J'adore New York: A Novel of Haute Couture and the Corner Office

by Isabelle Laflèche

  “Mel, I’m sorry, but can I put you on hold for just one minute?”

  “Catherine, it’s Jeffrey on your other line.”

  “Great, put him through.”

  “God, he even sounds gorgeous.”

  “Rikash, put him through.”

  “I can take a message for you if you’re busy.”

  “Rikash, transfer the call.”

  “You know I like to have my beefcake and eat it too.”

  “PUT HIM THROUGH NOW!”

  “Okay, okay, there’s no need to be such a party-pooper!”

  “Hello, Catherine, it’s Jeffrey. Scott told me that you’ll be joining us next Thursday evening.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Although I’m afraid Scott can’t make it.”

  “That’s too bad. Can we meet for dinner beforehand to discuss details? I want to make sure this IPO goes as smoothly as possible.”

  “Um. Sure.”

  He senses my hesitation. “Strictly business, I need some legal advice—it’ll even be billable.”

  Music to my ears. “Yes, of course.”

  “Perfect. I’ll make reservations and email the details over.”

  I reluctantly jump back to the other line.

  “Mel, I’m sorry, where were we?”

  “That was way more than a minute, counselaaar. I hope you stopped running your meter while you were on the other line. No double billiiiing!”

  “Don’t worry, Mel, I won’t charge you for it.”

  “A legal freebie? Wow, that’s a first. Can we go over the memo now?”

  “Sure, but the meter is going back on.”

  After a half-hour legal discussion, Mel ends the conversation.

  “I’ve got to run, so I’ll see you at the Waldorf. Don’t forget it’s a black tie and the cocktails start at seven.”

  “I’ll be there; wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I giggle as I hang up, surprised at my ability to make the statement sound sincere.

  Chapter 13

  Françoise Sagan once said that a woman shouldn’t wear a dress to impress or dazzle other women. Rather, she should do so to be undressed by the man she loves. The sad thing is, I’m now slipping into a red floor-length sequined gown to meet Mel and his wife.

  Roxanne and Maria walk in as I spritz some J’adore on my wrists.

  “Aren’t we looking glamorous?” Maria remarks as she stares at me from head to toe. “Oh my god, love the shoes.”

  Roxanne stands before me in stone silence and gives me her usual dirty look.

  “Hot date?”

  “No, Scott asked me to attend a benefit with Mel Johnson and his wife. Apparently Mrs. Johnson is on the board of trustees for the St. Matthew’s Society.”

  “Really?”

  Maria and Roxanne stare at each other.

  “Have a great time.”

  God, those two are odd.

  “Counselaaar, you look marvellous.” I nearly run into Mel at the entrance.

  “Thank you, you don’t look too bad yourself.” I return the compliment despite the fact that he’s wearing a tuxedo a few sizes too small, making him look like the Michelin Man squeezed into Azzedine Alaïa.

  We climb two broad flights of stairs and walk down a large hall that leads directly into a procession of elegant lobby spaces before we arrive in the Grand Ballroom. I crane my neck to look all the way up to the gorgeously painted ceilings.

  “Would you like a glass of champagne?”

  “Love one. So where’s Mrs. Johnson?”

  “She’s tied up at some meeting. She’ll be joining us a bit later. Why don’t we walk around? I’ll introduce you to some friends and colleagues.”

  We approach a tall man standing close to the bar and holding a cigar.

  “Frank, let me introduce you to our lovely French lawyer, Catherine. She’s taking care of our paperwork with the securities regulators.”

  “Nice to meet you, Catherine. I’m very fond of the French language. It’s the language of looove,” he says, making a tiny circle with his lips.

  “Ah yes, the language de l’amoowr,” Mel adds, trying to show off his foreign-language skills.

  After a painful half-hour of similarly stimulating conversation with Frank and Mel, I’m thrilled when we are asked to take our seats for dinner. Strangely though, there is still no sign of Mrs. Johnson.

