Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection

by Lauren Weisberger

  ‘Bette! Darling! I didn’t even hear you come in. Were you lucky enough to witness our latest tiff?’

  I kissed him on his clean-shaven cheek and assumed my usual perch on the lime green chaise. ‘I sure did. Are you actually inviting Rush Limbaugh here?’ I asked, slightly incredulous but not really surprised.

  ‘I am. I’ve been to his home a half-dozen times over the years, and he’s a perfectly nice fellow. Of course, I was never quite aware of how heavily medicated he was during those evenings, but it somehow makes him even more endearing.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Enough. Tell me what’s new in your fabulous life?’

  It always amazed me how he could be so cool and casual about everything. I remember my mother explaining to me as a child that Uncle Will was gay and that Simon was his boyfriend and that as long as two people are happy together, things like gender or race or religion don’t mean anything at all (not applicable, of course, to me marrying a non-Jew, but that went without saying. My parents were as liberal and open-minded as two people could get when they were talking about anyone besides their own kid). Will and Simon visited Poughkeepsie a few weeks later and as we sat at the dinner table, trying to choke down fistfuls of sprouts and what felt like never-ending rations of vegetarian dahl, I had asked in my sweet ten-year-old voice, ‘Uncle Will, what’s it like to be gay?’

  He’d raised his eyebrows at my parents, glanced at Simon, and looked me straight in the eye. ‘Well, dear, it’s quite nice, if I do say so myself. I’ve been with girls, of course, but you do soon realize that they just don’t, ah, well, work for you, if you know what I mean.’ I didn’t know, but I was certainly enjoying the pained faces my parents were making.

  ‘Do you and Simon sleep in the same bed like Mommy and Daddy?’ I’d continued, sounding as sweet and innocent as I possibly could.

  ‘We do, darling. We’re exactly like your parents. Only different.’ He took a swig of the scotch my parents kept on hand for his visits and smiled at Simon. ‘Just like a regular married couple, we fight and we make up and I’m not afraid to tell him that even he can’t pull off white linen pants before Memorial Day. Nothing’s different.’

  ‘Well then, that was an illuminating conversation, wasn’t it?’ My father cleared his throat. ‘The important thing to remember, Bette, is that you always treat everyone the same, regardless of how they might be different from you.’

  Booooring. I had no interest in another love-in lecture, so I settled on one last question: ‘When did you find out you were gay, Uncle Will?’

  He took another sip of scotch and said, ‘Oh, it was probably when I was in the army. I sort of woke up one day and realized I’d been sleeping with my commanding officer for some time,’ he replied casually. He nodded, more sure now. ‘Yes, come to think of it, that was rather telling for me.’

  It didn’t matter that I was slightly unclear on the terms sleeping with and commanding officer; my father’s sharp inhalation and the look my mother shot Will across the table were perfectly sufficient. When I’d asked him years later if that was actually when he realized he preferred men, he’d laughed and said, ‘Well, I’m not sure that was the first time, darling, but it was certainly the only one that was appropriate for the dinner table.’

  Now he sat calmly, sipping his martini and waiting for me to tell him all about my new and improved life. But before I could come up with something to offer, he said, ‘I assume you’ve gotten the invitation to your parents’ for the Harvest Festival?’

  ‘I have, yes.’ I sighed. Every year my parents threw their Harvest Festival party in the backyard to celebrate Thanksgiving with all their friends. It was always on Thursday, and they never served turkey. My mother had called a few days earlier and, after listening politely to the details of my new job – which to my parents was only slightly preferable to padding the coffers of a huge corporate bank – she’d reminded me yet again that the party was coming up and that my presence was expected. Will and Simon always RSVPd yes, only to cancel at the last moment.

  ‘I suppose I’ll drive us all up there Wednesday when you’re done with work,’ Will said now, and I barely managed to keep from rolling my eyes. ‘How is everything going, by the way? Judging from everything I’m reading, you seem to have, ah, embraced the job.’ He didn’t smile, but his eyes sparkled, and I swatted him on the shoulder.

  ‘Mmm, yes, you must mean the new little write-up in New York Scoop.’ I sighed. ‘Why are they after me?’

  ‘They’re after everyone, darling. When your sole mission as a columnist – online or otherwise – is to cover what’s being consumed in the Condé Nast cafeteria, well, nothing should really surprise you. Have you read the latest?’

