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

by Isabelle Laflèche

  Surprised to see this new side of him, I can’t help but stare. Is this what he’s really like? This is a side of him I haven’t seen. So far, he’s seemed so collected and in control. After pacing for more than fifteen minutes, he comes back to the car. His face is flushed and he looks perturbed.

  “I can’t believe these goddamn bankers, they’re so incompetent. We’re paying them a fortune in fees. I have to do everything for this fucking deal!”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, it’s an accounting issue.”

  “Okay, let me know if there is.”

  “I’m afraid we need to head back to New York first thing tomorrow morning. I’m sorry, Catherine.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m also involved in this transaction, remember?”

  He stares out his side window for a moment and sighs before responding.

  “Listen, I’m really sorry I lost my temper like that. I’m feeling a bit fried these days.”

  “I understand. You’re under a lot of stress. But don’t feel like you need to carry the entire load by yourself.”

  He looks at me tenderly. “Thanks, you’re the best.”

  We park in front of Sant Ambroeus on Southampton’s main street.

  “They serve the best espresso in town, just for you, madame.”

  “Perfect!”

  While we wait to be seated, Jeffrey chats up the maître d’ in broken Italian and I recognize a familiar voice behind me. I turn and find myself face to face with Leanne, one of Lisa’s three musketeers.

  “Hi, Catherine, looks like you finally made it out here.”

  “Yes, I guess so. Leanne, this is Jeffrey.”

  She stares at our interlaced fingers and I recognize the same look of envy that she had when our waiter offered me chocolates at Daniel. She clearly wishes she were in my shoes, and, standing tall in my Tropeziennes sandals, I can’t say that I blame her.

  “Nice to meet you.” She looks at Jeffrey, intrigued. “I think I’ve seen you here before.”

  “Hi, Leanne, nice to meet you. Aren’t I a lucky man?”

  The maître d’ gestures for us to follow him to the back of the room. I wave goodbye to Leanne as we take our seats, tête-à-tête. He plays with my fingers while gazing into my eyes and right at this moment I’m feeling quite good about my decision to accept his invitation.

  After a delicious brunch and a bit of browsing in the shops, we head back to Charlie’s house to change for the polo match. Since my whirlwind shopping excursion with Rikash hasn’t equipped me with anything specifically horse country-ish, I put on my new outfit and top it off with a white cloche hat that I picked up at a vintage shop in Saint Germain.

  We arrive at the polo grounds and it’s a sea of champagne, caviar, and oyster stands all set up under a large white tent. A glitzy fashion show is underway, with models competing with the horses for the attention of the attendees. The tent is full of the jeunesse dorée of Manhattan.

  We take a stroll on the grounds and I notice that Amanda, one of the mistresses of the universe, is standing in one corner of the tent, so I walk over to say hello. Jeffrey follows.

  “Jeffrey! So nice to see you again,” she exclaims, ignoring me.

  “Hi, Amanda, have you met Catherine?”

  “We have. Hi, Catherine. Nice hat, it’s so…different.”

  “The two of you know each other?” Jeffrey asks dumbfounded. “What a small world this is. Amanda participated in one of our early rounds of financing.”

  “Is that right?” I reply unenthusiastically. I provided her with a recent round myself; I paid for her dinner at Daniel. “That’s great.”

  “Are you two here together?”

  “Yes we are.” He answers proudly and gives me a peck on the cheek.

  “Really?” She looks shocked. “I heard you guys are going public. Congratulations,” she says, giving him sweet eyes.

  “Yes, we’re almost there. Catherine is working hard to keep the IPO on schedule.”

  Okay, it’s now out in the open that I’m seeing a client. Come on, Catherine, you need to get over it!

  “Good for you,” she adds condescendingly.

  “We’re both a bit tired and looking forward to finishing off this deal.”

  “God, I know what you mean.” She puts her hand on his shoulder. “I’m working so hard right now, you have no idea. Before I forget, I ran into Tina last week at the gym. She looks really great.”

