Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (154 page)

‘Tempting, I have to say.' She ducked around Walter and actually managed to kiss Julian's wine-stained mouth. ‘You sounded so stressed earlier, I figured you wouldn't be home until so much later. Is everything okay?'

He stood and walked to the kitchen, returning with a second wineglass, which he filled and handed to Brooke. ‘Everything's fine. I realized after we hung up this afternoon that we haven't spent an evening together in almost a week. I'm here to remedy that.'

‘You are? Really?' She'd been thinking the same thing for days but hadn't wanted to complain when Julian was at such a crucial point in the production process.

He nodded. ‘I miss you, Rook.'

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. ‘I miss you, too. I'm so glad you came home early. Want to run out for some noodles?'

For their budget's sake, she and Julian made it a point to cook as often as possible, but they both agreed that the cheapie corner noodle joint didn't really count as eating out.

‘Do you mind if we stay in? I was looking forward to a quiet evening with you tonight.' He took another sip of wine.

‘Sure, fine with me. I'll make you a deal …'

‘Oh no, here we go …'

‘I will go slave over a hot stove to prepare you a delicious and nutritious meal if you agree to rub my feet and back for thirty minutes.'

‘“Slave over a hot stove”? You can make a chicken stir-fry in like two minutes. Not a fair deal.'

Brooke shrugged. ‘Okay. There's cereal in the pantry, although I think we're out of milk. You could always make yourself some popcorn.'

Julian turned to Walter and said, ‘You don't know how good you have it, boy. She doesn't make
you
work in exchange for kibble.'

‘The price just went up to thirty minutes.'

‘It was already thirty minutes,' Julian whined.

‘That was thirty minutes total. Now it's thirty minutes feet and another thirty for the back.'

Julian pretended to weigh this. ‘Forty-five minutes and I'll––'

‘Any attempts at bargaining only add time onto the total.'

He held up his palms. ‘I'm afraid there's no deal.'

‘Really?' she asked. ‘You going to fend for yourself tonight?' she asked, grinning. Julian was an equal partner with the cleaning, bill paying, and dog care, but he was useless in the kitchen and he knew it.

‘As a matter of fact, I am. I'm fending for both of us, actually. I cooked dinner for you tonight.'

‘You what?'

‘You heard me.' Somewhere in the kitchen a timer began to beep. ‘And it's ready as we speak. Please be seated,' he said grandly in a faux British accent.

‘I am seated,' she said, leaning back against the sofa and kicking her feet up on the coffee table.

‘Ah, yes,' Julian called cheerfully from their miniature kitchen. ‘I see you've found your way to the formal dining room. Perfect.'

‘Can I help?'

Julian walked back in holding a Pyrex casserole dish between two oven mitts. ‘One baked ziti for my love …' He was about to set the dish down on the bare wood before Brooke yelped and jumped up to retrieve a trivet. Julian began to spoon the steaming pasta.

Brooke could only stare. ‘Is this where you tell me you've been having an affair with another woman for the entire duration of our marriage and you want my forgiveness?' she asked.

Julian grinned. ‘Shut up and eat.'

She sat down and helped herself to some salad while Julian spooned ziti on her plate. ‘Baby, this looks incredible. Where did you learn to do this? And why aren't you doing it every night?'

He looked at her with a sheepish smile. ‘I
may
have picked the ziti up at the store today and just heated it in the oven. That's possible. But it was purchased and heated with love.'

Brooke held her wineglass aloft and waited for Julian to clink it. ‘It's perfect,' she said, and meant it. ‘Absolutely, incredibly perfect.'

As they ate, Brooke told him about Randy and Michelle and was pleased to see how happy he was, even going so far as to suggest they drive to Pennsylvania and babysit for their new niece or nephew. Julian brought her up to date on Sony's plans now that the album was nearing completion and told her about the new manager he'd hired on the recommendation of his agent.

‘Apparently, he's the best of the best. He does have the reputation of being a little aggressive, but I think that's probably what you want in a manager.'

‘Well what did he seem like when you interviewed him?'

