Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (167 page)

‘How sweet is that one?' Julian asked with the kind of excitement he normally reserved only for musical instruments or new electronic gadgets.

‘You never wear hoodies,' was all Brooke could manage.

‘Yeah, but what better time to start than now?' Julian said with another grin. ‘I think I could get used to a five-hundred-dollar hoodie. Did you feel how soft it is? Here, check these out.' He tossed her a buttery leather jacket and a pair of John Varvatos black leather boots that were a cross between motorcycle and cowboy boots. Brooke wasn't quite sure what they were, but even she knew they were cool. ‘How much do those rock?'

Again, she nodded. Scared she would start to cry if she didn't do
something,
Brooke leaned over into the suitcase and pulled another pile of clothes onto her lap. There were heaps of designer and vintage T-shirts in every imaginable color. She spotted a pair of Gucci loafers – the ones with the sleek dress sole and without the telltale logo – and a pair of white Prada sneakers. There were hats, so many hats, chunky knit caps like the ones he always wore, but also cashmere ones and Panama jacks and white fedoras. Probably ten or twelve hats in different styles and colors, each one different but stylish in its own unique way. Handfuls of whisper-thin cashmere V-necks, slim-cut Italian blazers that screamed casual cool, and jeans. So many jeans in every imaginable cut, color, and wash that Julian could probably wear a new pair every day for a fortnight and not have to repeat. Brooke forced herself to unfold and look at each of them until she found – as she knew she would – the same pair her mother had first selected at Bloomingdale's that day, the ones Brooke had deemed perfect from the start.

She tried to murmur, ‘Wow,' but only a choked sound came out.

‘Isn't it incredible?' Julian asked, his voice growing more excited as she rifled through the clothes. ‘How happy are you, baby? I'm finally going to look like a grown-up. A really expensively dressed grown-up. Do you have any idea how much all this stuff cost them? Just guess.'

She didn't have to guess; she could tell by looking at the quality and sheer quantity of merchandise that Sony had laid out no less than ten thousand dollars. Still, she didn't want to ruin it for Julian.

‘I don't know, two thousand? Maybe three? It's craziness!' she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

He laughed. ‘I know, that's probably what I would've guessed too. Eighteen grand. Can you even believe it? Eighteen fucking grand on clothes.'

She rubbed one of the cashmere sweaters between her palms. ‘Are you okay with them changing your look, though? Do you mind that you'll be wearing completely different stuff?'

She held her breath while he seemed to think about this for a moment.

‘Nah, I can't be like that,' he said. ‘Time to move on, you know? The old uniform worked for a while, but I'm starting fresh. I've got to embrace the new look, and hopefully with it the new career will come. I have to say, I'm kinda surprised myself, but I'm totally on board with it.' He smiled devilishly. ‘Besides, if you've gotta do it, better do it right, you know? So, how happy are you?'

She forced another smile. ‘So happy. It's just awesome that they're willing to invest in you like this.'

He yanked off his old, pilled cap and put on the white fedora with a chambray band. He jumped up to look in the hallway mirror and turned a few times, admiring himself from different angles. ‘So what's your news?' he called out. ‘If I remember correctly, I'm not the only one around here with a surprise tonight.'

She smiled to herself, a sad smile despite the fact that no one could see her. ‘It's nothing,' she called back, hoping her voice sounded cheerier than she felt.

‘Oh come on, there was something you wanted to show me, wasn't there?'

She folded her hands in her lap and stared at the overflowing suitcase. ‘Nothing quite as exciting as this, sweetie. Let's enjoy this now and I'll keep my surprise for another night.'

He walked over to her, fedora and all, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Sounds good, Rookie. I'm going to unpack all my new loot. Wanna help?' He began dragging everything toward the bedroom.

‘I'll be there in a minute,' she called, praying he wouldn't notice the shopping bags in the closet.

He came back to the living room a moment later and sat next to her on the couch. ‘Are you sure everything's okay, baby? Is anything wrong?'

