Lauren Weisberger 3-Book Collection: Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren Weisberger
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frozen daiquiri or piña colada if requested. Matt Lauer, Susan Sarandon, Katie Couric, Aerin Lauder, Kate Hudson, Russell Simmons, and Courteney Cox all had children in attendance, in addition to hundreds of others who were slightly less recognizable but just as photogenic. Pics appeared in People, US Weekly, Star, Sunday Styles, Gotham, W, and a dozen online social pages, including but not limited to the New York Social Diary and Patrick McMullen’s website. Warner Brothers was thrilled.’
‘Okay, kids, so we’ve got the template, and we obviously know what works. Clearly we won’t be in the Hamptons, but we should stick with the same format. I like the Clearview in Chelsea because they’re pretty relaxed about having lots of action in their lobby,’ Kelly said, efficiently checking things off a list. ‘What else?’
‘Well, for food, the usual kid favorites,’ Elisa said. ‘Pigs in blankets, quarter-sized burgers, candy hunts.’
‘Make your own sundae,’ Leo added without pause.
‘Balloons, magicians, design your own cupcake, bubble machines,’ Skye said without the least bit of enthusiasm.
‘Guy in a monster Shrek outfit.’
‘Face-painting the kids green.’
‘Parents hate face-painting. Plenty of other stuff you can do. Maybe those mini-trampolines?’
‘Are you kidding? Total liability. Might as well just have “Sue Me” in lights. Speaking of which, how about “Shrek” spelled out in a massive wall of green lightbulbs?’
Everyone nodded. I started to get slightly self-conscious about not having contributed anything, but I’d never been to a movie premiere and didn’t know anything about them besides stars walking down the red carpet.
‘What if we have a green carpet instead of a red one?’ I offered before considering how stupid it sounded. I braced myself, but the faces at the table looked fairly happy.
‘Fab idea, Bette! We’ll have a green carpet and a giant green walk-and-repeat at the end where everyone can get photographed. Green carpet should definitely mean more pictures. Things sound like they’re going smoothly there, so let’s move on to what really matters. Where are we with the Playboy party?’
The color had returned to Elisa’s face, and she appeared more composed. She stood with perfect posture in her Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and pointed to the bulletin board with her Mason Pearson brush.
‘As you can all see, we are just a few months away. After much scouting and debating, we have selected Sanctuary as our location. Leo, can you update us on the logistics?’
Leo looked at Elisa as if to say ‘Since when am I answering to you?’ but then cleared his throat and told the room he was interviewing production companies (who would handle everything from furniture to lighting) and should have the shortlist by the end of the week. ‘I’m sure we’ll end up with Bureau Betak,’ he said. ‘We always do.’
The meeting continued for another hour and a half (we covered gift bags, potential sponsors, and invitations) before we were released for lunch with the encouragement to go somewhere we’d ‘see or be seen.’ I begged out of going to Pastis with the group and roamed a few blocks east to a divey pizza joint where I surely wouldn’t run into anyone from the office. As soon as I had wedged my body into a tiny booth near the restroom, I called Will at work and was surprised to find him at his desk.
‘Why are you there?’ I asked. ‘It’s not even deadline day.’ Will only went to his office at the paper once or twice a week, less if he could help it.
‘Hello, darling. I’m struggling a bit with this week’s column.’ He was quiet for a split second before adding, ‘Lately, it seems I’m struggling a bit with every week’s column.’
He sounded frustrated and resigned at the same time, two sentiments I wasn’t accustomed to hearing from Will.
‘Are you okay, Will? What’s going on there?’ I asked, forcing myself to forget my own problems for just a few seconds.
He sighed heavily. ‘Nothing interesting, darling, that’s for sure. Readership of “Will of the People” is way down this year. Another few papers dropped it from syndication. My new thirty-one-year-old editor has no sense of humor – keeps telling me that “today’s readers” are more “socially sensitive” and that therefore I should strive to be more “politically correct.” Naturally, I told him to fuck off, but he won’t stay quiet for long. Then again, why would anyone want to read my column when they can read about pretty young party planners gallivanting about with rich, famous pretty boys?’
I felt like I’d been punched. ‘You saw.’
‘Naturally. Am I to assume there was any truth to that tawdry little write-up?’ he asked.
‘Of course not!’ I wailed loud enough to cause the cashier to turn and glare at me. ‘I saw Philip at Sanctuary this weekend, when I was there for work. We shared a cab home because it was less complicated. The other girl was his family friend. Childhood family friend. The whole thing could not have been less scandalous.’
‘Well, then, it seems this Ellie Insider character is doing her job splendidly. Take comfort in the fact that they didn’t use your name, darling. But don’t think for a minute that it won’t come soon.’
‘Do you know who she is, Will? I mean, you must have met her somewhere along the line, don’t you think?’
I heard Will chuckle and imagined the worst. ‘Well, I’ve certainly heard lots of names bandied about, but there are no solid leads. Some people insist it’s some socialite ratting out all her friends. Others seem to think it’s an unknown with a few well-placed sources. For all we know, it could be that ex–fashion editor – oh, what was her name? The one who keeps busy penning nasty book reviews? I could see her writing trash like this.’
‘It’s just creepy. I’m about ready for whomever it is to start focusing on someone else, you know? Someone a little more interesting, who might actually be living a scandalous life? I definitely don’t qualify.’ I bit into a piece of pizza, possibly the most perfect slice in the world.
‘I understand, darling, truly I do. But Philip qualifies, don’t forget! I hate to go rushing off, but my column doesn’t seem to want to write itself this week. Talk soon? Will we see you at dinner this Thursday?’
‘Of course,’ I said automatically before realizing that I was expected to attend the launch of a new Gucci fragrance that night. I knew I’d have to call back and cancel, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it now. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Talk to you later.’
I finished my little slice of heaven and ordered a second, which I also knocked off in record time. I was listlessly staring at a tattered copy of the Post someone had left on the table when my phone rang. HOME flashed on the caller ID.
‘Hello?’ I answered, wondering whether it was my mother or father – or both, since they often enjoyed the tag-team calling of first one, then the other, then all three of us talking from different extensions.
‘Bette, is that you?’ my mother practically shouted. ‘Can you hear me?’ Her voice was, as usual, louder than necessary. She was convinced that cell phones required above-average volume from all involved parties and therefore screamed whenever she called mine.
‘I can hear you, Mom. Perfectly. How are you?’
‘I can’t really talk since I’m running into a scheduling meeting, but one of the girls at the clinic today said she saw your picture on some website. A picture of you and a famous boy and another girl? Or something to that effect.’
Impossible! My mother, who had only recently registered for her own email address, was now receiving information about the content of online gossip columns? I was quick to deny it. ‘It was nothing, Mom, just a little photo of me at a work event.’
‘Bette, that’s wonderful!