  ‘This isn’t the latest?’ I felt the familiar dread begin to build.

  ‘Oh, no, darling, I’m afraid to say it isn’t. My assistant faxed it here an hour ago.’

  ‘Is it awful?’ I asked, not really wanting an answer.

  ‘It’s less than complimentary. For both of us.’

  I felt my stomach flip. ‘Oh, Christ. I can understand Philip, but for whatever reason they’ve made me their project, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Now they’re including you?’

  ‘I can hold my own, darling. I’m not thrilled, but I can handle it. As far as you’re concerned, you’re right. There’s not much you can do, but I would certainly advise you not to do anything exceptionally stupid in public, or at least while you’re in the company of this certain gentleman. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.’

  I nodded. ‘I just don’t think my life is interesting enough to chronicle, you know? I mean, I’m no one. I go to work, I go out because I have to, and all of a sudden, my activities are fair game for public consumption.’

  ‘Not yours – his,’ Will pointed out, absentmindedly fingering the platinum ring that Simon called a wedding band and Will referred to as ‘Simon’s security blanket.’

  ‘You’re right. I just can’t seem to extricate myself. He’s omnipresent. And it’s such a weird situation.’

  ‘How so?’ We both smiled when Simon swooshed by in an angry huff of ivory linen, and Will mouthed the word snit.

  ‘Well … I don’t actually like Philip as a person, but—’

  ‘Darling! Don’t let that stop you from dating someone! If liking the person was a requirement for having sex with them, well then, we’d all be in trouble.’

  ‘See, that’s the other thing. I’m not actually sleeping with him. Or rather, he’s not sleeping with me.’

  Will raised an eyebrow. ‘I have to admit, that one puzzles me.’

  ‘Well, at first it was because I didn’t want to. Or at least that’s what I thought. I just thought he was kind of a jerk, and even though I’m sure of it now, there’s something that attracts me to him. Not in any kind of redeeming-quality way whatsoever, but he’s certainly different from everyone else I know. And he’s just not interested.’

  Will was about to say something but stopped himself just as his mouth opened. He appeared to regroup for a minute and then said, ‘I see. Well, ah, I have to say, I’m not actually surprised.’

  ‘Will! Am I that much of a cow?’

  ‘Darling, I have neither the time nor the inclination to spoon-feed you compliments right now. You know that’s precisely not how I meant it. I just find it unsurprising since it’s the men who talk about sex the most, the ones who make it such a crucial element of their identities, who actually define themselves by it, are usually the ones not performing up to par. With most people, when they’re happy with that area of their lives, they’re also happy to keep it private. All of this is by way of saying that I think you have the best situation possible right now.’

  ‘Oh, really? Why’s that?’

  ‘Because from what you’ve mentioned before, it’s important to your boss and colleagues that the Brit stay in the picture, right?’

  ‘Correct. Your niece is a glorified prostitute, and it’s all your fault.
’

  He ignored that comment. ‘Well, it seems that it’s an easy out, no? You can continue spending time with him as you – or your company – see fit, but you don’t actually have to, ah, participate in anything unsavory. You’re getting credit for minimal work, darling.’

  That was an interesting way of looking at it. I wanted to tell him about Sammy, maybe even ask his advice, but I realized it was ridiculous to talk about my unrequited crush. Before I could broach the subject either way, my cell phone rang.

  ‘Philip,’ I announced, wondering, as usual, whether to answer it. ‘He seems to instinctively call at the most inopportune times.’

  ‘Answer it, darling. I’m going to find Simon and soothe his jangled nerves. That man is a walking basket case, and I’m afraid it’s due in no small part to yours truly.’ With that, he strolled out.

  ‘Hello?’ I said, pretending, as everyone does, that I had no idea who was calling.

  ‘Please hold for Philip Weston,’ a hollow voice replied. A moment later, Philip came on. ‘Bette! Where are you? The driver said you’re not home, and I can’t imagine where else you’d be.’

  There were a few things to process here, not the least of which was how I’d just been blatantly accused of having no life outside of him.

  ‘I’m sorry, who’s speaking?’ I asked formally.

