“Listen, I just wanted to share some observations.” We hunch forward like football players leaning in to discuss strategy as students stream by us.
“I’m only saying this because I care about you guys and I want to see you kick ass out in the real world, okay?” Jake and I nod in sync. We’re getting a pep talk. It’s all good.
“I was there at the awards ceremony when you won your award last semester, Jake, and when you received an honourable mention, Clementine. That was great work and well earned. But now, expectations are high, and as trailblazers, you need to lead the way. To keep impressing the Parsons faculty, you’ve got to push yourselves outside of your comfort zone. Try different things.” He looks at us expectantly. Again, Jake and I both nod. As he describes the pressure we’re under, I can almost feel it mounting.
“For example, Jake, you could broaden your project by creating samples not only for people in wheelchairs, but also for people with different types of disabilities.”
Jake’s face falls. I know this suggestion is unexpected, and he certainly doesn’t need the extra work. But after a moment, he nods at Brian.
“And Clementine, you could try something new on Bonjour Girl. Maybe interview designers after their shows, around town, at home, from their showrooms … even film live interviews. Then you can link to their sites and those of their business partners and get a cut from any online sales they generate through your links. It’s called affiliated selling — there’s money in it, and the possibilities are endless.”
I find myself nodding like Jake did, even though something in the back of my mind says no. This sounds too commercial, not what I had in mind when I launched my blog. I prefer to discuss social issues as they relate to the fashion industry, without a direct profit objective. How can I remain objective if I follow Brian’s suggestion? Affiliated marketing sounds like crass commercialization.
“Both of you are on the cutting edge of what I teach in this class. Thinking outside the box like this is what’ll take you places, I promise. And I want both of you to succeed, not only on paper, but in the real world, too. I want you to be financially successful. Does that make sense?” Brian asks.
I nod. I want to show my willingness to explore new ideas, but what he’s suggesting is hardly thinking outside the box. He wants to see more varied content on my site, and I guess he has a point. But all this talk of making money from sales makes me uneasy. On the bright side, it’s rewarding to be singled out by a Parsons teacher who’s interested in my blog and wants me to succeed. I’m just uncertain about changing the editorial direction of Bonjour Girl. I’ve put so much effort into creating a unique, independent voice to distinguish my content from that of other bloggers. I’m not sure I want to change it.
But what Brian is saying isn’t criticism — it’s encouragement, and there’s a difference.
Jake and I look at each other. There’s both excitement and panic in my friend’s eyes. I’m sure the thought of being financially successful is appealing, but he’s probably not keen about dealing with even greater pressure and workload. The lack of sleep must be getting to him. I know how driven Jake is, and I worry that Brian’s comments will cause him to push himself even further when he can barely handle things now.
“Thanks for your support, and for the advice,” I finally say. “I really value your opinion, Brian.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Jake chimes in.
“My pleasure. I call it like I see it. And I see success in your futures, so keep it up, okay?” He smiles and heads back into class.
I just wish there were more than twenty-four hours in a day. But, like Jake, I’ll find a way. I always do.
“Jake, I’m having second thoughts,” I say after we’re back in our seats.
“What about?”
“Going to Shanghai.”
“Whaddya mean? Being selected for the Condé Nast summer classes is like winning the frickin’ lottery! You’re going to one of the best fashion programs in the world. Are you off your rocker?”
“No, I’m just stressed out about it. It’s so unfair that only I get to go when there are other talented people just as deserving. What if people think I got preferential treatment because I’m related to a Parsons teacher? What if I get bullied again? I don’t think I could take it.”
“Oh, stop it. Just because some asshole bullied you here in New York doesn’t mean it’ll happen in Shanghai. I’m sure the people are far more civilized there — not like in this crazy place.”
“Right … maybe that’s not the only reason I’m having doubts,” I finally admit.
“What is it, then? Oh wait, I bet it has to do with lover boy.”
