Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (123 page)

Adriana held her hands to her heart. ‘Like you even have to ask. Less food now means better bikini bod tomorrow.'

‘Well put. 'Night, Adi.'

‘Good night, Em. I hope your dreams are filled with gorgeous foreign men. Don't think we just forgot about that …'

But before she could respond, Emmy was out.

At the pool on their second day of vacation Adriana could feel Leigh watching her as she pulled a cigarette from her beach bag, lit it, and languidly inhaled. It was cruel to smoke in front of someone who missed it so much, she acknowledged this, but, hell, they were on vacation. There was no reason Leigh couldn't enjoy herself a little and quit again when she got home; after all, Adriana did it all the time.

‘Want one?' Adriana asked with a wicked smile, extending her hand in the direction of Leigh's chaise.

Leigh glared and then leaned forward. ‘Let me just smell it,' she said, sticking her face in the stream of smoke. She moaned, her raspy voice sounding even deeper than usual. ‘My god, that's good. If I found out I had only a year or five or ten left to live, I swear to you, the very first thing I would do is buy a pack of cigarettes.'

Emmy shook her head, causing a few brown locks to come loose from her ponytail. She adjusted her bathing suit – a sporty blue two-piece that looked more like a workout outfit than a bikini – and said, ‘You two are disgusting with the cigarettes. Hasn't anyone told you what a vile habit it is? Fucking gross.'

‘Good morning, sunshine! You're a joy this morning, aren't you?' Leigh said. She drained her remaining orange juice and pulled her straw tote onto the lounge chair. ‘My god, I can't wait to get some sun. Do you believe it's already July and I haven't been out once this summer?'

Adriana made a show of looking Leigh up and down. ‘Oh, you would never know,' she said. ‘That translucent blue color you have going on totally works for you.'

‘Laugh if you must,' Leigh sang, appearing genuinely happy for the first time in weeks, ‘but we'll see who's laughing in twenty years when you've both had huge chunks of skin cancer gouged out of your faces and massive amounts of Botox for all those wrinkles. I almost can't wait.'

Adriana and Emmy watched in fascination as Leigh methodically removed two bottles and one tube of sunscreen from her tote. First she applied a thick Clarins cream, SPF 50, to every exposed inch of flesh from toe to shoulder, taking care to pull back her black bikini and work the goop into the border areas around her suit. When she finished that laborious task, she misted herself all over with an aerosol can of Neutrogena, also SPF 50, to ‘guarantee she didn't miss anywhere,' as she explained to her captivated audience. With her body successfully coated and sprayed, she went to work on her face, massaging small puddles of some highly coveted imported French facial sunscreen into her cheeks, chin, forehead, earlobes, eyelids, and neck. She pulled her hair into a loose bun, covered it with a straw hat the circumference of an end table, and popped on a pair of oversized wraparound black sunglasses.

‘Mmm,' she sighed, stretching her arms over her head, taking care not to displace the hat. ‘This is wonderful.'

Adriana glanced at Emmy and rolled her eyes. They both smiled. Leigh was particular, there was no denying it, but her ritual comforted them both with its very Leigh-ness.

‘Okay, girls, enough small talk. We have a subject that needs discussing,' Adriana announced. She knew Leigh wasn't up for talking in great length about the engagement – she'd made that abundantly clear the previous beach day with her incessant anxious chatter about the new huge author she'd been assigned (just the kind of nervous chatter the girls now tuned out after so many years of hearing Leigh say ‘I totally failed that final' and ‘I'm never going to get this manuscript back on time,' only to watch her score nonstop A-pluses through college and receive promotion after promotion at work) and one-word answers about her upcoming nuptials – so Adriana decided to let her off the hook. For now.

‘I don't know about you, Leigh, but I know I want more details of Emmy's Paris trip,' Adriana sang, looking pointedly at Emmy. ‘The City of Love; I'm expecting there's plenty to tell.'

Emmy groaned and placed her paperback copy of
London Is the Best City in America
open-faced across her chest. ‘How many times do I have to say it? There's nothing to tell.'

‘Lies, all lies,' Leigh said. ‘You mentioned something about a guy named Paul. Which, incidentally, does not sound like a particularly foreign name to me, but perhaps you could shed some light?'

