by F. G. Gerson
No wonder her books are such hits. She reads people’s minds.
“Listen to me, darling. Remember what I told you? Step #6.”
I remember how good and easy it felt in the plane, listening to Roxanne going through the different steps. And how miserable I feel now. I start to cry. I can’t help it. Please don’t hang up. Please!
“Can you read step #6 for me?”
“Yes,” I sob. I turn the pages to the sixth chapter. “Step #6. Sometimes it’s hard to be successful.”
Step #6:
Sometimes it’s hard to be successful.
I’m eating my fourth croissant, drinking my fifth coffee and I’m pretending to read the same French newspaper for the gazillionth time and there is still no sign of Massoud.
“Can I have another pot of coffee?”
“Sorry, breakfast service is actually closed.”
How rude!
I look at my watch. I’m the last guest in the restaurant and I’m getting on the waiter’s nerves. I decide to take another look in the lobby.
“Have a good day, mademoiselle,” the waiter says. Trust me, he really means good riddance.
I check myself once more before I enter the lobby. Look at this gorgeous young woman. It’s Blanchett’s springtime, I’m blooming. After talking to Roxanne, I went on a shopping spree. The funny thing is, I did find a shop called Basic selling Basic T-shirts.
I am dressed in the same fashion as yesterday, but with a brand-new pair of Diesel jeans (175 euros), a simple white Basic T-shirt (39,90 euros) and I have a pink H&M scarf (9,90 euros) on my shoulders. I even splashed myself with some Kazo cologne (80ml/39,95 euros). “We American women can get away with everything!”
Where is everybody? Where is Massoud? How unprofessional of him. I try reception again.
“No, Mademoiselle Blanchett, there are no new messages.”
“Phone calls?”
“No phone calls.”
Aren’t they supposed to be worried about me? I feel like the ugly little duckling, you know, the smelly little girl that nobody wants to play with.
“Can I make a phone call from here?”
The desk clerk points at the phone booth across the lobby. He doesn’t even bother talking to me. What happened last night? Did I get disgraced while I was asleep, and all of a sudden everybody knows that it’s okay to be rude to me?
I walk to the phone booth and place my call.
“Muriel B, bonjour!” says a voice at the other end of the line.
“This is Lynn Blanchett,” I snap.
“Who?”
Is she joking?
“Lynn Blanchett. From New York. Can I speak with Nicolas, please.”
“Mr. Bouchez is not in the office.”
“Let me speak to Muriel, then.”
“Mademoiselle Boutonnière is not in the office either…I’m sorry.”
“Is anybody else but you in the office?”
Silence.
“Goodbye, then.”
I hang up. I’m so frustrated. I imagine Muriel and Nicolas locked in their offices, shaking their heads. No, no, no! We don’t want to speak to any Lynn Blanchett. She’s an ugly little duckling. Shoo, shoo!
“Can you get me a taxi?” I ask the concierge.
“Certainly. Where will you be going?”
“Muriel B. Office. It’s somewhere…” I point toward what I believe is the direction to the office. “This way.”
“I am sure we can manage to find the address for you.”
He smiles. Or is that a smirk?
I’m furious. They took me away from home. They flew me across the Atlantic. For what? To forget about me like yesterday’s favorite flavor?
And Nicolas? Mr. Backstabbing-Bouchez! Does he think that it’s all right to flash his pretty looks, his charm and his suave accent right in my face, just like that?
Mademoizelle Blanchett, yu are zooo delicioze, I wanta iit yu!
And now that I’m really dazzled and want a taste of it, too, it turns out he thinks I’m a waste of time and he’s gay! I am going to strangle him with his tie.
The taxi drops me off in front of the office.
“Just move, all right!” I say to the prostitute. It’s the same girl. She must be leasing this spot. She doesn’t dare to spit today. She feels I’m about to blow and she’s not willing to pay for it.
