21 Steps to Happiness (7 page)

“Bonjour,”
he says.

“That's Stephan. He's my favorite writer.”

Stephan lives in the apartment, too. He never ever leaves it, apparently. He is the only French person in here. He has been writing for years and, in the opinion of all the editors he has sent his prose to, he is the most untalented writer of his generation.

“That's exactly why I love him. He doesn't compromise.”

Stephan's skin is yellow, turning green, like his eyes. He looks sick.

“He never eats. That's worrying,” Muriel says, sighing in a maternal way. Or at least as maternal as someone like Muriel can get.

He wears nothing but an old, very dirty bathrobe, and his skinny limbs coming out of it make him look like a dying insect.

“Lynn is from New York,” Muriel tells him. She speaks slowly and loudly as if he were her deaf grandfather.

“New York! Yeah! Bagels!” That's all he has to say about New York before resuming the frenetic typing.

“He doesn't do drugs. He is naturally like that. Isn't he great?”

“He is fantastic,” I say and I look around the office. I have been looking for traces of Nicolas's presence. The apartment is in such a mess that it would be hard to say who lives here and who doesn't. It should get mentioned in travel guides: If you are in Paris, look cool and are searching for a free place to stay, just move to Muriel B's flat. All welcome!

“The flat used to belong to my grandmother. They gave it to me when she died. She had such terrible taste. Very
bourgeois.
”

“Shouldn't we call Nicolas?”

“Relax, Lynn. One thing at a time. Today, we're getting to know each other. Tomorrow, we can talk business and money.”

By now, I have learned quite a few things about Muriel B. She frequents lesbian bars, runs a crazy bankrupt company and lives in an even crazier apartment. She still knows nothing about me but assumes that I can help her.

We're back in the living room. The Fat Breeders have found something more interesting to watch than MTV. Carolina has gotten out of bed wearing nothing but a tiny electric-blue G-string, hiding absolutely nothing of her long, beautiful, ebony body.

She stretches and rubs her sleepy eyes and smiles when she sees Muriel. She does a few joyful leaps to take her in her arms. You would swear she still believes she is eight years old and doesn't yet notice that she has a pair of amazing breasts.

“Hello, darling!”

“Pourquoi tu me parles en anglais?”

“This is Lynn. I told you about her. She's Jodie Blanchett's daughter.”

Carolina doesn't need more information. She bends over me and gives me a big kiss on the lips. And yes, I feel her naked breast against own less perky ones. I can feel the blood coming to my cheeks and I am sure that I am red as a tomato.

“J'ai faim!”
Carolina yells and leaps happily toward the huge stainless-steel fridge.

Muriel shrugs her shoulders. “She's hungry all the time. And she stays so thin. She's lucky.”

Carolina comes back with Irena and Jacky's frozen yogurt. She dips a spoon in it and sucks it provocatively. Muriel pats her bum.

“Where does she put it?” Muriel says.

“One wonders,” I mutter.

The Fat Breeders must love it here. I'm sure that they are going to write songs about Carolina's butt.

Muriel pushes Carolina playfully. “Go take a shower. You smell! I need to talk to Lynn.”

“I don't smell. It's her that smells,” Carolina says, pointing her spoon at me. She realizes she might have been a bit too rude so she's back licking the spoon provocatively to make me like her again.

Abruptly Muriel takes my hand and drags me to the bedroom.

She closes the door behind us. She leaves the heavy curtains closed and switches on the bed-top lights.

The room smells of sweat. I can actually feel the lack of oxygen. I am very uncomfortable.

Muriel sits on the corner of the huge bed. She pats the space beside her to invite me to sit.

“Are you hungry?”

Actually I am starving. I am so hungry that I feel light-headed. Add to this the caffeine and the stress, and I am about to burst.

“No, I am fine.”

I sit very cautiously beside her. She makes a slight hop to get closer.

“For what it's worth, I like you.”

“So you said.”

“I mean I really like you. I feel…you are like…my big sister.”

She gets even closer. I don't believe sisters look at each other that way!

“I think we could work together.” She hops even closer.

I try to move away slightly, but she puts her hands on my leg. “You, me, Nicolas. We can be a great team. Do you like Nicolas?”

I can feel the weight of her hand on my knee. It's sliding up now. I close my eyes. “He idolizes me. It's very flattering.” She tickles my thigh with the tips of her fingers. “He is so cute, isn't he?” I hear her say.

I grab her hand and put it back on her own lap.

“He is rather cute,” I confirm clumsily.

“Pity he is gay.” She puts her hand back on my knee.

Gay!

“Gay?”

“Gay!
Comme un phoque!
”

She looks up at me. She caught me by surprise and it excites her.

“Of course he is gay. Everybody is gay.”

She takes advantage of my stupor and goes for the kiss, only she stops when the door opens. We look like two lovers caught by the husband—or the wife—who knows?

“Ah, quelle salope!”

Carolina drops her yogurt pot and runs to the bed. Before I can explain that it's not what it looks like, she jumps on Muriel and throws a couple of punches. But instead of fighting back, Muriel laughs her head off.

Oh, God!

I stand and step away from the bed.

“I…I need to go back to the hotel.”

They don't listen. They just fight on the bed, and now Carolina is laughing, too. They find everything hilarious.

I walk out of the room. The Fat Breeders are watching them fighting. They are in heaven.

I walk to the door. As I pass in front of the office I can hear Stephan, the worst writer of his generation, yelling,
“Bagels!”

 

I put up the Do Not Disturb sign and lock the door to my room. I don't ever want to go out again. Here, in the room it's safe and comfortable. Out there is madness. Crazy Japanese girls, Pierre the banker, frozen-yogurt Carolina and the Fat Breeders.

And Nicolas!

He betrayed me!

Somehow…Okay, so I haven't quite figured that part out yet.

But come on. He took me on his scooter. Everyone knows a scooter ride means something. It's like a secret bond. You cannot seduce a girl with your scooter and then tell her that you are gay.

Bastard! Oh, I hate him.

I sit at the desk. I see the Air France flight coupon and my passport. I can leave…whenever. And now would be a good time.

This job, this place, these people, it's all way out of my league. It's not at all the way I pictured it, not even in my worst nightmare.

I pick up the flight coupon. I see Roxanne Green's bible:
20 Steps to Success.

I open the book. Roxanne wrote a phone number on the first page. “You can phone me in case of emergency,” she said.

I dial and I recognize Roxanne's voice.

“Who's that?”

“It's…Lynn. You know? We met on the plane.”

“Mmm?”

“Jodie Blanchett's daughter.”

“Yes, I know. Listen, I'm in the middle of something, darling.”

“It's an emergency, like you said.”

“Did they fire you already?”

“No, it's much worse than that.”

I am about to cry. I don't want to cry. That would only annoy her more and she would hang up.

“Are you crying?” she asks.

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.”

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?”