twenty-eight

My good-bye party at the agency filled me with a mixture of joy at the thought of freedom and anxiety at my uncertain future. Had I really made the right choice? I’d surprised everyone. Most of my colleagues just took me for a mother, pleasant enough, happy to glide along in a cozy rut, and yet here I was transformed into a daring entrepreneur!

The meeting room was pretty crowded; my boss had invited the other sales teams as well. He wanted to take advantage of my leaving to build up links between the different sections. Two birds with one stone.

Some of them were completely indifferent to the fact that I was going, and to me personally: they had just come to munch on peanuts and drink the free champagne and didn’t even say hello to me. Others, however, did come up to say something, most of them finding it hard to conceal a stab of envy.

“You’re setting up a business at a time like this? I’ve got a friend who did that: he hasn’t been able to pay himself anything these last five years. It’s not a job; it’s charity work!”

“An entrepreneur? Mmm . . . you’re going to have to learn to live on next to nothing.”

And after these words of encouragement, they invariably left with a “good luck” that sounded a bit like “good riddance.”

Their comments made me furious. Why did they have to bring everything back to money? That really got to me. Even on a minimum wage, a dream is still a dream! I had never felt as alive as I did now, and that was priceless.

Happily, a few of my colleagues were really great. Above all, Melissa, the receptionist, who had given me a lovely bouquet of flowers. And Baldy had taken the trouble to buy me a present on behalf of the whole team: a crystal shamrock I could use as a paperweight. It was a magnificent Lalique piece, and I was amazed.

“It’s to bring you good luck in all your projects,” he explained. “You’ll be sure to put it in your boutique, won’t you?”

I gave him a big kiss. I was bowled over to see such consideration from someone like him.

My boss also came up to me, and I thought I detected in his eyes a hint of admiration and jealousy.

“All the best, Camille. I really hope your business succeeds. You’re very brave to undertake such a venture, especially nowadays when hardly anyone is taking risks! But if things don’t work out, don’t hesitate to come and see me. There’ll always be a place for you here.”

“Thanks so much. I won’t forget that.”

Even if I was hoping never to have to take a step backward.

My desk was soon cleared. Ten years of work in one small box. I felt as if I were in the midst of a dream. It was impossible to tell whether it was a good one or a bad one.

As I walked down the streets toward home carrying my little bundle of leaving presents, I felt strange, detached, reeling from a cocktail of contradictory emotions: relief, joy, a feeling of freedom but also of stage fright, fear, anxiety, vertigo . . .

Over the following days I redoubled my efforts to fine-tune my business plan. I had worked out how much capital I had to put up personally . . . it was meant to be at least 30 percent of the overall total. Even if I emptied all my savings, I did not have quite enough. Would it be sufficient, though, to convince a bank to give me extra funding?

With the help of the incubator people, I prepared a cast-iron dossier. At least, that was what I hoped. With my business plan sorted, I set off to take the banks by storm.

On the morning of my first interview, my stomach was churning. I consulted the time every thirty-six seconds. Finally the moment came. And when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go . . . Besides, I had no nails left to chew.

I had downloaded a playlist of “power songs.” After all, there was a reason why armies marched off to war singing.

I listened to Radiohead’s “No Surprises” over and over. It’s a song that would encourage anyone to forge her own destiny. I walked down the street convinced I was completely different from anyone else, wrapping myself up in a Technicolor movie of my success story. Was what I was feeling obvious from my face? I tried to read the answer on the faces of people I passed; they probably just wondered who the weirdo was staring at them. But what did I care?

My hands were moist, but I could feel wings sprouting between my shoulders: I was ready to fly.

Unfortunately, my enthusiasm did not last long.

The bank manager received me coldly. Hardly glanced at my portfolio. Raised his eyebrows at the shortfall in my own capital contribution and cut short our interview, which lasted barely ten minutes, promising me a swift reply. In that respect at least he kept his word. Forty-eight hours later, I received the thumbs-down.

---

MY NEXT MEETING HAD the sad air of déjà vu about it. This time, the impact of another bank’s refusal caught me in the street, just as I was going home loaded down with shopping. As well as being upset, I was bitterly frustrated. Yet again. I could see my dream disappearing. Fear and disappointment pricked my throat, eyes, and nose.

When Adrien opened the door for me, I barely greeted him. I headed straight for the kitchen so that he wouldn’t see the dismay on my face. I was forgetting that children have skilled antennae: they sense everything.

“Are you OK, Mom? Should I help you put the shopping away?”

“That all right, sweetheart, I’ll sort it out,” I said, pretending to be busy with the cupboards. I was deliberately turning my back to him so that he wouldn’t see the tears welling up.

