F. Gerson - 21 Steps To Happiness

I nod. It worked so far.

“Tu parles français, j’espère?”

“Oui,” I say. “Je… Mmm! Je…” Nothing French comes out, not even a word about buying bread at the bakery.

They turn to me. The whole workshop staff stops and waits for some sound to come out of my mouth.

Complete silence.

“So…you’ve already met Françoise.” Nicolas comes to my rescue. “She is our première. If Muriel is the creative mind, Françoise is her hands.”

“That’s very poetic, Nicolas. Well done,” Muriel says with a cool and exaggerated British accent.

She looks at me more carefully. Everybody looks at me more carefully. They don’t dare to think anything before Muriel has given her own verdict.

“I like your…T-shirt. DKNY?”

“No, it’s just a…basic one.”

“Basic, I’ve never heard of them. It’s really unattractive in a nice way. That is fashion though, isn’t it?”

The rest of them are now whispering about the quality of a Basic white T-shirt.

Stop staring at her tattoos! I scream to myself.

Is she…Yes, she has a huge stud on her tongue. I can’t believe that this is actually Muriel B. My future boss? Nicolas’s employer? I mean, isn’t she supposed to be at school or something?

“We’re working on that piece,” Muriel says. She shows me a dress. It hangs on a wood model behind the group. Yak! It’s sort of…ugly. “What do you think?”

“Oh…It’s sort of…”

“Don’t you like it?” Muriel asks amusingly.

Silence again.

“To be honest, well…no, I find it kind of…”

Kind of what, you idiot? Outdated? Too short? Too long? Too tight? Too brown? Not enough? What would you know?

“Kind of…ugly.”

Did I just say that?

Françoise Neuton looks away. “C’est tout de même incroyable!” She whispers. I must be the most annoying person she’s ever met.

“She finds it ugly,” Muriel laughs out. She thinks I’m very funny. “Everyone, listen up, Blanchett finds it kind of ugly.”

I turn to Nicolas. He’s cupping his chin in his fingers. He needs to take a better look at the dress. Then he looks at me. Me or the dress? Being given the choice, which one would he trash?

“That’s exactly what I think, Françoise! This is not what I had in mind. Redo it! Allez! Comment tu dis, Lynn? It’s…kind of ugly! Merci.”

More whispers. I feel like I’m surrounded by a sea of hissing snakes.

Françoise looks at me. Her lips are so tight you couldn’t slide a needle through.

Muriel comes closer and sniffs the air around me. Sniff sniff! “You’re wearing a very strong perfume. Kazo?”

I cannot tell Muriel she’s smelling my deodorant.

“No, it’s, er…designed just for me!”

“You American women are really getting away with everything. Ridiculous pink colors, horrible white T-shirts and perfectly awful perfumes. I love it.”

I smile, deciding that it’s her way to give a compliment.

“Une minute tout le monde,” Muriel calls, stopping the background murmuring. “Je vous presente Lynn Blanchett, la fille de Jodie Blanchett!”

Hisses, lots of hisses.

“Lynn vient de New York, et travaille comme…”

“Relation publique.” Nicolas helps her remember why in God’s name I’m here if it wasn’t for Jodie’s name.

“Bienvenu, Lynn,” a very effeminate male voice says from the snake pit and, even though I cannot see who said that, for the first time since I left New York, I feel good.

Oh la la!

Muriel acts as if I’ve already been working for her for hundreds of years. She thinks I’m all clued up.

She drags me around in the office and tells me about what we’re going to do to bring our company to the top and how my work is essential for making us the newest, funkiest brand on the market.

“But we need money, Lynn. Lots of money. And you’re going to help me get it.”

She laughs.

I laugh along, without knowing exactly why.

“You will talk to them. Once they realize we’ve got somebody like you on board, they will give me all the money I need. Imagine, a Blanchett working at Muriel B! Won’t they buy into that, huh? Nicolas?”

“Mmm…” That’s what Nicolas thinks about me.

I am just very “Mmm.”

Back home, I imagined Muriel B to be a mature woman, elegant, well traveled, drinking champagne like I drink water. Somehow, I imagined her like Roxanne Green.

And look what I get.

A teenager with tribal tattoos and delusions of grandeur. She doesn’t drink champagne. Instead, she opens one can of sugar-free Red Bull after the next and never misses an occasion to burp. Her hair has been fashioned into a set of well-defined short black spikes. She looks very sexy but at the same time very dangerous and free spirited.

“That’s my office. That’s the only place where I can get some peace. You like it?”

Her office is a large room, very bright, with high windows and ceiling. It’s amazing. It’s stripped of any furniture but for a low floor table, on top of which is a streamlined portable computer, some documents and a few electronic gizmos. Behind the table is a huge Buddha statue, suspended against the wall. His eyes are closed and he holds up his hands, pointing to Nirvana.

“It’s very…Zen. I love it.”

There are no chairs. She sits on the wooden floor, in front of the table, and invites us to join her.

“We need to talk to Him, Nicolas. Get Him on the phone.”

Nicolas looks at his watch. “Catherine has arranged a phone conference. It starts in only five minutes.”

“Did you explain to Lynn what’s going on?”

“Well, we need to talk to the bank now and, er, we…Maybe Lynn doesn’t need to know everything right now, Muriel.”

Muriel shakes her head. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

Tell me what?

Nicolas sighs. “We’re broke, Lynn.”

“And you are our last hope,” Muriel explains.

Me? But…I don’t have any money! Alarm bells sound in my head.

“Bonjour! Muriel? Tu m’entends?”

A voice has just come out of a weird triangular black object in the center of the table.

“Pierre?” Muriel asks. “Can we make this conversation in English, because we have Lynn Blanchett from New York with us.”

“Pas de problème, I mean, yes, Muriel.”

She presses a button on the gizmo.

“Pierre can’t hear us now. Pierre is the financial manager of Crédit de la Cité.”

“It’s our bank,” Nicolas explains.

“It’s my father’s bank. I mean, my father owns the bank and every cent in it,” Muriel clarifies.

“We’ve asked them for a lot of money,” Nicolas whispers even though the phone is on mute.

“And you are going to help us get it.” Muriel releases the button and I feel like I am falling into a bottomless hole.

“Muriel?”

“We’re back, Pierre. Sorry, we had to go to another conference room.”

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?”