I’ve read that the costumes for this show are designed by Michelle Wong. Maybe I could interview her for Bonjour Girl. It’s not exactly what Brian suggested, but it might satisfy him. It would be fascinating to find out more about a Tony Award–winning costume designer, especially her creative process and her inspiration.
Moments later, the curtain rises, and taffeta and rhinestones and an ocean of bright silk shimmer across the stage.
The music, the singing, the dancing, and the setting of Imperial Russia all transport me to a magical place. Jake could have invited his Russian blogger friend, Adelina, but chose me instead. This makes me feel even more warmly toward him.
The show is also distracting me from the fact that I’ll be off to Asia in just a few weeks, which I’m sure was intentional on Jake’s part. I’ve been feeling anxious about so many things:
Heading off to a new school — again.
Making new friends.
Interacting with relatives I haven’t seen in ages.
The possibility of being bullied — again. I’ve been on guard ever since it happened, as if bullies lurk behind every corner.
Leaving behind two of my favourite people: Jonathan and Jake, my two J’s. They’re my rock, my safe harbour, and in Jake’s case, my comic relief.
I’ve been reminding myself that it’s only a summer; the program will be over before I know it. And the experience will be great for my career as a fashion journalist and super inspiring for my blog, too.
I should be excited about going to Shanghai. The fashion scene is huge in China right now. In addition to being a major manufacturing centre for the industry, China is a nation of passionate fashion followers and people who want to be a force in designing it, too. Shanghai Fashion Week is gaining success, and Chinese designers are taking the world by storm.
I follow countless inspirational Chinese bloggers who are documenting all of the above, including Gogoboi, Leaf Greener, and Mr. Bags. I, too, want to participate in the conversation about the evolution of Chinese fashion and be at the forefront of the discussion on Chinese eco-fashion. Based on Henry’s Instagram page, there are lots of events in China relating to this issue right now. I can’t wait to be a part of it all.
As the dancers and singers sashay across the stage and the first act comes to an end, I look over at my best friend — he’s completely enthralled by the spectacle. He fans himself with his show program, holding it like a paper fan. I smile, wishing again that he could tag along on my trip. But I’m sure he’ll get there some other time. We’ll go together one day to promote his collection. A girl can dream. In the meantime, I’m going to take in this special moment; once again, I’m in the right place, at the right time.
“How about we grab some dim sum?” Jake says after we exit the theatre. “It’ll get you in the mood for Shanghai, and we can catch up.”
“That sounds great.” I can always count on Jake when it comes to having fun and finding the best food. After fashion, those are his greatest passions.
“Can you cover me for dinner, though, Clem? I’m a bit short on that front.”
“Sure, don’t worry about it. It’s my treat — you invited me to the show.”
I’m on a high from seeing all that beauty and talent tonight. During the intermission, I even sent an email to Michelle Wong through her website, at Jake’s urging.
“I’ll look up the closest dim sum place,” he says, pulling out his phone. He hands me his matching umbrella and raincoat, his large leather man bag, and his silk scarf. I stumble a bit loaded with his heavy gear, which smells like his sweet cologne, and give him a look. He lifts his shoulders and shoots me a sheepish grin.
He taps on his phone, and seconds later, his face lights up.
“All right, we’re in luck! I found a cool place a few blocks away. The theatre district is full of dim sum. Let’s go, I’m starving.”
The restaurant is on the fifth floor of a walk-up on 49th Street. The stairs creak under our feet. As soon as we reach the top, a young Chinese woman ushers us inside and seats us at a large, round table next to some other diners. I love this kind of place; the vibe is so welcoming, and it reminds me of the places my dad used to take me on Sundays back in Paris.
We sit next to a guy with a muscle shirt and a tween with purple hair and nails who’s staring at her phone. Jake winks and I smile back. New York is so much fun. I’m going to miss moments like this when I’m in China.
After we order some tea, Jake zeroes in on me.
