The Bonjour Girl series
Bonjour Girl
Bonjour Shanghai
Copyright © Isabelle Laflèche, 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purpose of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Publisher: Scott Fraser | Editor: Jess Shulman
Cover designer: Laura Boyle
Cover image: ©istock.com/alvaher
Printer: Webcom, a division of Marquis Book Printing Inc.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: Bonjour Shanghai / Isabelle Laflèche.
Names: Laflèche, Isabelle, 1970- author.
Description: Series statement: Bonjour girl
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190072598 | Canadiana (ebook) 20190072601 | ISBN 9781459742314 (softcover) | ISBN 9781459742321 (PDF) | ISBN 9781459742338 (epub)
Classification: LCC PS8623.A35825 B66 2019 | DDC jC813/.6—dc23
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and Ontario Creates, and the Government of Canada.
Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.
The publisher is not responsible for websites or their content unless they are owned by the publisher.
Printed and bound in Canada.
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For Dominique
To my child’s eyes, which had seen nothing else, Shanghai was a waking dream where everything I could imagine had already been taken to its extreme.
— J.G. Ballard, The Kindness of Women
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Acknowledgements
Prologue
I MADE IT.
Well, barely.
I ran down the airline ramp all sweaty and winded, my bags swinging from side to side, including the canvas bag Jake gave me as a goodbye present that reads Smart Women Don’t Kiss Ass, They Kick It in bold pink.
I almost missed my flight because deep down inside, I still wasn’t sure I should leave. It was no surprise that leaving Jonathan behind was heart-wrenching. We stood there holding each other in the middle of the busy JFK terminal for what felt like forever, with Jake looking on.
Even though I was trying to be fully present in Jonathan’s arms, I could see and feel Jake’s anxiety in the distance. He kept checking his phone. I wish I could have helped resolve all his problems before I left, but I just couldn’t.
We all came together for a group hug, and I promised to video-call them daily on WeChat, then I kissed them both and just ran and didn’t look back until I got to the security gate. That’s probably why I’d chosen to wear sneakers — so I could run. Maybe I’d known that if I slowed down, I might lose my resolve in an instant, change my plans, and never get on that plane. Love and friendship can open your heart wide and make you do foolish things.
But I just couldn’t do that to Maddie, to my parents, or, more importantly, to myself. I need to prove that I can kick ass on my own. That I really can make it.
I rushed through security and dashed off to the gate with my visa, passport, and boarding pass in hand, and now here I am at the plane. I don’t look anything like a Parsons or Condé Nast fashion student at the moment, with sweat dripping from my forehead and my hair in a messy bun, but who cares?
When I board, the flight attendants don’t look too thrilled about my tardiness. But their mood shifts when I compliment them on their uniforms: impeccable red dresses and delicate silk scarves tied around their necks. They look impossibly chic.
Some of the passengers shoot me evil stares, maybe because I’m late, but more likely because of the pink-sloganed bag I keep shoving in their faces as I awkwardly manoeuvre to my seat. Jake would be immensely proud.
I pull out my magazines, the two paperbacks Jonathan gave me to read, and my bottled water. I also have a box of cupcakes baked for me by Jake’s mom. I actually teared up when he handed them to me. The fact that Jake’s mom has no clue about her son’s predicament breaks my heart.
I look around. Thankfully, my seat neighbour is a mature-looking Chinese woman who’s already got her nose in a book. I like my travel companions to be quiet so I can read and write.
I’m hoping to finally write another blog post for Bonjour Girl, one that resonates with my values, now that I have the time, space, and energy to do it.
After the emergency protocols have been duly explained and we’ve taken off, I pull out my laptop. I open a bag of roasted almonds and think about what to write. This feels good. Taking refuge in my writing will help me to have a more positive outlook on my upcoming adventure. I’m going to Shanghai!
Someone taps me on the shoulder.
“Clementine? Clementine Liu?”
I look up to see a handsome young Asian man standing next to me in the aisle.
“I have a note for you from a close friend of mine,” he says, handing me a folded piece of paper. “Enjoy your flight, okay?”
“Thanks.”
I sit up straight, curious about this mysterious note.
I open it and my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when I see who it’s from.
Welcome to Shanghai.
Chapter One
I WAKE UP to the faint ping of my phone. I forgot to put it in silent mode after a late night of school work. I get up to go fetch it from a console in the next room; I’ve started to follow a no-phone-at-night policy.
