Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (155 page)

‘I think we should run back out and pick up some cookies or flowers or something,' Brooke said, tugging Julian's arm urgently.

‘Come on, Rook, it doesn't matter. They're my
parents.
They really don't care.'

‘Uh-huh. If you believe your mother isn't going to notice when we show up empty-handed, you're delusional.'

‘We're bringing ourselves. That's all that matters.'

‘Okay. You just keep telling yourself that.'

Julian knocked and the door swung open. Smiling at them from the doorway was Carmen, the Alters' nanny and housekeeper of thirty years now. In a particularly intimate moment early in their relationship, Julian had confided to Brooke that he called Carmen ‘Mommy' until his fifth birthday because he just hadn't known any better. She immediately flung her arms around Julian.

‘How's my baby?' Carmen asked him after smiling at Brooke and pecking her on the cheek. ‘Your wife here feeding you enough?'

Brooke squeezed Carmen's arm, wondering for the thousandth time why Carmen
couldn't
be Julian's mother, and said, ‘Does he look like he's starving, Carmen? I have to pry the fork from his hands some nights.'

‘That's my boy,' she said, gazing at him with pride.

A shrill voice came from the formal living room down the hallway. ‘Carmen, darling, send the children in here, please. And don't forget to snip the stems before you put the flowers in a vase. The new Michael Aram one, please.'

Carmen glanced around for the flowers but Brooke merely held out her empty hands. She turned to Julian and gave him a knowing look.

‘Don't say it,' Julian muttered.

‘Fine. I won't say I told you so because I love you.'

Julian led her into the formal living room – Brooke had been hoping they would skip the living room altogether and move straight to the eating part – and found both sets of parents sitting opposite each other on identical, low-profile, ultra-modern couches.

‘Brooke, Julian.' His mother smiled but didn't stand. ‘So glad you could join us.'

Brooke immediately interpreted this as an attack on their tardiness. ‘So sorry we're late, Elizabeth. The subways were just so—'

‘Well at least you're here now,' Dr. Alter said, both hands cupped rather effeminately around a fat orange juice glass, exactly the way she imagined he cradled all his breasts.

‘Brookie! Julian! What's up, guys?' Brooke's dad jumped up and embraced them both in one bear hug. He was clearly turning up the camp factor for the Alters' benefit, but Brooke couldn't really blame him.

‘Hi, Dad,' she said, hugging him back. She also walked over to Cynthia, who remained trapped by all of their bodies on the couch and gave her an awkward standing-sitting hug. ‘Hey, Cynthia. Good to see you.'

‘Oh, you too, Brooke. We're so excited to be here! Your father and I were just saying that we can barely remember the last time we were in New York.'

It was only then that Brooke was able to really absorb Cynthia's appearance. She wore a fire-engine-red pantsuit, probably polyester, with a white blouse, black patent leather flats, and a triple strand of faux pearls wrapped around her neck, and topped off the entire ensemble with a highly curled and lacquered updo. She looked like she was channeling Hillary Clinton at a State of the Union address, determined to stand out in a sea of dark suits. Brooke knew she was only trying to fit in with her notion of how a wealthy Manhattan woman might dress, but her calculations were all wrong, especially in the midst of the Alters' sleek, Asian-inspired apartment. Julian's mother – although twenty years older than Cynthia – looked ten years younger in her fitted, dark jeans and featherweight cashmere wrap over a sleeveless, stretchy tunic. She wore a pair of delicate ballet flats with a discreet Chanel logo and accessorized only with a single gold bangle and her massive diamond ring. Her skin glowed with a healthy tan and light makeup, and her hair swung loosely down her back. Brooke immediately felt guilty: she knew how intimidated Cynthia must feel – after all, Brooke felt that way in her mother-in-law's presence all the time – but she was also embarrassed at how badly she had miscalculated. Even Brooke's dad looked uncomfortably aware that his khakis and tie were out of place next to Mr. Alter's short-sleeve polo shirt.

‘Julian, sweetheart, I know you want a Bloody. Brooke, would you like a mimosa?' Elizabeth Alter asked. It was a simple question but, much like everything the woman asked, it felt like a trap.

‘Actually, I'd love a Bloody Mary as well.'

