Her mom held up a pair of classic boot-cut jeans in a vintage wash. Not too dark, not too light, perfectly faded, and without any annoying patches, zippers, holes, rips, or weird pockets. Brooke felt the fabric. It was surprisingly lightweight and soft, possibly even softer than Julian’s beloved Levi’s.
“Wow,” Brooke said, taking them from her mother. “I think he’d actually love these. How did you do that?”
Her mother smiled. “I dressed you kids pretty well when you were younger. I guess I’ve still got it.”
It was only then Brooke noticed the price tag. “Two hundred fifty dollars? Julian’s Levi’s are forty bucks. I can’t get him these.”
Her mother snatched them out of her hand. “Oh yes you can. And you will. You’re going to get him these and a couple other pairs. Then we’re going to march right over to the clothing section and get him the softest, best-fitting white T-shirts we can find, and they’re probably going to cost seventy dollars each, and that’s okay. I’ll help you cover the cost.”
Brooke stared at her mother, dumbfounded, but Mrs. Greene only nodded. “This is important. For all sorts of reasons, but especially because I think it’s crucial right now that you’re there to help and support him.”
The bored salesman finally sauntered over. Brooke’s mother waved him away.
“Are you suggesting I’m not supportive of him? That I don’t help him? Why have I been working two jobs for four years now if I’m not completely and totally behind him? What do a few pairs of jeans have to do with it?” Brooke could hear her voice growing almost hysterical, but she couldn’t help it.
“Come here,” her mother said, holding open her arms. “Come here and let me hug you.”
Whether it was her sympathetic look or just the unfamiliar feeling of being embraced, the moment she felt her mother’s arms close around her, Brooke started to sob. She wasn’t sure why she was crying. Aside from Julian announcing he wasn’t coming home for another week, nothing was really that tragic—everything was actually really great—but once she began, she couldn’t stop. Her mother hugged her tighter and smoothed her hair, murmuring comforting nothings the way she had when Brooke was little.
“There’s a lot of change happening right now,” she said.
“But all of it’s good.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not scary. Brooke, sweetheart, I know you don’t need me to point this out, but Julian is on the cusp of becoming a nationally known musician. When that album comes out, your entire lives are going to be turned upside down. Everything up until now is just the warm-up.”
“But it’s what we’ve worked toward for so many years.”
“Of course it is.” Mrs. Greene first patted Brooke’s arm and then cupped her face with one hand. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t really overwhelming. He’s already away from home a lot, your schedules have been thrown into chaos, and there are all sorts of new people on the scene, weighing in, giving opinions, intervening in your business. It’s probably only going to intensify, both the good stuff and the bad stuff, so I want you to be prepared.”
Brooke smiled and held up the jeans. “And I’m preparing by buying him more expensive jeans than I wear? Really?” Her mother had always been more into clothes than her, but even she didn’t spend recklessly or to excess.
“That’s exactly right. There’s a lot you’re not going to be a part of in the next couple months, due only to the fact that he’s going to be traveling and you’ll be working here. He’s probably not going to have a tremendous amount of control over his own life, and you aren’t either. It’s going to be tough. But I know you, Rook, and I know Julian too. You guys are going to get through this, and once everything settles into more of a groove, you’re going to be great. And please forgive me for meddling in your marriage—I am hardly an expert here, as we all know—but until this crazy time has passed, you can make it easier by getting involved in any way you possibly can. Help him brainstorm marketing ideas. Wake up in the middle of the night when he calls, regardless of how tired you are—he’ll call more if he knows you want to hear from him. Buy him fancy new clothes when he’s told he needs them but doesn’t know where to start. Screw the cost! If this album sells half as well as everyone’s predicting, this little shopping spree won’t even be a blip on the radar screen.”
“You should’ve heard him talk about how much he’s going to rake in on this tour. I’m not great at math, but I think he’s talking high six figures.”
