21 Steps To Happiness. F. Gerson G.

when I got out of the limousine.

      She put her cell phone on the side for a second.

      “Thank you?”

      “For arranging all this,” I said, pointing at the terminal.

      And for giving me the chance to show you I can be the kind of girl you’d actually claim as your daughter.

      She looked annoyed. She doesn’t like thank-yous or goodbyes. It’s her excuse to run away from people pronto and without ceremony. “Please, Lynn. Don’t turn it into another mess,” she said and they immediately drove away.

      Step #2:

       Remember: The grass could ALWAYS be greener.

      I want this!

      I’ve always wanted this!

      To be given a chance!

      I look at myself in the mirror. There is such a difference between the person I want to be and this gross image I see. I’m a small chunky girl just out of college trying to look like a fashion guru about to tackle Paris.

      I’m nothing like Jodie. Nothing at all.

      I know that’s exactly what they expect in Paris. That’s what they paid for. Jodie II: a younger, kinkier, sexier, thinner version of the genius mother.

      And all they’re going to get is me.

      Untalented!

      Inexperienced!

      Unqualified!

      I sit on the toilet. I hide my face in my hands and refocus.

      I am Lynn Blanchett.

      That’s Blanchett with two t’s, dammit!

      I AM fab! I AM glam! I AM…going to be sick!

      Focus focus. FOCUS!

      Knock, knock.

      “Yes?”

      “We’re about to take off, miss. You should go back to your seat.”

      I walk through the first-class cabin. Look at those people. I don’t belong here. I’d be better off with the sales reps in Business.

      Roxanne looks particularly excited when I get back into my seat. She drops her magazine and whispers in my ear. “Don’t look back. Hubert Barclay is coming our way.”

      Hubert who?

      “He’s been trying to date me forever. Seriously! A womanizer like him. You must know Hubert?”

      “Well…”

      “He is so low. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was hunting in your age group. He’s such a disgusting man.”

      I throw a quick glance in the aisle to see who she’s talking about but all I see is a very handsome man walking toward us. Late thirties. Tall. Athletic. Elegant. It can’t be the one she’s talking about, because…

      “Oh, Roxanne! Tsk, tsk! Going to Paris and not telling me, again.”

      Wait a minute! What’s so disgusting about him?

      “So sorry, Hubert. Lynn and I are having a girls-only pleasure trip. You know Lynn? Jodie Blanchett’s daughter?”

      He looks at me and gives me his am-I-supposed-to-know-you smile. He finally makes up his mind and says, “Of course, how are you, Laura?”

      “Lynn,” I correct him.

      “Yeah, right, Lynn. Sorry. How have you been, since…since last time?”

      “I’ve been good, Hubert,” I say, trying to keep my breathing at a socially acceptable speed.

      “Lynn is working for Muriel Boutonnière, you know, Francis’s daughter.”

      “Muriel, huh? Her father and I, we go way back,” he says and the world keeps getting smaller. “Is she still not talking to him?”

      How would I know?

      “She doesn’t…talk about that with me.”

      We all shake our heads. Damn Shame is the consensus.

      “Anyway, I don’t want to spoil your all-girl…thing,” he says and walks back to his seat for the takeoff.

      “Look at him. He owns half the newspapers and magazines published in this country and he is still scared of me. Men are scared of women who reject them…. Men are scared of rejection, period.”

      I smile but my heart is rushing while I try to look calm and poised. I recognize him now. This is the Hubert Barclay, the billionaire, the media mogul, Barclay the Great, and he actually said Hi, Lynn (or Laura, but oh who cares!) and How are you and My favorite color is green, just like yours (I know, I made that one up).

      

      “Can I top you off?” The flight attendant is back with some more champagne as soon as the plane has reached appropriate altitude. She tries to gives us our dinner menus but Roxanne refuses them knowingly. “We will have the Dover sole and the white-chocolate thingy. And Chablis as usual, dear,” she decides for the two of us. “Don’t tell her I said so, but I think Muriel doesn’t deserve to get someone like you. A Blanchett! Imagine! What money can’t buy?”

      Yeah, imagine.

      “That girl always gets what she wants. She wants to become a designer, and voilà! Her father buys her this Muriel B fantaisie. And she never had to work for it. Like the French say, the only effort she ever made was to be born.” She puts her hand on mine. “Oh, and I don’t mean this for you, dear, I’m sure you must have some kind of…talent. Those things often run in the blood. Oh, that reminds me!”

      She starts to shuffle in her handbag.

      “You must remember to tell your mother I say hi, for old times’ sake.”

      “Sure.”

      “And you must give her this.” Apparently she keeps a small library in there, because she comes out with a tiny hardcover book.

      I read the title. Roxanne Green’s 20 Steps to Success. I recognize Roxanne on the cover. She’s dressed in a strict business ensemble. Her arms are crossed firmly against her body. She wears a pair of sunglasses and is leaning against a white stretch limo. It’s a very sunny picture and you can even see some thin palm trees in the background.

      “The perfect image of success when imagined by losers!” she says through a now nearly nauseating laugh while pointing at the cover.

      I open the book.

      “It will give Jodie a laugh.”

      I read the title of the first chapter: “Step #1: Never be ashamed of who you are.”

      “You could read it, too,” she says. “Lynn, can I be so bold to say that you strike me as a nice person.”

      “Oh! Thank you.”

      “No, it’s that…Well, if you want to survive in a place like Paris, you need to be a bit tougher. Go to the third chapter, you’ll see.”

      I turn to the relevant page.

      “Read it,” Roxanne commands.

      The chapter title says: “Step #3: Everywhere you go, be utterly bored.”

      “What I mean is, Lynn…you need to be more of a bitch.”

      Step #3:

       Everywhere you go, be utterly bored.

      I’m it!

      I am the real thing!

      Lynn Blanchett, daughter of famous mother Jodie Blanchett and genius in the making!

      I have picked up my ugly Adidas bag, farewelled Roxanne and, as I cross customs,