No chance.

“Mom, are you crying?” he asked, leaning over to get a good look at my eyes to confirm his suspicion.

“No, I’m fine, I told you! Why don’t you go and play in your room?”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Heavens, he was self-assured. Adrien sometimes liked to play at being the man of the house and to patronize me. Sensing he wouldn’t give up until I explained what the problem was, I told him about the bank rejecting my proposal.

“You see, I still need a bit of money to launch my new business, and the bank didn’t want to lend it to me. That’s why I’m upset. But don’t worry, I’m not finished yet!”

I tried to smile through my tears, so as not to worry him still further.

He took me in his arms to give me a big hug and said in the reassuring voice of a man of the world, “Don’t worry, Mom, it’ll all work out.”

With that he turned on his heel and went to play in his room. I smiled. What a marvel he was!

After putting away the shopping, I washed up and then started to clean the stove, which I hadn’t been able to face the previous evening. I scrubbed away, full of the energy of despair, hoping that this simple chore would calm me down.

As I was setting the table and calling to Adrien to give me a hand, he came into the room with a delighted but conspiratorial expression on his face.

“Mom, here—take this.”

He handed me a brown paper envelope.

“Open it!” he encouraged me.

I did as I was told and inside found a bundle of banknotes and at least fifty coins.

“It’s for you,” he said, beaming with pride. “I’ve counted it all: it comes to one hundred and twenty-three euros and forty-five cents. And if that’s not enough, I’ll sell my Nintendo. That way you’ll have enough for your business, won’t you, Mom?”

I was choked with emotion. My goodness, how I loved him at that moment. And how handsome he was, with his bright eyes and natural enthusiasm, wanting to save me from failure.

I took him in my arms and gave him a big hug.

“Thank you, my love, that’s really sweet of you. But keep your money for now. I promise that if I need it, I’ll come and ask.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise,” I assured him.

He seemed pleased and at the same time relieved to be able to keep his savings. Seeing I had a smile back on my face, he must have thought he had been successful and went off blithely to stash his money in his room.

His generosity restored my spirits. There was no way I was going to give in: I had to keep going for my own sake, for my son’s, and for everyone else who believed in me.

It was in this mood that I set off again to seek financial backing and presented my portfolio to a third bank.

Once again, several days went by, and I waited, my morale ballooning with the helium of hope. Hope that once more was popped in midflight.

This third rejection hit me hard.

Three banks, and not one of them wanted to finance me. Nothing I tried had worked. Neither my best Audrey Hepburn smile, nor my wise, confident Gandhi air, nor playing the tycoon like Michael Douglas in Wall Street.

I succumbed to despair. To anguish as well. I had quit my job, spent money on creating my own designs. If no bank was willing to back me, I was done for. I would have to crawl back to my former boss, beg him to give me a job again, and consider myself lucky to be able to return to my cozy, humdrum little life.

No, I would never do that.

At that point I grew angry with Claude. In fact I was seething: it was his fault I had embarked on this crazy plan! He was the one who had encouraged me to take this step. And now I was going to fall flat on my face. Sebastien would never forgive me. This damn venture could well cost me my husband and destroy my family. Seb would leave me, taking Adrien with him. I’d be ruined, depressed—I’d end up homeless! I couldn’t stop my overheated brain from conjuring up disaster after disaster. I was heading for a plane crash.

My mother was right, it’s sheer madness! I’ll never do it.

Galvanized by a potent mix of fury and fear, I rushed to Claude’s office. Him and his stupid method . . . I’d tell him a thing or two! Make him face up to his responsibilities, force him to . . . to . . . I didn’t yet know to what, but force him anyway.

I stormed past the secretary without stopping.

“Madame, you can’t—”

As if I cared!

I flung open the door to his office. Claude interrupted his phone conversation when he saw me burst in.

“Madame, please . . . ,” the secretary tried to insist.

“Don’t worry, Marianne. I’ll deal with this. Just a moment, Camille.”

With that, he calmly finished his phone conversation. His unruffled attitude only annoyed me more: How could he be so calm when I was so upset? Why did he always appear in control when I was such a mess?

“Well then, Camille, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong? It’s a complete disaster! I was turned down by a third bank today. I can’t take any more.”

I was seething.

“Calm down, Camille. There’s always a solution.”

“Oh, no! Stop right there—I’ve had it up to here with your positive attitude. Look where that’s gotten me! Yes, you and your crap advice! Am I being rude? Good! I believed you; I trusted you. I left my job, and just look at me now, without a cent. I’ll be on the streets soon! Tell me the truth: What on earth made you think I had it in me to start my own business? It was obviously going to be disaster!”

