21 Steps to Happiness (9 page)

“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!

“Nicolas, can I ask you something?”

“But of course, Lynn.”

“Why do you dislike me?”

Ha! I caught him off guard and straight in the jaw. He smiles clumsily. “You're wrong. I don't dislike you.”

“You act like I'm the plague descending on Paris!”

“I'm trying to protect Muriel's interests.”

“You really think I'm that bad?”

“Actually…” Suddenly, there's something warmer about his smile. “I don't know anymore. You have…good ideas.”

That's it, Lynn! That's it, keep it going.

“You know, we should talk,” I propose.

“We should. You're right.”

“I mean, now.”

“Now?”

“Take me away from here.”

“You're not enjoying yourself?”

“Why, are you?”

“Well,” he said mysteriously. “I know a place….”

N
othing happened!

Not a thing.

Nada!

Not even a kiss.

Because…

Mmm? He doesn't like me?

And, oh look, the sun's rising. It's so…God! I can still hear the music in my head and I want to dance, all alone in my suite.

I feel so giddy, and for no reason at all, because nothing happened! And nothing will ever happen, unfortunately.

So, what is it? Can you explain that to me? What is the nature of this magic spark? One minute, I'm like, life is good, Nicolas is gorgeous, I could totally do him, no big deal. And a minute later, I'm lying all alone on my bed, feeling like I want to destroy my entire room. I want to throw the TV set through the window and then jump to ease the pain.

Argh!

As if things were not complicated enough.

I can't keep up.

Be logical!

Act your age!

Hmm…maybe instead of doing that I'll just phone room service and ask for a nice cup of relaxing herbal tea and a BLT.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Oh, Nicolas, Nicolas, NICOLAS! What have you done to me? I'm thirteen again. I'm going through the biggest crush of my entire life. I want to write about it in my secret journal, if I had a secret journal. I want to write your name, surround it with little hearts and hide it under my bed.

I want to dress up for you.

I want you to look at me.

I want you to listen to a love song and think of me.

I want to talk to you. I want to tell you everything about me.

I want to leave silly messages on your answering machine.

I want to stalk you.

I want to kidnap you.

I want to tie you up in my bedroom and then I want to…I want to…

That's it! Screw room service. I'm jumping through the window.

Oh, but wait! Before I do that, I need to tell you about last night.

We escaped Kazo's (you know…) together.

“I know a place…” he said mysteriously.

“What kind of place?”

“You know, a place where we should go. A very special place, for me.”

“Your favorite place?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I'd love to see your favorite place,” I said.

“It's a quiet place. Nothing fancy. We can take a taxi.”

“Can't we walk?”

He smiles. “Walking is fine. I used to love walking.” He told me he used to cross Paris, dreaming of the future.

I told him I had been a keen walker, too, but didn't tell him that I still take those long walks to the Riverdale Dam on Sundays, or that I still gaze at the waterfall and dream of the future just like he did.

“Everything was so easy when I was young,” Nicolas said. I think he was a bit drunk, or just very tired. Whatever it was, I felt as if we could open up to each other.

We discovered that we have a lot in common.

• 1. He liked to walk and I like to walk. (As I already mentioned.)
  
• 2. Breakfast is definitely our favorite meal.
  
• 3. We both love Christmas but (4. we always get disappointed once we've opened our gifts.)
  
• 5. We want to be Buddhists but (6. we don't know how to start.)
  
• 7. We prefer the mountains to the sea.
  
• 8. Apple and cinnamon is the best flavor for a muffin. Well…muffins are not very popular in France, but we agreed that (9. the best dessert ever is an apple-and-cinnamon pie.)
  
• 10. We prefer red wine to white,
  
• 11. coffee to tea,
  
• 12. morning to evening,
  
• 13. sweet to salted,
  
• 14. green to blue,
  
• 15. “Mary's in India” is the best Dido song.
  

Oops! Wait a minute! A guy that likes Dido has to be gay, hasn't he?

“Is it true that you're…”

“What?”

“Well, you know, gay?”

“Who told you that?”

“Not that I'm judging you. It's perfectly all right to be gay. Gay is normal. Gay is even more normal than not gay, if you see what I mean. Aren't we all gay, anyway?”

“
Aren't we all gay?
That sounds like somebody I know. Did Muriel tell you that I was gay?”

“She might have mentioned something along those lines.”

“Do I look gay to you?”

“No! I mean, yes, you know. Nicolas…whatever you are, just be yourself.” I sounded like an ad for running shoes.

“Not everybody is gay, Lynn.”

What did he mean? I needed to know. I stopped walking.

“I'm not gay, all right?” he says.

“Really?”

So…I needed more clarification.

“Do you mean not gay in a French way?”

“No, I mean not gay in an international way!” Nicolas looked a little pissed.

“Oh…Not that I thought that you looked gay, anyway,” I offered feebly.

We live in such confusing times.

Nicolas rolled his eyes. “Here we are,” he said as we arrived at a small canal.

I immediately recognized the place. Massoud drove past here. It's the romantic version of Paris I liked so much and it's also Nicolas's favorite place. That's one more thing!

16. The canal is our favorite place in Paris.

“I grew up here,” Nicolas tells me. “It still feels very special for me.”

It's so romantic to walk along the river. It smells of spring. The deep dark water runs quietly. Small café terraces are packed with young people. There is a light atmosphere and lots of music.

