Goodbye, Janette (29 page)

Everyone began to laugh except Lauren. Her eyes were shining moistly. “I think that’s so sad.”

Patrick looked at her for a moment. “Let me get you a glass of champagne.”

The others broke into small conversational clusters. “No, thank you. I don’t drink, I just dope,” Lauren said.

“You’re stoned, young lady,” Patrick said with mock sternness.

“Yes,” she answered.

“I’m drunk,” he said.

“That’s nice,” she said, smiling.

“Come out onto the balcony over the garden,” he said. “Maybe a bit of air will do us both good.”

“Okay.” She followed him through the open doors and leaned her arms on the railing. She took a deep breath. “It smells good out here. Sweet and clean.”

He took a sip of the champagne he still held in his hand. “First time in Paris?”

“I was born here,” she answered. “But I haven’t been back for ten years. I live in California.”

“I love California,” he said. “Everything is so easy there.”

“It’s very laid back,” she said.

“What do you think about us here?”

She shrugged. “It’s different. Everything and everybody is very involved, very into themselves if you know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure that I do,” he said.

“I’m not sure that I do either.”

“Do you have panties on?” he asked.

“No,” she answered, looking at him. “Why do you ask?”

“I wondered if Janette talked you into wearing a smoking?”

“No. Why?”

“It doesn’t help. I can still smell your quim,” he said. “Makes me want to put my face in it.”

She laughed. “You’re putting me on.”

“No. I’m not,” he said quickly. “You have to realize that I have a trained nose for that sort of thing. Are you into big pricks?”

“Now where did that come from?”

“I was curious,” he said. “I think if I had a big prick Janette would have married me.”

“Do you
want
to marry her?”

“Yes,” he said. “But she keeps turning me down.”

“It has to be something else then,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t think the size of your prick is the reason.”

“Your sister is the most beautiful and exciting woman in the world,” he said.

She turned and looked back into the room at Janette, who was talking earnestly with Jacques and Charles Carroll. Janette’s face was alive and expressive as she seemed to be making a point. Lauren turned back and looked up into Patrick’s face. “You’re the second man I know who has said that,” she said. “I think you both may be right.”

Marlon joined them on the balcony, followed by Philippe and Stéphane. “Philippe wanted me to ask you if you’d consider becoming a mannequin,” Marlon said.

“Why didn’t he ask me himself?” Lauren asked.

“He’s a little embarrassed because his English is not good enough.”

She smiled, turning to Philippe, speaking in French. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I never thought that everyone was speaking English just for my benefit.”

A sudden smile crossed Philippe’s face. “I wanted to speak with you all evening but I was afraid that you would not understand me. I wanted to tell you how beautiful I think you are and how perfect you would be in some of my creations. You have the kind of look I have been searching for for a very long time. New, fresh, with a sophisticated innocence. I would love for you to model with some of my creations at the collection.”

“I don’t know anything about modeling,” she answered. “But I am very flattered that you should think so.”

“There is not much to learn,” Philippe said. “In one week you would know everything.”

“But am I not too large?” she asked.

“It’s no problem,” he said. “You would only have to lose two, maybe three kilos.”

“Between four and six pounds,” Marlon said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just never thought about it.”

“Do you think your sister would object?” Philippe asked.

Lauren laughed. “I can’t see any reason why.”

“May I ask her?”

“If you like,” she answered. “But I don’t know if it’s something I would want to do.”

“What is it you would like to do?” Stéphane asked.

Lauren turned to her. “I haven’t really given it much thought. I’ve been waiting to grow up first.”

***

“It will be a full year before we’re even ready to get into the market. I want ten owned and operated boutiques in the principal money areas of the State and five in the major department stores of the country. Saks Fifth Avenue, New York, Neiman-Marcus, Texas, Marshall Field, Chicago, I. Magnin, Los Angeles, Geary’s, San Francisco. By that time I’m in for two million dollars. You’re setting me up for a hell of a risk.”

Janette looked at him. “If you press, I’m sure the department stores would go along with you this season.”

“They’d take our ass,” Carroll said. “They’d want everything on consignment, load all the advertising and promotion costs on us and demand the maximum discount on the clothing.” He took a pull at his scotch. “We’d never make a penny.”

