Chasing Harry Winston. Lauren Weisberger
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immediately jumped in for a back-and-forth rally. ‘Erectile dysfunction?’
‘Gambling addiction?’
‘Cried more than you did?’
‘Violent drunk?’
‘Mommy issues?’
‘Dig deep, Emmy,’ Leigh urged.
‘Well, there was something I always thought was a little strange …’ Emmy said.
The girls looked at her eagerly.
‘Not that it was really a big deal. He didn’t do it during sex or anything,’ she said quickly.
‘This just got a hell of a lot more interesting,’ Adriana said.
‘Spill it, Emmy,’ Leigh said.
‘He, uh …’ She coughed and cleared her throat. ‘We didn’t really talk about it, but he, uh, sometimes wore my panties to work.’
This disclosure was enough to silence the two people who considered themselves professional talkers. They talked their way through shrink appointments, out of traffic tickets, and into fully reserved restaurants, but for many seconds – possibly an entire minute – neither could produce a remotely logical or rational response to this new information.
Adriana recovered first. ‘Panties is a vile word,’ she said. She frowned and emptied the caipirinha pitcher into her glass.
Leigh stared at her. ‘I cannot believe you’re being pedantic right now. One of your best friends just told you that her boyfriend of nearly five years liked wearing her panties, and your biggest issue is with the word?’
‘I’m just pointing out its relative grossness. All women hate the word. Panties. Just say it – panties. It makes my skin crawl.’
‘Adriana! He wore her underwear.’
‘I know, trust me, I heard her. I was commenting – as a side note, mind you – that in the future, I don’t think we should use that word. Panties. Ugh. Do you not find it repulsive?’
Leigh paused for a moment. ‘Yeah, I guess I do. But that’s not really the take-away here.’
Adriana sipped and looked pointedly at Leigh. ‘Well, then, what is?’
‘The fact that her boyfriend’ – Leigh pointed at Emmy, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes and a blank expression – ‘put on a suit every day and went to the office. That under said suit he was wearing a pair of cute little lace bikinis. Doesn’t that freak you out slightly more than the word panties?’
It wasn’t until Emmy gasped audibly that Leigh realized she had gone too far.
‘Oh my god, I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean for that to sound as awful as—’
Emmy held up a hand, palm out, fingers spread. ‘Stop, please.’
‘That was so insensitive of me. I swear I wasn’t even—’
‘It’s just that you have it all wrong. Duncan never really showed any interest in my lace bikinis. Or my hipsters or boy shorts, for that matter.’ Emmy smiled wickedly. ‘But he sure did seem to love my thongs …’
‘Hey, whore, I’m ready for you.’ Gilles swatted Adriana on the upper arm as he walked past, nearly dislodging the cell phone she had balanced between her chin and her left shoulder. ‘And move it along. I have better things to do than listen to you have phone sex all day.’
A few of the older ladies looked up from their Vogues and Town & Countrys, eyes wide with disapproval at this breach in propriety, this complete ignorance of basic common courtesy. Looked up, actually, just in time to see Adriana place her china cup on its saucer and, now having one free hand, raise her right arm over her head and extend her middle finger. She did this without glancing up, still entirely immersed in her conversation.
‘Yes, querido, yes, yes, yes. It will be perfect. Perfect! See you then.’ Her voice lowered, but just a notch. ‘I can’t wait. Sounds delicious. Mmm. Kiss, kiss.’ She tapped a red lacquered nail on the iPhone’s touch screen and dropped it into her wide-mouthed Bottega Veneta satchel.
‘Who’s this week’s lucky prey?’ Gilles asked as Adriana approached. He turned his swivel chair toward Adriana, who, aware that she had the entire salon’s attention, bent forward the tiniest bit, allowing her silk blouse to fall a few inches from her chest and her bum – not particularly small, but rounded and tight the way men loved – before placing it, just so, on the leather.
‘Oh, please, do you honestly care? He’s boring to sleep with, much less talk about.’
‘Someone’s in a good mood today.’ He stood behind her, working through her wavy hair with a wide-toothed comb and talking to her through the mirror. ‘The usual, I assume?’
‘Maybe a little lighter around the face?’ She finished the last of her coffee and then threw her head back into his chest. She sighed. ‘I’m in a rut, Gilles. I’m tired of all the men, of all the different names and faces I have to keep straight. Not to mention the products! My bathroom looks like a Rite Aid. There are so many different cans of shaving cream and bars of soap that I could go into business.’
‘Adi, dear’ – he knew she hated that nickname, so he used it with relish every chance he got – ‘you sound ungrateful. Do you realize how many girls would change places with you in a heartbeat? To spend just a single night in that body of yours? Hell, just this morning I had two socialites-in-training jabbering away about how utterly fab your life is.’
‘Really?’ She pouted at herself in the mirror but he could detect a hint of pleasure.
It was true that her name did regularly appear in all the gossip columns that mattered – could she help it if the society photographers flocked to her? – and of course she was on the list for just about every party, product launch, store opening, and benefit that mattered. And yes, if she was being entirely truthful, she would have to admit that she had dated some impressively wealthy, gorgeous, famous men in her time, but it drove her crazy that everyone assumed the trappings of fabulousness were enough to make her happy. Not that they weren’t great – or that she’d be willing to give up a single second of it – but with her advanced age (closing in on thirty), Adriana had begun to suspect there might be something more.
‘Really. So buck up, girl. You may flit around the Make-A-Wish benefit like an angel, but at core you’re a dirty slut, and I love you for that. Besides, we did you the whole session last time. It’s my turn now.’ Hip jutted to the side, he impatiently held his hand out while his assistant, a lanky brunette with Bambi eyes and a fearful expression, rushed to place a foil in his open palm.
Adriana sighed and motioned to the assistant for another cappuccino. ‘All right. How are you doing?’
‘How lovely of you to inquire!’ Gilles bent down and kissed her cheek. ‘Let’s see. I’ve decided to focus my husband search on men who are already in committed relationships. Granted, it’s still early, but I’m getting some positive results.’
Adriana sighed. ‘Aren’t there enough single men out there to keep you busy? Do you really need to play home-wrecker?’
‘You know what they say, darling – if you can’t have a happy home, wreck one.’
‘Who’s “they”?’ she asked.
‘Why, me, of course. You haven’t seen a man enjoy a blowjob until you’ve watched a guy who hasn’t gotten one in ten years.’
Adriana laughed and immediately looked at her lap. Although she always feigned nonchalance and pretended to be casually cool with Gilles’s comprehensive and explicit descriptions of gay sex, it actually made her a little uncomfortable, an admission that annoyed her. She blamed this bit of old-fashionedness on