There’s a red circle on the top right-hand corner of my Instagram icon notifying me of a new message. I bring my phone back to my bedroom — r
eally, I should say, to the spare room of my cousin Maddie’s apartment — and sit up in my bed, propping myself up with fluffy pillows. Last semester, I moved from Paris, where my mother is an opera singer and my father owns a clothing and rare books shop, to New York City to attend the Parsons School of Design. Maddie, my mother’s cousin and a teacher at Parsons, offered me the spare room of her cool Williamsburg loft and promised my father she’d look out for me. At the moment, she’s out of town travelling for work, so I have the place to myself.
Given the early hour, I assume the message is from my best friend, Jake, sharing a cool fashion design or a hilarious post, or Maddie sharing an inspirational quote. She just can’t help doing that kind of thing. Or maybe it’s my boyfriend, Jonathan, sharing some of his beautiful photography.
I open the message and find that I’m totally off base. It’s an unfamiliar account belonging to an Asian man with great hair, and an amazing smile.
Hey Clementine! I’m Henry Lee, a student at the Conde Nast Center in Shanghai. I heard you’ll be joining us, so I just wanted to reach out and say hello. Nice feed, BTW. You have a quirky style I really like! Are you planning to be a fashion designer? I look forward to learning more about you. See you soon!
I roll my eyes and sigh. Not everyone who attends fashion school wants to be a designer. That’s so clichéd. I don’t have the talent or the desire. Hasn’t this guy read my profile, which says that I dream of becoming a fashion journalist? Still, the fact that he likes my style makes me smile. I guess news that I’m going to be part of the Shanghai exchange program has gotten around. I decide to scroll through Henry’s account. That’s what fashion students do — we check out each other’s style online. Not because we’re shallow, but because we’re a community and find each other inspirational.
My heart stops for a second when I see his account. It’s filled with pictures of stunning locally made clothes, quotes about protecting the environment, and travel photos. Judging by his impressive feed, he must travel extensively. I’ve read that accessing Instagram from inside China can be tricky. Over the past decade, the Chinese government has blocked Google, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, the New York Times, and thousands of other foreign websites. A bunch of Chinese websites serve the same function instead. Henry must post on Instagram while he’s out of the country. I’ve also heard that it’s possible to visit external websites from within China by using a virtual private network, or VPN.
There’s one particularly beautiful photo of Henry standing in the desert of Jaisalmer in India. He’s wearing a hat and a white shirt, a pair of torn jeans, and a bold fuchsia pashmina silk scarf. Again, I’m taken by his smile, and the scenery takes my breath away.
I can’t help myself. Within seconds, I find myself pulled in.
So I scroll.
And I scroll some more.
His sense of visual storytelling, something we learned about during our first semester at Parsons, is impeccable, a powerful mix of fashion, eco-consciousness, and nature shots. That’s basically what all Instagram users are doing — storytelling. We’re creating a persona, of sorts, and telling the world about our little corner of the universe and our vision of ourselves. Henry’s writing is insightful, too. I like what I see.
This thought makes my heart flutter a beat, and within a nanosecond, I think of Jonathan. What am I doing?
I’m hit with a pang of guilt. I need to stop scrolling right now. I’m dating an amazing guy who’s totally loving and kind. I shouldn’t be interested in anyone else.
A ton of questions barrel through my mind. Is what I’m doing considered cheating? Is it more than just curiosity? What is it called, anyway? Is there a term for it?
I tell myself there’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing, really. Henry reached out to me, and my looking through his profile is just research about the exchange program in China. Right?
Probably not. Henry is looking forward to meeting me in Shanghai. So no, it’s not the same thing. I need to stop this now.
I turn off my phone. It’s way too much guilt and too many questions for my foggy brain this early in the morning. I’ll answer Henry’s message later, after school, maybe, once I’ve had a chance to think about it.
We’ll see what the future brings.
For now, I’ll just focus on finishing my second semester in New York and then getting myself to Shanghai for the summer term without any major hiccups or drama.
And that’s enough work for one day, isn’t it?
Hey Henry, thanks for your message. Looking forward to Shanghai! I may need some tips about the city when I get there. I’m half-French, half-Chinese, but I’ve never been to Shanghai. BTW, I noticed your interest in eco-fashion. That’s awesome, it’s one of the topics I like to write about on my blog, Bonjour Girl. See you soon! Take care,
Clementine
I notice that he’s online. Within seconds, I receive a response. I feel my pulse quickening.