  “What about your wife, Mel? Should we wait for her before taking our seats?”

  “I’m not entirely sure that she’ll make it tonight. She seemed a bit under the weather this morning when I left home.”

  Is she sick or in a meeting? Something’s up because Frank is winking at Mel and giving him the thumbs-up. Oh mon dieu, quelle horreur!

  “So how long has your wife been on the board of the St. Matthew’s Society?”

  “For as long as I remember. She runs the whole thing,” he answers in an uninterested manner.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” A man takes the microphone to thank the organizers after our main course is served. As expected, there is no reference to a Mrs. Johnson. Shortly after the dessert, the band starts to play and several couples are dancing on the dance floor.

  “Counselaaar, would you do me the honour?”

  “Sure,” I answer reluctantly.

  He grabs my hand and leads me into a poorly executed fox trot.

  “I hope you’re having a wonderful evening. My colleagues are so pleased to meet you.”

  “Yes, Mel, I’m having a good time. Thank you for inviting me. I’ll probably be on my way shortly, though. I have an early morning meeting tomorrow.”

  “Nonsense, the night is still young. We’re just getting started,” he replies as he awkwardly twirls me on the dance floor, almost making me trip on my dress.

  “Counselaaar, I love your dress. It’s electric. It brings out the fire in me.”

  Oh god, someone please call the fire department.

  “You are zee one for mee!” he whispers in my ear. I move my face to look away, but he leans into the other ear. Get me out of here.

  “And you are so veery deeesirable!”

  As he leans his face closer to mine to kiss me, I turn my cheek the other way to avoid the strong stench of Scotch and cigar on his breath.

  “Listen, Mel, I hope there’s no misunderstanding, but I want to keep our relationship professional.”

  “Oh, counselaaar, I love it when a women gets feisty with me.” He twirls me again, this time making me bump into the charity chairman.

  “What about Mrs. Johnson? You’re married, remember?”

  “Well, as you lawyers would put it, I misrepresented the facts slightly.”

  “How so?” I stand immobile before him, having stopped the fancy footwork.

  “Well, there is no Mrs. Johnson, only several ex–Mrs. Johnsons.”

  Okay, Catherine, act shocked—this is your exit card.

  “What? You lied to me?”

  “Have you never told a little white lie to seduce the apple of your eye? You’re having a great time, remember? Don’t be a party-pooper.”

  “A party-pooper? I only accepted your invitation because you’re a client.”

  “Voolay voo kooshay avek mwoi ce swoire?” he whispers with a ridiculous accent and a forced come-hither look that could be a cross between Pepé Le Pew and Rodney Danger-field. He then parks his hand on my butt.

  Okay, that’s it, this party is definitely over.

  “Listen, Mel, in case you didn’t understand what I just said, I’m not interested.”

  I break away and run to the ladies room, dialling Lisa’s cell as I go.

  “Lisa? It’s me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in a stall in the ladies room at the Waldorf. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, what’s wrong?”

  “I need your advice,” I say, perching awkwardly on the top of a toilet seat in three-inch stilettos to get better reception. “I’m at some charity ball with this client and he just tried
to kiss me and grabbed my derrière. He’s totally grossing me out. What should I do?” I ask, nearly falling flat on my face just as a woman walks in to use the facilities.

  “Say you got called to the office and don’t say anything else. He’ll leave you alone after that. Don’t let him push you around, but stay professional.”

  “You’re right. Thanks, Lisa, you’re the best,” I whisper loudly as I hold my dress up to get down from the wobbly toilet seat.

  Mel is waiting for me in the reception area.

  “Just got a call from the office. I need to go.”

  “I would be very careful if I were you, counselaaar. I would seriously think twice about my next move.” I can’t believe he’s threatening me. I channel Lisa: stay professional.

  “Good night, Mel.”

