by F. G. Gerson
“Fun is not fun anymore,” I say to the laughing little man. I don’t even think Jean-André is his real name.
“Fun is not fun! Vous êtes irrésistible, ma chère!”
We’re enjoying a warm evening in the garden. Fiber-optic cables provide a gentle light. Artificial streams of blue-colored water run along moss and bonsai trees. Oriental New Age music plays in the background. We feel Zen sipping our Bloody Marys and chewing celery.
In the middle of this Japanese garden lies a huge condo that seems to be built out of rice paper and wood. All this is perfectly mind-blowing, of course, because we’re actually in the middle of Paris and on the property of the famous Japanese designer Kazo, you know….
“Kazo, you know…spends most of his time in Paris. This house is a reflection of his creative madness. Sa folie!” Jean-André explained to me.
Kazo’s not here. Kazo is drinking his own Bloody Marys in Los Angeles and, like us, celebrating the twenty-year anniversary of Kazo Fashion.
Amazing dresses and garments are suspended in the air all around the garden. Tall beautiful models are drinking pink, red and blue cocktails while sucking sushi canapés passed around by hunky waiters.
“Hey, I love your dress,” a tall blond girl passing by says out of the blue. “Calvin Klein?”
“Jodie Blanchett,” I say.
I never thought I could ever put on one of Jodie’s garments. But I’ve been so malnourished since my arrival in Paris that I slid into this one like a wet piece of soap.
“Very cute!”
She smiles at me. She’s extremely cute, too. God, is she flirting with me? Is everyone in this business so sexually ambiguous, or is it just me?
“You must know Clarice, everybody knows Clarice,” Muriel says. Out of nowhere Muriel has materialized at my side.
“I’m Clarice Kleron.” The tall blonde gives me her hand and giggles.
“This is Lynn,” Muriel presents me. “Lynn est une perle.”
I am a pearl. That’s how Muriel presents me to everybody. I’m the pearl that she found in New York and dragged back to Paris.
“Yeah, I’ve heard about you,” Clarice says to me. “You’re Jodie Blanchett’s daughter.”
“When did you hear about me?”
“Well, tonight. I’m going to the Gucci party after, would you like to come?”
I’m getting picked up by a beautiful blonde!
“Not tonight, sorry,” I say. “I have to work tomorrow.”
“Pity,” she whispers and walks away.
“American women are going to conquer the world,” Jean-André laughs out. “They can’t cook, they can’t fuck, but they conduct business better than any man.”
Is that a compliment? No time to ask because Jean-André keeps talking.
“Kazo, you know…thinks that the next American president will be a woman. Somebody just like you, Lynn. A pearl.”
“Would you excuse me, Jean-André?” Muriel interrupts. “You might pass on Clarice,” she whispers to me, “but I want to go to the Gucci party with her.” She walks away and goes after my girl.
“Alone at last,” Jean-André says. “I know somebody that’s dying to meet you.”
Kazo?
“I know what you’re thinking. No, it’s not Kazo, you know…. You will meet him one day, don’t worry. Kazo, you know…loves to meet talented people like you.”
Jean-André walks me inside the condo. He pushes one of the sliding walls and invites me to walk inside a secluded room.
“Sit, Lynn, sit.”
There’s no chair, of course. If your business is to manufacture and sell chairs, forget about Paris. They all sit on the floor and pretend to be Japanese these days.
Jean-André slides the wall shut and I find myself face-to-face with a very fat man, lying on the floor like some Roman emperor, picking on a food platter laid in front of him.
“This is Xavier Urbain, you know, the founder of Xu.”
“Of course,” I say, but I have absolutely no idea what Xu is.
“I am pleased to meet you, Lynn. We heard a lot about you,” the fat man says with a French accent, swallowing a stuffed grape. “And your mother is…a goddess!”
“So, you’re working for Muriel B, you poor thing,” a very elegant woman sitting beside him says. She reminds me of Roxanne. Same age, same style, same elegance.
“Lynn, you must know Chloe Destouches.”
Who?
“Er…surprisingly not,” I say, shaking, well, rather touching her hands.
