Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (163 page)

‘Got it, okay. So you'd want him to … perform? At a ladies' luncheon? You know the song is about his dead brother, right? Do you, uh, do you think everyone will like that?'

Thankfully Cynthia didn't take offense to this. ‘Like that? Oh, Brooke, I think they'd just love it.'

Two months earlier Brooke wouldn't have believed it if someone told her she'd be having this conversation; now, having already been approached by the principal at Huntley, one of Brooke's old high school classmates, an ex-coworker, and not one but two cousins – all wanting Julian to sing or sign or send something – Brooke wasn't surprised by anything. All that said, this was probably the best one yet. She tried to picture Julian singing an acoustic version of ‘For the Lost' on the bimah of Temple Beth Shalom to a group of five hundred Jewish mothers and grandmothers, after receiving a kvelling introduction by the rabbi and the president of the board. Afterward, all the women would turn to one another and say things like, ‘Well he's no doctor, but at least he makes a living at it,' and ‘I heard he was premed but never pursued it. Such a shame.' Then they'd swarm him and, noticing his wedding ring, want to know everything about his wife. Was she a nice Jewish girl too? Did they have children? No, why not? And more importantly, when do they plan to start trying? They'd cluck that he'd surely be a much better fit with their daughter or niece or friend's daughter. Despite the fact that they lived on the Main Line in Philly and Julian grew up in Manhattan, at least a dozen of the women present would find a connection to Julian's parents or grandparents or both. Julian would return home that evening shell-shocked, a veteran of a war only a few understood, and there would be nothing Brooke could say or do to comfort him.

‘Well, let me talk to him. I know he'll be so honored you thought of him and I'm sure he'd just love to do it, but I'm pretty sure he's completely booked the next few weeks.'

‘Well if you really think he'd love to do it, I could talk to the other board members about possibly moving the date. Maybe we could—'

‘Oh, I wouldn't want you to do that,' Brooke said as quickly as she could. She'd never seen this side of Cynthia before and wasn't quite sure what to make of it. ‘He's incredibly unpredictable these days. Always committing and then having to cancel. He hates it, but his time just isn't his own anymore, you know?'

‘Of course,' Cynthia murmured, and Brooke tried not to think how ironic it was that she was using the same excuse on Cynthia that Julian now used on her.

Somewhere in the background the doorbell rang, Cynthia begged off, and Brooke sent Cynthia's visitor a telepathic thank-you. She read another two chapters of her book, a nonfiction account of the Etan Patz kidnapping that had her convinced every creepy-looking guy on the street was a potential pedophile, and followed the shade-installer-slash-paparazzi-blocker out the door when he was finished.

She was starting to grow more accustomed to being alone. With Julian gone so much, Brooke often joked that it felt like her old single days, just a whole lot less social. Now she weaved down Ninth Avenue, and when she passed the Italian bakery at the corner, with its hand-painted
PASTICCERIA
sign and its homemade curtains, there was no way to keep herself from walking in. It was an adorable place with a European-style coffee bar, where people ordered cappuccinos in the morning and espressos the rest of the day and drank them standing.

She surveyed the massive case of baked goods and could practically taste the butter cookies and jam-filled croissants and cheese tarts topped with berries. Of course there was no question that, if forced to choose only one, she'd have to go with a deliciously overstuffed cannoli in its sinful fried shell. First she'd lick the cream from the top, and then, following a palate-cleansing sip of coffee, she'd allow herself a full bite from either end, stopping to savor—

‘Dimmi!' the Italian mother said, breaking Brooke's food fantasy.

‘A large decaf skim latte, please, and one of those,' Brooke said with a sigh, pointing to the un-iced, unstuffed, and otherwise unadorned biscotti resting sadly on a tray near the register. She knew the almond biscotti would be fresh and tasty and just the right amount crunchy, but it was a poor substitute for a cannoli. There wasn't much choice, though. She'd gained four pounds after their weekend in Austin and the mere thought of it made her want to scream. Her couple extra pounds of pudge would have been barely noticeable on the average woman, but on her – not just a nutritionist anymore, but a nutritionist married to someone famous – it was downright unacceptable. After returning from Austin, she'd immediately begun a food diary and accompanied it with a strict 1,300-calorie-per-day diet. Neither was having an impressive effect yet, but she was determined.