“But we’d have a springboard to get into the market and find out exactly where we stand,” Janette said.

“And what would we call our own boutiques when we do open them?” he asked. “Your name is not well enough known yet.”

“I have a name for the boutiques,” Janette said. “Like St. Laurent’s Rive Bauche. Janette’s Centre Ville, or if you think more American is better, Janette’s Uptown. But that is secondary. Once we commit, I am ready to tour the country, do all the publicity, newspapers, radio, television, and by the time the stores are open there will be more Americans that know my name than there are French.”

“It will all cost money,” Carroll said.

“That’s right,” Janette answered. “That’s exactly why I’m talking with you. If I had the money I would do it myself.”

Carroll looked at her shrewdly. “How much would it cost to get this collection ready?”

“Maybe two hundred thousand dollars. More or less.”

“Supposing I advance you that money and we see what happens. Then we can make up our minds.”

Janette laughed. “I can do this collection myself in that case. It is not
that
money I’m concerned about. It’s the plan beyond that interests me. If I do it myself and it’s a grand success, I don’t need you. Bidermann as well as others would be glad to jump into bed with me.”

He took a deep breath and looked at Jacques. “That’s a very tough lady you work for.”

Jacques was silent.

“And if I don’t agree?” he asked, turning back to Janette.

She smiled. “We are still friends.”

He glanced out at the balcony to where Lauren and the others were standing. “Your sister looks very different here than she does in California. I don’t think I ever saw her in anything but jeans before.”

Janette laughed. “She’s in Paris now.” She followed his gaze. “You know, I would like to do well, not only for my own sake, but also for hers. She still owns twenty-five percent of this company and Johann is still the administrator of her interest. I have to account to him every year.”

The implication wasn’t lost on him. He smiled. “I don’t have to be hit on the head. Why don’t we meet tomorrow and discuss this further?”

“Of course,” she said. “You arrange a suitable time for all of us with Jacques. But make it late in the day. I’ll be busy with arrangements for the collection most of the time.”

“Then you’re going ahead with it?” he asked.

“
Certainement,
” she said, a faint, cool disdain in her voice. “Do you think I would depend on anyone other than myself for something as important as this?”

***

Maurice caught Jacques in a moment when they were apart from the others. “Did it go well?”

Jacques nodded. “I think so. The more I see Janette operate, the more I realize what a fantastic woman she really is. She has the balls of a Pampas bull.”

Maurice laughed. “But what if Carroll doesn’t come through?”

“Janette will find a way. I’m sure of that now. She has her mind set on it.”

“I have a million francs that I’d bet on her,” Maurice said. “Just bear it in mind and remind her of it, should the opportunity arise.”

Jacques looked at him. “Does she know it?”

“I hinted at it,” Maurice said. “But she wasn’t interested—at that time. However, circumstances can change.”

Jacques smiled. “I’ll remember that.”

Martine came toward them. “It’s after eleven,” she said to Jacques. “And I have to be at work early tomorrow. We’re having the first fittings.”

“I’ll take you home,” Jacques said.

“You don’t have to leave on my account. I can get a taxi.”

“Don’t be silly.” Jacques smiled. “I have to be at work early too.”

The party began to break up. Jacques, Maurice and Martine were the first to leave, followed soon after by Philippe and Marlon.

“It was a lovely dinner,” Philippe said. “And your sister is truly beautiful. I would like to do something with her. Maybe we can talk tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Janette answered. “I’ll be in the office early.”

Then only Carroll, Stéphane and Patrick were left. Carroll had an idea. “Why don’t we all go over to Régine’s for a nightcap? It should be fun there.”

Janette shook her head. “Not for me tonight. I have too much to do tomorrow.”

He turned to Lauren. “Perhaps you and Patrick would join us?”

Lauren smiled. “I don’t think so, Mr. Carroll. I’m beginning to feel tired. The jet lag. It’s been a long day.”

“I’m flying back to London tonight,” Patrick said. “I promised my dear old mum that I would have breakfast with her tomorrow. Some other time.”

Carroll turned to Stéphane. “It looks like you and I are the only live ones in this crowd.”

Stéphane glanced at Janette and smiled at him without speaking.