Julian thought about this. ‘I'm not sure “interview” is the right word. It was more like he laid out his entire plan for me. Says we're at a crucial junction right now, and it's time to start really “orchestrating the action.”'

‘Well, I can't wait to meet him,' Brooke said.

‘Yeah, he's definitely got a little of that smarmy Hollywood thing going on – you know, where you feel like they're always working an angle? – but I like how confident he is.'

Julian emptied the remainder of the wine bottle evenly between their glasses and sat back in his chair. ‘How's everything at the hospital going? Was it a crazy day?'

‘It was, but guess what? I got the highest ratings in patient evaluations of anyone on staff, and they're going to give me a few more peds shifts.' She took another sip from her wineglass; it would be worth the next morning's headache.

Julian broke into a huge smile. ‘That's great news, Rook. Not the least bit surprising, but absolutely great. I'm so proud of you.' He leaned over the table and kissed her.

Brooke did the dishes, then took a bath while Julian finished some work on the new website he was designing for himself, and they met back on the couch, each clad in flannel pajama pants and T-shirts. Julian spread the throw blanket across both their legs and grabbed the clicker.

‘Movie?' he asked.

She glanced at the clock on the DVR: ten fifteen. ‘I think it's too late to start one now, but what about a
Grey's
?'

He looked at her with a horrified expression. ‘Seriously? Can you, in good conscience, make me watch that after I cooked you dinner?'

She smiled and shook her head. ‘I'm not quite sure “cooked” is a fair word, but you're right. Your choice tonight.'

Julian scrolled through their DVR list and clicked on a recent
CSI
episode. ‘Come here, I'll do your feet while we watch.'

Brooke flipped herself around so she could rest her legs in his lap. She could've purred with happiness. On television the detectives were examining the mutilated body of a presumed prostitute lying in a landfill outside of Vegas, and Julian watched with rapt attention. She didn't love the gadget-oriented murder mystery stuff as much as he did – he could watch them find killers by scanning and lasering and tracing things all night long – but tonight she didn't mind. She was happy to sit quietly next to her husband and focus on the wonderful sensation of his kneading her feet.

‘I love you,' she said as she rested her head on the armrest and closed her eyes.

‘I love you, too, Brooke. Now be quiet and let me watch.'

But she had already drifted off to sleep.

She had just finished getting dressed when Julian walked into their bedroom. Despite the fact that it was Sunday, he looked stressed out.

‘We have to go right now, or we're going to be late,' he said, grabbing a pair of sneakers from their shared closet. ‘You know how much my mother loves late.'

‘I know, I'm almost ready,' she said, trying to ignore the fact that she was still sweating from her three-mile run an hour earlier. Brooke trailed Julian out of the bedroom, accepted the wool coat he handed her, and followed him down to the street.

‘I'm still unclear why your dad and Cynthia are in the city today,' Julian said as they ran-walked from their apartment to the Times Square subway station.

‘It's their anniversary,' Brooke replied, shrugging. It was unnaturally cold for a winter morning, and she desperately wanted a cup of tea from the corner bodega, but they didn't have a second to spare.

‘And they decided to come here? On a freezing day in March?'

Brooke sighed. ‘I guess it's more exciting than Philly. Apparently Cynthia has never seen
The Lion King
and my dad thought it'd be a good excuse to visit us. I'm just glad you'll get to tell them the news in person …'

She sneaked a look at Julian and saw him smile, just a little. He
should
be proud of himself, she thought. He'd just gotten some of the best news of his career, and he deserved it.

‘Yeah, well, I think it's safe to say that my parents are going to be lacking in the enthusiasm department, but maybe your parents will understand,' he said.

‘My father already tells anyone who will listen that you have the songwriting talent of Bob Dylan and a voice that will make them cry,' she said, laughing. ‘He'll be thrilled, guaranteed.'

Julian squeezed her hand. His excitement was palpable.

Brooke managed a weak smile as they transferred to the 6 train.

‘What's wrong?' Julian asked.