He can see right through me. “Uh, well, maybe.” I hate to admit it, but I am worried about my relationship with Jonathan. Long-distance dating can be tough. The stats say that the chances of surviving it are slim.
“What are you worried about, pumpkin?” Jake asks patiently.
But I remain silent. I can’t put my feelings into words. I have mixed feelings about my boyfriend’s job, which involves taking pictures of beautiful fashion models. Leaving him behind in New York is going to be tough on my spirit. And then there’s the time difference. Will we survive this?
“Babe,” Jake says finally, “you have adventures waiting for you in Asia. Stop wasting your precious energy worrying about some dude, okay? Besides, haven’t you heard the old saying?”
“Which one?”
“If a woman hasn’t met the right man by the time she’s twenty-four, she may be very lucky.”
“Nice try.” His joke falls flat. I know Jake thinks I should focus on my future, not my boyfriend, but I just can’t help it.
“What’s the problem, Clemy?” he asks softly, this time without any sarcasm.
“I don’t know, I’m worried he’ll lose interest or something.”
“Oh, geez. Do I need to remind you that he’s already professed his love for you and given you a piece of family jewellery? I mean, you need to quit that shit, girl. It doesn’t look good on you.”
I go silent again. I know he’s right. I hate feeling this way — it sucks.
“Listen, I have tickets to a Broadway show this week, a gift from my godmother. Let Uncle Jake take you out for a night on the town. Whaddya say?”
“That sounds amazing! Forget what I said. I’m over it already,” I say, resolving to focus on all that’s positive.
The question is, can I?
Chapter Three
ACCORDING TO FAMOUS Hollywood costume designer Edith Head, “You can have anything you want in life if you dress for it.”
I’m following her advice as I pick out an outfit for my date with Jonathan. I haven’t seen him much since he got back from Italy, and I’m really excited to meet him for a quiet dinner in Williamsburg, just the two of us. I want to dazzle him in a low-key sensual way, especially since our days together before I head off to Asia are numbered.
Instead of wearing one of my usual second-hand finds, I slip into a pair of slim black jeans, a flowy, light-pink tunic, and a necklace made of mala beads. It’s a softer look than what I usually wear. I add some light-pink velvet platform shoes. I’m happy with the result: it’s feminine and sexy. I know it’s a look he likes, as he often features styles like this in his photo shoots. I spray some light perfume on my wrists and behind my ears, then take a picture of my outfit in the full-length mirror and text it to Jake. Within seconds, I receive a heart, a smiley face, and a thumbs-up. He also sends me a close-up of himself winking. This cracks me up.
What I’m keeping hidden from my best friend and (for now) from my boyfriend is my brand-new lingerie.
On Instagram, I recently came across a beautiful line of hand-embroidered lingerie, and decided to splurge. The bra features two embroidered hands holding daisies, and the panties have an embroidered sparrow on them. The look is feminine, dreamy, and sweetly seductive. It’s also the type of handmade, sustainable fashion I like to talk about on my blog an
d in my social media. I like to test the merchandise before I sing its praises.
Growing up, I always admired my mother’s vast collection of lingerie. I never gave it too much thought for myself, though, despite my mom trying her hardest to get me to wear lacy things instead of simple cotton briefs and tank tops.
In Paris, she’d take me to the Galeries Lafayette, but I always preferred the shoe section. I guess spending a lot of money on something hidden baffled me — but now that Jonathan is in my life, I see things differently. I like the feeling of having something sexy under my clothes, something that tantalizes the senses; it makes me feel more confident and love my body more. I guess I have my mother to thank. She totally owns her goddess-like charms. That probably explains why men flock to her in droves. Including my ex-boyfriend. But I’m over that.
Tantalizing Jonathan tonight has been on my mind, and I’m sure it’s been on his mind, too.
I want to be prepared. A woman should always be prepared.
After putting on some lip gloss and a touch of mascara, I take one last peek in the mirror, brush my hair, and fly out the door.
We’ll see if this embroidered lace works its magic.