Her mother smiled. “You two deserve it, you know that? You’ve both worked so hard for so long now. You’ll go on some totally ridiculous spending binge, buying all sorts of luxuries you never even knew existed, and you’re going to love every minute of it. I, for one, am hereby officially volunteering to accompany you on all cash-blowing expeditions as the official credit card and shopping bag holder. There’s a lot of crap to put up with between now and then, no doubt. But you’re up for it, sweetheart. I know you are.”
When they finally left the store an hour and a half later, it took both of them to lug home all the new clothes. Together they’d selected four pairs of blue jeans and one pair of faded black ones, plus a pair of tight, denim-like corduroys that Mrs. Greene convinced Brooke were close enough to jeans to pass muster with Julian. They ran their fingers through heaping piles of white designer T-shirts, comparing the softness of jersey to Egyptian cotton, debating whether one might be too see-through or another too boxy, before selecting a dozen of them in various styles and fabrics. They’d split up when they hit the main floor and her mother went off to buy Julian some Kiehl’s men’s products, swearing that she’d never met a man who didn’t worship their shaving cream and aftershave. Brooke had her doubts that he would use anything besides the old-school Gillette foam in an aerosol can they sold for two bucks at Duane Reade, but she appreciated her mother’s enthusiasm. She made her way to the accessories department, where she carefully chose five knit caps, all in muted colors—one in a subtle black-on-black stripe—rubbing each one against her face to ensure it wasn’t hot or itchy.
The grand total of their shopping expedition came to a staggering $2,260, the largest single sum she had ever charged—furniture purchases included—in her entire life. It took her breath away to think about writing the check for that credit card bill, but she forced herself to stay focused on what was important: he was on the verge of a major career breakthrough, and she owed it to both of them to be behind him one hundred percent. Plus she was also pleased that she’d stayed true to his personal look, had respected his timeless jeans, white tee, and knit cap aesthetic and hadn’t tried to push some new image on him. It was one of the headiest afternoons she’d had in a long, long time. Even if the clothes weren’t for her, it didn’t make choosing and buying them any less fun.
By the time Julian called the following Sunday to say he was in the cab on his way home from the airport, she was beside herself with excitement. At first she laid out all the new purchases in the living room, draping the couch with jeans and the dining room chairs with T-shirts and hanging the knit caps from lamps and bookshelves around the room like ornaments on a tree, but just moments before he was due to arrive, she changed her mind and gathered everything back up again. She quickly folded the goods and returned them to their rightful shopping bags, which she tucked into the back corner of their shared closet, imagining how much more fun it would be for them to go through the pieces one by one. When she heard the front door open and Walter begin to bark, she ran out of the bedroom and flung her arms around Julian.
“Baby,” he murmured, burying his face in her neck and inhaling deeply. “My god, I missed you.”
He looked thinner, even more gaunt than usual. Julian outweighed Brooke by a good twenty pounds, but she was never really sure how. They were the exact same height, and she always felt like she was enveloping him, crushing him. She looked him up and down, leaned over, and pressed her lips against his. “I missed you so much. How was your flight? And the cab?
Are you hungry? I have some pasta I can heat up.”
Walter was barking so loudly it was almost impossible for them to hear each other. He wasn’t going to quiet down until he’d been properly greeted, so Julian collapsed onto the couch and tapped the spot next to him, but Walter had already jumped onto his chest and begun bathing Julian’s face with his tongue.
“Whoa, ease up there, good boy,” Julian said with a laugh. “Wow, that is some wicked doggy breath. Doesn’t anyone brush your teeth, Walter Alter?”
“He’s been waiting for his daddy,” Brooke called merrily from the kitchen, where she was pouring them wine.
When she returned to the living room, Julian was in the bathroom. The door was slightly open and she could see him standing in front of the toilet. Walter stood at his feet and watched with fascination as Julian peed.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Brooke sang out. “Something you are just going to loooove.”
Julian zipped up, made a halfhearted attempt at running his hands under the faucet, and joined her on the couch. “I have a surprise for you, too,” he said. “And I think you’re going to love it.”