“Good,” Carroll said, rising. “Let’s go then.” He turned to Lauren. “I’ll be talking to your father tomorrow. Is there any message you want me to give him?”

“No,” Lauren answered. “Just give him my love and tell him I’m having a wonderful time.”

“Will René be able to give me a lift to the airport?” Patrick asked.

“He’s waiting in the car for you,” Janette answered.

They walked to the door. “Your sister is quite a girl,” Patrick said to her. “I hope we’ll see more of each other.”

“I’m sure you will,” Janette answered. “She’ll be here all summer.”

The sisters went up the stairs after everyone had gone. Lauren stopped in front of her door. “It was lovely,” she said. “Thank you. You made me feel like someone very special.”

“You are someone very special,” Janette said. “You’re my sister.”

Lauren leaned forward quickly and kissed Janette’s cheek, then went into her room, closing the door behind her. Janette, thoughtful, stood there for a moment, then slowly walked down the hall to her own room.

***

Jacques stood at the rear of the Lido arcade watching the crowds of people in evening dress surging toward the theater entrance, their gold-engraved invitations clutched in their hands. Beyond them he could see the Cadillacs and Rolls-Royces still lined up, discharging their passengers. It was over an hour ago that a call had gone out for extra police to control the traffic which had backed up on the Champs-Elysées. He glanced at his wristwatch. It was nearly ten o’clock and they were already running late. An hour late. Dinner was supposed to be served at ten o’clock, the collection was supposed to begin promptly at midnight.

Janette had been right. She had said that everyone would stay. And they did. Already he had seen John Fairchild of
Women’s Wear
sweep into the theater with his entourage. Eugenia Sheppard, the fashion dowager of the American press, was also there. This was more than a collection—it was also a social event. Mme. Pompidou, the wife of the president, had turned up and was immediately escorted with her party to the
table d’honneur
. Mme. Schlumberger, le Comte de Paris, the Rothschilds, Dassaults and other bastions of French society swept into the theater. It was probably the first time any of them had ever come to the Lido. There were enough film stars sprinkled through the audience to bless the premiere of any important motion picture. Brigitte Bardot, Alain Delon, Jean-Paul Belmondo, Sophia Loren, Faye Dunaway, the Gregory Pecks, the David Nivens and others—more than even he could recall. And the French press was there in force. Robert Caille of
Vogue
, almost all the editorial staff of
L’Officiel
, as well as reporters and photographers from every important paper and news service in Paris.

But the real triumph for Jacques had come the day after the invitations had gone out, when he began receiving calls from the other couturiers asking for an invitation. And when he saw Marc Bohan, Givenchy, St. Laurent, Pierre Cardin, Courréges walking through the arcade, he knew they had it made.

He checked his watch again and started inside, when he was stopped by a maitre d’. “La Princesse Grace is here with a party of four but we have no table for her.”

“Give her my table,” he said quickly. “Next to Madame Pompidou.”

The man nodded and hurried away. Jacques continued into the theatre and keeping toward the rear behind the tables, each festooned with red balloons bearing the name Janette de la Beauville, skirted the room toward the entrance to backstage.

Snatches of conversation came to his ear. “She has to be completely crazy. This cost a fortune.” “She found a money man with a bankbook bigger than his prick.” “It’s Lord Patrick Reardon. He wants to marry her.” “Either that or Madame Poniard.” And he heard the laughter as the name of the fantastically rich lesbian was mentioned.

He was stopped by Bernadine Morris of
The New York Times
. “I have to file early,” she said. “Is there anyway I could get an advance idea of what is coming, just in case I have to dash?”

“I’m sorry, Bernadine.” He smiled. “It’s impossible. Even I have not seen the collection as yet.”

He continued on his way and paused at the door to look back into the theater. He nodded with satisfaction. It was a brilliant idea of Janette’s to take over the Lido for an evening. At first he had been appalled at the cost but now he was pleased that she did. The personnel of the Lido was professional. They were used to dealing with big crowds, serving dinner and getting it out of the way so that the show could go on. Dinner was under way, the dance floor was crowded, and the orchestra on the stage was playing comfortable middle-of-the-road music, no rock and roll or disco frenzy for this crowd.