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“Come, let’s talk,” he says, motioning for me to follow him into his back office. He sounds calm and gentle, which further serves to soothe my nerve endings at a time when I need all the encouragement and comfort that I can get. “Now tell me, Selina, ma cherie, what happened?”
He sits behind his massive mahogany desk. It’s older than me—I think he’s had it since he first got started in the fashion industry. Etienne once told the store staff about his desk and how it saw him grow through the decades. Hours and days, nights and minutes, spent hunched over, drawing and designing until his eyes couldn’t take it anymore. There are objects of fine art displayed on the wall shelves, serving mostly as bookends but also telling stories of their own. I recognize some from when he first brought them over, following one trip abroad or another. Others have come with him since his earliest days in Paris.
Sculptures made of brushed bronze or neatly polished pink marble, unique photograph frames with real gemstones and precious metals serving as Art Nouveau-style embellishments, decorative boxes with mother of pearl inlays, and custom-designed cigar boxes. Minimalist crystal cuts from Latin America, hand-crafted globes with glossy, painted maps of the world dating back to the early 1800s, and rare Chinese vases made of porcelain and donning the classic blue motifs of one ancient dynasty or another. Etienne is one of the few people I know who has likely seen more than half of the planet with his own eyes. I believe he’s doing even more traveling now in his retirement age—though he has yet to fully withdraw from the design scene.
Something tells me he will be launching new lines well into his nineties.
“I have to apologize, first and foremost,” I say as I settle into one of his guest seats. “I acted completely out of character yesterday, and I couldn’t even explain myself.”
“You are clearly going through something, Selina, but I am here, and I am more than willing to listen. Please, spare no details,” he says. “I want to help.”
“I broke up with my boyfriend a while back,” I start from the very beginning, swallowing my pride as I look him in the eyes and keep my chin up. There is no turning back now, and enough damage has been done already. Maybe I can mend some of it. “I used to live at his place, and I left without really considering my options. The store doesn’t pay me enough for a quick deposit on another apartment, so I spent a couple of weeks sleeping here… I’m sorry for that, too. Squatting in my late twenties was not something I had on my bingo card, Mr. Lacroix, but I had nowhere else to go.”
“Well, Selina, I need to tell you something. I know you’ve been staying here.”
“Wait, what?” I can barely breathe. “What do you mean you know?”
Etienne smiles broadly, leaning back into his chair. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know what’s going on in my store? I check the camera feeds, I read the shift manager’s notes and reports. I specifically instructed the staff that you be left to your own devices while you figured something out. Nobody wants to live in their workplace, Selina, so I understood that you had something serious going on in your life.”
“Oh… my… God.”
“There is nothing to be ashamed of. Life happens to all of us. Did I ever tell you about the nights I spent sleeping in Grand Central Station?” he asks, slightly amused, as I shake my head slowly. The shock is too powerful for me to say another word. “I was an up-and-coming designer at the time. I was about to launch my first collection, and I had put all of my money, every cent I’d saved up, into the fabrics I needed for the show. I had nothing left for rent, and you know as well as I do that New York can be pretty expensive. So I slept in Grand Central Station for about a week. I would shower at the YMCA, I’d grab a croissant from the bakery down the road from the workshop I shared with five other designers, and then I’d go to work, determined to make it in the business.
“Mind you, I couldn’t sleep at the workshop because the other five designers were squatting there,” he adds, laughing lightly. “It was a difficult and humbling experience, but I understood the sacrifices required of me to make it. When it dawned on me that you had fallen on hard times, I couldn’t let you fail entirely. I had to let you muddle through until you found your own way. And then you left. Matthew said you stayed at his winter cabin in Aspen, right?”
“Yes…”
“A good man, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is,” I sigh deeply.
“I can tell he loves you,” Etienne replies, making my cheeks blush pink. “But I can also tell that you are a proud woman. Once you were back at the store, I understood that you had yet to find your way out. It is why I came over yesterday. I wanted to suggest something. A solution that would benefit you without putting my company in any danger or discomfort. The Sartorialist cannot be a home for you, Selina, not in that sense.”
I nod once. “Yes, I agree. Again, I am so sorry.”
“Please, do not apologize. Hear me out. Firstly, I would like to give you a raise.”
“Huh?” I stare at him, utterly confused.
“You’ve been a true asset to the company, and it’s about time you were rewarded for your hard work. So, let us start with a generous raise for your sales specialist position. I have a two-bedroom apartment not far from here that you can rent, and I can deduct the monthly fee from the raise, without it affecting your current salary, basically. You don’t need a deposit, you only need to live there and live well, Selina.”
“Etienne. You are way too generous and far too kind—”
He raises a hand to silence me. “I’m not done. Second, I don’t intend to keep you as a sales specialist for much longer.”
“You’re still gonna fire me,” I gasp, the rollercoaster of emotions way too jiggly for me to handle.
“No, I would like to start mentoring you in the new year, once you get back on your feet and have a sense of balance back in your life. A frazzled designer is of no use to me.”
Again, I stare in sheer disbelief.
He watches me closely for the better part of a minute. Truth be told, I had a longer speech in mind about how I screwed up, about how I never intended for things to get as far as they did. But with a simple tale from his own past, Etienne Lacroix has made himself come across as infinitely more human than I ever thought he could be—one more lesson for me to add to this year’s roster of newfound wisdom. He didn’t need the actual details he asked me not to spare. He didn’t need the full story. He already knew and understood everything precisely as it was laid out before him.
I can’t believe I’ve been walking on eggshells around this man, when I could’ve simply opened up and explained my situation. Pride be damned. Tears fill my eyes, and I struggle to blink them back as I try to give him a proper response.
“Etienne, I don’t know how to thank you,” I manage.
“Let’s start by being more honest with one another, what do you say?” he replies.