“Really? You got me a present!” Brooke knew she sounded like a child, but who didn’t love gifts?
Julian smiled. “Well, yeah, I guess you could call it a present. It’s sort of for both of us, but I think you’ll like it even more than me. You go first. What’s your surprise?”
“No, you first.” Brooke wasn’t going to take any chances of having her clothing presentation overshadowed; she wanted his full attention for that one.
Julian looked at her and grinned. He stood up, walked back to the foyer, and returned with a rolling suitcase she didn’t recognize. It was black, Tumi, and absolutely gigantic. He rolled it right in front of her and waved his hand.
“You got me a suitcase?” she asked with a bit of confusion. There was no denying it was gorgeous, but it wasn’t exactly what she was expecting. Plus this one looked packed to the point where it was ready to pop right open.
“Open it,” Julian said.
Brooke hesitantly leaned down and gave the zipper a little tug. It didn’t budge. She pulled a little harder, but still nothing.
“Here,” Julian said, hefting the massive thing onto its side and yanking open the zipper. He flipped the top open to reveal . . . piles of neatly stacked clothing. Brooke was more confused than ever.
“Looks like, uh, clothes,” Brooke said, wondering why Julian appeared so happy.
“Yeah, they’re clothes, but not just any clothes. You, my dear Rookie, are looking at your husband’s new and improved image, care of his brand-new, label-provided stylist. How cool is that?”
Julian looked at Brooke expectantly, but it was taking time for her to process what he meant. “Are you saying that a stylist bought you a new wardrobe?”
Julian nodded. “Completely and totally new—a ‘fresh and totally unique look’ was how the chick described it. And, Rook, let me tell you, this girl knew what she was doing. It only took a few hours and I didn’t have to do anything but sit in a huge private dressing room at Barneys, and all these girls and gay guys kept bringing in hangers full of clothes. They put together, like, outfits and showed me what to wear with what. We had a couple beers and I tried on all these crazy things and everyone was weighing in on what they thought worked and what didn’t, and when all was said and done, I walked out with all this stuff.” He motioned toward the suitcase. “Just look at some of this stuff, it’s outrageous.”
He plunged his hands into the piles, yanked out an armful of clothing, and tossed it on the couch between them. Brooke wanted to scream at him to take better care of it, to mind the folds and the piles, but even she realized how ridiculous this was. She leaned over and held up a moss green cashmere hoodie. It had a waffle knit to it and felt as soft as a baby blanket. The tag read $495.
“How sweet is that one?” Julian asked with the kind of excitement he normally reserved only for musical instruments or new electronic gadgets.
“You never wear hoodies,” was all Brooke could manage.
“Yeah, but what better time to start than now?” Julian said with another grin. “I think I could get used to a five-hundred-dollar hoodie. Did you feel how soft it is? Here, check these out.” He tossed her a buttery leather jacket and a pair of John Varvatos black leather boots that were a cross between motorcycle and cowboy boots. Brooke wasn’t quite sure what they were, but even she knew they were cool. “How much do those rock?”
Again, she nodded. Scared she would start to cry if she didn’t do something, Brooke leaned over into the suitcase and pulled another pile of clothes onto her lap. There were heaps of designer and vintage T-shirts in every imaginable color. She spotted a pair of Gucci loafers—the ones with the sleek dress sole and without the telltale logo—and a pair of white Prada sneakers. There were hats, so many hats, chunky knit caps like the ones he always wore, but also cashmere ones and Panama Jacks and white fedoras. Probably ten or twelve hats in different styles and colors, each one different but stylish in its own unique way. Handfuls of whisper-thin cashmere V-necks, slim-cut Italian blazers that screamed casual cool, and jeans. So many jeans in every imaginable cut, color, and wash that Julian could probably wear a new pair every day for a fortnight and not have to repeat. Brooke forced herself to unfold and look at each of them until she found—as she knew she would—the same pair her mother had first selected at Bloomingdale’s that day, the ones Brooke had deemed perfect from the start.
She tried to murmur, “Wow,” but only a choked sound came out.