“So what are you worried about, anyway? Jonathan is crazy about you. And you’ll have so much fun in Shanghai! Apparently the city is a blast, and there are so many great restaurants. I read about this place called —” he pulls out his phone to check “— Dao Jiang Hu. It’s regional fusion, and dao jiang hu is an expression that means ‘full of shit.’ How hilarious is that? Take a look, it’s decorated with vintage hair rollers!”
“That sounds like a scene out of Hairspray. Only you could find a place that cool. I’ll make sure to drop by in your honour.”
“Please do! I want pictures of you next to the wall of plastic hair rollers. That will be fabulous.”
“Not sure I want to be seen next to a wall of plastic, though. That goes against the editorial values of Bonjour Girl.”
“Oh, right,” Jake says, staring down at his funny plastic phone cover. His cheeks turn red. Jake and I have realized that all the plastic trinkets we once found so entertaining are killing our planet fast.
“I was just being facetious, Jake. Everything in moderation, right?”
“Definitely,” he says, calling the waiter over. He orders a cart full of dumplings. I begin to laugh. So much for that.
“So, you have editorial values? That’s impressive … and intense.”
“Yep. Blogger ethics are a thing, you know. I don’t promote anything that’s plastic or really harmful to the environment. That’s part of my guidelines.”
“Don’t be too rigid with those guidelines, though, Clem. Remember, Brian suggested we think outside the box … ”
“I know he wants me to expand and be more visible and commercial, but that’s not really me. I am willing to try new things, though. Interviewing Michelle Wong will be my first attempt at something a little different. She’s an artist and businesswoman.”
“That’s an interesting angle, but I’m sorry to burst your bubble, hon — that ain’t exactly thinking outside the box. Try to add some shock value to your post or something.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno. Maybe talk about affairs between Broadway performers, or some behind-the-scenes scandal?”
I throw my napkin at him. “Totally off topic!”
“M’kay, if you say so. You’re clever, you’ll think of something cutting edge …”
The way he says this fills me with self-doubt, and also, I’m annoyed. My blog is doing well as it is, so why does everybody have an opinion on how I could change it? But I bite my tongue. I know Jake has only good intentions.
“What about you? Any ideas for your collection?”
“Yeah. My mom and I talked about it the other day, and we came up with a cool new concept,” he whispers, looking around to make sure no one can overhear. “Dress shirts and dresses with magnetic buttons for people with arthritis.”
“What a great idea! Love it.”
“Thanks. I just can’t see when I’ll have time to execute it, though, not to mention the costs. Things are crazy right now,” he says, sounding a bit discouraged.
“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You’ll end up behaving like Jonathan.”
“Oh? What do you mean?”
“He was really weird last night.”
“Again? What happened?”
“I texted him and asked if we could talk. He said yes, then changed his mind and said he was too busy. I just don’t get it. I’m starting to feel rejected.”
“Hmm, weird. Did he tell you why?”
“No, not
really. All I know is that it’s work related. He said he would tell me later.”
“That sounds intriguing. You just love a good mystery, dontcha?”
“Not really, but for some strange reason, they seem to find me.”
Jake waves a server over and gets us a basket of steamed pork buns and some more tea.
“Come on, Clem, eat before it gets cold!” He reaches for another dumpling.
“You mean before you eat them all?”
“Yeah, that too.”
I grab one, too, and we playfully bump our dumplings together. The muscle-shirt guy next to us gives us a disapproving stare. We giggle.
“Never mind about Jonathan. You’re representing our school in Shanghai, and that’s pretty major.”
“I know. Lots of people are counting on me to impress, including Maddie. I just hope I can make everybody proud.”
“Everybody’s cheering for you. Of course there’s lots of pressure to perform. I understand that. But you’ll do well. You always do.”
“Thanks. And thanks for bringing a dose of spontaneity into my life.”
