Lauren Weisberger 3-Book Collection: Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren Weisberger
House. We compromised on some high-end, pan-Asian chain that displeased everyone, and things only spiraled downward from there. The restaurant didn’t serve my mother’s type of tea or Penelope’s father’s favorite cabernet. As far as conversation topics went, politics, careers, and future plans for the graduates were out, since there were no shared opinions or ideas whatsoever. My father ended up talking to Avery for most of the meal and then making fun of him later; I spoke to my mother, Penelope talked only to hers, and her father and brother exchanged the occasional sentence or two in between gulps from the three bottles of red wine they killed together. It had ended as awkwardly as it started, with everyone eyeing each other suspiciously and wondering what their daughters saw in one another. Penelope and I had dropped them all at their respective hotels, hit the bars immediately, and proceeded to drunkenly imitate each one, all while swearing to never repeat that evening.
‘Come here – talk to my father for me, will you? It’s been a few decades since he’s socialized outside the office and he doesn’t seem to know what to do.’ She seemed in reasonably high spirits, and I wondered how to tell her that I could only stay through drinks because I had to go to a party with the gorgeous bad boy I was supposedly dating.
‘Pen, I’m so sorry to do this and I acknowledge that it’s the shittiest, most selfish thing in the whole world, but I just got a call from work and I have absolutely positively no choice but to go because I’m in charge of this particular project and there are people in from out of town that my boss is currently with and she’s insisting that I meet them and even though I told her that I was at something really, really important she basically threatened my job – through a third party, of course – if I’m not downtown in under an hour and I argued and argued, but she was adamant, so I’m planning to get down there and back as quickly as possible and of course I’m still up for the Black Door if you guys don’t mind waiting for me.’ Stop. Deep breath. Ignore death look on Penelope’s face. ‘I’m sorry!’ I wailed loud enough to cause a few of the waiters to glance in our direction. I somehow managed to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach, Michael’s surprised look from a few feet away, and the reproachful stare from Penelope’s mother for making the commotion.
‘When do you have to leave?’ Penelope asked calmly, her expression revealing nothing.
‘In a half-hour. They’re sending a car.’
She unconsciously twisted the small diamond stud in her right ear and gazed at me. ‘Do what you need to do, Bette. I understand.’
‘You do?’ I asked, not quite believing her, but hearing no anger in her voice.
‘Of course. I know you want to be here, and sure, I’m disappointed, but I know you wouldn’t go unless it was really important.’
‘I’m so sorry, Pen. I promise to make it up to you.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Go on, take that seat over there next to Avery’s cute single friend and at least enjoy the time you have.’ She was saying all the right things, but the tightness of her mouth made her words seem forced.
Avery’s decidedly uncute single friend immediately started reminiscing about his wild and crazy frat days at Michigan while I quickly worked my way through drinks two and three. One of Penelope’s friends from the bank, a girl I didn’t know when I was there but who seemed to be with Pen all the time now, made an impromptu toast that was adorably funny and charming. I tried to suppress my bitterness when Penelope threw her arms around the girl, and I insisted to myself that it was my paranoia speaking and that no one was staring at me, thinking me an awful friend. The half-hour passed in a split second. I thought it better to steal away than make a big production and explain myself to everyone, so I tried to catch Penelope’s eye but simply left when it seemed like she was deliberately avoiding me.
On the sidewalk, I offered a dollar to a well-dressed man for a cigarette, but he refused and tossed me one for free, adding a pitiful headshake. There was no car in sight and I thought about going back in for a few more minutes, but just then a very familiar-looking lime green Vespa pulled up alongside the curb.
‘Hey, love, let’s do this,’ Philip said, flipping up the screen on his helmet and plucking the cigarette from my fingers for a drag. He kissed me roughly on the mouth, which, incidentally, hung open from shock, and dismounted to get the second helmet from underneath his seat.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, inhaling sharply on my cigarette when he handed it back.
‘What does it look like I’m doing here? It seems we are obliged to attend. So let us hurry this along, okay? Nice suit.’ He looked me up and down and snickered.
His cell phone rang to the tune of ‘Like a Virgin’ – it was my turn to snicker – and I heard him tell someone we’d be there in ten minutes.
‘I’m actually waiting for a car that Elisa’s sending,’ I said.
‘Afraid not, love. Elisa sent me. We’re going to pay a visit to my dear friend Caleb, and Elisa’s going to bring the business blokes to us.’
This was not making any sense, but he did seem to be working on direct orders from Elisa. ‘Why are we going to your friend’s apartment?’ I asked.
‘He’s having a little birthday gathering at his place. Costume party, actually. Let’s go.’ It was only then that I noticed he was in full seventies disco gear, from brown polyester bell-bottoms to a skintight white collared shirt and some sort of bandanna tied around his head.
‘Philip, you just said we had to meet Kelly and the BlackBerry people. We can’t be going to a costume party right now. I don’t understand!’
‘Hop on, love, and stop stressing. I’m handling it.’ He revved the Vespa, if such a thing is possible, and tapped the seat behind him. I hopped on as gracefully as my pantsuit would allow and wrapped my arms around his waist. His rock-hard abs pushed back.
I still don’t know why I turned around. I don’t remember thinking anything was out of the ordinary – if you discount the fact that I was being kidnapped by a raging metrosexual celebrity on a Vespa – and yet I looked over my shoulder before we flew off, only to see Penelope standing on the curb. She was holding out her hand, my scarf draped limply over it, her mouth open, staring at my back. My eyes met hers for just the briefest moment before Philip revved the scooter and it shot forward, away from Penelope, leaving no time to explain anything at all.
‘Will you just relax, love? I told you, I’m handling it.’ Philip parked the Vespa on the sidewalk carpet outside a beautiful West Village apartment building and slipped the doorman some cash, which was met with a discreet nod. I was struck by the sudden realization that this was the first time Philip and I had been alone together since the morning I woke up in his apartment.
‘Relax? You’re asking me to relax?’ I shrieked. ‘Excuse me, sir, could you please hail me a cab?’ I asked in the direction of the doorman, who immediately looked to Philip for permission.
‘Bette, just chill the fuck out. You don’t need a cab. The party’s here. Now come inside, and let’s get you a little drinky, okay?’
Drinky? Did I just hear that? This guy has shagged every attractive female in Manhattan between the ages of sixteen and forty-five and he says ‘drinky’? I couldn’t dwell on this disturbing development, though, as I had less than ten minutes to get to Soho House.
He continued. ‘Elisa called and I told her I couldn’t possibly go; I’m expected at Caleb’s party. She asked if she could bring the BlackBerry people here, said that they’d think it was cool to see a “real downtown party” or some bullshit like that. So they’ll be here any minute. This is where we’re supposed to be, okay?’
I looked at him dubiously, wondering how this had all unfolded. Was Elisa diverting me deliberately? I considered that for a moment but then