J'adore New York (25 page)

After ten minutes of dead silence, Bonnie rushes out of the
room and Scott follows her. Antoine comes to sit on our side of the table.

“Wow, I guess that was unexpected!”

“Hmm, yeah,” I respond. “But there’s been talk about him leaving for a while, so I guess he just made it official.”

“You can say that again!” James chimes in. We laugh a bit to break the tension.

“I can’t believe he called the other managing partners a bunch of buffoons!” Antoine shakes his head.

“Oh, I’ve heard him call them worse things.”

“Oh?” James retorts.

“Um, I was just kidding.” Reluctant to violate Harry’s trust after the whole divorce episode, I keep his monkey reference to myself.

“So, James, I see that you’re in good company.”

“I definitely am. There is a bright side to this evening after all.”

“Catherine isn’t only charming, she’s a damn good lawyer too.” Antoine smiles my way.

I look up at Antoine, shocked. I never thought he’d compliment my legal skills. This whole evening feels surreal.

“Can I buy you guys a drink? I think we could use one, don’t you think?” Antoine points toward the bar at the back of the room.

“I’d say so.” James looks at me to confirm that I’m on board.

“Yes, it sounds like a great plan.”

As soon as we get to the bar, Antoine starts talking business with James. “I recognize your name from the international file database. I think you’re representing one of my clients.”

They exchange client stories over dirty martinis while I mull over the job offer I received earlier from the anti–Gordon Gekko. Frankly, after what I’ve witnessed tonight, my inclination is to apply to become a J. Crew customer service representative. At least I’d get first dibs on their new collections and great discounts. I gently excuse myself to catch up with a few colleagues from Paris.

As I make my way back to my room around midnight, James is waiting for me in the lobby.

“How about a nightcap?” He raises an eyebrow.

I hesitate for a moment and look around the room before answering. Seriously, though, what do I have to lose?

“Okay.”

He follows me to my room and we fumble through the mini-bar to find something to drink.

“White wine?”

“Perfect.”

“Sorry about talking shop with Antoine tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it, that’s his favourite topic of conversation.”

“We didn’t actually talk about work the whole time. He seemed more interested in discussing British bands. He’s extremely knowledgeable about music.”

“Really? I guess I tuned out at that point. I was thinking about Harry’s dramatic exit.”

“That was quite a scene, wasn’t it?”

“Hmm.” He pours wine into my glass and stares at me with puppy-dog eyes and approaches to kiss me tenderly. He looks as delicious as a box of Ladurée macaroons.

“You’re very pretty, Catherine.”

“Thank you, James.”

He then kisses me on the back of my neck. I immediately tense up because it reminds me of the mess I got myself into with Jeffrey.

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this.” I push him away.

“I want you so badly, Catherine. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

I quickly calculate the odds of either working with or seeing him in the near future. What to do?

The phone rings and I try to ignore it while James continues to kiss me. It rings again.

“Hello?”

“I hope it’s not too late to call?”

“Nathan, is that you?”

James stares at me with a look of terror.

“Yes. I’m in deep shit, Catherine. Real deep.”

“What happened? Where are you?”

“In the bar downstairs.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“It’s Nathan. He’s at the hotel bar and sounds terrible. I’m sorry, James, how about getting together tomorrow?”

“Can’t this wait until the morning?”

“No, I’m sorry. It can’t.”

A crestfallen James picks up his tie and heads for the door after kissing me on the cheek.

“Good night, Catherine.”

“Good night.”

I stumble into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and make my way downstairs to meet Nathan at the hotel bar. He’s sitting on a stool looking dishevelled and appears to be in the final stage of sobering up.

“Hey.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“What happened?”

“I drank too much and embarrassed myself in front of Bonnie. She and Scott both gave me an earful. I’m sure I’ll lose my job over this.”

“I was there, it wasn’t that bad. Besides I’m sure they have other things to worry about. Harry Traum gave an exit speech that left them with major battle scars.”

“So I heard. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“It was like being in a movie. I’m not sure what this will mean for the firm going forward.”

“It means we all need to run for cover. But right now I might not have anywhere to run to. I just want to keep my job.”

“Nathan, I think you need to get some help.”

“I know I shouldn’t be drinking like that, but I got carried away. It’s just that I have so much pressure to deal with. I’m totally exhausted. And you don’t know my wife. No matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“If it’s not a co-op apartment, it’s a house on the beach, and this and that and the other thing. She wants me to provide her with this lifestyle I can’t afford. I’m just doing what I can to make sure I’m on partnership track.”