“Isn’t it incredible?” Julian asked, his voice growing more excited as she rifled through the clothes. “I’m finally going to look like a grown-up. A really expensively dressed grown-up. Do you have any idea how much all this stuff cost them? Just guess.”
She didn’t have to guess; she could tell by looking at the quality and sheer quantity of merchandise that Sony had laid out no less than ten thousand dollars. Still, she didn’t want to ruin it for Julian.
“I don’t know, two thousand? Maybe three? It’s craziness!” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
He laughed. “I know, that’s probably what I would’ve guessed too. Eighteen grand. Can you even believe it? Eighteen fucking grand on clothes.”
She rubbed one of the cashmere sweaters between her palms. “Are you okay with them changing your look, though? Do you mind that you’ll be wearing completely different stuff?”
She held her breath while he seemed to think about this for a moment.
“Nah, I can’t be like that,” he said. “Time to move on, you know? The old uniform worked for a while, but I’m starting fresh. I’ve got to embrace the new look, and hopefully with it the new career will come. I have to say, I’m kinda surprised myself, but I’m totally on board with it.” He smiled devilishly. “Besides, if you’ve gotta do it, better do it right, you know? So, how happy are you?”
She forced another smile. “So happy. It’s just awesome that they’re willing to invest in you like this.”
He yanked off his old, pilled cap and put on the white fedora with a chambray band. He jumped up to look in the hallway mirror and turned a few times, admiring himself from different angles. “So what’s your news?” he called out. “If I remember correctly, I’m not the only one around here with a surprise tonight.”
She smiled to herself, a sad smile despite the fact that no one could see her. “It’s nothing,” she called back, hoping her voice sounded cheerier than she felt.
“Oh come on, there was something you wanted to show me, wasn’t there?”
She folded her hands in her lap and stared at the overflowing suitcase. “Nothing quite as exciting as this, sweetie. Let’s enjoy this now and I’ll keep my surprise for another night.”
He walked over to her, fedora and all, and kissed her on the cheek. “Sounds good, Rookie. I’m going to unpack all my new loot. Wanna help?” He began dragging everything
toward the bedroom.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” she called, praying he wouldn’t notice the shopping bags in the closet.
He came back to the living room a moment later and sat next to her on the couch. “Are you sure everything’s okay, baby? Is anything wrong?”
She smiled again and shook her head, willing the lump in her throat to go away. “Everything’s great,” she lied, squeezing his hand. “Nothing’s wrong at all.”
8
My Weak Heart Can’t Handle Another Threesome
“IS it wrong I’m dreading this?” Brooke asked as she turned onto Randy and Michelle’s street.
“We really haven’t seen them in a while,” Julian mumbled, furiously typing on his phone.
“No, the party. I’m dreading the party. All those people from my childhood, each of them interrogating us about our lives and telling me all about their children’s lives, every one of which I used to be friends with but who have now gone on to out-accomplish me in every imaginable way.”
“I guarantee none of their kids married as well as you did.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smiling.
“Hah! I might have agreed with you before I ran into Sasha Phillips’s mother in the city six months ago. Sasha was the queen bee of sixth grade, the one who could get everyone to gang up on you with a single flick of her snap bracelet and who, incidentally, had the scrunchiest socks and the whitest-ever leather Keds.”
“Is this going somewhere?”
“So before I can take cover, I see Sasha’s mother at Century 21, in the housewares department.”
“Brooke . . .”
“And she corners me right between the shower curtains and the towels and starts bragging that Sasha is now married to a guy who’s being ‘groomed’ to be someone ‘very influential’ in a well-known Italian ‘business family,’ wink, wink. How this guy—this real catch—could have any woman on earth, and he was just smitten with her gorgeous Sasha. Who, by the way, is now the stepmother to his four children. She’s bragging! The woman was so skilled, I actually left there feeling badly that you weren’t in the mob and didn’t have a handful of children from a previous wife.”
Last Night at Chateau Marmont Page 14