“Where have you been hiding, dear? Chloe is the black queen of fashion! No, no, Chloe, no false modesty, that’s all true! You can read her ruthless prose in the pages of Marie Claire.”
“Ah! Sure, yes!”
The cutest of all the waiters stands quietly behind them. Jean-André snaps his fingers at him.
“Get Lynn another Bloody Mary.”
“And some more stuffed grapes. They’re disgustingly good,” Xavier Urbain says, then sucks in another one. “How are things at Muriel B? Chaotic, I imagine. It must be so exciting to work in chaos!”
“I’m still settling in.”
“I heard that you’re doing wonders.”
‘“Muriel B belongs to the street,’” Jean-André quotes me. “Everybody talks about it. It’s brilliant, Lynn.”
“Pity that the talent of a Blanchett is wasted on someone like Muriel,” Xavier spits out along with some grape seeds.
“Oh, but no, Xavier! You’re cruel with the young Muriel,” Jean-André protests. “Fashion’s such a difficult business and it’s so hard to go on pretending you’re a genius for so long.”
“Ha! Muriel will never be mistaken for a genius.”
I have a feeling that I shouldn’t be here.
“She has a rich father, and that’s all there is to it,” Chloe chimes in.
“She has no idea what she is doing.” Xavier pops another grape.
“She’s a joke.”
“Not even a funny joke, Chloe,” Xavier says.
“She’s the proof you can buy your way in this business.” Clearly Chloe enjoys her ruthless reputation.
“She’s a fake, didn’t I tell you that before?” Jean-André forces himself back into the conversation. “She has no talent! No talent at all!”
“She’ll be over in six months,” Chloe concludes, picking out the stuffing and skinning the grape before eating it. “It’s a cruel world out there, isn’t it, Lynn?”
Jean-André puts his hand on mine. “You’re very young yourself, you wouldn’t know.”
“Those kids want the fame, but they don’t want to do the real work for it. And they think that you can get famous just like that….” Xavier snaps his fingers as the waiter walks in with my Bloody Mary.
“Look at him….” Xavier snaps his finger again. “He appears and disappears at will.”
They laugh and the poor guy has no choice but to smile and become invisible again.
“I wonder what makes somebody like you decide to waste time with a company like Muriel B.” Another grape disappears into Xavier’s gigantic mouth. “Francis Boutonnière is actually fed up with paying the bills. Do you know that they’re broke?”
“I’m sure that Lynn knows what she’s doing,” Jean-André says. “She is like Kazo, you know…she is very impulsive and follows her feelings rather than reason. Geniuses and crazy people are like that.”
Help me! Is that a compliment or an insult?
“I really would like to talk to you later,” Chloe says. “Maybe we can make a feature on you for Marie Claire. ‘American Girl takes risks in Paris.’ The thing is…”
She looks at Xavier and back at me. She needed those few seconds to think of something nasty to say. “I know your mother very well but I never heard a single word about you.”
Join the club, Chloe, I think to myself. But tonight I refuse to let Jodie’s lifelong disappointment in me ruin my good time. They think I’m brilliant. So instead of sinking
into myself I smile and say, “Someone like me should always remain in the shadows.”
“Modesty. Is that another one of your flaws? Mmm?”
Oh, this time, I know! This wasn’t a compliment at all. Chloe is much more obvious than Jean-André.
“I have to go back to Muriel, you know…working for her and all.”
An embarrassing silence follows. I know exactly what they’re all thinking: how could I prefer to go back to Muriel when I could stay with such fabulous people?
“We’ll catch up later then,” Chloe says, which sounds like something a toreador says to a bull before a fight. “And ask your assistant to send me your bio.”
“Sure!”
“It’s nice to see passionate people back in this business. Fresh and innocent!” Xavier says and then ignores me as if I had already left the room.
Jean-André makes a silly gesture with his hand. Somehow, I have disappointed him.
Muriel is still chatting up Clarice. She is very sexual, touching and caressing her. I haven’t decided yet if I should tell her about my encounter with Chloe and Xavier. Before I have a chance to say a thing, however, Muriel squeals, “Oh, look who’s here!”
