.
Once the interview is over, he fetches two glasses of sparkling water with slices of lemon and introduces me around to friends and acquaintances. We clink our glasses before he wraps his arm under mine and leads me to the next room so that we can get a closer look at the photos. I can tell he’s excited to show his work. If I were in his shoes, I would be, too.
“This woman is a total genius,” he says, pointing at one of the photos. “Look at her eyes, and the way she stares at the camera — isn’t she magnificent?”
He’s referring to a Spanish woman who looks to be in her sixties wearing a crisp white shirt. Her lips are painted a bold red that matches her bold necklace. She has big brown eyes that are confident and wise. She looks amazing.
“Yes, she certainly is.” I’d like to say just like you but I keep those words to myself. I’m not ready to say them out loud yet.
After we look at his portraits, he takes me to the next hall. “This is the garment photography section. I know you’ll appreciate them,” he whispers into my ear. I practically swoon.
“This cape is made with cutting-edge technology,” he says proudly, pointing at another photograph with one hand while holding my hand with the other. He leans into me and I can smell his earthy cologne. It makes it hard for me to concentrate. “It’s meant to respond to pollution and protect the person wearing it. Isn’t that cool? It was created by a Parsons alum and I was asked to take its picture.”
“That’s really impressive,” I say with a sudden touch of sadness, thinking of Jake. I know he’d love to see this. I make a mental note to send him a quick photo later. Maybe that will make him respond to me.
“And this fabric,” he says, pointing to a photo of a dress in shades of yellow, “sheds layers with the temperature. Can you believe that?” His eyes are wide with excitement. He seems as fascinated about this stuff as I am. He places his hand delicately on the nape of my neck and I temporarily forget where I am. The dress disappears from view. I melt a little more inside. I don’t want him to pull away.
“And finally, the pièce de résistance is this black dress. The feathers on its shoulders ruffle when you face North. Kim Kardashian should wear it!” he adds, referring to her daughter’s name, North. I laugh at his joke and he brushes my neck with his fingers again. This time my knees turn to porridge. I try to make a comment about the photograph and the dress but it takes me a few seconds before I can speak.
“You’re right, it is the most riveting piece so far in this room. That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d like to write about on my blog.” I take a picture with my phone and try to capture all the details. This is one of the reasons I came to New York: amazing designs and supremely innovative concepts.
As I’m taking notes on my phone, Jonathan grabs my arm, pulls me close, and kisses me softly on the lips. I forget my notes … I forget my name, where I’m from, and that I’m in a public place, and I kiss him back. We stand there in each other’s arms for a long moment.
He then takes a step back, brushes my chin with his hand, and finally breaks the delicious silence.
“No, Clementine, the most riveting thing in this room is you.”
Chapter Sixteen
It’s Tuesday after Labour Day and I’m sitting in class, waiting for the guest lecturer to show up. It’s intellectual property day and a renowned New York City fashion lawyer will be discussing the legal implications of protecting fashion designs. Although the subject really interests me, I’m distracted. I’ve got Jonathan’s lips touching mine, and the dinner we shared at a quaint Italian restaurant, on my mind. And I’m nervous about seeing Jake again. He didn’t respond to any of my texts, including the one with a picture of the magic cape from Jonathan’s exhibit. Is it the beginning of one relationship but the end of another? I sure hope not.
I stare out the window looking over Fifth Avenue, getting lost in my thoughts. Instead of thinking of luxurious fabrics, international runway shows, and impressive cuts, I’m feeling out of sorts.
Our guest lecturer doesn’t look anything like the lawyers I see on TV. No black suit, no stiff high-collared blouse. She’s wearing sky-high Chanel stilettos with a large pearl on the front of each one. (I remember drooling over them in a magazine.) She’s also wearing a bright-red blazer, slim black leather pants, a crisp white blouse, and giant chandelier earrings that sparkle in the sunlight flowing in through the window.
Maddie told me she’s an adjunct professor of intellectual property at Parsons, and her bio says she represents many big fashion names, including Diane Von Furstenberg, Tory Burch, and Christian Louboutin. Her lecture should be interesting — if not distracting because of those shoes. Or is it my friendship woes that are distracting me?
“Hey,” a male voice whispers behind me. I recognize it immediately: it’s Jake. I’m not sure what to expect so I freeze up.
“Psst, hey, Clementine. It’s me, Jake, the asshole. No, I mean the ginormous ass.”
I’m so relieved that I practically jump from my seat. I turn around to get a better look at him. He looks pale in a black baseball cap, faded black jeans, and a matching silk bomber jacket with embroidered butterflies on one sleeve.
“Oh, Jake, please. Don’t put yourself down like that.”
“No, really, Clem. I’m so sorry about losing my cool. That was really stupid of me. And what I said — that was mean. I take it all back.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who —”
Jake cuts me off. “No, I was lashing out for no reason. I felt like such a jerk and I was so embarrassed … I couldn’t do
anything other than hate on myself all weekend,” he says, staring down at his Adidas sneakers.
“No, I mean it, Jake, you were right. I shouldn’t have accepted that money. It isn’t fair. You deserve it way more than I do,” I say, sounding like Adele apologizing to Beyoncé after winning the Grammy for album of the year.
Jake stops me midsentence and raises his hand in the air like a traffic cop. “Enough, girl. Just accept my apology, will ya?”
“Okay, okay, apology accepted.” There’s so sense in arguing with him anyway; he won’t hear my side of the story.
“Phew. What a relief.” He mock wipes his brow. “I thought you’d never speak to me again. And that would make me very sad, Clementine. I really like you. And of course, your great-grandma, too.” He winks.
“The feeling is mutual.” I rub his shoulder affectionately.
“And you, young lady, know all of my secrets. You’re privy to all of my ‘intellectual property.’” He uses air quotes while nodding toward the fashion lawyer standing at the front of our class.
“Don’t worry, I’m not that kind of person. I’d never double cross you.”
“I know you’re not that kind of person, Clem. But do you kiss and tell?” he asks, sitting on the edge of his seat, obviously digging for some information about my date with Jonathan.
“No, I don’t do that either,” I retort, blushing cherry red, the colour of my leather handbag. He now has all the information he needs.
Our unofficial gossip session is interrupted by the guest lecturer, who introduces herself to the class. I turn around and start taking notes. After all, this could be interesting for my blog. After a half-hour talk on legal issues affecting the industry, she politely excuses herself for a five-minute break.
Bonjour Girl Page 7