  I grab my evening bag and head for the exit, my red sequined hemline flapping from side to side as I try to walk as quickly as possible with painfully blistered feet.

  I hail a cab outside the hotel and see Frank near the entrance smoking a cigar with a group of men. “Bon swoire, Catherine,” he shouts.

  My head spinning, I sink into the back seat of the cab. It wasn’t bad enough that Mel regularly made me squirm with his lascivious jokes and belittled me by calling me his “favourite little lawyer.” No, this time he had to go for gold.

  “We’re making a quick stop on 42nd street. I need to pick up something from my office.”

  The combination of a tight evening gown and shooting pain in my toes turns getting out of the cab and walking through the lobby into a major achievement. As the elevator doors open on the twenty-eighth floor, it could very well be four in the afternoon given the loud clicking of keyboards and the whirr of photocopiers. I recognize some of the night staff, on the job at 12:30 a.m. to ensure that marked-up drafts left behind are typed up and on lawyers’ desks first thing in the morning.

  In no mood for light chit-chat, I slink past the support staff work stations and toward my office. To the delight of my cramped feet, I slide into my worn pumps, then throw a blazer over my bare shoulders. I sit in my swivel chair for a brief moment, thinking about the evening’s events. How can Mel get away with this in this day and age? And how can we continue working together after his big come-on? I have to admit that I wasn’t entirely surprised by his behaviour. So far in my career, I had grown accustomed to male clients staring at my legs while I delivered a presentation. Did I use it to my advantage? Absolutely. If a pair of stockings helps you crack open that very heavy glass ceiling, then why not? Was it an open invitation to ask for sex and touch me? Definitely not.

  Still cringing at the thought of Mel’s hands on my body, I walk past Bonnie’s office and notice that her door is ajar. A quick glance down reveals a discarded skirt and two pairs of feet intermingled on her office floor. Stunned, I tiptoe stealthily toward the elevators until the sound of Bonnie’s voice in a breathy Je-t’aime moi-non-plus purr makes me stop dead in my tracks.

  “Oh, Harry.”

  Chapter 14

  “So, dah-ling, how did it go last night?” Rikash asks, standing in my office doorway with a Cheshire cat grin. “Did you meet anyone interesting?”

  “Sure, if big pot-bellies and crass behaviour are a turn-on. I had a rough night, if you want to know the truth, but I don’t want the entire office to know about it. Can you keep a secret?”

  “Yesss I cannn,” he whines like a four-year-old. “Come onnn, tell me.”

  “It was horrible. Mel had his fat greasy fingers all over me the whole evening.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes. And I’m sure that won’t be the end of it. You watch.”

  I turn on my computer and, sure enough, there isn’t one but two emails from Mel Johnson in my inbox with my name as the subject line. The first one is addressed to Scott and Antoine.

  Dear Sirs,

  It is with much regret that I must advise you of an unfortunate incident that occurred last evening.

  One of your associates, Catherine Lambert, engaged in inappropriate behaviour in my presence. She attended the Annual St. Matthew’s Society Charity Ball and became intoxicated to the point of embarrassing me and several colleagues and their wives. As a result of her conduct, I see no other alternative but to consider sending my company’s legal work elsewhere.

  Her actions have seriously tarnished the reputation of your firm, and I hope you will take the necessary action to prevent such behaviour from reoccurring in the future.

  Sincerely,

  Mel S. Johnson

  Managing Director

  PLC Partners

  The second one is addressed only to me:

  Dear Catherine,

  Too bad you didn’t exercise your good judgment last night…

  You’ve got to be kidding me. This is a nightmare! The toxic stench of sexual politics is so strong that it’s as nauseating as too much Azzaro aftershave. I march down the hallway toward Scott’s office, hell-bent on clearing my name.

  “He’s already with someone,” Roxanne says as I approach.

  “I’ll wait.”

  “He doesn’t like it when people stand in his doorway.”

  I stare at her defiantly. “Like I said, I’ll wait.”

