Officer Truchaud:Is that how you would explain what you did at the premiere? We’ve reviewed the video footage.
Lou Ocean Utley:From when I arrived? That was a misunderstanding. An optical illusion, if you will. People will create a story out of anything.
Officer Truchaud:I meant the video footage from when you left.
Lou Ocean Utley:Oh. I forgot about that. Can we please forgetabout that? A lot of things have happened since that night.
Officer Truchaud:That’s true. You were scheduled to be in Cannes for only four days and yet you rescheduled your departing flight at the last minute. Is that correct?
Lou Ocean Utley:You know everything. That’s very impressive.
Officer Truchaud:I’ll take that as a yes. Can you please tell us why you’re still here?
Lou Ocean Utley:I was having too much fun. Do you know how many parties there are during the festival?
Officer Truchaud:You’re doing it again with the questions. Were you having too much fun when you were screaming at people? It wasn’t just Marshall Wild, was it?
Lou Ocean Utley:There were some moments I wasn’t proud of. It was the Cannes effect. I had high expectations.
Officer Truchaud:Well, I have high expectations, too. Like figuring out what happened two nights ago on that yacht. Because you were there, weren’t you?
Lou Ocean Utley:I’m sure you’ve checked the guest list.
Officer Truchaud:We certainly did. And we’re interested in what you were doing there and why. Let’s continue, shall we?
Cannes Film FestivalDay One
Constance
While Tyler Charles got to stay at his friends’ villa on the outskirts of Cannes, I was back at Hotel de Gloom, which was what I called the onlyplace that fit my budget. I sat on the bed of my sad little room, fighting the temptation to throw myself a pity party of one. I had clawed my way to Cannes through frantic determination, and now I had everything to prove.
So I shook my dark thoughts away and answered emails, organized a few more shipments for Tyler, and exchanged a dozen texts with Julie Lillie, my other client, who I was meeting later tonight.
A crash came from the other side of the wall, things tumbling on top of one another, a yelp. I slid off the comforter, eager to escape my problems. In the hallway, a Black woman was squatting, surrounded by a dozen gift bags. She grumbled under her breath, her glossy dark hair covering her face.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Not right this minute,” she said, looking up. “Oh my god, it’s you!”
We clocked each other at the same moment. “Laila!”
She rose and came over to hug me. Her perfume was floral but withan edge; Laila always had that extra thing that made her stand out. I bet it was Frédérique Malle or Baccarat, something outrageously expensive she exclusively bought during trips to France.
“Connie, it’s beensolong.”
Laila Dube and I had gone to the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York together. Already then she was the ultimate cool girl. Her parents were from Zimbabwe, but she’d grown up in Switzerland, then London, and a few other countries I’m forgetting. Laila knew the latest artists everyone would listen to in months to come, and she perpetually had invites to decadent parties with the most out-there dress codes.
Her outfits were always on point, but when I complimented her on them, she’d shrug and tell me that her amazing dress was a hand-me-down from an aunt, because Laila’s many relatives had a plethora of vintage YSL or Prada to give away, apparently. I’d have been jealous of her if she wasn’t such a delight.
We had no classes in common, but we’d met because we were dating guys who were friends. For a few months, we saw each other all the time, until she broke up with her boyfriend. I stayed with mine way past the relationship’s prime, wasting two years of my precious early twenties. One of my toxic patterns. I still saw Laila around campus or at parties, but she had too many friends and too busy of a social life to fit me in.
“It’ssogood to see you!” I said, almost moved to tears by the presence of a friendly face.
“You too! Are you here with Carly Wolf?”
Carly had bragged online about the villa she had rented for her whole team during the festival. If I still worked with her, I wouldn’t be here right now at Hotel de Gloom.
“I went out on my own,” I said, as neutrally as I could. “Some of my clients are in town.”
