Lauren Weisberger 3-Book Collection: Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren Weisberger
of privacy left.
‘Great. That’s just great’ was about all I could manage to say. ‘Well, as evidenced by the fact that I did indeed wear a suit to a costume party last night, you can see that I wasn’t planning on leaving your dinner.’
‘I know, Bette. We’re past that, okay?’
We were about to hang up when I remembered that I hadn’t invited Penelope to the BlackBerry party.
‘Hey, Pen, why don’t you come on Tuesday? Bring Avery if you want, or just come by yourself. It should be fun.’
‘Really?’ she asked, sounding pleased. ‘Sure, that sounds great. You and I can finally sit down and catch up. It feels like it’s been a while, doesn’t it?’
‘I’d love to, Pen. All I want to do is sneak off to some corner and make fun of everyone we see, but I should tell you now that I’m not going to have a free second. I’m in charge of the whole thing, and I just know I’ll be racing around, dealing with a hundred things. I’d love for you to come by, but it won’t be the best night for catching up.’
‘Oh, right. Of course. I knew that,’ she said.
‘What about right after Thanksgiving?’ I asked. ‘We could have dinner alone, just the two of us, before you go.’
‘Uh, sure. Why don’t we play it by ear?’ I’d lost her again; she sounded desperate to hang up.
‘Okay. Well, uh, I’m sorry again about last night. I’m looking forward to next week …’
‘Mmm. Have a good day, Bette. Bye.’
‘Bye, Pen. Talk to you soon.’
When you’re twenty-seven and the phone rings in the middle of the night, you’re apt to think it’s some guy drunk-dialing an invitation to come over and ‘hang out’ rather than a work-related disaster that will surely change your life forever. Not so the night before the BlackBerry party. When my cell phone blared at three-thirty in the morning, I was certain I would have to deal.
‘Is this Betty?’ an older woman asked as soon as I’d flipped open the phone.
‘Hello? Who is this? This is Bette,’ I said, still groggy even though I’d already bolted upright and had a pen in hand.
‘Betty, this is Mrs Carter,’ the woman’s voice said.
‘I’m sorry. Could you say your name again, please?’
‘Mrs Carter.’ Silence. ‘Jay-Z’s mama.’
Aha! ‘Hi, Mrs Carter.’ I thought about the way I’d separated the invites on the party list and how Mrs Carter was the only person who was cross-referenced as ‘Celeb Mother.’
‘We are just so excited to be hosting your son and his whole pos – uh, his friends tomorrow. Everyone’s just really looking forward to it!’ I said, silently congratulating myself on the feigned sincerity I heard in my own voice.
‘Yes, dear, well, that’s why I’m calling. Is this too late? I figured a big party planner like yourself would definitely still be awake at midnight. I wasn’t wrong, was I, sweetheart?’
‘Um, no, not at all. Of course, I am in New York, so it’s three in the morning here, but please don’t worry about a thing. You could call me anytime. Is something wrong?’ Please no, please no, please no, I chanted silently, wondering what else I could add to the $150,000 paycheck, penthouse suites at the Hotel Gansevoort, and business-class plane tickets we’d thrown in for the man, his mom, his superstar girlfriend, and his nine closest friends. When I’d asked why they needed hotel rooms at all – even I knew Jay-Z had a palatial New York pad – his mom had laughed and said, ‘Just book it.’
‘Well, dear, my son just called and said he really doesn’t see the need to take a flight that early tomorrow. He was hoping you could book us all on something later.’
‘Something later?’
‘Yes, you know, a flight that gets in later than the one already—’
‘I understand what you mean,’ I said a little too sharply. ‘It’s just that the event starts at seven and as of now you’re all scheduled to land at two. If we make it any later, there’s a chance you won’t arrive in time.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’ll figure that all out, dear. I’ve really got to be getting some rest for our big travel day tomorrow – that LA-to–New York leg always tuckers me out – but just fax me the confirmation when it’s all fixed. Ta-ta now.’ And she hung up before I could say another word.
Ta-ta? Ta-fucking-ta? I threw my cell phone against the wall and felt absolutely no satisfaction when it made a weak bleating sound, right before the battery cover popped off and the screen went blank. Millington had buried her face under my pillow hoping to escape my wrath. I wondered if it wasn’t too late in life to develop a severe and all-consuming addiction to tranquilizers. Or painkillers. Or both. Blessedly, the airlines were open all night, and I was dialing American from my land line before I could damage any more of my belongings.
The operator who answered sounded just as tired and hassled as I felt, and I braced myself for what would surely be an unpleasant interaction.
‘Hi, I have an annoying question. I made reservations for a party of twelve to fly from LAX to JFK on your eight A.M. flight and I was hoping I could change them all to something just slightly later?’
‘Name!’ she barked, sounding not just disinterested, which I expected, but downright hostile. I wondered if she was going to ‘accidentally’ disconnect me just because she didn’t feel like dealing. I could almost understand.
‘Um, the reservation is actually under Gloria Carter. They’re all flying business class.’
There was a moment of heavy silence before she said, ‘Gloria Carter? As in the Gloria Carter? As in the mother of Jay-Z?’
How on earth people knew these things was a mystery to me, but I sensed a momentary advantage and went for it. ‘That’s the one. He’s flying to New York to perform, along with a few friends and his mother. Of course, if you’re based in New York and you could work this out, you’d be more than welcome to come by and hear him sing his set.’
She exhaled audibly and said, ‘No way! Really? I’m actually working out of our call center in Tampa right now, but my brother lives in Queens, and I just know he’d love to go.’
‘Well, let’s see what we can do about changing that flight. I don’t want them coming in too late – maybe just an hour or two later, max. Is that flight usually on time?’
‘Honey, LAX to JFK is never on time.’ I cringed. ‘But it’s usually not too bad. Let’s see, I’ve got a flight leaving Los Angeles at ten A.M. arriving Newark at four. Would that work?’
‘Yes, yes, that would work just fine. And you have twelve open seats?’ I asked hopefully, thinking that this woman just might be the best thing that ever happened to me.
She laughed. Or, rather, cackled. A bad sign. ‘Sure, I’ve got twelve seats open, but they’re not all business. The best I can do is four in business, six in first class, and two in coach. You’ll of course need to pay the difference for the first-class seats, which comes to, oh, let me see here … a total of seventeen thousand dollars. Does that work?’
It was my turn to laugh. Not that anything was actually funny, of course, but the only alternative was weeping. ‘Do I have a choice?’ I asked meekly.
‘You sure don’t,’ she said, sounding suspiciously like she was enjoying this. ‘And you should probably make up your mind soon because another business-class seat just disappeared.’
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