I press the intercom and cross the courtyard. I’m not impressed anymore. I’m not this ridiculous American girl that can’t handle the glitz and glamour of it all. I’m Lynn Blanchett, heir of the Blanchett empire! Lynn Blanchett, daughter of a genius! I am a complete bitch with a new wardrobe who is about to OD on caffeine!
I walk straight to the receptionist. I don’t say hello, I don’t say please, I don’t say sorry, I don’t say anything but “Nicolas Bouchez! Now!”
“Oh, he is out of the office.”
“Like hell he is!”
I don’t wait for more lies. I head upstairs and make my way to his office.
“Mademoiselle Blanchett! Please!”
I open the door to his office. It’s empty. “Nicolas,” I call. He’s hiding. Coward! I walk to Muriel’s office. It’s empty too.
I make my way to the workshop. I push the door. Where is everybody? Where are all the punks?
Back in Japan?
Françoise Neuton looks up at me. She’s working on a new version of the dress that I trashed yesterday.
“Can I help you?”
She’s alone in the workshop and something’s up, because she seems too happy to see me.
“Where is everybody?”
“Is it any of your business?”
“Oh, believe me. I’ll make it my business.”
She takes off her glasses. She wants to take a better look at me.
“I talked to Muriel this morning. You’re over, Mademoiselle Blanchett.”
What?
“Didn’t they tell you yet? Mmm?” She brushes the dress with her hand. “Do you like it better now?”
“Where is Nicolas?”
“Oh…He will be out all day, at the Carrousel du Louvres.”
“Where?” He didn’t even bother contacting me. He just discarded me as if I didn’t exist anymore.
“I’m sure that you can meet him there. After all, it’s his job to tell you you’re out.”
I don’t find the strength to strike back. I turn my back to her and focus on breathing.
“It was nice meeting you, anyway,” she says. “I’ve always admired your mother.”
I crawl back downstairs.
“You were right, nobody’s here,” I say to the receptionist. “Can you get me Nicolas on his cell phone?”
“Sure.” She dials and passes me the phone.
“Oui?”
“Nicolas? How are you, darling? Lynn Blanchett talking here. You remember me?”
“Yes, Lynn. I remember you.”
“Guess what? I’m at the office. And guess what else? Nobody’s here but me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have phoned you.”
“How thoughtful of you!”
How do you say fucking bastard in French!
“Listen…” Nicolas tries to sound consoling. “Why don’t you go back to your hotel, and I’ll come as soon as I’m finished. We’ll talk.”
“No, don’t bother. I’m coming to see you. Right now.”
“Lynn, wait.”
“I’ll see you in a minute.”
“Lynn!”
I hang up. “Gosh, I forgot,” I say to the receptionist. “They were waiting for me at the Carouzal Louvres.”
“Le Carrousel du Louvres,” she corrects and gives me the I’m-so-sorry-for-you look.
“Can you get me a taxi?”
The Carrousel stuff is like a shopping mall right under Le Louvres. And Le Louvres is…oh, you know what Le Louvres is. Isn’t that crazy? They have so many castles over here that they have shopping malls under them. Imagine that. Upstairs, their kings
used to carry on their despotic businesses, while now, downstairs, there are gift shops, tourists and the mixed smells of French fries and cinnamon buns.
I’m sure I’m in the right place, it’s like Fashionworld down here. They have dresses and fashion displays hanging all over the place. Dior. Chanel. Gucci. Gaultier. Christian Lacroix.
I take a closer look at the Christian Lacroix dress. It looks like something from the distant past, but at the same time, it feels real. Not like a theater costume, but like a real thing. I love it!
I walk faster to the showrooms. I want to keep this feeling. Cinnamon buns and Christian Lacroix. It will give me some strength to confront Nicolas. I walk to the two men guarding the entrance to the showrooms.
“Hi, I’m with the Muriel B group.”
“Sure.”
They don’t need any other form of credential. They open the red velvet rope and let me in.
I walk into the first showroom. It smells of wood dust and glue. All kinds of technicians are playing around with wires. Carpenters are building wooden structures. Everybody looks very busy and I’m walking in the middle of it all, unwelcome and purposeless.