  ‘Oh, stop banging on like that, Bette. It’s Philip. I sent a car to your flat, but you’re not there. Bungalow is blowing up tonight and I want to see you. Get over here,’ he commanded.

  ‘While I appreciate the sentiment, I have plans tonight, Philip. I can’t make it,’ I said for emphasis.

  I could hear Eminem in the background and then muffled words from another male voice.

  ‘Hey, some guy wants me to say hello for him. The fucking bouncer. Jesus, Bette, you must patronize this establishment more than I had originally thought. Man, what’s your name?’

  If I’d been given the choice at that moment, I would’ve chosen death over talking to Sammy through Philip. But before I could change the subject or ask him to move away so I could hear him better, Philip said, ‘Are you listening to my conversation? Sod off, man.’

  I cringed.

  ‘Philip, thank you so much for the gorgeous flowers,’ I blurted out, trying desperately to divert his attention. ‘They were the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and I’m so happy you’ll be doing the BlackBerry party.’

  ‘What?’ More mumbled talking. ‘The bouncer’s called Sammy and he says he’s working with you on a party or something. What’s he talking about, Bette?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I was just saying. The BlackBerry party.’ I was screaming into the phone now, trying to be heard over the background noise. ‘The one you agreed to do … the flowers … the note … any recollection?’

  ‘Flowers?’ He sounded genuinely confused.

  ‘The ones you sent me just earlier today? Remember?’

  ‘Oh, right on, love. I suppose Marta sent them. She’s quite attentive to the details, sending shit at all the right times. She’s my best girl.’

  It was my turn to be confused. ‘Marta?’

  ‘My assistant. She runs my life, makes me look good. Works well, doesn’t it?’ I could almost hear him grinning through the phone.

  ‘So did she tell you that she agreed on your behalf to host this party?’ I kept my voice as steady and measured as was humanly possible.

  ‘Not for a second, love, but that’s all right. If she’s keen on it, then so am I. She’ll just tell me where to be and when. What?’ he asked, sounding distracted.

  ‘What?’ I asked back.

  ‘Hold on a moment, the bouncer wants to talk to you. He said it’s about work.’

  This was unacceptable. I’d almost – almost – forgotten that Sammy had been standing there listening to this entire exchange. He’d heard the bit about the flowers, and certainly how patronizing Philip had been during his charming pronouncement that the bouncer wanted to talk to me. ‘Wait! Philip, don’t just go and—’

  ‘Hello, Bette?’ It was Sammy. I couldn’t even speak. ‘You still there?’

  ‘I’m here,’ I said meekly. The flutter feeling described so vividly in all my books began immediately, and with great forcefulness.

  ‘Hey, listen, I just wanted to—’

  I cut him off without thinking and blurted, ‘I’m sorry he sounds like such an asshole right now, but he really can’t help it, since that’s exactly what he is.’

  There was a momentary silence and then a deep, appreciative laugh. ‘Well, you said it, not me. Although I won’t disagree with you.’ Again I heard some sort of muffled exchange and then heard Sammy call out, ‘I’ll keep it right here for you, man.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

  ‘Your boyfr – your, uh, your friend – spotted another, uh, a friend and went inside to say hello. He just left me with his phone. Hope he’s not too upset if it gets accidentally run over by a cab. Listen, I really wanted to apologize for this afternoon. I don’t know what got into me, but I had no right to say that stuff to you. We don’t even know each other, and I was totally out of line.’

  Here it was! My big apology, and he couldn’t have sounded more sincere had he showed up outside my apartment and serenaded me in the adorable Calvin Klein boxer briefs I just knew he wore. I wanted to crawl through the phone and into his lap, but I managed to maintain some semblance of cool.

  ‘Not at all. I’m sorry I snapped at you like that, too. It was just as much my fault, so please don’t worry about a thing.’

  ‘Great. So this won’t get in the way of our professional relationship, right? Amy told me today that I’m going to be the primary liaison for your party, and I didn’t want this to affect how well either of us does our job.’

  ‘Uh, right.’ Our jobs. Of course. ‘Yes, yes, no problem at all.’

  I tried to hide my disappointment and obviously didn’t do well because he stammered right back, ‘Uh, yeah, well, our jobs, and of course our, uh, our friendship. You know?’ I could almost feel him blushing and wanted nothing more than to stroke his face with my palm right before wrapping my entire body around his.