“Why don’t you tell her that she’s putting too much pressure on you?”

“Every time I try to talk to her, she rips my head off. And if she’s like that now, I can only imagine what it’ll be like after the baby is born.” He drops his head into his hands.

“You need to join a support group when you get back, otherwise you’re just going to dig yourself further into a hole.”

“If I’m still employed after tonight,” he replies, his forehead still leaning against the bar.

“I’m sure this will be forgotten in the morning. You have the top billables in the office. Scott won’t want to let you go.”

“Let’s hope so. Thanks, Catherine, you’re making me feel a lot better. I should let you go to bed, you have team-building exercises to attend in the morning.”

“So do you. See you first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, commander.” He jumps off the bar stool and stands with his legs apart, military-style, in attention pose.

“Good night, soldier. At ease.”

Y
our passion is waiting for your courage to catch up.
I replay Madame Simona’s words of wisdom in my mind on my way to the hotel gym. I figure that running on the treadmill will give me an opportunity to unwind and, more importantly, figure out what that passion is.

The elevator doors open on the gym floor and my heart stops: a large opalescent grey banner boasts,
Welcome Dior Executives.
A long, narrow table is setup with tiny silver Dior gift bags meticulously arranged along the wall. I cross the hallway to get to the gym in a Petit Bateau T-shirt and shorts and pass by numerous chic women milling about sipping tea. I wonder if Antoine knows anything about this executive gathering.

After about ten minutes of painfully trying to run on the treadmill and staring at George Michael’s “Freedom ’90” video on MTV, random thoughts flash through my mind: memories
of my childhood,
Didn’t know what I wanted to be…;
my meeting with Simona,
there’s something deep inside of me…;
my cousin Françoise’s enviable job at Chanel,
there’s someone else I’ve got to be…;
my doubts about whether I want to stay at Edwards,
take back your singing in the rain…;
my reluctance to join Harry’s new firm,
sometimes the clothes do not make the man…;
and the way my face lit up when Antoine handed me the Dior file,
Now I’m gonna get myself happy…

I’m suddenly hit with a lightning bolt: What if Pierre Le Furet, Dior’s intellectual property director, is here? I could find out if he has a position available in his department! Without thinking it through any further, I jump off the treadmill, throw a towel over my shoulders, and sprint back to the elevators.

Back in my room, I take the quickest shower ever, throw on my Dior suit, a long rope of pearls, and some heels, quickly apply some makeup and a dash of J’adore for good luck, and head back out the door. I fetch my laptop and print my resumé in the hotel business centre, then slide it into an envelope. I head back to the floor where the Dior meeting is being held and catch a group of women trickling out of the conference room.

“Excuse me, is Pierre Le Furet here by any chance?” I ask the first woman who crosses my path.

“No, Pierre isn’t here, I’m afraid. Why do you ask?”

“I have an important document for him,” I respond, visibly crushed.

“His boss is here. Sandrine Cordier runs the legal department. You could hand it to her instead.”

Oh, fantastique!
That means I could go straight to the top without worrying about dealing with Antoine’s client, who could blow my cover.

“Your best bet is to find out her room number. But you better hurry, our meetings are over.”

I rush to the hotel lobby, bumping into a few lawyers from the firm in the elevators on my way down.

“Looking very chic there, Catherine. Going anywhere special?”

“I sure am,” I reply, running out of the elevator.

I approach the concierge desk and wait impatiently for the man to notice me.

“Can I please have the room number for Sandrine Cordier?”

“I’m sorry, miss. We cannot give out this information, but you can call the hotel operator, who will connect you to her room.”

I pick up the hotel house phone in the lobby under the quizzical gaze of my colleagues.

“Madame Cordier?”

“Yes.”

“
Bonjour,
Madame Cordier, my name is Catherine Lambert. I’m a lawyer staying at this hotel and I noticed that Dior is holding executive meetings here. I was wondering if I could hand you a copy of my resumé? I have relevant experience that could interest you.”

Woody Allen says that eighty percent of success is just showing up; I say that ninety percent of success is simply being bold and asking for what you want.

“I’m very tired right now, Catherine,” she replies after a long, awkward silence. “Why don’t you meet me in my room around nine tomorrow morning so that we can talk? I’m in room two zero nine.”