Claude let me get everything off my chest without saying a word. He seemed distressed to see me in this state. Hearing my tirade, his assistant knocked at the door.

“Is everything all right, Monsieur Dupontel?”

“Yes, everything is fine, Marianne.”

“Madame Theveniaud is getting impatient. You had an appointment with her at half past.”

“Could you apologize and ask if she can come back next week? Thank you, Marianne.”

So he was canceling another appointment because of me? Given the state I was in, I was pleased I had upset his day. He had pushed me to take risks and throw myself into a completely crazy business venture, and I reckoned he was at least partly responsible if I was going to fail.

“Now, I would like you to calm down, Camille. Three rejections don’t mean all is lost. One bank, two banks, ten banks . . . You have to persevere. And if that isn’t the right opening, you need to explore others.”

“Persevere, persevere! That’s a good one. You’re not the person who has to look at her family every day and see how worried and disappointed they are!”

“‘In the confrontation between the stream and the rock, the stream always wins, not through strength but by perseverance.’ That’s H. Jackson Brown Jr.—”

“You know what, your endless list of quotations is beginning to get on my nerves! They’re not going to help me get a bank loan!”

“Maybe not. But nor is getting into a state like this. What time is it?”

“What? It’s a quarter past six, why?”

“Perfect, we’ve just got time.”

“Time for what now, Claude?” I asked. His endless mysteries were driving me mad.

“You’ll see. Come on, get your coat.”

“But . . .”

Before I had time to say anything else, Claude had taken me by the arm and rushed me out of the room. There was no stopping him. In addition to his Jaguar (things must be going really well for him), he had a scooter parked outside his office. He put a stop to any more protests by plonking a big helmet on my head.

We sped off through Paris. I clung to him, both exhilarated and scared stiff. The streets rushing past, the anonymous faces blurred by our speed, the blaring horns, the imposing monuments topped by glittering gold, the impenetrable depths of the Seine and its picturesque banks, the Japanese couples posing for endless photos, the street sellers, the curious onlookers, the people bouncing by as if on springs . . . the Paris merry-go-round left me dizzy.

The scooter suddenly came to a halt as Claude parked on a sidewalk, and I snapped out of this urban reverie.

In front of me I saw a big gray stone building: the Church of Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre.

“We’re just in time,” Claude declared, obviously pleased with himself.

“Claude, really, I’m not in the mood—”

He didn’t let me finish but tugged me inside the church and found us two places in the third row.

“Shhh. Be quiet now, and listen.”

I reluctantly complied, because a woman was already coming onto the stage, followed by a man in a dark suit who installed himself ceremoniously at the piano.

It took only two songs, with their rich, soaring melodies and subtle accompaniment, to calm me down.

But it was the third song that overwhelmed me. The crystalline purity of the singer’s “Ave Maria” floated out over the aisle and gave me goose bumps. Tears welled in my eyes. That such fervent emotion and devotion could be contained within a few notes . . .

Claude kept glancing sideways at me, doubtless overjoyed that the magic was working.

Shivers of delight ran down my spine. I felt as if I was connected to some higher force without being able to say exactly what it was. Despite this, the sensation filled me with strength and vigor.

I sat through the rest of the concert on cloud nine.

At the end, we decided to go and have a drink at the Caveau des Oubliettes.

“Claude, I’m sorry for the way I behaved earlier. It wasn’t fair of me. You’re doing all you can to help me, I know . . . And if I fail, it won’t be your fault.”

“‘Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm,’ as Winston Churchill used to say.”

“There you go again with your quotations.”

“Whoops, sorry! I simply wanted to tell you again that what you’re experiencing at the moment is not failure. It’s part of the hazards and pitfalls of a successful business start-up. I brought you to the church this evening to show you how strong a fervent belief can be. You must keep faith. Above all, in yourself. I believe in you!”

“Mmm . . . ,” I muttered, still wary.

“So, you’ll try again?” he asked, extending his hand.

I hesitated a couple of seconds, then held out mine as well.

“I’ll try again.”

A few days later, I succeeded in getting an appointment with Populis Bank. I had read in a magazine that they had a reputation for supporting small businesses that had been turned down by traditional financial channels. This time I didn’t let myself get my hopes up. That way I wouldn’t be disappointed.

When a week later I was told on the phone that my proposal had been accepted, I could hardly believe it. I waited until I had hung up before I let out a shriek of joy that would have scared the spots off a leopard. I was an inch away from pulling my T-shirt over my face and running round the room like a madwoman, howling, “Gooooaaaaal!!!”

At last I had been given my passport to a new life.