Lauren Weisberger 3-Book Collection: Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren Weisberger
‘Yeah, well, it’s hard to maintain. Especially when it’s something chosen for you, and not something you come upon yourself.’
‘Fair enough.’ I could see him nod out of the corner of my eye. ‘They sound interesting.’
‘Oh, you have no idea. Luckily, even though they were hippies, they were still Jewish hippies, and didn’t much love the deprivation lifestyle. As my father still constantly points out, “One is no more convincing coming from a place of poverty than coming from a place of comfort – it’s the argument that matters, not the material trappings or lack thereof.”’
He stopped sipping his coffee and turned to look at me. I could feel his eyes on my face and knew that he was listening intently.
‘Oh, yes, it’s true. I was born on a commune in New Mexico, a place I wasn’t totally convinced was an actual state until I saw the 2000 electoral map on CNN. My mother loves recounting how she gave birth to me in their “marriage bed” before all the commune’s children, who’d been brought in to watch the miracle of life unfold before their little eyes. No doctors, no drugs, no sterile sheets – just a husband with a degree in plant science, a touchy-feely midwife who coached with yogic breathing, the commune’s chanting guru, and two dozen children under the age of twelve who most likely went on to remain virgins well into their thirties after witnessing that particular miracle.’
I don’t know what it was that kept me talking. It had been years and years since I’d told that story to anyone – probably not since Penelope and I met during orientation week at Emory, smoked pot in the bushes by the tennis courts, and she admitted that her father knew his office staff better than his family and that she’d thought her black nanny was her mother until she was five years old. I figured there was no better way to cheer her up than to show her just how normal her own parents were. We’d laughed for hours that night, stretched out in the grass, stoned and happy. Though my boyfriends had met my parents, I’d never talked to anyone about them like this. Sammy made me want to tell him everything.
‘That’s absolutely incredible. How long were you there? Do you remember it?’
‘They only lived there until I was two or so, and then they moved to Poughkeepsie because they got jobs at Vassar. But that’s where my name came from. First they wanted to name me Soledad, in honor of the California prison that housed Berkeley protestors, but then their shaman or someone proposed Bettina, after Bettina Aptheker, the only female member of the Steering Committee of Berkeley’s Free Speech Movement. I refused to answer to anything but Bette when I was twelve and “The Wind Beneath My Wings” was a hit and Bette Midler was actually cool. By the time I realized I’d renamed myself after the redheaded singer of a sappy Top 40 inspirational, it was too late. Everyone calls me that now, except my parents, of course.’
‘Wow. They sound so interesting. I’d love to meet them sometime.’
I didn’t know quite how to respond to that – it might be a bit unnerving for him if I were to announce that they were his future in-laws – so I asked him about his parents. Nothing came to mind when I tried to recall Sammy from high school, and it occurred to me that I had no clue about his home life. ‘What about you? Anything juicy about your family, or are they actually normal?’
‘Well, calling them normal seems like a bit of a stretch. My mom died when I was six. Breast cancer.’
I opened my mouth to apologize, to murmur something ineffectual and clichéd, but he cut me off.
‘Sounds really shitty, but I was honestly too young to really remember. It was weird not having a mom growing up, but it was definitely harder for my older sister, and besides, my dad was pretty great.’
‘Is he okay now? You mentioned something about him not being well.’
‘No, he’s okay. Just lonely, I think. He was dating a woman for years, and I’m not totally clear on what happened, but she moved to South Carolina a couple months ago and my dad’s not taking it well. I just thought a visit would be good for him.’
‘And your sister? What’s her story?’
‘She’s thirty-three. Married with five kids. Five kids – four boys and a girl – do you believe it? Started right out of high school. She lives in Fishkill, so she could see my father all the time, but her husband’s kind of a prick and she’s busy now that she’s going back to school for nursing, so …’
‘Are you guys close?’ It was strange to see this all shaping up, a whole world that I never knew existed for him, that I could never have imagined existing when I saw him slapping backs with the various moguls and moguls-in-training at Bungalow 8 every night.
He seemed to think about this for a second as he popped open the can of Coke he pulled from his backpack, offering me a sip before he took one.
‘Close? I don’t know if I’d say that, exactly. I think she resents that I left home to go to college when she already had one kid and another on the way. She makes lots of comments about how I’m Dad’s reason for living and at least one of us has a chance of making him proud – you know, that sort of stuff. But she’s a good girl. Christ, I just got heavy there. Sorry about that.’
Before I could say anything, let him know that it was okay, that I loved hearing him talk about absolutely anything, a Whitesnake track came on and Sammy laughed again. ‘Are you serious with this music? How do you listen to this shit?’
The conversation continued easily after that – just chitchat about music and movies and the ridiculous people we both dealt with all day long. He was careful not to mention Philip, and I returned the favor by steering clear of Isabelle. Otherwise, we talked as though we’d known each other forever. When I realized we were only a half-hour outside of town, I called to let my parents know that I was dropping someone off and would be there shortly.
‘Bettina, don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’ll bring him by for dinner!’ My mother all but shrieked into the phone.
‘Mom, I’m sure he wants to get home. He’s here to see his family, not mine.’
‘Well, be sure to extend the invitation. We never get to meet any of your friends, and it would make your father very happy. And of course, he’s more than welcome at the party tomorrow. Everything’s all set and ready to go.’
I promised her I’d relay the information and hung up.
‘What was that all about?’ he asked.
‘Oh, my mother wants you to come over for a late dinner, but I told her you’d probably want to get home to your dad. Besides, the stuff they try to pass off as food is atrocious.’
He was quiet for a second and then said, ‘Actually, if you don’t mind, that’d be really nice. My old man isn’t expecting me until tomorrow, anyway. Besides, maybe I could help out in the kitchen, make that tofu a little more palatable.’ He said this tentatively, trying to sound indifferent, but I sensed (prayed, hoped, willed) that there was something more.
‘Oh, uh, okay,’ I said, trying to come across as cool but instead sounding mortally opposed to the idea. ‘I mean, if you want, it’d be great.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive. I’ll give you a ride home afterward, and I promise not to keep you trapped any longer than absolutely necessary. Which will still be long enough for them to try to convert you to a meat-free lifestyle, but hopefully it’ll be bearable.’ The awkwardness was over. I was ecstatic. And slightly terrified.
‘Okay, that sounds good. After the stories you’ve told me, I feel like I have to see them now.’
My mother was sitting on the porch swing wrapped in multiple layers of wool when we pulled into the driveway, which bisected the nearly six acres of land they’d lived on for a quarter-century. The hybrid Toyota Prius they kept for emergencies (I often wondered what they’d think if they knew that Hollywood’s entire A-list drove them, too) sat in the driveway, covered by a