Lauren Weisberger 3-Book Collection: Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren Weisberger
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the ground floor and the numbers didn’t begin for one full flight up, it was technically seven floors off the ground. She was your stereotypical East Village artiste, with head-to-toe black clothes, ever-changing hair color, and a small facial piercing that appeared to rotate regularly from lip to nose to brow. An East Village artiste with a passionate dedication to romantic fiction for women. She obviously had the most to lose if any of her peers found out – a sort of artistic street cred, if you will – and so we all agreed to tell her neighbors, if asked, that we were there for a Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting. ‘You’re more comfortable telling them you’re a sex addict than a romance reader?’ I’d asked when she’d given us the instructions. ‘Clearly!’ she’d answered without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Addiction is cool. All creative people are addicted to something.’ And so we did as she wished.
She looked more punk than usual in a pair of rocker-chic leather pants and a classic faded CBGB T-shirt. She handed me a rum and Coke and I sat on her bed and watched her apply another six or so coats of mascara while we waited for the others. Janie and Jill were the first to arrive. They were fraternal twins in their early thirties; Jill was still in school, getting some sort of advanced degree in architecture, and Janie worked for an advertising agency. They’d fallen in love with Harlequins as little girls, when they would sneak-read their mom’s copies under the covers at night. Following closely behind them was Courtney, my original link to the group and an associate editor at Teen People who not only read every romance novel ever written but who just so happened to enjoy writing them as well; and finally, Vika, a half-Swedish, half-French import with an adorable accent and a coveted job as a kindergarten teacher at an Upper East Side private school. We were clearly a motley crew.
‘Anyone have any news before we dive in?’ Jill asked as the rest of us slurped down our drinks as swiftly as the syrupy-sweet liquid would allow. She always took charge and tried to keep us on track, an utterly useless gesture considering our meetings more closely resembled group therapy than any sort of literary exploration.
‘I quit my job,’ I announced merrily, holding up my red plastic Solo cup.
‘Cheers!’ they all called while clinking cups.
‘It’s about time you left that nightmare,’ Janie said.
Vika agreed. ‘Yes, yes, your boss will not be missed, of this I am sure?’ she asked in her sweet but odd accent.
‘No, that’s for sure, I won’t be missing Aaron.’
Courtney poured her second drink in ten minutes and said, ‘Yeah, but what are we going to do for a quote of the day now? Can someone forward them to you?’
At the second meeting I’d attended, I’d begun sharing the joy and wisdom of Aaron’s inspirational quotes with the entire group. After introductory remarks, I’d read the best one from the previous few weeks and we’d all crack up. Lately, the girls had begun coming prepared with their own anti-quotes, nasty or sarcastic or mean-spirited little epigrams that I might take back to the office and share with Aaron, if I were so inclined.
‘Which reminds me,’ I announced grandly, pulling a printout from my bag, ‘I received this one a mere three days before I left, and it’s one of my all-time favorites. It says, “Teamwork: Simply stated, it is less me and more we.” That, my friends, is insightful.’
‘Wow.’ Janie sighed. ‘Thanks for sharing. I’m definitely going to try to figure out how to have less me and more we in my life.’
‘Me, too,’ said Alex. ‘That goes nicely with a little quote I recently stumbled upon. It’s from our friend Gore Vidal. “Whenever a friend succeeds, a little something in me dies.”’
We all laughed until Janie interrupted with a rather shocking announcement. ‘Speaking of bosses … I, uh, I had an incident with mine.’
‘An incident?’ Jill asked. ‘You didn’t tell me anything!’
‘Well, it just happened last night. You were asleep when I got home, and I’m only seeing you for the first time now.’
‘I’d like you to explain the “incident,” please,’ Vika said with raised eyebrows.
‘We, uh, sort of hooked up,’ she said with a coy smile.
‘What?’ Jill was shrieking at this point, staring at her sister with a combination of horror and delight. ‘What happened?’
‘Well, he asked if I wanted to grab dinner after we pitched a new potential client. We went for sushi and then drinks. …’
‘And then?’ I prompted.
‘And then more drinks, and then the next thing I know, I’m naked on his couch.’
‘Oh, my God.’ Jill began to rock back and forth.
Janie looked at her. ‘Why are you so upset? It’s not such a big deal.’
‘Well, I just don’t think it’s going to do great things for your career,’ she replied.
‘Well then, you obviously don’t know how talented I can be in some areas, do you?’ Janie smiled wickedly.
‘Did you sleep with him?’ Alex asked. ‘Please say yes. That would really make my whole night. Investment banker Bette up and quits her job with no backup plan and you screw your boss? I’d feel like I was finally starting to have some influence around here.’
‘Well, I don’t know if I’d say we actually had sex,’ Janie said.
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ Alex asked. ‘You either did or you didn’t.’
‘Well, if he weren’t my boss, I probably wouldn’t have even counted it. Just in and out a few times – nothing major.’
‘That’s more than I’ve done in two years,’ I said.
‘Interesting. What I’m wondering is just how many other guys fall into the not-major-enough-to-count category. Janie? Wanna fill us in?’ Courtney asked. Alex returned from her fridge-and-hot-plate kitchen with a tray of shot glasses, each filled to the brim.
‘Why even bother to talk about The Very Bad Boy when we have our own very bad girl right here?’ she said and passed the glasses around the room.
We were off and running.
Another three weeks slipped by in much the same manner as my first month of unemployment, made only slightly less pleasurable by the daily phone calls from Will and my parents, who claimed to just be ‘checking in.’ Here’s how it usually went:
Mom: Hi, honey. Any new leads today?
Me: Hi, Mom. I’m pounding the pavement. There’s a lot that sounds promising, but I haven’t picked the perfect thing yet. How are you and Dad?
Mom: We’re fine, dear, just worried about you. You remember Mrs Adelman, right? Her daughter is the head of fund-raising for Earth Watch and she said you’re welcome to call her, that they could always use more dedicated, qualified people.
Me: Mmm, that’s great. I’ll look into that. [Channel flip to ABC as Oprah begins.] I better get moving. I have some more cover letters to write.
Mom: Cover letters? Oh, of course. I don’t want to keep you. Good luck, honey. I know you’ll find something soon.
Aside from those seven painful minutes every day when I insisted I was fine, the job search was fine, and I was sure I’d find something soon, everything actually was terrific. Bob Barker, Millington, an apartment full of trashy paperbacks, and four bags of Red Hots a day kept me company as I languidly surfed online job sites, making the occasional printout and the even more occasional application. I sure didn’t feel depressed, but it was kind of hard to judge, especially since I rarely left