“No, well, yes, but Jason’s got my measurements. I trust him. I’ve gotta go. Have fun,” he told me before taking off down the corridor.
I just stared after him, wondering what in the hell crawled up his butt. Then I ogled his rude butt and thought, "nice ass" but shook myself and remembered that he needed a swift kick there not an appreciative stare.
I went back inside, grabbed my purse and hailed a cab.
“Où aller?” the cabbie asked me.
I looked down at the paper in my hand and almost keeled over in happiness, recognizing the name of one of Paris’ most elite and most gorgeous department stores, Galeries Lafayette.
Ten stories high, the store can be found on Boulevard Haussmann, and oh my Lord it is just unbelievably decadent. I couldn’t wait to go there. Sometimes working for the label really paid off, but sometimes...
Le sigh. Oh well.
Jason was outside the front doors smoking a cigarette when I pulled up. He reminded me of home. Seeing him, coupled with Tom’s cold demeanor and missing my family like crazy, I unexpectedly burst into tears. I don’t know why I did it. I just needed a friend in that moment it seemed, and it had been weeks since I’d seen a friendly face from home. I was overwhelmed, I suppose. That and I didn’t know what was going on with Tom.
When Jason saw me he smiled but saw my tear-soaked face and threw down his cigarette. I ran to his arms and threw them around his neck.
“Oh, Jason,” I wailed pathetically in his ear.
His chest shook with laughter. “Oh, January!” He teased.
“Shut up!” I said, pulling away while laughing and wiping away my tears.
Jason pulled me back to him and hugged me harder, making me sigh. “What’s up with you, January MacLochlainn? Hmm? Why the sour face?” He ran his thumbs underneath my eyes.
“Oh, I’m just so happy to see you,” I semi-lied.
“Oh, just happy to see me, is it? Could it be you're sick of Tom as well?”
“A little,” I admitted not realizing how true that really was. I loved Tom so much, but I wasn’t an imbecile. The way he’d been treating me these past two days was alarming to say the least.
“Come on,” he said, wrapping his arm around my neck and swinging me toward the doors of the fanciest store I’d ever laid eyes on.
“We are going to stick out here like a sore thumb, Jason.”
“Yeah, we might have one of those ‘Pretty Woman’ moments.”
This made me laugh.
“Yeah,” he said, spreading his free arm before us, “imagine it. They’ll look down at you in disdain, perk their noses in the air and say with their haughty French accents, ‘You are not Lafayette material, miss!’ Then I’ll step in and save the day by flashing my black card. They’ll cower and bow at your feet, kissing your shoes and begging your forgiveness.”
“You have quite an imagination, Jason.”
“I know, I should have been a writer instead, but I’ve heard there’s no money in it.”
We stopped and took in the magnificence of the store. It felt like I was standing within a giant Fabergé egg. The word opulent came to mind, plenty of times.
“The world is your oyster,” Jason said, kissing my temple, making me want to cry again, “and it seems you need it.”
I wanted to call Tom and run to him, but I also wanted to ignore Tom or find him and slap him in the face. I was a dichotomy of feelings, but one thing was for sure, I needed to talk to him, to get it out there. If he was regretting being with me or telling me he loved me, then I needed to know, so I could get over it and move on. I had more respect for myself than to endure disrespect. I was a MacLochlainn, damn it!
We went to a few stores but nothing really stuck out at me. It was either too formal or too casual. Jason explained that the festival was usually a light affair, but the first night, if you’re lucky enough to be invited, the labels throw a party at one club hosting several up-and-coming bands and it’s usually a dressy night.
“I don’t know about these stores, Jason. I’m not seeing anything.”
“There’s plenty to choose from. You’re just obsessed with price tags. Stop. Just find something you’ll look good in and put it on.”
“How eloquently said.”