F. G. Gerson - 21 Steps To Happiness

She presses the silence button again.

“Ah! And, by the way, Pierre is my brother, and we can’t stand each other.”

Brother? But…he speaks with a French accent.

“I heard that, Muriel,” the triangle says. “Ha ha ha! Don’t listen to her, we love each other. Who is with you?”

“Nicolas Bouchez, Lynn and me. Lynn is our new recruit and she is a major asset for the company. She’s Jodie Blanchett’s daughter, you know!”

I am money in the bank.

“Hi, Lynn. Nice talking to you. So go for it, Muriel. Pitch me, because here, we’re not very happy with the last business plan you have sent in. It’s very…em…naïf…questionable.”

“Well…I believe Lynn would be the best person to talk to. She has lots of brilliants ideas! Lots! She’s…you know…has all those brilliant ideas about…new business strategies, exactly.” Muriel turns to me and rolls her hand to invite me to speak to the triangle. “Lynn?”

Who are these people? What do they want from me? I don’t know anything about their business strategies! So what does she want me to say?

“Lynn?” the triangle asks. “Can you hear me? I can’t hear you. I think we’ve been disconnected!”

Muriel points at the triangle. I need to talk to the triangle and say something brilliant to convince it to spit out millions of euros. So I bend over the gizmo and mutter, “Bonjour, Pierre. It’s nice talking to you, too.”

There is a silence on the other end of the line. Apparently I need to say more. But I have no idea what I should say to the triangle and the silence only becomes heavier.

“Muriel?” Pierre snaps and cuts me from the conversation.

Muriel gives me a dark look, as if I have just missed an obvious opportunity.

“Yes, Pierre.”

“Georges from Finance is sitting here with me. He went through your accounts. You’re spending too much, and we can’t see you making any sort of income in the near future.”

“Building a name takes courage, Pierre. You know…it takes balls. And Lynn Blanchett will help us now. I’ll forward her CV. She is quite amazing.”

“Yeah, do that. Send me her CV and my people will check her out.”

Check me out? Oh, God!

“Pierre. I need the money. You know it. We’ve come too far to stop now.”

“We all need money. Listen, I’ve got to go and…Well, it was nice to talk to you, Lynn. I’m, er, a big admirer of your mother.”

They start to speak in French. I just listen to the melody and keep nodding.

I can feel cold sweat running along my spine. Check my CV? What CV? Nobody ever asked me for a CV. Jodie didn’t mention any CV! She just said, “Try to look like you know what you’re doing,” or something like that.

Muriel presses a button on the triangle and it dies.

She looks at Nicolas and shakes her head. Then she looks at me.

“So, that’s all you had to say to him? Thank you for your help, Lynn.”

“Lynn might need more preparation.” Nicolas comes to my rescue again.

“Preparation! We have no time for preparation! We are broke, Nicolas! Broke!”

“I know. But we’ll find solutions. We always do.” He looks confident and calm but in a super-sexy kind of way.

She stares at him. She is about to eat him alive, bones and clothes included.

“Listen, Muriel,” I say hesitantly. “I didn’t come here to convince your brother to give you some money. I didn’t even know you were broke.”

That’s it, Lynn, swap responsibilities.

“Well, why don’t you explain to me why you are here!”

What? Is she serious?

“But…you’re the one who made me come here,” I stammer.

“She’s right,” Nicolas says and looks at me as if I was some sort of doom she had forced upon them. “Inviting Lynn was your call,” he reminds her, making it obvious he never wanted me here in the first place.

I feel the need to defend myself. “I came here to…”

To what?

“To…help you,” I try.

“Help me?” Muriel nearly shouts.

Think, Lynn. What do you mean by help her? How does she need your help? Remember what Roxanne said.

“Well, we all know…that…you’re just spending your father’s money for this…fantaisie…right?”

Oho, don’t go this way, Lynn! But it’s too late. I already am.

“And…this is just, like, a rich-dad-financing-his-daughter thing. Nobody really believes that you’re for real. So…I came here…to make people believe that you’re for real.”

Bravo moi!

They both look at me. Then they look at each other. It’s clear that she hasn’t been addressed like this…ever!

She is going to kill me. They are all going to kill me. She is going to press the ‘kill the ugly American bitch’ button on her intercom and a herd of gay Asian designers will pour into the office to crush me!

“Mais de quoi elle parle, celle la?” she yells out. “Do you listen to yourself?” She grabs the triangular gizmo and throws it at the poor Buddha.

“Muriel, calm down,” Nicolas says. “This is not the right time or the right place for one of your tantrums!”

He looks perfectly used to this. She yells. He hushes. She breaks. He fixes.

“Nicolas, tais toi!” She points at me. “You, you are coming with me!”

I must have hit a sensitive spot. She stands and leaves her office in a fury. I look up at the Buddha. I just want to check if he has opened his eyes, but no, he still pretends that he can meditate amidst such mayhem. I turn to Nicolas for an explanation but he just shrugs.

“I guess you better follow her. And, Lynn…”

“Yes?”

“I’ll need a copy of your CV, you know, for Pierre.”

Shit.

“Lynn!” Muriel yells all the way from the reception area.

I just want to go back to the hotel, take a last shower and return to the airport to catch the next plane home.

Paris. The city of love. Yeah right. It’s the city of people going bonkers!

I’ll just tell Jodie I caught the flu.

Or dysentery.

Jodie’s so scared of microbes, she’ll forgive me for giving up so fast.

I have no idea where we’re going. I have to run after Muriel and she makes a point of walking a few steps ahead, but then, all of a sudden, she stops and turns to me.

“I am not just spending my father’s money. I have been in this business for five years. I have talent! Everyone says that I have talent. So who are you to talk to me like that?”

I swear, she is about to cry. Just like the silly little teenage girl that she tries not to be.

“Muriel, I don’t want to play this game with you, we’re both too old.”

“What game?”

“The little-spoiled-girls game.”

“I’m not like this! I’m…I am just so stressed. Merde, tout va mal!”

She walks away. We’re on the run again, only this time I grab her wrist and stop her.

“Things are never as bad as they seem.”

“You’re wrong, Confucius! Things are generally much worse.”

Confucius?

I smile at her. I like her. She is wild but I like her. And she smiles back at me. She’s cute when she smiles.

“What is there to smile about?” she asks.

“You. You’re funny. Confucius!”

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Saying whatever pops into your head?”

Please. She should take a peek in my head! So far, this is nothing.

“You’re weird,” she says and resumes the chase, sliding among the tourists and passersby to disappear inside a coffee shop. Only, it’s not a coffee shop, and once I follow her into the place I immediately understand a thing or two about Muriel B.

The coffee shop is a tiny secluded bar. It’s full of women. Tall women. Short women. Fat women. Thin women. Young. Old. Dark. Blond. Women only.