Nicolas passes the garden gates. Blood rushes to my cheeks. I don’t want to see him. Not after what has happened. Not after…
“Are you sure he’s gay?” I ask before he can hear us.
“I don’t know, ask him.” Muriel laughs out loud.
Too loud.
Maybe bisexual? I can live with that. Think about it. He would bring home gorgeous angels just like him…. Mmm….
“Lynn, you look fantastic,” Nicolas says when he reaches Muriel, Clarice and me.
“Jodie Blanchett.”
“What?”
“The dress.” I explain.
He looks amazing, too. He wears a stylish gray suit with a simple tight black T-shirt. Why are gay people so hot? It’s like being teased with a cream cake that turns out to be plastic. It’s so unfair.
“Can I get you another one of those,” he says, taking my empty glass.
“Oh, why not? Bloody Mary.”
Why not, huh? Well, how about because you’re getting drunk?
“Wait! I might take something nonalcoholic.” That’s it. I am a sensible woman. I am in control of myself and I am not a greedy drunk like my uncle Ted.
We cross the garden together toward a lovely bar covered with food and prepoured drinks.
“Is that orange juice?” I ask the waiter.
“No, it’s…” He says what it is but I don’t understand. It looks like juice so I take it. I sip and it’s horribly bitter and peppery but very fashionable.
“I think it’s a ginger juice.” Nicolas goes for a Bloody Mary. “They are Kazo’s favorite. It’s his special recipe, invented by his caterer. Do you like sushi?”
“Yeah, once it’s cooked.”
Nicolas gives an apologetic smile to the waiter. The you-know-she’s-American kind of smile.
“I wanted to talk to you. First, I want to apologize for the way you’ve been treated,” Nicolas says.
“Apology accepted.” I’m so easy.
“Then…Well, I don’t know how to tell you this, but at some point, yesterday, we lost faith in you.”
“Mmm, hmm.”
“There were bad vibes.”
“Mmm, hmm.”
“Now, everything is better.”
“Mmm, hmm.”
“The problem is—”
“Listen, about the kiss,” I break in. “It was just—”
“I know, don’t worry. It didn’t mean anything to me, either.”
Oh!
“You just wanted retribution and there we were. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
He drinks a mouthful of his Bloody Mary. He looks so manly. I can’t stop staring at his strong hand holding the tumbler.
“Well, Lynn, before you came to Paris, we were fishing for someone else to take the job.”
“We?”
“Well, I mean I’ve been fishing behind Muriel’s back.”
“I changed my mind,” I said to the waiter, giving him my glass of ginger juice and grabbing a Bloody Mary.
“I know it sounds awful.” He really looks embarrassed. “And there’s something else.”
What? You’ve hired someone to kill me?
“I did find someone. Fran Wellish,” he says like I should know who he is talking about.
“We thought, well, I thought we needed an alternative. Muriel is crazy about your mother. So I figured your mother’s former PR manager would be a perfect catch.”
Holy fucking crap!
“Oh, that Fran!” I say and push down half of the Bloody Mary. Jodie never ever introduces me to any of her colleagues. I have never heard about any Fran Wellish. And I’m damn sure that she never heard of me. Or if she did, all she’ll know is that Jodie despises me and has been trying to hide me in a box for the past twenty years.
“Yesterday, I convinced Muriel to bring her in for a formal job interview.”
“And when is she coming, exactly?”
“We’ve scheduled to fly her over tomorrow. I know. It might sound rude to put you into a competition like that. But trust me, Muriel has made her choice already. And it’s just too late to stop Fran from coming.”
“Fran Wellish, yeah, she is good,” I say.
I’ll never be up to the challenge. Jodie only surrounds herself with top people.
“Have you worked together, then?”
“Oh, we’ve crossed each other’s paths,” I lie.
“You don’t sound too keen on her.”
“You know. We had this…thing. Jodie had a bit of a protégé thing going on for me. Fran was…you know…so mad about…that thing.”
Stop talking, Lynn. Just run away.
“Did you tell Fran that I was here, too?” I ask.