“You look gorgeous, Clem,” Jonathan says as soon as I arrive at the restaurant. He’s waiting for me at the bar. He holds my face in his hands, kisses me, and stares at me with a look that’s more intense than I’m used to. Can he feel the sensuality emanating from my hidden underthings?
“Thanks, so do you,” I say, taking off my jean jacket and taking a seat.
“What would you like to drink? The usual? A glass of red?”
“That sounds great. How was your day?”
“Good. Lots of new work coming in that’ll bring me some cash to pay for my flight to Shanghai. I’m already planning my visit.”
“Fantastic! That’s music to my ears,” I say, thrilled by the prospect of seeing Jonathan in China. It makes me feel less conflicted about leaving New York.
He orders, putting a hand on my leg. He leans in and kisses me on the lips again, this time lingering longer. This sends shockwaves through my body. I guess he can feel something’s different with me. My new lingerie is making me feel more feminine and kicking my desire into overdrive. I should have listened to my mother and done this ages ago. Despite my reluctance to admit it, she’s usually right about these things.
“Do you want to eat here at the bar? It might be fun.”
“Sure.”
“We can get oysters.” He winks.
“Yes!” I say, excited. I love oysters. My dad introduced them to me when we used to take day trips to Normandy.
Jonathan puts his hand on the nape of my neck and rubs his thumb up and down, sending a frisson down my spine. I wonder how long I’ll last before I melt completely, like the ice in the mojito in front of him.
Before I can visualize a passionate, sultry encounter, his phone buzzes. He picks it up and looks at it, then abruptly stands up, looking perplexed, even panicked.
“Oh, man, I’m so sorry, Clem. This is urgent. I gotta take this.”
He paces the entire length of the bar as he talks, nervously running his fingers through his hair. What could be so pressing? What could be putting such a frown on that sweet face?
After a few minutes, he finally walks over, looking distraught. My stomach drops. Whatever is happening, it’s not good.
“I’m really sorry, Clem, but I need to go. It’s an emergency.”
“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” A million images flash through my mind as I try to grasp this change in events. I hope nothing bad has happened to any of his family.
“I’ll explain later. Don’t worry, okay? I’ll make it up to you, love, I promise.” He kisses me on the side of the head, looking as though he’s already checked out. “Do you want to invite Jake over for dinner instead? I’m happy to pay for it.”
Jake? As much as I love my best friend, he’s not exactly what I had in mind for tonight. What a buzzkill. I shake my head.
“Nah, it’s okay, I’ll just finish my wine and head home. I’m only a few blocks away. I’m behind on some school work, anyway. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll call you later, okay? I’m really, really sorry.” He kisses me on the head again and dashes toward the exit.
“Sure, no problem,” I mutter. What on earth could be so pressing?
Once I get home, I decide to take a bath to forget about the sad turn of events.
I turn on the faucet and pour some coconut bath oil into the water. As I wait for the tub to fill up, I let my hair down and play “Express Yourself,” one of my favourite Madonna hits from the 80s, on Spotify. I sway from side to side, pick up a hairbrush, and sing into it, playfully dancing in my new underwear. A night in alone might be second best, but I’m going to make the most of it with self-care and lighthearted fun. This will have to do for tonight. If nothing else, it’ll help alleviate some of the doubts swirling around in my head.
Chapter Four
“HEY, CLEMY, WHAT’S UP?” Jake says, sitting down next to me. We’ve got a fashion history class, but before the teacher can tell us about the past, we need to discuss my future.
Jake is wearing a sweatshirt with the words Eat More Kale printed in dark green, which is hilarious because Jake never eats kale. He doesn’t care much for greens. He’s more into pink cupcakes, mustard pretzels, and brownies. I wish he would eat kale — it would be much better for his health.
“So Jonathan was weird last night. I’m not sure what to make of it,” I whisper. I don’t want my other classmates to know about my personal life. They already know plenty about me as it is, thanks to a bullying situation that escalated into a real merde show last semester. I’m trying to stay under the radar now, even though my bestie is larger than life and can often be very loud.
