Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (162 page)

Julian didn't introduce himself or the song the way he normally did when performing, just nodded his head toward his bandmates and began to sing his own version of ‘Achy Breaky Heart.' It was a risky decision but a brilliant calculation. He had chosen a trite, corny song, changed it so it sounded serious, almost profound, and ended up with a completely fresh version that was conspiratorially cool and ironic. It said:
You expected us to come up here and sing an earnest rendition of the song you chose as your show's opener, or maybe something off the future album, but we're not here to take ourselves too seriously.
The crowd laughed and cheered and sang along, and when it was over, broke into mad applause.

Brooke clapped along with everyone else and reveled in all the people she could hear around her saying how talented Julian was, how they could listen to him all night. Hearing the others' excitement didn't surprise her in the least; how could they not feel that way? But it never, ever got old. Now, when Julian sidled up next to the microphone stand and flashed a huge, adorable smile, Brooke could feel the entire room smile back at him.

‘Hey, y'all,' he said, making an exaggerated tip of his cowboy hat. ‘Thanks for welcoming this Yankee boy to town.'

The crowd hollered and clapped. Brooke saw Tim Riggins raise his bottle of beer to Julian, and she tried not to scream. Derek Jeter put both his hands around his mouth and made a ‘whoo-hoo!' sound. A couple of the writers, the female ones, with whom Brooke had been taste-testing margaritas earlier, formed a line in front of the stage and catcalled to the band. Julian rewarded them all with another killer smile.

‘I think I speak for all of us when I say how proud and honored I am that you've made my song your song.' More cheers and catcalls ensued, but Julian held up his hand. ‘And I can't wait to sing that tonight, here with all of you. But I hope you won't mind indulging me for just a few minutes before I play ‘For the Lost.' Right now I'd like to sing a little something for my lovely wife, Brooke. She's been a really good sport lately – trust me, a
really
good sport – and it's been a while since I've said thank you. Rookie, this one's for you.'

At the sound of her nickname, Brooke could feel herself blush, and for a split second she was taken aback that Julian had called her that in public. But before she even had time to consider it, she heard the opening chords to ‘Crazy Love' by Van Morrison – the first song they'd danced to at their wedding – and in a second, she was transfixed by his performance. Julian gazed directly at her as he allowed the song to grow and build, and it wasn't until he hit the chorus and threw his head back to wail the words that Brooke snapped out of their private reverie and noticed that every single person in the room was staring at her. Scratch that. The men in the room were shifting their weight from foot to foot, taking pulls of their beers, and watching the band as they worked over their instruments – it was the women who were staring at Brooke with looks of sheer envy and admiration. It was a surreal feeling; she'd certainly witnessed her fair share of Julian-worship at his other gigs, but she'd never before felt the spotlight focused so directly on her. She smiled and danced a little and watched Julian as he serenaded her and somehow, despite the fact that it was witnessed by hundreds, it felt like one of the most intimate moments they'd ever shared. One of the best she could ever remember.

As Julian finally segued into ‘For the Lost,' Brooke was certain the entire room was in love with him. The energy was palpable and intense, but about halfway through the song, she felt an even stronger frisson of excitement. People started moving around, turning, looking, whispering. A few people craned their necks. One even pointed. Something was happening, but Brooke couldn't quite see what over the crowd until …
Wait … could that actually be …

Layla Lawson?
Oh, it sure was, and while Brooke couldn't figure out for the life of her what Layla Lawson was doing at the season-premiere party for
Friday Night Lights,
there she was … and she looked great. Judging from the floral bustier sundress and cowboy boots Layla was wearing, Brooke didn't know whether she was in costume or not, but there was no denying the girl looked fit, happy, and very, very famous. The entire room watched her as she greeted Samara with a huge hug and then made her way to the front of the crowd, near where Brooke stood at the foot of the stage.

It happened before anyone – including Julian – could even process it. Just a couple seconds after they finished the song and were soaking in the applause, Layla marched up the stage's side stairs, strode confidently over to Julian, and enveloped him in a bear hug. She smiled and, after kissing his cheek and wrapping both her hands around his upper arm, turned to face the crowd. She looked as though she was literally hanging from him, gazing up at him with a glimmering white smile and a look of sheer adoration. Until this point Julian had been frozen in disbelief, but something must have clicked – within seconds, he was returning the adoring look and then some.