  ‘Right. Our friendship.’ This was getting worse with every passing second, and I decided that no matter how nice it was to hear his voice, nothing good could come from continuing the conversation.

  ‘Oh, Bette, I almost forgot to tell you! I spoke to Amy and she okayed you guys having Bungalow that night. It’s in the books and there’s no problem whatsoever. She just has a few requests for some of her people that she’d like included on the list, but otherwise you’ll control the guest list entirely. She almost never agrees to that. Perfect, right?’

  ‘Wow!’ I said with forced enthusiasm. ‘That’s really great news. Thanks so much!’

  Some girls started giggling in the background, one of them saying his name a few times, obviously trying to get his attention.

  ‘Well, duty calls. I better get back to work. Good talking to you, Bette. And thanks for being so understanding about today. Can I call you tomorrow? To, uh, discuss the other details?’

  ‘Sure, sure, that’d be great,’ I said quickly, eager to hang up since Will had just walked back in, and he had ominously placed a sheet of paper in his lap. ‘I’ll talk to you then. Bye.’

  ‘Was that your boyfriend?’ Will asked, picking up his drink again and settling back into the chair.

  ‘No,’ I sighed, reaching for my own martini. ‘It most definitely was not.’

  ‘Well, not to rain on this little party here, but you’ll have to read it at some point.’ He cleared his throat and picked up the sheet. ‘By Ellie Insider. She writes a paragraph about her trip to Los Angeles last week and all the movie stars with whom she partied. That’s followed by a short ditty concerning her immense popularity with designers, to the point where they all clamor to dress her for events. We’re up next. It’s short, but not sweet. “Since any friend of Philip Weston’s is a friend of
ours, we realized we didn’t know much about his new girlfriend, Bette Robinson. We do know that she’s a graduate of Emory University, an ex-employee of UBS Warburg, and the new darling of Kelly & Company PR, but did you know that she’s also the niece of columnist Will Davis? The once-favored arbiter of all things Manhattan has, admittedly, become a bit passé, but what must he think of his niece’s very public antics? We’re willing to guess he’s less than pleased.” That’s all she wrote,’ Will said softly, calmly tossing the paper aside.

  I instantly had a queasy feeling, as though I’d just awakened from a nude-in-the-high-school-cafeteria dream. ‘Oh, my god, Will, I’m so sorry. The last thing I ever wanted was to drag you into this. And what she said about your column is patently untrue,’ I lied.

  ‘Oh, Bette, darling, do shut up. We both know she’s exactly right. But you can’t control what these people write, so let’s not worry about it for another moment. Come, let’s dine.’ He said all the right words, but the tension in his face said something else, and I was left with an odd feeling of sadness and nostalgia for the way things had been before my new and improved life.

  14

  ‘Tell me again why your mother is throwing you a going-away dinner when she’s so pissed you’re moving?’ I asked Penelope. After a full day of list-checking and sponsor-calling for the BlackBerry party – which was now only four days away – it seemed like everything was shaping up nicely, and I’d retreated to Penelope’s in the hope of discussing something, anything, that wasn’t related to publicity. I was flopped on the floor of the bedroom that Avery and Penelope now shared, although it didn’t appear that Avery had compromised much on combining their stuff: the king-sized waterbed rested on an imposing black platform, a frat boy–style black leather couch ate up what little room remained, and the only item that could qualify as ‘decor’ was an oversized and slightly discolored lava lamp. The apartment’s pièce de résistance, however, was a fifty-five-inch plasma screen that hung from the living room wall. According to Penelope, Avery didn’t know how to wash a dish or launder a pair of socks, but he carefully detailed his flat-screen with special nonabrasive cleaning solution every weekend. The last time I’d been over I’d heard Avery instruct Penelope to ‘tell the maid to keep that surface cleaner away from my flatty. That shit fucks up the screen. I swear to God, if I see her go near my TV with that can of Lysol, she’s gonna be looking for a new job.’ Penelope had smiled indulgently, as if to say ‘Boys will be boys.’ She was currently packing Avery’s clothes in the Louis Vuitton suitcases his parents had bought them for their engagement-party trip to Paris while simultaneously bitching about the dinner that was to be held in their honor that night. I didn’t inquire why Avery couldn’t pack his own clothes.