‘Oh, nothing's wrong. I'm so excited for you to tell them all I can barely stand it. I'm just slightly dreading having to deal with the awkwardness of both sets of parents in one room.'

‘Do you really think it's going to be that bad? It's not like they haven't all met before.'

Brooke sighed. ‘I know, but they've only really seen each other in big groups: our wedding, holidays. But never one-on-one like this. All my father wants to talk about is how the Eagles will do next season. Cynthia is excited to be seeing
The Lion King
for chrissake and thinks no trip to the city is complete without lunch at the Russian Tea Room. Then we have your parents: the most intense, intimidating lifelong New Yorkers I've ever met, who probably think the NFL is a French nonprofit group, who haven't seen a musical since the sixties, and who won't eat anything unless it's prepared by a celebrity chef. You tell me: what are they all going to say to each other?'

Julian squeezed the back of her neck. ‘It's brunch, baby. Some coffee, a few bagels, and we're out. I really think it's going to be fine.'

‘Yeah, sure, as my dad and Cynthia blather on nonstop in their manically happy way and your parents sit in stony, silent judgment of them. Sounds like a delightful Sunday morning.'

‘Cynthia can talk shop with my parents,' Julian offered meekly. He made that face that said,
I don't even believe this myself,
and Brooke started to laugh.

‘Tell me you didn't say that,' she said, her eyes starting to tear up as she laughed harder. They emerged at Seventy-seventy and Lex and began walking toward Park Avenue.

‘Well, it's true!'

‘You're so sweet, do you know that?' Brooke asked, leaning over to kiss his cheek. ‘Cynthia is a high school nurse. She watches out for strep throats and gives out Motrin for cramps. She knows nothing about whether Botox or Restylane is recommended for a particularly deep smile line. I'm not sure where their professional experiences overlap.'

Julian feigned offense. ‘I think you're forgetting that Mom was also named one of the best in the country at varicose vein removal,' he said with a grin. ‘You know how big that was.'

‘Yes, of course. Big.'

‘All right, I hear what you're saying. But my dad can talk to anyone. You know how easygoing he is. He'll make Cynthia love him.'

‘He's a great guy,' Brooke agreed. She grabbed his hand as they approached the Alters' building. ‘But the man
is
a world-renowned breast augmentation specialist. It's only natural that a woman would assume he's sizing up her breasts and finding them inadequate.'

‘Brooke, that's idiotic. Do you assume that all dentists you encounter in social situations are staring at your teeth?'

‘Yes.'

‘Or any psychologist you meet at a party is analyzing you?'

‘Absolutely, one hundred percent, beyond a doubt.'

‘Well that's just ridiculous.'

‘Your father examines, handles, and evaluates breasts eight hours a day. I'm not suggesting he's some pervert, but it's his
instinct
to check them out. Women can feel it, that's all I'm saying.'

‘Well, that begs the obvious question now.'

‘Yeah?' she asked, glancing at her watch as their awning came into view.

‘Do you feel like he's checking out your breasts when he sees you?' Poor Julian looked so crushed at the mere mention of it that Brooke wanted to hug him.

‘No, baby, of course not,' she whispered as she leaned in and hugged his arm. ‘At least, not after all these years. He knows the situation, and he knows he's never getting his hands on them, and I think he's finally over it.'

‘They're perfect, Brooke. Just perfect,' Julian said automatically.

‘I know. That's why your dad offered to do them at cost when we got engaged.'

‘He offered his
partner,
and not because he thought you needed it––'

‘Why, because
you
thought I needed it?' Brooke knew that wasn't it at all – they'd talked about it a hundred times and she knew that Dr. Alter had only offered his services the way a tailor would have offered a discounted custom suit – but the whole thing still irked her.

‘Brooke …'

‘Sorry. I'm just hungry. Hungry and nervous.'

‘It's not going to be nearly as bad as you're anticipating.'

The doorman greeted Julian with a high five and a backslap. It wasn't until he ushered them into the elevator and they were whisking up toward the eighteenth floor that Brooke realized she hadn't brought anything.