Well, that's the Paris you dream about. The way I dreamed about it anyway. The city of love. I felt like joining the crowd of one of the cafés. I told him.

“First, I'm taking you to my special place.”

We stopped in front of a tiny restaurant set in a very old house trapped between two huge modern buildings. It looked strange. It looked like a piece of the past trying to resist being squashed by the present.

“Look at that, Restaurant l'Escargot.” Nicolas smiled proudly.

I had no idea why he brought me there, because the restaurant was closed and it looked as if it had been abandoned for a long time.

He invited me to take a peek inside. We stuck our faces to the windows and I could see a very cozy little space.

“It's been closed for three years now,” Nicolas explained.

“You thought they would reopen it just for us?”

“No, of course not. That's where I grew up. In that restaurant.”

He sounded very emotional.

“My parents used to run it.”

“Oh…”

“I know, it's very
unfashionable
.”

“No, no, Nicolas. It's…it's great.”

I tried to sound earnest, but I must have come across as sarcastic because he looked really disappointed.

“Nicolas, I'm so happy that you brought me here.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Hey, look at me. It's a very nice place.” I wanted him to know I meant what I was saying.

“It's all right, Lynn. It's not like I'm ashamed of it. I love this place.”

“Why should you be ashamed?”

“It's something I tend to keep to myself. People in this business can be quite…pretentious.”

Did I sound pretentious? He brought me to his special place and I made him feel awkward about it.

“I don't judge you, Nicolas. You know…everyone has their own secrets. I do.”

“Really? Like what?”

Like…you were right, I don't deserve to be here. No, can't say that. Better to stay mysterious.

“Oh, Nicolas, a woman's secrets are very personal,” I said, and gave what I hoped was a sly smile.

He pointed at L'Escargot.

“I showed you one of my secrets. Now you show me yours.”

So much for mysterious. Okay, what can I say? “Well, I didn't really grow up in New York.”

He looks at me blankly. He needs more.

“I grew up in a place called Red Hill, Connecticut, with my dad, and if you repeat it to anybody, I'll kill you.”

“So we're both trying to hide our past, in a way.”

• 17. We both try to hide our past.
  

He pulled the restaurant door, as if routinely checking it was well locked. “My parents still want me to take over the business. They haven't given up on me yet.”

“They must be proud of you. You have such an amazing job at Muriel B.”

“No, they're actually not proud at all. They think that one day I will give up this fashion nonsense and take over the restaurant. That's why they haven't sold it yet.”

• 18. We're big disappointments to our parents.
  

“It's a nice place,” I tell him. And I mean it.

“You think so?”

“It needs a serious cleanup.”

“Running a restaurant is hard work.”

“I'm sure you'd be a great restaurateur.”

Hey, as far as I'm concerned, he'd be a great anything.

 

We settled in a tiny bar just beside L'Escargot. A brass band was playing engaging old tunes. We drank red wine out of tumblers. The walls were covered in old posters advertising concerts that took place years and years ago. Everything was protected by a thick layer of mixed brown fat and dust.

I didn't mention it, but I saw a huge beetle doing its daily slalom exercise between the glasses and disappearing under one of the tables.

The bar was crowded with young French people. Everybody was drunk or getting drunk and their lips were all blue and purple from the liters of cheap red wine being gulped down.

Nicolas's lips turned purple red, too. Who would have thought that would make them look even better.

“When I was in that kitchen,” he said, “helping my dad, I thought, when I grow up, I'll never peel a potato again.” He laughed. “Now all I remember is how simple and nice life was in that kitchen.”

“And how everything became complicated and disturbing. I know the feeling,” I said.

• 19. We long for the simplicity of the past.
  

Suddenly a disturbing thought popped into my head. “You love her, don't you?” I said suddenly.

“Who? Muriel?”

“You're so…” I made a face to show how completely fascinated he looked. Why else would he go against his parents if not for love?

“I don't love her. I admire her,” he admitted. “She's impossible sometimes. Most of the time. But she's something special.”

He suddenly looked all dreamy and distant, as if she was so special to him it actually called for more wine and introspection. If he didn't love her, he truly cared for her, far beyond his job description.

“What about you, Lynn?” he asked, coming back from his own little world.

“What about me?”

“Why did you come to work for her?”

I shrug. “Paris. Fashion. Fame. You know, the usual.”

“I don't believe there is anything usual about you,” he said.

“And exactly what do you mean by that?”

“You know, the way you handle things.”

“Like?”

He looked very embarrassed. He drank some more wine and said, “Like that kiss.”

That kiss. I stare at him blankly, unable to think of something clever to say.

“The kiss! The one you gave me.”

“Ah!
That
kiss! Which one? There were…two, I think.” My power of speech had returned.

“Both, really.”

“Well, you've clearly established that they were meaningless.” I smiled at him.

“Were they?”

“Why? Did you think about them?” This time I was the one needing some more wine.

“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully.

“Did you think about them a lot?”

“Could have.”

“And what did you think about them?”

“I…don't know. It was confusing.”

“Confusing?”

“And intriguing.”

“Definitely intriguing.” I could feel the blush rushing to my cheeks. Please, God, let him think it's the wine.

“It made me wonder…”

“What?”

“If—”

“Êtes-vous américains?”
the lady sitting next to me interrupted.

Damn!