  “Who’s Tina?” I ask.

  “Oh,” says Amanda with not a small amount of glee in her voice. “Jeffrey’s ex-wife.”

  An ex-wife? I suddenly feel a sharp pain in the pit of my stomach, but I try to maintain my composure. How could he not tell me he had been married? What else is he hiding from me?

  Jeffrey stares at me with a look of panic and sees from my reaction that I’m not thrilled with the discovery. He pulls me away after we say goodbye and as soon as we set foot in his car, I let her rip.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were married?”

  “Catherine, I’m sorry. I wanted to wait before I told you. I was worried you wouldn’t want to be with me.”

  “That is pretty important information. I can’t help but wonder if there’s anything else you’re keeping from me.”

  “There isn’t, I promise. We got divorced two years ago. We’re just friends now.”

  “I’m not sure about this, Jeffrey.” I turn my face away and look out to the polo grounds. “Maybe I should stay at a hotel tonight.”

  He takes my hand. “Come on, Catherine. Please don’t be like that. I’m sorry I kept this from you.”

  I stay silent for a few seconds before turning toward him and looking deep into his eyes to find out if he really means it.

  “I don’t want you to stay in a hotel, babe. I want you to stay with me.”

  After he pleads one more time and kisses me tenderly on the cheek, I give in.

  “Okay, but no more surprises.”

  “I promise.”

  In his convertible, we leisurely drive through Water Mill and Sagaponack. As we pass by a quaint general store and lovely clapboard houses, it feels like being in a Ralph Lauren ad. The lawns are so green and manicured; I want to tell him to stop the car so I can roll around on them.

  He taps me on the head and whispers, “I love your hat; it’s so you.”

  We drive around in these breathtaking hamlets, but I can’t shake that uneasy feeling about him hiding his ex-wife from me. Why wouldn’t he say anything about it? Could they still be seeing each other? I try to get rid of any negative thoughts as he pulls the car over near the dunes on Gibson Beach. I’m amazed that there’s hardly anyone to be seen on this gorgeous stretch of white sand.

  “Wow, this is a great beach. Where is everybody?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care.” He peels off his T-shirt and linen pants. “Just another hard day at the office!” He runs into the ocean in his boxer shorts. “Come on, get in here, now!”

  I roll up my white jeans and meet him in the surf. He picks me up in his arms to carry me over some waves and pretends to throw me into the ocean. We splash around and I feel like Helena Christensen frolicking about in Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” video (minus the glamazon physique and deep tan, but hey, this is no time to burst my bubble).

  After we dry off, he runs to the car and returns with a picnic basket filled with lobster salad, cheese, and white wine.

  “When did you find the time to get this?”

  “Keep all the questions for the legal stuff, babe. Just enjoy.” He playfully taps his finger on my nose and digs into the salad.

  I tense up again after he says this and I wish that he’d stop referring to work. I take a sip of my wine and listen to the sound of the surf; we watch the sun set below the crashing waves and I quickly forget any misgivings I had about his ex-wife and dating a firm client when he kisses my cheek.

  When we get back to Charlie’s house, there’s a
major party going on in the backyard: hip hop is blaring from the speakers, men in muscle shirts are dancing on the tennis court, a group of people are standing on the back steps pouring vodka shots down their throats, and couples are sprawled out on the white couches.

  A sudden cheer comes from the pool area. Rebecca has taken off her top and is about to jump into the water. A group of men are clapping and egging her on.

  “Come on, baby, you can do it!”

  She throws herself into the water and a man follows her in, fully clothed. Afterward, a fight breaks out on the lawn between two men.

  “I asked her to dance first.”

  “No, I did.”

  “She’s mine. I slept with her last night.”

  “So did I, you son of a bitch.”

  After one of them trips the other, they begin a slow rolling descent toward the swimming pool in their navy blazers and blue-and-white seersucker pants. Where am I?