“Oh, tell me more.” He slinks forward, sliding his arms over his desk to get closer.
“He got a phone call, said something was urgent, and disappeared. He just left me at the bar. We haven’t talked since. He texted me this morning but was super vague. He barely mentioned last night. This isn’t like him.”
“Stuff happens, Clem. It’s New York, people get busy. He’ll make it up to you, I’m sure.”
“That’s what he said.” I twirl my purple gel pen between my fingers.
“You’re not buying it?”
“I don’t know. He had this really weird look on his face. I can’t explain it. I want to believe him, but as you know, I have trust issues.”
“Right. How could I forget the whole Stephanie episode?” He’s referring to the time when I convinced myself Jonathan was cheating on me with his lawyer. It was a fuss over nothing; they’re just friends. I tend to make up stories in my head. It’s one of the side effects of being a writer.
“Listen, pussycat. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. There are far worse things in life,” he says, his expression sullen. He’s right. I should show some compassion for Jonathan’s problem … whatever it is. “Just keep doing your thing and focus on the big picture, all right? Like making a major impact in Shanghai. We’re all rooting for you, babe. I sure wish I could take off for Asia. I could use a break from being overworked and in the red.”
“I wish I could take you with me. Maybe I could squeeze you into my luggage?”
We both laugh at how ridiculous that mental image is. The laughter seems to lighten up Jake a little.
“So … have you planned your travel wardrobe? How many dresses are you gonna bring for the fancy events?” He stares at me over the rims of his glasses for effect.
“Dresses?” I don’t own any formal wear other than the dress made for me last semester by Ellie, a classmate who’s in France right now. “I’ll do like Cate Blanchett at Cannes and wear Ellie’s dress over and over. It’s the eco-responsible thing to do.”
“Come on, Clem, you can do better than that. Lemme think of something. I have some ideas.” He gives me a curious look. I don
’t think he gets that I really mean it when I say I want to reuse and recycle, but that’s okay. I don’t want to force my agenda on him.
“This is Shanghai we’re talking about here! You need something bold and grand that makes a major statement! I want to see you in sequins, bows, bright colours!”
I mentally roll my eyes. He’s overdoing it a bit. A formal evening gown, like life, can easily get overworked with too many frills. I’m in the mood for a minimalist, laid-back, serene vibe at the moment.
But for some reason, I doubt that’s possible.
Chapter Five
“HELLO THERE, HANDSOME! You look like royalty,” I say to Jake when we meet at our seats in the Broadhurst Theatre. I’m so excited to be here. I’ve heard nothing but good things about Anastasia, the Broadway show about the daughter of Tsar Nicholas II. The reviews have been great, and apparently the costumes are dreamy: stunning dresses made with hundreds of jewels and yards of silk, and a sixteen-karat gold crown. I can tell Jake is in heaven and, frankly, so am I.
He’s really dressed up for tonight. He’s wearing a pinstriped suit, a blue shirt, and a pink bowtie. The outfit is topped off with a fedora. He looks like a well-dressed jazzman about to play Lincoln Center. The look is Harlem suave meets Parsons flair, and it suits him perfectly.
“I’m so proud to be your date.” I made an effort, too, and borrowed a black lace dress from Maddie’s closet. It’s one of the perks of living with a Parsons teacher who happens to be super fashionable.
“Right back at ya, Mademoiselle Bonjour.” He holds up his rolled-up show program to one eye like a telescope and nods approvingly. “I’m happy you’re here with me, Clem.” He lays his hand on mine. “It means a lot.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, if only to see you drooling over all those sequins.”
We’re both so passionate about fashion that we come to the theatre mostly to admire the costumes. Usually it’s with rush or discounted tickets, but tonight, thanks to Jake’s godmother, we’re blissfully sitting in the second row. We’re going to have an incredible view.
Bonjour Shanghai Page 2