Brooke paid for her purchase and was hovering near the coffee bar when she heard her name.

‘Brooke! Hey, over here.'

She turned around and saw Heather, one of the guidance counselors at Huntley. Their offices were just down the hall from each other and although they occasionally met to discuss a student they had in common, lately they'd been seeing each other more than usual due to Kaylie. It was Heather who first noticed Kaylie's obsession with her weight and suggested she see Brooke; now both women were concerned about the girl. Yet as often as they'd been meeting at school the past couple months, they weren't actually friends, and Brooke felt a twinge of awkwardness seeing her colleague at a café on a Saturday.

‘Hey!' Brooke said, sliding into a little wooden chair next to Heather. ‘I didn't even see you here. How are you?'

Heather smiled. ‘I'm good! Thrilled it's the weekend, I'll tell you that much. Can you believe we only have two more weeks of school before being off for three months?'

‘I know, I can't wait,' Brooke said, and decided not to mention that she would still be working full-time at the hospital.

Heather remembered anyway. ‘Yeah, I'll be doing a lot of private tutoring this summer, but at least I can determine those hours. I don't know if it was the horrible winter or I'm just getting burned out, but I can't
wait.
'

‘I hear you,' Brooke said, feeling a little bit awkward that they didn't really have much else to talk about.

Heather seemed to read her mind. ‘It's weird to see each other outside school, isn't it?'

‘It is! I am constantly paranoid I'm going to run into some of the girls on the street or in a restaurant. Remember what it was like when we were kids and you'd run into your teacher at the mall, and there was this stunning realization that they had a life outside your classroom?'

Heather laughed. ‘It's so true. Luckily we don't tend to travel in the same circles.'

Brooke sighed. ‘It's crazy, isn't it?' And then: ‘I had a really productive meeting with Kaylie at the end of last week. I still don't feel comfortable allowing her to lose any weight, but I agreed that we could start her on a food journal to see where she could be eating healthier, more wholesome foods. She seemed pleased with that.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. I think we both know that weight isn't her problem; it's the very understandable feeling of not fitting in with classmates who are from another socioeconomic universe. We see it frequently with the scholarship students, unfortunately, but they almost always find their niche.'

Brooke disagreed to an extent – she'd worked with a fair number of teenage girls at this point, and in her opinion Kaylie was overly preoccupied with her weight – but she didn't want to start that conversation now. Instead, she smiled and said, ‘Look at us, talking about work on a Saturday. Shame on us!'

Heather sipped her coffee. ‘I know, it's all I can think about. I'm actually thinking of switching back to the lower schools in the next year or two. Just a better fit for me. What about you? Any thoughts on how long you'll stay?'

Brooke searched Heather's face for any sign that she was indirectly asking about Julian. Was the girl somehow implying that Brooke could quit now that Julian was making money as a musician? Had Brooke ever told her that was why she had accepted the job in the first place? She decided she was being way too paranoid, that if she didn't talk about Julian in a regular, normal way, how could she expect anyone else to?

‘I don't know, actually. Things are, uh, kind of up in the air right now.'

Heather looked at her sympathetically but was kind enough not to press. Brooke realized this was the very first time in three or four weeks that someone – anyone – had not immediately asked about Julian. She was grateful to Heather and eager to steer the conversation back to something less awkward. She glanced around, her mind searching for something to say, and then settled on, ‘So what are you up to today?' She quickly took a bite of her biscotti so she wouldn't have to talk for a few more seconds.

‘Not much, really. My boyfriend's away with his family this weekend, so I'm on my own. Just hanging out, I guess.'

‘Nice. Love those weekends,' Brooke lied. She managed to keep herself from announcing that she was quickly becoming the resident expert on how to best spend a weekend when your significant other is somewhere else. ‘What are you reading?'

‘Oh, this?' Heather said, motioning toward the facedown magazine near her elbow without picking it up. ‘It's nothing. Some dumb gossip rag. Nothing interesting.'