Oh hello! Great to hear from you, Clementine. I’ll be happy to provide all the tips you need. I was born in Hong Kong, studied in New York, and have been living in Shanghai for a few years. It’s a really cool place! And I actually read your blog already. I’m a fan of your writing and all those great interviews. Keep it up!
H.
He’s a fan of my writing. He reads my blog. He likes my quirky style. He’s devastatingly handsome. He’s interested in protecting the environment.
The best thing to do is forget this exchange ever happened. Or at least try to forget this exchange ever happened. No, I’m definitely going to forget this exchange ever happened.
Well, I’m going to do my very best to forget it ever happened.
Chapter Two
“HEY, CLEM. What’s up with the goofy smile?” Jake asks as he sits down next to me in class. He’s wearing a white hoodie, black track pants, and his funky sneakers with the silver stars.
“Huh?” I jump a little in my seat, obviously distracted. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Don’t tell me it’s nothing, sistah. I know you better than the inside of a Ruffles chip bag.” He twirls his pencil and grins. “Are you dreaming about pretty boy again?”
“Um, I guess. Jonathan and I are having dinner tonight.”
“Oh, cool. Whereabouts?”
“Some new sushi place near his apartment.”
“Ooooh. How very convenient.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.
I’m crazy about Jonathan, but for some reason, this morning, I can’t get Instagram Henry out of my mind. He’s good-looking, there’s no doubt about it, but it’s more than that. It probably has something to do with my blog. It’s like we both share the same goal: to use our social media platforms to raise awareness of sustainability issues in the fashion industry, and to educate the public about eco-fashion and how to be responsible consumers. It’s refreshing to meet someone with a similar ideology to mine.
But I have to try to forget about Henry. I need to focus on my relationship, my fashion marketing class, and getting through this semester. We’re two thirds of the way through already, and I need to maintain my focus all the way to the finish line. A fascinating course in an exciting new place awaits, and lots of people are counting on me to do well.
Our teacher enters the classroom. His name is Brian Reynolds, and he’s a former Seventh Avenue marketing executive. He teaches us about the ins and outs of branding, which is critical in our industry.
Jake loves this class. He applies the concepts we learn to his own personal design project. He’s creating a clothing line for people in wheelchairs, and so far, he’s received lots of praise from classmates, faculty members, and Instagram users.
“So how’s the collection going?” I ask him.
“It’s coming along nicely. I’ve added a few more pieces. Can’t you tell from the dark circles under my eyes?”
He does look tired, but I won’t mention it. I know how sensitive he is about his usually fresh complexion.
“You’re not
getting enough sleep.”
“I know, babycakes. But between work, school, and pursuing my dreams, it’s been intense.”
He looks away, avoiding my gaze. I have a feeling he’s not telling me the entire story.
“Anything else bothering you?”
“Yeah, you could say that. Finances are tight. I could use some more moolah. Expenses are through the roof, and I spent the last of my scholarship money on fabrics last semester.”
My heart sinks. I wish I could do something to help him out, but I’m not exactly rolling in it, either. I’m barely making ends meet with my allowance, and I’m trying to save some money for my trip to Shanghai.
“But don’t worry about me, pussycat. I have ways of making ends meet and getting shit done. I’m a master manifestor,” he says, still twirling his glitter pencil.
“Of course you are. You always get what you need. You’re my hero.”
He looks away. For some reason, my compliment is making him uncomfortable.
I get it, though. Money problems can suck the life out of you. I saw my father go through it a few years ago, when his store in Paris ran into financial problems after the terrorist attacks. Tourism nosedived and sales slumped to zero. It was a tough time for all of us, and we were scared, but also defiant — we weren’t about to let the actions of some ill-intentioned fanatics define our lives.
“How about meeting for a giant pretzel after class?” I ask Jake.
“Sorry, hon, not today. I got stuff to take care of,” he says, lost in his thoughts. I can tell he’s stressed. Jake rarely turns down a snack.
“Hey, guys, can I have a word before class starts?”
We look up to see Brian standing in front of us.
I’m intrigued. “Sure.”
“Of course you can, sir,” Jake says admiringly. Brian is so ruggedly handsome, he could be a model in a Nautica billboard ad. He’s wearing a tan sports jacket, a striped crewneck T-shirt, and a bandana around his neck. The only thing missing is a sailboat.
Brian nods toward the door and we follow him out to the hallway.
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