Lauren Weisberger 3-Book Collection: Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren Weisberger
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I busied myself examining the menu, wondering if every employee of Kelly & Company was in possession of an enormous trust fund. I couldn’t very well contribute much about the subtleties of Chianti. My parents’ idea of ‘summering’ was driving from Poughkeepsie to Cayuga Lake in Ithaca, where they’d hold a vegan barbecue on the porch with locals and drink their licorice tea. Nothing like blowing your first week’s pay on a single meal you didn’t want to have in the first place.
‘So how tough was last night?’ Davide asked. ‘I mean, what are the chances that not a single A-list celebrity showed up?’
‘Some of the Sex and the City cast were there,’ Leo pointed out thoughtfully.
‘Um, excuse me, I don’t think Chris Noth and John Corbett count as A-list!’ Skye said. ‘Did you see Sarah Jessica Parker? No! Besides, SATC’ – she used the abbreviation here – ‘is so over. The whole thing was a nightmare.’
The group had been commissioned by Warner Books to throw the book party for Candace Bushnell’s newest novel, and apparently it had been a zoo. Since I hadn’t worked on it from the beginning, I’d attended another event that night, a dinner welcoming the CEO of one of Kelly & Company’s new accounts.
Leo sighed. ‘I know, you’re right, of course. It was just so, so … B and T!’
‘Yes, it was, wasn’t it? I mean, who were all those girls on the outside patio? They were positively attacking the champagne – you’d think they’d never seen it before. And those two guys with the Staten Island accents who actually got in a fight? Hideous,’ Skye added.
‘Yeah, Penelope, you didn’t miss anything,’ Elisa reassured her, even though Penelope clearly had no idea what anyone was discussing. ‘That’s the beauty of book parties, though. The publishers are usually so out of the loop, they have no clue whether it actually drew a good crowd or not.’
Davide delicately sipped his wine and nodded. ‘At least we won’t have to endure another “Why the List Makes the Party” speech from Kelly. I honestly don’t think I could listen to it again.’
I’d been hearing about ‘The List’ since Monday, but Kelly hadn’t yet taken any time to introduce me to the ‘most comprehensive database of everyone worth knowing.’ She’d set aside the next day, a Friday, to demonstrate for me the glory that is The List. I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, not quite able to accept that Kelly really was the insanely upbeat woman she appeared to be, but so far she’d maintained her relentless optimism on full throttle. And even though I don’t think Will had given her much of a choice in hiring me, she seemed genuinely happy to have me there. I’d invested four full days in studying her intently, desperate to discover some hideous flaw or irritation, and I still hadn’t managed to uncover a single negative aspect of her personality. Could it be possible that she really was all-around adorable, sweet, and successful? The most serious offense I’d found so far was her tendency toward chipper emails with numerous emoticons. But she hadn’t once used the word powwow or placed any sweaty hands anywhere inside my workspace, so I was more than content to let it slide.
My phone rang just as everyone began arguing about whether or not Kelly had already had her eyes done at the ripe old age of thirty-four, and although I scrambled to silence it, I realized that this crowd not only didn’t mind if I answered it, they expected as much.
‘Bette, hey, how are you?’
It was Michael, and he sounded slightly confused.
‘Michael, honey, how are you?’ Honey? I’d let it slip without even realizing it. The table looked on curiously, none more so than Penelope. ‘Honey?’ I saw her mouth at me questioningly.
‘Honey?’ Michael laughed on the other end. ‘What, are you drunk? I got released early! Tell me where you are and I’ll come meet you.’
I laughed ingratiatingly, totally unable to picture Michael, who was a dead ringer for Jon Cryer, punning in his sweetly dorky way as Davide waxed on about the villa they’d just rented in Sardinia for next August. ‘I’m at dinner with a few colleagues, but we’ll be finished here in an hour or so. Can I call you when I get home?’
‘Sure,’ he said, sounding even more confused. ‘Call me on my land line, though, because my cell’s out of battery.’
‘Talk to you then.’ I clicked the phone shut.
‘Was that our Michael?’ Penelope asked, clearly curious.
‘Who was thaaaaaaaat?’ Elisa asked, leaning hungrily across the table. ‘Love interest? Hot manager from the bank? Unresolved feelings that can finally be acknowledged because you no longer work together? Do tell!’
And even though the thought of having sex with Michael was less appealing than sleeping with my own uncle and Michael was madly in love with his sweet and adorable girlfriend and Penelope knew full well that Michael and I had absolutely nothing between us, I went with it. ‘Um, something like that,’ I said, deliberately looking down while the table’s attention focused on me for the first time all evening. ‘We’re, uh, just figuring things out now.’
‘Ooh,’ Elisa squealed. ‘I just knew it! Make sure Kelly adds him to The List so he can bring all his gorgeous banker friends to the events! What fun. Let’s have a toast! To Bette and her new boyfriend!’
‘Well, he’s not exactly my—’
‘To Bette!’ everyone chorused, raising wineglasses and clinking. Penelope raised her glass but stared straight ahead. They all sipped. I gulped and nudged Penelope. Blessedly, everything started to get a little fuzzy around dessert.
‘So I spoke to Amy and she said we’re good for Bungalow tonight,’ Leo announced, brushing his flawlessly highlighted hair away from his eyes. So far I’d heard them discuss the best places in the city to get a facial, the really stylish new men’s flip-flops at John Varvatos, and how annoying it was when their favorite Pilates instructor started class ten minutes late. And only Leo was gay.
‘Bungalow? Is that Bungalow 8?’ I asked, my usual filter having been relaxed by the free-flowing wine.
Conversation slammed to a halt and four perfectly groomed and/or made-up faces swiveled toward me. It was finally Skye who summoned the strength to withstand the burden of my question.
‘Yes,’ she said quietly, refusing to make eye contact, clearly humiliated for me. ‘Amy Sacco owns Bungalow 8 and Lot 61 and is a very good friend of Kelly’s. We’re all on the list for tonight, which is the best party of the week.’
Everyone nodded.
‘I’m game for whatever,’ Davide said, playing with Elisa’s hair. ‘As long as it’s guaranteed we’ll have a table. Can’t deal otherwise – not tonight.’
‘Obviously,’ Elisa agreed.
When the check came it was already well after midnight, and even though Penelope was chatting amicably with Leo, I could tell she was dying to get home. But Bungalow sounded like fun, so I shot her a few significant looks and left for the bathroom, where I waited for her to meet me.
‘What a nice night,’ she said neutrally.
‘Yeah, they’re cool, aren’t they? Something different.’
‘Definitely. Hey, I hope you don’t mind if I cut out early,’ she said, sounding more than a little distant.
‘Is everything okay? What’s wrong?’
‘No, nothing at all. It’s just kind of late and I’m not sure I’m up for, uh, for a club. Avery and I agreed to meet at home tonight, so I’d better get going. Whatever, dinner was great. I think I’m just tired, but you go and have a good time, okay?’
‘Are you sure? I could just as easily share a cab home and go to sleep. I’m not sure I’m up for it, either,’ I offered, but she saved me the trouble.