She leaned toward the microphone as if it were her own and shouted, ‘How hot is he, everyone? Let's hear it for Julian Alter!'

The room went crazy. All the photographers who had ignored them earlier went crazy. They jostled for position, firing off picture after picture, the flashbulbs lighting up like it was Oscar night. It was over almost as quickly as it started, with Layla leaning in to whisper something in Julian's ear and then bounding off the stage again. Brooke assumed she'd stay for a drink or two, but the starlet headed directly for the front door.

Ten minutes later Julian was once again by her side, all sweat and smiles, his usual post-performance glow heightened by the excitement. He kissed her and gave her a look that said,
I can't
wait
to talk about this with you,
and tightly clutched her hand as he worked the room, receiving the congratulations and backslaps with a good-natured laugh.

They weren't alone for a single second until almost one in the morning, when Samara and Leo said good night and headed to their hotel rooms (Leo accompanied by a new friend he'd met at the party, of course). The instant the door closed behind them, Julian turned to her and said, ‘Do you
believe
Layla Lawson jumped onstage with me?'

‘If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never believe it. I'm still not sure I do.' Brooke kicked off her boots and collapsed on the bed.

‘Layla fucking
Lawson.
It's surreal. What on earth was she doing there?'

‘I have no idea, but let me tell you, that girl can
move
. Did you see the way she was dancing next to you, sort of shimmying and hip-switching? It was mesmerizing. It's like the instant someone puts a microphone in her hands, she just can't help it.'

There was a knock at the door.

Julian looked at Brooke, who shrugged. He walked over to answer it, and Leo barreled in without an invite. Brooke almost laughed out loud: his shirt was unbuttoned to his navel, and he had a smear of what looked suspiciously like lipstick on the inside collar.

‘Hey, listen,' he said to Julian without so much as a hello or an apology for the interruption. ‘I know this is last-minute, but Samara just told me that she's set up a bunch of stuff for you tomorrow in L.A. That Layla scene was fucking genius, and people are freaking out about it. We'll leave for the airport at nine, okay?'

‘Tomorrow?' Julian managed to say, looking as surprised as Brooke felt.

‘Nine sharp, in the lobby. We've got the flights all taken care of. Probably get you back to New York in three, four days. Great job tonight, dude. See you in the morning,' he said, and hightailed it out. Brooke sent out a silent thank-you to whichever girl was waiting in his bed that night.

‘Well,' Brooke said when the door slammed behind Leo.

‘Well. Guess I'm going to L.A. tomorrow.'

‘Okay,' Brooke said, because she didn't know what else to say. She'd have to cancel the dinner plans they had the following night with college friends of Julian's who were in from out of town. And he wouldn't be able to come with her to the museum party Nola had invited them to, the one where she was on the junior committee and the tickets had cost them a small fortune.

There was another knock on the door.

Brooke groaned. ‘What now?'

It was Samara this time, and she was as animated as Brooke had ever seen her. She, too, marched right in without a hello, looked down at her leather-bound notebook, and said, ‘So, the Lawson photo op worked even better than I'd hoped – absolutely everyone has picked it up. Everyone.'

Both Julian and Brooke just stared at her.

‘I've already gotten a hundred calls asking for interviews and photos. Brooke, I'm considering a story request for a feature on you, something like a “Who Is Mrs. Julian Alter?” so stay tuned on that one. Julian, we'll keep you pretty much booked solid for the next week. This is great news, just absolutely terrific results, and I'll tell you now: everyone at Sony is thrilled.'

‘Wow,' Julian said.

‘Great,' Brooke added weakly.

‘The paparazzi are actually already staking out the lobby, so be ready to face them in the morning. I can make some recommendations on people you can consult for privacy and security needs, all really terrific.'

‘Oh, I don't think that will be necessary,' Brooke said.