  “Can you believe those two guys are bankers who graduated from Ivy League schools?” Jeffrey asks.

  “And they probably majored in accounting in college.”

  “Not all accounting majors are like that, okay? Let’s get out of here.”

  Jeffrey laughs, tickles me, and we kiss. We walk back to the house, where a man approaches me with a large camera.

  “Cheese!”

  I embrace Victoria Beckham’s no-teeth policy and give him a smirk instead.

  “I guess that means you’ll be on the Internet.”

  “What?”

  “That’s Sal. He has a blog where he posts party pictures after every weekend.”

  Oh wonderful, that’s all I need, to be exposed online at a wild party with Jeffrey. That will do wonders for the old career. I hope nobody at the office knows about the blog.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Alone at last,” I say with a sigh as we head back to our room.

  “A bit much, isn’t it?”

  “Mon dieu, it’s a real jungle out here.”

  “You haven’t seen half of it. It can get much worse. I’m so not into that crazy scene anymore. It’s become old. Real old.”

  He turns out the lights and, as far as I’m concerned, right at this moment things can only get real good.

  The next morning we get up at six thirty sharp to hit the road. We tiptoe out of the house, making as little noise as possible, drop our bags in the back seat of his car, and try to silently head out of the long driveway. As we do so, a convertible Maserati swooshes by us. Rebecca is sitting in the passenger seat and a man with a deep tan and salt-and-pepper hair has one hand on the steering wheel and one hand up her skirt. Proudly doing the “drive of shame,” she is only now coming home.

  “Bye, you guys, see you soon!” she screams at the top of her lungs, probably waking up everybody in Charlie’s house and in the same breath letting everyone know she’s just been shagged.

  Feeling light-headed, I take in the last of the Hamptons scenery before we hit the highway. My BlackBerry buzzes as soon as we hit the on-ramp; I have several emails from Antoine that quickly bring me back to reality. I start by reading the last one:

  Dear Catherine,

  I needed your assistance on a conference call with Dior this morning, but I guess you were busy with the Browser deal and unavailable. I have asked someone here in Paris to take over this file going forward. It will be easier for you and the client. Laurence will contact you this week to transfer the file here. Thanks.

  A.

  P.S. Please remember the old maxim: Trust, but verify.

  What? I can’t believe this. Devastated that he would take the Dior file away from me and still reeling from our heated conversation before he left, I want to delete his message and throw my BlackBerry on the side of the road. And trust, but verify? What is that supposed to mean? Isn’t that what Ronald Reagan said about the Soviets during the Cold War? Is this another one of his metaphors for warlords and battles for territory?

  “What’s the matter, Catherine? You look preoccupied.”

  “I’m not preoccupied, I’m seriously pissed off.”

  I refrain from telling Jeffrey about the Dior file being taken away; he might think that I have less interest in working on his deal than on cracking down on fake bags, although I must admit that, professionally speaking, I do prefer working for the French luxury house. You can take a French woman out of Paris but you can’t take Paris out of the French woman.

  “Why?”

  “More work. That’s all.”

  He smiles tenderly. “So I’m not the only one who thinks highly of your legal skills.”

  “Hmm.”

  I quickly say au revoir to peace and tranquility and bonjour to a major headache.

  Chapter 27

  “How was the weekend?” Rikash asks as soon as I set foot in the office Monday morning.

  “Sensational. The outfit we picked out together was a major hit. I received so many compliments.”

  “Really?” he asks, grinning proudly. “What about Jeffrey? Did he like it?” He’s fishing for more information.

  “He definitely did. And thanks for your little note of encouragement.”

  “Did it work?”

  “It sure did.” I give him a knowing smile.

  “Fantastic! But I hope he’s treating you like the princess you are.”

  “I’ll fill you in later. I have a few fires to put out.”

  “Oh dear, reality has already reared its ugly head.”