  I hear Antoine’s voice through the door.

  “I can’t believe she would do something like that. It seems so out of character.”

  My heart sinks.

  I knock, enter, and shut the door behind me.

  “Scott, Mel’s email is a complete lie.” I can’t read the expression on his face at all.

  “That’s a pretty strong statement, Catherine. What happened?”

  My face turns beet red and my hands start trembling while Antoine stares at me sternly.

  “He came on to me last night and he’s frustrated because I turned him down.”

  There’s a long pause while the two of them glance at each other. “Those are very serious allegations, Catherine. Are you sure? There are usually two sides to every story,” Antoine throws out.

  I’m holding back tears. I thought we were on the road to becoming friends, not preparing to throw each other under the bus.

  “I swear to you that’s what happened. I thought we were all part of the same team here.” One of the longest moments of my life passes in silence. When I attempt to bring up Mel’s second email message, Antoine cuts me off.

  “Mel does have the reputation of being a skirt chaser.”

  I look at him gratefully.

  “But he’s a major client and we’ll lose a big chunk of billables.” Scott looks like he’s really weighing his options. How could he even consider siding with Mel? “So I’m not sure that we can afford to sever the relationship. I need to think about this.”

  Merde! I storm out of Scott’s office to take refuge in mine. I want to kick myself for being naïve enough to think that the firm would take my side on this. Money clearly takes precedence over employee respect. Could waging a war for more clients be going to Scott’s head to the point of losing all sense of decency?

  After a few minutes, I open my door and try to regain my composure. I’m pissed off because I should have seen it coming, but am I going to let this man’s email get in the way of my career? No way. The question is, what will I do now? I decide to keep Mel’s second email to myself while I speak to Lisa. I want her legal opinion about my options if I decide to file a sexual harrassment claim. God, I hope it doesn’t come to that. But with Scott’s reaction, who knows?

  “Rough night last night?” Maria asks as she walks past my office.

  “How d’you guess?”

  “You told me you were going out with Mel Johnson. Everyone knows he’s a real lech.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Honey, he’s done it before to other female lawyers from this office. You’re not the first one he puts his dirty little paws on.”

  Flabbergasted, my mind starts to spin. I thought I had earned Maria’s respect when she came into my office to
apologize after her big blow-up.

  “Why didn’t you tell me before I left for dinner?”

  “It’s not my place to gossip about firm clients.”

  “I would have expected you to at least give me a heads-up, Maria.”

  “You’re a big girl, you can handle your predators like a lady, or so I thought.” She turns around abruptly and leaves my office.

  I stare out the window in disbelief. Is everyone in this place ganging up on me?

  “Rikash, can you come in here?”

  He walks in hurriedly.

  “Shut the door.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Mel sent Scott an email saying that I got drunk and embarrassed him last night and that he’s sending his work elsewhere.”

  “What an asshole.”

  “He even sent me an email saying I had poor judgment to refuse his advances. Can you believe this jerk?”

  “Whatever you do, don’t delete the message.”

  “I won’t. I’m just not sure what to do about it yet.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of this. I’m already in enough hot water as it is.”

  “Don’t worry. Rikash has it all under control.”

  “And there’s another thing; I think Maria and Roxanne are ganging up on me. Do they talk behind my back?”

  “Dah-ling, don’t act so surprised. They’re bitches on wheels, I told you.”

  “Okay, that’s it. This is war.”

  Chapter 15

  There’s a silver lining to every cloud. Just as I was seriously considering putting myself on the next Air France flight back to Paris and abandoning my legal career to wait on tables at my stepfather’s bistro, Lisa calls with an exciting proposition.

  “How about sneaking out for your client’s sample sale?”

  “Client?”

  “Yes, Dior. It’s practically research.”

  “Where? When?”

  “It’s in the ballroom at the St. Regis. Now!”

  “This is perfect timing, I need to talk to you. I’ll be right there.”