“That would be perfect.”

I get back to my room and dive on the bed, thrilled with my feat of tracking down Dior’s general counsel. I have visions of working with the world’s greatest couturiers. After a few moments of daydreaming, my mood swiftly changes and I start having doubts. Am I ready to throw in the towel on private practice at this point in my career? I’ve invested so much energy getting ahead at the firm. And I need to tread carefully: Dior is an important client and if my plan backfires, I could find myself answering the phones, “This is Catherine, thank you for calling J. Crew.” Despite my earlier inclination, I don’t really relish the thought.

I try Lisa to get her opinion, but I get her voicemail so I pick up my messages instead. Hearing my colleagues’ voices brings me back to reality.

“Hi, it’s Nathan. Thanks again for your support yesterday. Just spoke to Scott and I still have a job. See ya later.”

“Hello, Catherine, it’s Antoine. Are you free for dinner tomorrow night? There’s nothing on the retreat schedule and I have something important to discuss with you.”

Curious about his message, I return Antoine’s call and accept his dinner invitation. After all, I better remain on his good side in case I need a reference for Dior.

The next morning, I arrive at Sandrine’s room at 8:56 with my resumé in hand. A pile of Louis Vuitton luggage is stacked by her door. I take a peek inside. The room is deserted.

“She left,” the porter says while unsuccessfully attempting to fit all the suitcases on a trolley.

“Where did she go?”

“The airport.”

“Did she leave any messages?”

“Not with me, she didn’t. Maybe you can catch her downstairs. She only left a few minutes ago.”

I rush down to the lobby in my stilettos and catch a glimpse of a woman in a beige trench coat carrying this season’s black patent Dior bag getting into a Town Car. She signals the driver to move forward while talking on her cell phone.

I stand on the sidewalk out of breath and crushed. How could she forget our meeting? I sulk back to my room and try not to feel disappointed. Sandrine Cordier is dealing with one persistent lady.

Later that night, I meet Antoine in the hotel lobby. He’s wearing a crisp white linen shirt with designer jeans and his signature Vetiver cologne. His scent transports me back to our first meeting in New York.

“Where are we having dinner?”

“I made reservations at a new Italian restaurant downtown. You like pasta, I hope?”

“Love it!”

We sit at opposite ends of the cab’s back seat and he keeps shooting me strange looks. Does he know what I’ve been up to?

The restaurant is a quaint trattoria on a quiet, leafy street. We’re directed to a table in a corner with a traditional red-and-white-checkered tablecloth.

“This is a great spot. How did you find it?”

“I asked the concierge at the hotel. He told me that it’s one of the best places in town.”

Best places in town? I wonder why Antoine would take me to such an upscale restaurant. Is he wining and dining me so that I’ll volunteer to work on his privatization?

Before we’re handed the menus, Antoine signals the waiter to come to our table.

“Please bring your best bottle of champagne.”

I guessed wrong; he wouldn’t order champagne to get me to work for him. He usually makes those demands by email late on Friday night when I’m trying to unwind.

“Best bottle? Are we celebrating something?”

“As a matter of fact, we are.” He smiles warmly. I’m surprised by the relaxed tone of his voice; he seems uncharacteristically laid-back; it must be the fresh California air.

“Really?”

“I just found out that I’ve been made a partner.”

This comes as no surprise, I knew he would make it. Unlike me, Antoine seemed to have partnership tattooed on his heart.

“Congratulations! That’s great news. I’m so happy for you!” I lift my flute.

“Thanks. It hasn’t come easily.” He meets me halfway and we clink our glasses.

“I know. Everyone knew you would get it.”

“You never really know for sure until it’s set in stone.”

Antoine’s relaxed demeanour allows me to open up. “True enough. I don’t think I have it in me, to be quite honest.”

“Sure you do.”

“Not the willingness to make the sacrifices that you’ve made. You practically live at the office and I don’t think I can go on much longer working those gruelling hours.”

“It takes its toll, doesn’t it?”

“It does. And I don’t want to wake up ten years from now with work being the only important thing in my life.”

Antoine stares down at his serviette while playing with his fork. I’m such an idiot.

“Oh god, I put my foot in it. I didn’t mean you. I’m just talking about me and my life.”

“No. No. You’re right, Catherine. You’re totally right.”