“That’s why I’m here! To support your inner warrior, not the worrier. Now speaking of spontaneity, how about a nightcap at the Russian Tea Room?” he asks, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“You mean right now? Pretty decadent for a school night …” I raise an eyebrow. But Maddie is still out of town, so no one is waiting for me at home. I guess it’s doable.
“Are you in or are you out?” he asks impatiently.
“I say spontaneity wins. And so does a diva attitude.”
“It takes one to know one.”
I’m actually excited. I’ve always wanted to check out the Russian Tea Room. It’s a landmark New York City restaurant on 57th Street. So many films and TV shows have filmed scenes there, including Gossip Girl. Plus, it’ll be a fitting end to our Russian-themed night.
“But I’m staying away from vodka,” I say. “We don’t get along.”
Jake lifts his cup of jasmine tea. “Whatever you want, tsarina. Your wish is my command.”
The decor inside the Russian Tea Room takes my breath away. It’s like walking into a scene from Anastasia. The main room is emerald green with dreamy red and gold chandeliers from which glass eggs are suspended. The way the light hits the glass creates a fairy-tale-like ambiance. Just like the Broadway show did, this space transports me to the magnificence of Imperial Russia.
There are impressive paintings on the walls and antique gold urns everywhere, adding a touch of baroque to this grandiose space. I imagine celebrities and socialites sitting on the red banquettes, munching on toast and caviar, while business deals take place at the more secluded tables.
I’ve read that fashion designer Diane von Furstenberg enjoys this place. I can picture her coming here for business lunches.
Jake nods for me to follow him to the bar. He waves the server over and orders a martini for himself, sparkling water for me. The last time I drank vodka, I ended up pole dancing in front of strangers in a nightclub downtown and passing out in my boyfriend’s apartment. Not the most mature behaviour. In fact, it was downright embarrassing. It took me weeks to get over it. I still cringe when I think about it. I lay my credit card on the bar.
Jake gives me a grateful nod. “Thanks, Clem.”
I take a sip of my drink and smile, noticing how at ease my best friend looks in this grand place.
“So, are you feeling better, love? Not so anxious anymore?”
“Definitely. I always feel better when we spend time together. What will I do without you in China?” I reach over and rub his shoulder.
“That, my dear, is a good question.” He takes a sip of his martini, then removes an olive with his fingers and pops it into his mouth. “You can always FaceTime me. I’ll still be there for you, babe. I want you to leave for Shanghai feeling relaxed, not a nervous wreck. No more of that insecurity stuff, okay?”
“Yes, sir.” I give him the peace symbol, showing off my cherry-red manicure.
Jake’s phone rings and his eyes bulge when he sees the number on the screen. A look of panic comes over his face. “All righty,” he says, “let’s get the hell outta here.” He grabs my arm and yanks me toward the door.
“What happened? Is something wrong?” This scene feels like déjà vu from a few nights ago with Jonathan.
“Nope. It’s a school night, love. Time for bed. Let me help you get a cab so you can get home safely.” He’s nearly sprinting toward the door, dragging me along by my arm.
As soon as we exit the building, Jake waves down a yellow cab. He’s not in the mood to chat — far from it. He just wants to send me off. I give him a warm hug and a peck on the cheek, then slip into the cab’s back seat.
Now I have two mysteries to crack. But I’ll get to the bottom of it. I always do.
After brushing my teeth and changing into my PJs, I check my phone and see that I have a message from Henry on Instagram. He’s sent me some informational materials about the fashion school in Shanghai. I smile. I’m so lucky to have met someone who’s been studying at the Condé Nast Center of Fashion & Design for over a year already and is super knowledgeable.
My heart leaps when I see that I also have a text from Jonathan — then sinks when I start reading it.
Hi sweetie, I’m so sorry for not calling you. Things have been a bit crazy ever since I got back from Italy, and an unexpected issue has come up. I can’t really tell you about it yet — there are legal issues involved — except to say that something major is going down and it needs all of my attention. It breaks my heart that I can’t share this with you right now, because I sure could use your big-hearted presence. I’m a frickin wreck.