Brooke knew immediately it was
that
issue of
Last Night.
She wondered if Heather knew she was two weeks behind the ball.

‘Ahh,' she said with forced cheer that she knew didn't sound remotely believable. ‘The infamous photo.'

Heather clasped her hands together and stared down at her lap as though she'd just been caught in some horrible lie. She opened her mouth to say something, reconsidered, and then said, ‘Yeah, it's kind of a weird picture.'

‘Weird? What do you mean?'

‘Oh, I didn't, uh, I didn't mean anything by it. Julian looks great!'

‘No, I know what you mean. There is something off about it.' Brooke wasn't sure why she was grilling this girl she barely knew, but it suddenly felt crucially important to know what Heather thought.

‘It's not that. I think it was just taken in a weird split second when he's, like,
gazing
at her in that way.'

So that was it. Other people had made similar comments. Words like ‘enraptured' and ‘worshipful' had been thrown around. Which was all utterly ridiculous.

‘Yeah, my husband thinks Layla Lawson is hot. Which makes him exactly like one hundred percent of other red-blooded American men,' Brooke laughed, trying her best to sound casual.

‘Totally!' Heather nodded in overenthusiastic agreement. ‘I bet it's just great for his career in terms of raising his profile.'

Brooke smiled. ‘You could definitely say that. In one single night, that picture changed, well, everything.'

Heather seemed sobered by this admission. She looked up at Brooke and said, ‘I know it's all so exciting, but I can't even imagine how hard it's been for you. I bet it's all anyone can talk about. Every second of every day must be all about Julian.'

Brooke was caught off guard. No one – not Randy, or her parents, or even Nola – had assumed that Julian's newfound fame was anything but absolutely wonderful. She looked at Heather gratefully. ‘Yeah, but I'm sure it'll all blow over. Slow couple news weeks, you know? We'll be onto the next thing soon enough.'

‘You have to be ruthless about your privacy. My friend from college, Amber? One day she's getting married in a proper church wedding to her high school sweetheart, and less than a year later her brand-new husband wins
American Idol
. Talk about total and complete upheaval.'

‘Is your friend married to Tommy? From one of the earlier seasons?'

Heather nodded.

Brooke whistled. ‘Wow, I don't think I ever even knew he was married.'

‘Yeah, well, you sure wouldn't. It's literally a new girl every week, has been since the day he won. Poor Amber was so young – only twenty-two – and so naive that she wouldn't leave him, no matter how many girls he was linked to. She thought if she could just give it time, he would settle down and everything could go back to the way it was.'

‘So what happened?'

‘Uch, it was horrible. He kept screwing around and was getting more and more blatant about it. Do you remember those pictures of him skinny-dipping with that model, the ones where they blurred out their genitals but you could see everything else?'

Brooke nodded. Even among the constant influx of paparazzi photos, she remembered those as particularly scandalous.

‘Well, it went on that way for over a year with no signs of letting up. It got so bad that her father flew to meet Tommy on tour, showed up in his hotel room. He told him he had twenty-four hours to file divorce papers or else. He knew Amber would never do it herself – she was a good girl and still couldn't really wrap her mind around everything that was happening – and Tommy did it. I'm not sure he was a super stand-up guy before he was famous, but he is undoubtedly a colossal asshole now.'

Brooke tried to keep a neutral expression, but she wanted to reach over and slap Heather. ‘Why are you telling me this?' she asked in as calm a voice as she could manage. ‘Julian is nothing like that.'

Heather clamped a hand over her mouth. ‘I didn't mean to imply that Julian is
anything
like Tommy. Of course he's absolutely not at all. The reason I started this whole story was that a little while after their divorce, Amber sent out an e-mail to all her friends and family, requesting that they stop e-mailing her pictures or links, snail-mailing clippings, or calling her with updates on what was happening with Tommy. I remember thinking it was a little weird at the time – like, are that many people really sending her interviews they'd read on her ex-husband? – but after she showed me her e-mail inbox one day, I totally got it. No one was trying to hurt her; they were just highly insensitive. They somehow thought she'd want to know. Anyway, since then, she's totally reclaimed her life and probably understands better than anyone out there how, uh, overwhelming all this fame stuff can be.'