‘Of course.' Julian's mom pursed her lips in some sort of indefinable drink disapproval. To this day, Brooke wasn't sure whether her mother-in-law's dislike of her had to do with Julian and the fact that Brooke supported his musical ambitions, or if the woman found Brooke distasteful all on her own.

They were left no choice but to take the two remaining chairs – both straight backed, wooden, and unwelcoming – that sat opposite each other but were wedged between both couches. Feeling vulnerable and awkward, Brooke tried to jumpstart the conversation.

‘So, how were your weeks?' she asked the Alters, smiling at Carmen as she accepted a tall, thick Bloody Mary complete with lemon wedge and celery stalk. It was all she could do not to drain the whole thing in one gulp. ‘Busy as always?'

‘Yes, I just cannot even imagine how you both maintain schedules like that!' Cynthia said a bit too loudly. ‘Brooke's told me how many, uh, procedures you both do in a day, and well, it's enough to exhaust anybody! Me, I get a strep outbreak and I'm ready to collapse, but you two! Geez Louise, it must be madness.'

Elizabeth Alter's face broke into a wide, immensely condescending smile. ‘Yes, well, we do manage to keep busy. But isn't that so boring! I'd love to hear what's going on with the children. Brooke? Julian?'

Cynthia sat back, deflated and properly reprimanded. The poor woman was walking through a minefield she was helpless to navigate. She absentmindedly rubbed her forehead and looked suddenly very tired. ‘Yes, of course. How are you two doing?'

Brooke knew better than to offer any details about her own job. Although her mother-in-law had been the one to get Brooke the interview at Huntley, she'd done so only after thoroughly satisfying herself that Brooke wouldn't reconsider a career in magazines, fashion, auction houses, or public relations. If Brooke simply
had
to use that graduate degree in nutrition, she couldn't understand why she didn't at least serve in an advisory role to
Vogue
or serve as a private consultant to her legion of Upper East Side friends; anything, really, with a little more glamour than, in her words, ‘a dingy ER with homeless people and drunks.'

Julian knew enough to step in and save her. ‘Well, I actually have a little announcement,' he said with a cough.

Suddenly, although Brooke was so excited for Julian she could barely contain it, a wave of panic washed over her. She found herself
praying
he wouldn't tell them about the showcase, since he'd undoubtedly be disappointed by their reaction and she hated to watch him go through that. No one brought out that protective instinct in her like Julian's parents; the mere thought of what they'd say made Brooke want to bundle him up and take him straight home, where he'd be shielded from their meanness and, worse, their indifference.

They all waited a moment while Carmen brought in a new pitcher of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice and then turned their attention back to Julian.

‘I, uh, just heard from my new manager, Leo, that Sony wants to showcase me this week. Thursday, actually.'

There was a beat of silence when everyone expected someone else to say something, and Brooke's father was the first one to speak. ‘Well, I might not know exactly what showcasing is, but it sure sounds like good news. Congratulations, son!' he said, leaning across Cynthia to clap Julian on the back.

Dr. Alter, looking irritated at the use of ‘son,' scowled into his coffee before turning to Julian. ‘Why don't you explain to we laypeople what that means?' he asked.

‘Yes, does that mean someone is finally going to hear your music?' Julian's mother asked, tucking her feet under her like a young girl and smiling at her son. Everyone pointedly ignored the emphasis on ‘finally' – everyone except Julian, whose face registered the hit, and Brooke, who witnessed it.

After all these years Brooke was certainly accustomed to hearing Julian's parents say awful things, but she never hated them any less for it. When she and Julian were first dating, he had slowly revealed how fundamentally his parents disapproved of him and of the life he'd chosen. During their engagement, she'd seen their objection to the plain gold band Julian insisted on giving Brooke rather than one of the ‘Alter family estate pieces' his mother had pushed. Even when Brooke and Julian conceded to marrying at the Alters' home in the Hamptons, his parents had been horrified at the couple's insistence that the wedding be small, low-key, and off-season. After they were married and in the years since, when the Alters acted more freely in front of her, she saw at countless dinners and brunches and holidays just how toxic they could be.