‘I don't know why you keep making me relive this,' Emmy said with an imploring look. ‘It's sadistic. I told you the whole story: Paul the half-Argentine, half-Brit, who was well dressed, well traveled, and overall exceedingly charming and attractive, chose his ex-girlfriend's birthday party over sex with yours truly.'

‘I'm sure there's another explanation. Maybe he just—'

Adriana interrupted what was surely going to be Leigh's overly tactful, insanely delusional game of ‘maybe he.' ‘Please! There's only one explanation for what went on that night, assuming, as we are, that Paul is both straight and male. Emmy, be honest. Did you really want to have sex with him? Did you lust after him? Really and truly
crave
his body?'

Emmy laughed uncomfortably. ‘Wow. I don't know how to respond. I guess? Yeah, sure. I practically threw myself at him mere hours after meeting him, didn't I?'

‘And by “threw yourself,” you mean “nervously and subtly conveyed – or tried to – that you'd entertain the idea of another drink.” Am I right?'

‘Well, maybe.' Emmy sniffed. She was determined not to share the real reason for Paul's speedy departure. If she admitted to asking Paul if he wanted children one day – a perfectly reasonable question as far as she was concerned – Emmy knew her friends would never,
ever
let it go.

‘So you did not actually come across to him as a carefree, wild party girl who's up for anything fun?'

‘Oh, I don't know! Probably not, okay? But why do you think that is?
Because I'm not a wild party girl who's up for anything.
I'm an unremarkable girl who likes hooking up enough but would rather get to
know someone
I like than have some dirty fling with a stranger.'

Adriana smiled triumphantly. ‘And that, my friend, is your problem.'

‘That's not a problem,' Leigh added without opening her eyes. ‘It's the way she is. Not everyone can have meaningless one-night stands.'

Adriana exhaled a long, frustrated sigh. ‘First of all, girls, “one-night stands” are for sad little people who meet in Atlantic City casinos or Midwestern hotels. “Hooking up” is what drunken sorority girls do after their spring formals. We have
affairs.
Fabulous, sexy, spontaneous
affairs.
Understood? Second, I think we're all losing sight of something here: I am not the one who decided Emmy should be having
affairs
in every city she visits. She made that little pronouncement all on her own. Of course, if you don't think you can handle it …'

The waiter, an impishly cute blond guy in a collared shirt and khaki shorts, asked if he could bring them anything. They ordered a round of margaritas and picked up the conversation as though there'd been no interruption.

‘No, you're right,' Emmy conceded. ‘This was my decision, and I'm going to do it. It'll be good for me, right? Get me less focused on the whole marriage thing. More relaxed. It's just that it sounds great in theory, but when it's midnight and you're in some strange hotel and staring at this person you barely know and thinking that he's about to see you naked when you don't know his last name … I, it's just … different.'

‘But done with the right attitude, it can be very freeing,' Adriana said.

‘Or a total disaster,' Leigh added.

‘Always the optimist, aren't you?'

‘Look, I hear that Emmy wants to do this, and I totally understand why. I mean, if I'd only been with three guys in my entire life and they'd all been long-term boyfriends, I'd want a little taste of what else is out there. But it's important she knows that one-night stands – sorry,
affairs
– aren't always so glamorous,' Leigh said.

‘Speak for yourself. I've always been rather pleased,' Adriana smiled. It was true, mostly. She'd been with more men than she could ever possibly count, but she'd enjoyed every one of them.

Leigh pounced. ‘Oh, really? Then I guess you're not remembering that surfer guy – what was his name? Pasha? – who high-fived you after sex and then called you “dude,” as in “Dude, just chill for a minute,” when you asked him if he wanted another glass of wine? Or the foot fetishist who wanted to lube up your feet and rub them all over his body? And who could forget the one you met at Izzie's wedding, taking a phone call from
his mother
while you were on top? Shall I go on?'

Adriana held up her right hand and summoned her most winning smile. ‘I think we get the idea. However, dear friend, you're being a bit misleading. A few bad apples is no reason not to visit the orchard. Those were just unfortunate exceptions. What about the Austrian baron who thought, quite rightly, that diamond shopping at Cartier was good foreplay? Or the time in Costa Rica when the surfer – the other surfer and I – made love on the beach at sunrise? Or when that architect with that amazing rooftop overlooking the Hudson –'

‘Just know that it can go either way,' Leigh said, looking straight at Emmy.