“Not yet. Well, we thought that you’d be…”
“Gone?”
“I’m so sorry, Lynn. Everything is different now. Muriel is crazy about you. Your idea was—”
“Fucking brilliant!” Muriel breaks in. “You told her, didn’t you? Don’t worry, Lynn. I am sure you’re not too scared about a bit of competition.”
“Lynn knows Fran Wellish well. They’ve worked together.”
“Good. So you probably also know why I should hire you instead of her. Ha ha ha! I have to tell you, she comes highly recommended.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard.”
So, this is it. No matter what I do, I will finish against the wall. A certain Fran Wellish is coming tomorrow, and she will say that she never met me before in her life. That my own mother doesn’t even dare introduce me to her closest collaborators. They are going to confront me and I am going to die of shame.
“Who knows—” Muriel blinks gently at me “—I might hire both of you and you would be like the Blanchett gang in Paris.”
“Yeah, who knows?”
I should be crying.
But I’m laughing instead.
I’m laughing because hot air is being blown on my bare bum.
I am sitting on the most amazing toilet. There is no toilet paper. You follow the instructions engraved on the wall. You flush by passing your hand in front of an infrared sensor. It doesn’t just flush. No, no, no. You stay put on the toilet and high-pressure water comes straight up your butt! And then, hot air is blown up to dry you and it tickles like hell. There is nothing like a dreadful situation in Paris and hot air up my ass to crack me up!
But listen, that’s not all. The toilet seat appears and disappears. You pass your hand in front of another sensor and a trap opens in the wall. Pouf! The toilet’s gone. The trap closes like it was never there.
Too much!
God, it’s good to laugh. I pass some cold water over my face and look in the mirror. I don’t look that bad. I latch on to the joy this futuristic bathroom has brought me and give myself a mini pep talk. I am in Paris on a kind of
paid holiday. Instead of being in some filthy backpackers’ hostel catching crabs, I am standing in Kazo’s bathroom, feeling rejuvenated after some hot air up my bum.
They can’t take this away from me.
The bathroom door is also automated. It slides open. It’s so very fashionable. There is a tall blond model waiting outside. Also very fashionable.
“You’re going to love this,” I tell her. She doesn’t react. She doesn’t even blink. I bet all the fashion people are used to having their bums blown. She disappears into the toilet.
Kazo’s house is as impressive as his garden and his toilet. All the walls seem to slide. You can change the geometry within a minute. There is very little furniture, no chairs, of course, and you have to take off your shoes to come in.
I’m starving. I walk to the indoor buffet.
More raw fish. Dammit! I am in Paris and I am permanently starving. Isn’t France the country of good food and wine? Ah, there is some dessert on this buffet. It looks like some creamy light chocolate mousse in a shot glass.
“What is that?” I ask the hunky waiter.
“C’est du foie gras de canard cru dans une crème de châtaigne.”
“Oh…”
Whatever.
I take one of the glasses and drink it. The stuff refuses to go down. It’s revolting! It’s not a dessert. It’s some salty creamy goo. It tastes like rotten guts. Oh, God! My stomach sends it all back into my mouth.
I must get rid of it. Where? I turn away and spit it back into the shot glass, spreading some on my hand and—oh my oh my—on the floor.
I hope nobody…shit! Nicolas!
“Er, you don’t like it, do you?”
“It’s…not…sweet!”
“Well, I don’t think it’s supposed to be sweet. It’s raw duck liver with chestnut cream. It’s not vegetarian either.”
Oh, that explains the rotten gory aftertaste.
“Raw fish. Raw liver. What’s the problem with the caterer? Saving on gas and electricity?”
“Sushi is always on the menu at these parties. No cooked food—too passé. And absolutely no garlic. It’s all about fashion, Lynn.”
No garlic? I get it. They’re vampires. It all makes sense. Look at them. Dressed in black, sucking each other’s blood. Torturing themselves in the name of success. They eat revolting food (raw, because vampires only eat raw food). They grow too tall and too beautiful. They dress to kill. And people like Nicolas, so clever, so kind. They become slaves to rude spoiled monsters like Muriel. God, it’s so…creepy!