I…I can’t do it. I just saw Nicolas, and I immediately stopped breathing.
I have no defense mechanism against a guy like him.
He stands among a group of Muriel B’s finest Asian punks, talking with a little man with short gray hair and a beard. Oh, and he’s dressed like a catholic priest.
Muriel’s with him and whatever happened before I arrived, it took the jam out of her doughnut.
“Muriel, dear, there are no two ways about it,” the priest says with a strong British accent. “You won’t get the afternoon spot. It’s already booked for Dior! You can’t compete with Dior, darling.”
“Hi,” I whisper, but nobody notices me.
“The nine o’clock spot is very nice anyway. People are fresh at nine o’clock.”
“So why don’t you give it to Galliano, huh?”
I clear my throat. “Hi,” I try again.
Muriel turns to me. “Lynn…I thought we were not supposed to see you again,” she snaps sharply. She turns to Nicolas. “Wasn’t she supposed to be on a plane or something?”
“I…”
Nicolas puts his hand on my arm. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.” He doesn’t seem upset to see me. Worse, he doesn’t seem guilty!
Instead, I’m the one about to have a cardiac arrest while he looks calm and in control. Can’t he stop being perfect for one single second?
He pushes aside a black drape, walks me through and we find ourselves alone under a grandstand. I normally love to go under a grandstand. It always reminds me of high school and first kisses.
Only, I’m quite sure Nicolas didn’t drag me here to give me a French kiss.
“I am really sorry, Lynn,” he kicks off. “I didn’t want to call you. I wanted to do this face-to-face.”
Oh, God! My back bones melt and my body is turning into a deflated balloon. I close my eyes and ask myself what Roxanne would do if she were here.
“I need more than an apology, Nicolas. I need an explanation.” I hope my voice sounds as strong as I intended it to.
“We…we’d love to have you working for us. But…”
But is such a horrible word.
“Muriel and I talked yesterday night. And…she doesn’t feel the vibes between you two.”
Vibes? There’re so many good reasons for me not to be here. But vibes!
“You must be joking, Nicolas!”
“I know. It sounds, well, a bit crazy.”
I’m not going to cry, I swear, I’m not.
“What about your own vibes?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you didn’t want me to be here in the first place. Admit it.”
“It was Muriel’s decision.”
“But you convinced her to send me back, didn’t you?”
“Lynn, Muriel has big expectations and big ideas. But we simply don’t have the money to back them up.”
“Just say it—you don’t like me.”
“I’m sorry, Lynn, I know it sounds unfair.”
I sigh. “It’s more than unfair, Nicolas. It’s revolting! You were not with us yesterday. You didn’t see what I saw. The reason Muriel doesn’t feel the vibes is that I refused to kiss her.”
“Oh, don’t say that. Muriel’s not like that.”
“Like hell she’s not! I don’t kiss, I don’t get the job. That’s how simple it is.”
“It doesn’t work that way, you’re wrong.”
“Really?”
Let’s give it a try, then. I put my hand on his arms. I feel his muscles tensing. I take one step forward. I lift myself on my toes and land a kiss on his lips. Yes, that’s right. I steal the kiss that I didn’t give to Muriel yesterday.
I let him go. He wasn’t very responsive, but he didn’t fight it too much, either.
“So?” I ask. “Can I get my job back now?”
“Lynn, this is completely absurd.”
“Absurd, huh?”
Okay. He makes the rules. I go again. I’m back on my toes and on his lips. I’m right against him. I feel him. I feel how tense he is.
“So?” I ask again.
“This is crazy.”
“Well, that’s Muriel B’s style. I’m just like her, getting the vibes.”
“I’m…so sorry.” He steps away from me. He doesn’t want me to go for a third. “I need…you know…” He points toward Muriel and the group. “We’ll arrange your trip back and, well, we’re broke but we will…pay for everything. That’s…”
I nod. “Just go, Nicolas.”
“I’m sorry, Lynn.”
“Yeah, right.”
I want him to go away before I fall apart. He gives me some kind of sad smile and leaves me there.