‘You are such a killjoy!' Adriana shrieked. ‘I'm going for a swim.' She tried to keep her tone light, but it was all starting to irritate her. What was Leigh so bitter about? The girl had an amazing job at the city's most prestigious publishing house, an adoring, sought-after sportscaster fiancé who had eyes only for her, and a put-together, sophisticated appearance that was just hot enough for men to like but not so hot that women hated her. Why was she always so miserable?

‘I hope that after putting me through the wringer you haven't forgotten your end of the deal?' Emmy said.

‘Of course not,' Adriana replied. ‘In fact, I think I've already met my future husband.'

‘Hmm,' Leigh murmured, unfazed, grabbing her frozen margarita from the waiter's tray. She pressed it directly to her forehead for a moment before licking all the way around the salted rim.

‘Is that so?' Emmy asked with what Adriana was irritated to hear sounded a lot like condescension.

‘Yes, that's so,' Adriana replied. ‘And although neither of you seems remotely interested, I'll have you know that he just so happens to be Tobias Baron.'

Two heads snapped up to look at her in awe.
Well, that got their attention, thank god.

‘
The
Tobias Baron?' Leigh asked.

Yes, this was better.
‘The one and only.' She nodded. ‘And actually, his friends call him Toby.'

Leigh's eyes bulged. ‘Are you kidding? Spill, girl! We need to hear—'

‘Of course!' Adriana smiled. ‘But first I'm just going to have a quick swim.' She climbed out of her lounge chair like a cat unfolding from an afternoon nap and strolled toward the pool.
That'll teach them to not take me seriously
. She tested the water with her toes, then dove in, barely breaking the water with her streamlined body, and immediately began a strong yet graceful forward crawl. Although she was not a big fan of oceans (the salt water was so drying to the hair, never mind all those unpleasant stinging creatures), Adriana swam like a fish. Her mother, terrified of having young Adriana toddle into the estate's pool, had insisted she learn to swim before she could walk. This was accomplished quite efficiently in a single afternoon. Mrs. de Souza carried a squirming nine-month-old Adriana into five feet of water, pulled off the girl's water wings, and watched as the child sank. Hearing this story for the first time in her early teens, Adriana was horrified. ‘You just watched as I drowned?' she asked her mother.

‘Please, it wasn't quite so dramatic – you were only under a moment or two. Then you figured it out and paddled your little head to the surface. A bit of water up the nose is hardly a trauma, now, is it?' Not a Dr. Phil-approved method but effective nonetheless.

She swam ten lengths of the pool and gratefully accepted a rolled beach towel from a muscled attendant, offering him a broad smile as reward. Adriana returned, and Emmy folded over the page she was reading and tossed the book aside.

‘Adriana de Souza, how have you not told us this already? We've been in Aruba now for—'

‘Bonaire!' Leigh and Adriana said simultaneously.

Emmy waved her arms in a silencing gesture. ‘Whatever. We've been in
Bonaire
for two full days already and you're just getting around to mentioning this now? What kind of friend does that?'

‘It's not serious,' she said, relishing her friends' expressions – she just adored withholding information until it would have the maximum effect – ‘but I think he has potential.'

‘Potential? The magazines call him an intellectual George Clooney. Handsome, accomplished, straight, unmarried—'

‘Divorced,' Emmy added.

Leigh swatted the air. ‘A mistake in his early twenties that lasted thirty-six months and produced no kids. As far as divorced men go, he barely even qualifies.'

Adriana whistled. ‘Well, well, it seems like you're both rather informed. Does this mean you approve?'

They nodded vigorously.

‘So tell us all about him,' Emmy breathed, probably relieved that the focus had shifted away from her.

Adriana lifted her dripping-wet torso slightly off the chair to straighten the cushion, but it was enough to cause an audible groan from a nearby sunbather. ‘Well, let's see. No need to give you the biographical information – you girls clearly know that! – but, um, he really is a darling. I met him two weeks ago on the set of
The City Dweller
.'