21 Steps to Happiness Read Free

deserve to get someone like you. A Blanchett! Imagine! What money can’t buy?”
    Yeah, imagine.
    â€œThat 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.
    â€œYou must remember to tell your mother I say hi, for old times’ sake.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œAnd 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.
    â€œThe 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.
    â€œIt will give Jodie a laugh.”
    I read the title of the first chapter: “Step #1: Never be ashamed of who you are.”
    â€œYou could read it, too,” she says. “Lynn, can I be so bold to say that you strike me as a nice person.”
    â€œOh! Thank you.”
    â€œNo, 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.
    â€œRead it,” Roxanne commands.
    The chapter title says: “Step #3: Everywhere you go, be utterly bored.”
    â€œWhat 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, I find a tall Arab-looking man holding a piece of paper with my name on it.
    â€œI’m Lynn Blanchett,” I tell him.
    â€œJe suis Massoud, et je suis votre chauffeur . ”
    â€œDo you speak English?
    â€œNo no, no English! Français! ”
    â€œRight! This—” I point at the name “—is me.” I point at me.
    â€œOh!”
    He points at himself.
    â€œMoi, Massoud.”
    We’re doing the Tarzan-meets-Jane thing.
    â€œShould we go to the car? The car? Le car!” I turn an imaginary steering wheel.
    â€œCar! Yes, yes! Par là, mademoiselle.” He walks toward one of the exits.
    I follow him outside and we walk toward a stretch lim— No, that’s not a limousine at all, that’s just a…er…silly-looking car. Like a cross between a hearse and a spaceship. That must be the compact French version of a stretch limo.
    He opens the passenger door for me.
    Mmm? Cream leather upholstery. A phone. A minibar. A little video monitor for the passengers to enjoy a selection of DVDs.
    Not bad at all!
    â€œVous voulez aller à votre hôtel?”
    â€œEr…”
    â€œYou want hotel?” he tries.
    â€œYes, let’s go to my hotel.”
    â€œGood!”
    We’re off and I take my first glance at France. It’s not what I expected. It’s dawn, but the sky is nothing but mud-brown mash. The airport is located in the middle of grimy fields and lines of dirty highways.
    Â 
    â€œParis!”
    â€œEr…”
    I open my eyes.
    It feels like we have been driving for hours. Horrible traffic jams. I look to my right and all I can see are gray buildings. But…
    I turn to my left and I see it,