And it dawns on me. I
am
right; I can’t imagine spending every waking moment of the next fifteen years of my life chasing billable hours and new clients for Edwards & White. Maybe a job at Dior would be just right for me. I want to tell him that I’m seriously considering leaving the firm and I’m
dying to work for one of his clients, but I keep my mouth shut and change the subject.

“So are you enjoying the Paris office?”

“It’s great, but it isn’t New York.” He looks away for a moment before he continues. “Just so you know, the decision to move there wasn’t mine.”

“Whose was it?”

“Harry’s.”

I had a feeling Antoine had been pushed out of New York, but why would Harry ask one of the top lawyers in the office to leave when he himself was leaving anyway?

“Bonnie made him do it. I guess she felt threatened by my close relationship with Scott and my ability to drum up business.”

“I had a feeling it wasn’t your decision. You didn’t seem too excited about going to Paris.”

“No, I wasn’t. Unfortunately, Scott wasn’t able to make Harry change his mind. I told you the place is a war zone.”

“I just never thought the politics were
that
bad.”

“They were and they still are. That’s why I suggested Bonnie be your warlord. It’s always better to have her on your side,” he says sarcastically.

“I’d prefer not having her around, period.”

He smiles. “She’s a very good lawyer.”

“I know, but I find her very intimidating. I cringe every time she asks me to do anything.”

“Why?”

“It’s never good enough. I don’t think my ego can take any
more of her criticism. Do you know that I walk through reception fifty times a day to avoid walking by her office?”

“Really?”

“She scares the hell out of me.”

“Is that what people say about me?” he asks, staring at me fixedly.

“Well, um, no. Not really.”

“Come on, Catherine, I’m not stupid. Tell me what people say behind my back.”

I hesitate for a moment before answering, but given his upbeat mood I take a deep breath and go for it.

“I’ve heard it said that you have a highlighter up your butt.”

He laughs out loud.

“Really? That’s hilarious! I love it! What else?”

“Rikash told me you helped him out with a script. He thinks very highly of you.”

“I was looking for the dirt, not the compliments. I know people say that I’m an uptight workaholic.”

“You
do
spend a huge amount of time at work.”

He picks up the votive candle from the table and rolls it awkwardly between his palms.

“Not like you. You were always out at glamorous parties.”

“Because Scott asked me to go. And most of them turned out to be pretty unglamorous, believe me.”

“I’m sorry I was so hard on you, Catherine. I know Mel was quite an ass.”

I stay silent. Mel wasn’t who I had in mind. I think about the concert with Jeffrey at Carnegie Hall and how he had made
such an impression on me that night. I look across the room and feel a knot in my stomach.

“Catherine, are you okay?” he asks, concerned.

“Sorry. I was daydreaming for a second.”

He takes another sip of champagne before blurting out: “I have to tell you that, well, I know all about Jeffrey.”

Not expecting him to be so in tune with my thoughts, I nearly jump from my seat. I look away for a moment before he catches my gaze.

“Who told you?”

“A little bird.”

“Rikash.”

I’ll kill him.

“Out of concern.”

“Concern?”

“Rikash was worried Jeffrey might be a womanizer so he called to ask me if I knew him. I googled him late one night at the office and we both saw that he was probably going to be bad news.”

“What? Why?”

“His last job was CFO of a media company that spun off its Internet division.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“There were allegations of insider trading against him.”

I sit back in my chair, mortified. My mind spins; Rikash had suggested I do a background check on him before I went away with him to the Hamptons. How could I have been so naïve?

“How did he become the CFO of a public company?”

“He must have cleared his name. Otherwise they wouldn’t have allowed him to take that position.”

“Why didn’t either of you tell me?”

“I tried. I sent you that email about trusting but verifying, remember?”

“And you expected me to understand what it meant?”

“I was trying to be subtle.”

I go back in my mind to that precise moment when I received Antoine’s email and I had brushed him off as being annoying. How wrong was I to think that Jeffrey had it together and not him? I try to clear my name with dignity.

“Just so you know, I’ve written a letter to the SEC that recaps all the facts. This isn’t being buried under the carpet.”

“I didn’t expect it would be. You’re doing the right thing, Catherine.”

“I know. Does Scott know?”

With all the backstabbing going on at the firm these days, it’s hard to know whom I can trust. I squirm in my seat thinking that Scott might know about my personal
catastrophe.

“No. You can trust me, Catherine.
Really.”

The tension in my lower back dissipates. Antoine is on my side.