I fall down on a wooden box. It’s covered by some sort of white dust. That’s going to stain for good.
I feel so lonely and lost. I am in Paris, far away from home, surrounded by strangers, hiding under a stand with the souvenir of a hopeless kiss.
“That’s the best I can do,” I hear the priest say. “And honestly, Muriel, I don’t have all morning to argue with you.”
“It’s a fucking joke! I’ll sue!”
“You’ll sue? Ha! Do you realize that I booked you here only as a favor to your father?”
I can see them from where I sit. I can see the catwalk. I could hide here for the day and enjoy the shows. Nicolas looks so confused.
Is he still thinking of me?
“Maybe we can make it…a breakfast event. With coffee and croissants…and…I don’t know…” Nicolas says clumsily.
Muriel takes a better look at him. “What’s wrong with you?”
Is it me, or does he looks extra pale?
“This is fashion, Nicolas! Fashion doesn’t wake up at seven in the morning. Fashion doesn’t wake up before noon.”
Why bother discussing this with the priest? They should have the show in the street. That’s the very first thing that crossed my mind when I walked into Muriel B’s office. Set it among the prostitutes. Hell, if they could shake off a pound or two, you could even use them as models.
I stand. I get out. I don’t have anything to lose. I don’t care if I’m going to sound ridiculous. I walk over to their group.
“Do it in the street,” I say.
“What?” Muriel barks at me.
“Muriel B belongs to the street. It’s young. It’s provocative. It’s different. Just set a stage in front of the office and do the show in the street.”
“Who are you?” the priest asks.
“This is Lynn Blanchett,” Nicolas says. “She is…was our PR…consultant.”
“Everybody will talk about it,” I continue. “That’s the spirit of Muriel B. Free Fashion. Street Fashion.”
“In the street,” Muriel repeats.
Nobody dares to say anything.
They wait.
She looks at my butt. “Look at you!”
She slaps it gently and brushes off the white dust, and when she is finished brushing my ass she just says, “I like it.”
“You must be out of your mind!” the priest blasts.
“Forget about our booking. Give it to Galliano. We’re doing my show in the street. How did you put it, Lynn? Free Fashion. Street Fashion. I love it.”
The priest rises and shakes his hands in a kind of a I wash my hands of all your madness gesture and walks away.
“I love this girl, she’s a genius,” Muriel shouts, and embraces me. “Nicolas! We have to change everything. The show will take place in the street. Phone everybody, absolutely everybody. You have to work closely with Lynn. Let her know everything you’re doing.”
She walks away, followed by her entourage, leaving me behind with Nicolas.
“Bien joué, Lynn.”
“What?”
“That was…very inspired,” he says.
What? The kisses? Say it! Say you liked it.
“Your idea to do the show in the street is a surprisingly good idea.”
“Sure.”
Coward, coward, COWARD!
Step #7:
Mingle, Snuggle and Connect
I am a star! Look at me in my Basic clothing! I’m the best thing that has happened in this town since…I don’t know…Napoleon?
“This party must be so boring for you.”
“Not at all, it’s amazing. Look at this place,” I say.
“Americans are so ignorant but so entertaining. While we French, we are very cultured but very boring.”
Is that a compliment?
“Oh, I see you as the nasty kind…” He moves his hand in the air. It’s a dancing-puppet version of me. “A nasty little party girl! Just like your mother!”
“Not at all, Jean-André,” I say. Jean-André is an aging gay Frenchman who, apparently, knows everyone. “I am a very boring American, in a French kind of way, and I am so over the going-out thing,” I hear myself say.
“No, no, no, darling. You’re a New Yorker. New Yorkers are not Americans. We have been there recently with Kazo, you know….”
He whispers the name and pauses. He wants to give everyone enough time to realize that he is talking about the Kazo, the famous Japanese designer.
“We were in New York for leisure because Kazo, you know, loves New York, but everybody was making a point of being so boring. They don’t drink, they don’t smoke and of course they don’t fuck.”