Please know that you’re always on my mind. I’ll call you in the next few days to explain. Please send me good vibes. I need them badly.
Love you, XOXO
Now I’m really worried. What is going on? Was Jonathan arrested or something? Is he in jail? My mind goes into overdrive. I text him, but get no reply. This fantastic evening just took a really dark turn. I start to brew some hot cocoa. While I wait, I wrap a blanket around my shoulders and try not to chew on my nails.
An old Jack Johnson song that Maddie likes, “Sitting, Waiting, Wishing,” plays in the back of my mind. No one said waiting on love was easy. Sometimes it can be downright brutal.
Chapter Six
“THANKS AGAIN FOR the fabulous night out last week. The show was spectacular, and thanks to you, I’ve scored an interview with Michelle Wong, one of the greatest costume designers in New York!” I lift my cup of tea to toast Jake.
He takes a large swig of coffee and responds with a grin. It looks a bit forced to me, though. It must have something to do with our mysterious exit from the Russian Tea Room. I won’t mention it. I hardly slept last night and want to avoid any difficult conversations today.
The school café is buzzing with activity. We’re getting close to crunch time; the semester ends in a couple of weeks. Students are putting in extra hours to keep their heads above water.
“All I did was encourage you to email her. You and your blog speak for yourselves, love, with great writing and killer topics. And quality over quantity. That’s what truly matters. I’m sure that’s why Michelle agreed to meet you.”
“Well, I couldn’t do it without your support. I still get this insecure feeling every time I’m about to publish something online, like Stella’s waiting in the shadows of the internet to attack me.” Stella was the student who was bullying me last semester. I still feel the sting of some of her comments.
“But you’ll get over it. And anyway, the school warned her about harassing you again, didn’t they?”
“Yup. The dean said their lawyers sent her a letter.”
“Then keep that in mind. Believe in yourself. Everything else is just noise in your head,” he says, as though he’s giving himself that advice, too.
I redirect my attention to Jake’s outf
it. He’s wearing red jeans, a bright-blue vest, a We Are All Feminists T-shirt, and rainbow-coloured Converse sneakers.
“Nice shirt.”
“Thanks. I wear it in support of you and all of my lady friends.”
“Much appreciated. Speaking of support, how are the new pieces for your collection coming along?”
“Working nights and weekends again to get a few more pieces created. But it’s hard to focus when the money is tight. What I need most is cash to pay my bills.”
“I hear you.” I wish I could do something for him, but what? All I can do is change the subject. “I checked my numbers this morning. I have a few hundred more followers since last month, and readership is up. That interview with Michelle Wong should get some attention. I’m really psyched about meeting her.”
“I bet. And you’ll get plenty more attention in Shanghai. I’m sure there are people from that exchange program following you already,” he says, winking.
How did he sense that I do have a mysterious, attractive follower in Shanghai? Actually, I’m dying to tell him all about Henry. After all, Jake is my confidant and he knows everything about me. A little gossip can’t hurt.
“As a matter of fact —”
But before I can finish, Jake retrieves his buzzing cellphone from his bag. “Oh shit! Not again … Sorry, Clem, I gotta go!” He jumps from his seat, picks up his papers in record speed, tosses his half-eaten smoked salmon bagel in his bag, and runs out the door.
Once again, I’ve been abandoned by a man mid-meal. I’m starting to wonder if it’s me or some kind of curse. But as I take a sip of tea, I remind myself that I’m not the cause of Jake’s or Jonathan’s weird behaviours or woes. Whatever is happening in their lives is their business. So why do I feel responsible? That’s just ridiculous.
Maybe it’s a good thing I’m heading off to Shanghai after all.
Chapter Seven
I’VE AGREED TO MEET Michelle Wong at the New-York Historical Society, an American history museum located at the corner of 77th Street and Central Park West. I decided to leave home early so I could plan how to tackle the interview while taking a leisurely walk through Central Park.
Bonjour Shanghai Page 3