‘Uh-huh. You let me know. In the meantime, I suggest you both start checking into hotels under different names and being very careful about what you put in e-mails to
anyone.
'

‘Um, is that really—'

Samara cut Julian off and clapped her notebook closed. Meeting officially adjourned.

‘Brooke, Julian' – she said both their names slowly and with the sort of smile that gave Brooke chills – ‘welcome to the party.'

‘You want me to put these behind the existing shades or take the other ones down first?' the installation man asked, motioning behind him, toward Brooke and Julian's bedroom.

It wasn't a particularly important decision, but Brooke resented having to make it herself. Julian was somewhere in the Pacific Northwest – she had a hard time keeping track these days – and wasn't much help lately with anything domestic.

‘I don't know, what do most people do?'

The guy shrugged. His expression said,
I couldn't care less either way, just pick one so I can get the hell out of here and enjoy my Saturday.
Brooke knew exactly how he felt.

‘Um, I guess put them behind the other shades? Those are probably nicer-looking anyway.'

He grunted and disappeared, Walter following disloyally at his heels. Brooke turned back to her book but was relieved when the phone rang.

‘Hey, Dad, what's up?' It felt like they hadn't talked in ages, and when they did, he only wanted to talk about Julian.

‘Oh, Brooke? Hi, it's Cynthia.'

‘Hey, Cynthia! I saw Dad's number on the caller ID. How are you? Any chance you guys are coming to New York?'

Cynthia attempted a laugh. ‘Probably not so soon. Last time was … tiring. You're always welcome here, you know.'

‘Yeah, I do know.' It came out sounding ruder than she'd intended, although it was a little galling to receive an invitation to visit her own father in her own childhood home. Cynthia must have heard this because she quickly apologized, causing Brooke to feel immediate guilt for being unnecessarily bitchy.

‘I'm sorry too,' Brooke said with a sigh. ‘Things are just a little crazy around here right now.'

‘I can't even imagine! Listen, I know it's probably not possible, but I figure I had to ask. It's for a good cause, you know?'

Brooke inhaled and held her breath. Here it came, the wholly unanticipated aspect of being close to someone newly famous – he
was
famous now, wasn't he? – the part no one ever seemed to warn you about.

‘I don't know if you know or not, but I'm one of the co-presidents of the Women's Board at Temple Beth Shalom.'

Brooke waited but Cynthia didn't continue.

‘Uh-huh, I think I knew that,' Brooke said, trying to convey as little enthusiasm as possible.

‘Well, we have our annual Speaker's Lunch fund-raiser coming up in a few weeks and our scheduled speaker just canceled on us. That woman who writes the kosher cookbooks? Actually, I don't think they're strictly kosher per se, just kosher style. She has one for Passover, one for Hanukkah, another just for kids.'

‘Mmm.'

‘Well, anyway, it turns out that she supposedly needs to have some sort of bunion surgery next week and won't be able to walk for a while, although if you ask me it's probably lipo.'

Brooke willed herself to be patient. Cynthia was a good woman and she was only trying to raise money for the less fortunate. She took a deep, slow breath, careful not to let Cynthia hear.

‘Maybe it really is for a bunion. Or maybe she just doesn't feel like traveling from Shaker Heights to Philly, I don't know. Besides, who am I to judge? If someone came along and offered me a free tummy tuck right now, I'd probably sacrifice my own mother.' Pause. ‘God, that sounded horrible, didn't it?'

Brooke wanted to rip her own hair out. Instead she forced a laugh. ‘I'm sure you're not alone there, but you don't need it. You look great.'

‘Oh, you're too sweet!'

Brooke waited a few seconds for Cynthia to remember why she called. ‘Oh! So anyway, I know he's probably so insanely busy these days, but if there's any way Julian could make an appearance at our luncheon, it would be so great.'

‘An appearance?'

‘Yeah, well, an appearance or a performance, really whatever he wanted to do. Maybe sing that song he's famous for? The brunch starts at eleven with a silent auction in the auditorium and some light deli appetizers, and then we all move into the main hall where Gladys and I will talk about the work the Women's Board has done so far this year, the general state of membership at Beth Shalom, give some dates of upcoming—'