‘Well, basically it means that they realize the album is close to being finished and they really like it so far. They're going to arrange a showcase of industry people, sort of introduce me to them in a private performance, and then gauge the reaction.' Julian, who was usually so modest he wouldn't even tell Brooke when he'd had a good day at the recording studio, couldn't help but beam with pride. She wanted to kiss him on the spot.

‘I might not know a whole lot about the music industry, but that sounds like a huge vote of confidence on their part,' Brooke's dad said, holding his glass aloft.

Julian couldn't contain his smile. ‘It is,' he said, grinning. ‘It's probably the best-case scenario right now. And I'm hoping—'

He stopped as the phone began to ring and Julian's mother immediately began to look around for a handset. ‘Oh, where is that damn phone? That must be L'Olivier calling to confirm a time for tomorrow. Hold that thought, dear. If I don't reserve them now, I'm not going to have flowers for tomorrow night's party.' And with that, she unfolded herself from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen.

‘You know your mother with her flowers,' Dr. Alter said. He sipped his coffee, and it was unclear whether or not he'd even heard Julian's announcement. ‘We're having the Bennetts and the Kamens over for dinner tomorrow and she's been in a tizzy about the planning. Christ, you'd think the decision between stuffed sole or braised short ribs was a matter of national security. And the flowers! She must have spent half the afternoon with those
fegelas
last weekend, and she's still wavering. I told her a thousand times: no one cares about the flowers; no one will notice. Everyone throws these lavish weddings and spends tens of thousands of dollars on mountains of orchids or whatever the hell is in fashion these days, and who ever even looks at the damn things? Such a colossal waste, if you ask me. Spend the money on great food and booze – that's what people really enjoy.' He took another gulp, looked around the room, and squinted. ‘Now, what were we talking about?'

Cynthia gracefully stepped in and smoothed over the tense moment. ‘Well isn't that just some of the greatest news we've heard in ages!' she said with excessive enthusiasm. Brooke's dad nodded excitedly. ‘Where exactly will it be held? How many people are invited? Have you decided yet what you're going to play?' Cynthia peppered him with questions and for once Brooke didn't find the interrogation irritating. They were all the things Julian's own parents should have asked but never would, and Julian was clearly delighted to be on the receiving end of such interest.

‘It'll be at a small, really intimate downtown music venue, and my agent said they were inviting about fifty people in the industry – television and radio bookers, music execs, some people from MTV, that sort of thing. Most likely nothing too exciting will come of it, but it's a good sign that the label is happy with the album.'

‘They rarely do these for their debut artists,' Brooke announced with pride. ‘Julian's actually being too modest – it's a very big deal.'

‘Well at least
that's
good news,' his mother announced, taking her seat on the couch again.

Julian's mouth tightened and his fists clenched by his sides. ‘Mom, they've been supportive with the way the album's been taking shape for months now. Sure, the senior execs were pushing for more of a guitar focus, but ever since then, they've been great. So I don't know why you have to say it like that.'

Elizabeth Alter looked at her son and appeared momentarily confused. ‘Oh, sweetheart, I was talking about L'Olivier. It's good news that they have enough of the calla lilies I was wanting, and the designer I like the most is available to come over and install them. Don't be so touchy.'

Brooke's father glanced at her with a look that said,
Who is this woman?
Brooke shrugged. She, like Julian, had accepted that his parents were never going to change. It was why she stood by him a hundred percent when he rejected their offer to buy the newlyweds an apartment near theirs on the Upper East Side. It was why she chose to work two jobs rather than take the ‘allowance' they'd once proposed, understanding all the strings that would accompany it.

By the time Carmen announced brunch was ready, Julian had gone completely silent and glazed over – turtled, Brooke always called it – and Cynthia looked rumpled and exhausted in her polyester pantsuit. Even Brooke's dad, who still valiantly searched for neutral conversation (‘Do you believe this brutal winter we're having this year?' and ‘You into baseball, William? Yanks seem like an obvious choice, but I know a man's team isn't always determined by where he's from …') appeared defeated. Under normal circumstances Brooke would have felt responsible for everyone's misery – after all, they were all only there because of her and Julian, right? – but today she let it all go
. Suffer one, suffer all,
she thought, and excused herself to use the powder room, which she bypassed immediately for the kitchen.