  “You can say that again. I received an email from Antoine, Mr. Buzz Kill.”

  “Oh no! Did he make you cut the weekend short?”

  “No, Jeffrey had to come back to the city for an emergency meeting.”

  “What did he want, then?”

  “To tell me that he’s transferring the Dior file to Paris. He thinks I have too much on my plate. I’m really upset about this, Rikash.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie, but you are quite busy with Mr. Browser.”

  “I know, but it’s my favourite file. The legal aspects are fascinating and I don’t need to tell you how I feel about their products. And there goes my lifelong dream of attending the shows at Paris fashion week.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetie pie, you don’t need Dior for that. I can get you into the shows at Bryant Park in a flash.”

  “Thanks, Rikash, you always know how to make me feel better.”

  I arrive in my office with renewed enthusiasm. A tall pile of green books with the inscription Barbri towers over my desk. From where I stand I can decipher the word Multistate on the cover page of the top one.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I ask, panic-stricken.

  Barbri offers preparatory courses for those unfortunate souls braving one of life’s true tortures: the New York bar exam. Given my membership to the Paris bar, I thought I could avoid being plagued with the New York course for at least another year, but it looks like my fate has clearly been decided.

  “Looks like your summer is being cut short,” Maria comments as she walks past.

  Rikash stares at me with a look of pity. “I didn’t put them there, dah-ling, I swear. Must be Roxanne.”

  A few minutes later, Bonnie drops by. “Catherine, can I speak to you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Everyone who works in the New York office has to take the New York bar exam. You need to get it done ASAP. It’s imperative for your career.”

  “When is it?” I ask in a panic.

  “End of July.”

  “What?”

  “I passed it years ago and only studied a week for it. You have more than enough time.”

  I want to tell her, One day I’d like to be like you, but think better of it; she might think I want to take her place and become even more difficult.

  “I guess I have no choice in the matter.”

  “No.”

  Looking at the number of books in front of me, I estimate my chances at holding up my workload while maintaining a relationship with anythi
ng but my desk to be pretty much nil.

  “Lisa, do you have time to meet me for a coffee?”

  “Hi to you too! How did the weekend go?”

  “Forget the weekend. I’ve got a major crisis.”

  “This sounds serious. I have a better idea. I’ll meet you at Kirna Zabête in Soho at noon.”

  After answering all my emails and returning urgent calls, I jump in a cab and head downtown; I’m feeling dizzy at the thought of studying on top of such a heavy workload. I try to temporarily put this out of my mind. Arriving at the store, I spot a large Plexiglas sign with big red letters hanging next to the entrance: So many designers, so little time. And that pretty much sums up my life.

  I’ve read about this boutique in fashion magazines and have been dying to stop in. While I wait for Lisa I peruse the racks stocked with up-and-coming designers. I’m gravitating toward a divine Pierre Hardy turquoise clutch when she arrives.

  “So what’s the big crisis?” Lisa asks, her heels clicking as they hit the stairs. She gives me a warm hug.

  “I’m in big trouble. They want me to take the bar exam this summer on top of keeping up my billable hours. How will I manage that?”

  “Why didn’t they tell you sooner?” she asks, fingering a silk Balmain blouse.

  “I’m not sure. I guess they just woke up.”

  “Well, you do need to pass it to practise law in New York. You might as well get it over with now.”

  I imagine myself studying day and night in my tiny apartment in the sweltering heat, gasping for air while Jeffrey frolics on the beach with Amanda and Leanne.

  “Jeffrey will forget about me,” I whimper.

  “Jeffrey’s in the middle of a major transaction.” She picks up a gorgeous electric blue silk dress. “He’s stuck in his office just like you. Tell me about your weekend. I’m assuming it went well if you’re worrying about him so much?”

  “It was pretty amazing. I think I’m falling for him.”

  “That’s great, you deserve someone special, Cat.”

  “I’m still a bit concerned about dating a client. I don’t want this to affect my career.”