She smiled again and shook her head, willing the lump in her throat to go away. ‘Everything's great,' she lied, squeezing his hand. ‘Nothing's wrong at all.'

‘Is it wrong I'm dreading this?' Brooke asked as she turned onto Randy and Michelle's street.

‘We really haven't seen them in a while,' Julian mumbled, furiously typing on his phone.

‘No, the party. I'm dreading the party. All those people from my childhood, each of them interrogating us about our lives and telling me all about their children's lives, every one of which I used to be friends with but who have now gone on to out-accomplish me in every imaginable way.'

‘I guarantee none of their kids married as well as you did.'

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smiling.

‘Hah! I might have agreed with you before I ran into Sasha Phillip's mother in the city six months ago. Sasha was the queen bee of sixth grade, the one who could get everyone to gang up on you with a single flick of her snap bracelet and who, incidentally, had
the
scrunchiest socks and the whitest-ever leather Keds.'

‘Is this going somewhere?'

‘So before I can take cover, I see Sasha's mother at Century 21, in the housewares department.'

‘Brooke …'

‘And she corners me right between the shower curtains and the towels and starts bragging that Sasha is now married to a guy who's being “groomed” to be someone “very influential” in a well-known Italian “business family,” wink, wink. How this guy – this real catch – could have any woman on earth, and he was just smitten with her gorgeous Sasha. Who, by the way, is now the stepmother to his four children. She's bragging! The woman was so skilled, I actually left there feeling badly that you weren't in the mob and didn't have a handful of children from a previous wife.'

He laughed. ‘You never told me that.'

‘I didn't want to put your life at risk.'

‘We'll get through this together. Some appetizers, some dinner, a toast, and then we're out. Okay?'

‘If you say so.' She pulled into the driveway of Randy's condo, number 88, and immediately noticed that his highly worshipped two-seater Nissan 350Z was nowhere to be seen. She was about to say something to Julian about it, but his phone rang for the thousandth time in the last two hours, and he had already climbed out of the car.

‘I'll come back for our bags, okay?' she called out to him, but he was at the end of the driveway, the handset pressed to his ear, nodding furiously. ‘Okay, great then,' she mumbled to herself and headed to the front door. She was about to walk up the stairs when Randy flung it open, rushed out, and enveloped her in a hug. ‘Hey, Rookie! So good to see you guys. Michelle's coming out now. Where's Julian?'

‘On the phone. Let me tell you, T-Mobile is not going to be happy they offered an unlimited plan when they see his bill.'

They both watched as Julian smiled, pocketed his phone, and walked back to their open trunk.

‘You need some help with those bags?' Randy called out.

‘Nah, I'm fine,' Julian called, swinging both over his shoulder with ease. ‘You're looking good, man. Lost weight?'

Randy patted his ample-but-maybe-slightly-less-ample belly. ‘The old lady's got me on a strict diet,' he said with unmistakable pride. Brooke wouldn't have believed it a year ago, but Randy was obviously thrilled to have an adult relationship, a supposedly furnished home, and a baby on the way.

‘Might want to go stricter,' Brooke said, simultaneously sidestepping him so he couldn't swat her.

‘Big talker over here. I admit, I've got a few pounds to lose, but you're a nutritionist – what's your excuse? Aren't you supposed to be, like, totally anorexic?' Randy reached her across the sidewalk and mussed up her hair.

‘Wow, a weight comment and an insult to my profession all in the same breath. You're on fire today.'

‘Oh come on, you know I'm just kidding. You look great.'

‘Uh-huh. Maybe I should lose five pounds, but Michelle's got her work cut out for her,' she said with a grin.

‘Trust me, I'm working on him,' Michelle called out as she gingerly stepped down the stairs. Her belly looked like it extended six feet in front of her despite the fact that she still had seven weeks to go, and her face broke into an instant sweat in the crushing August heat. Despite all of it, she looked happy, almost exhilarated. Brooke had always thought the whole pregnancy glow thing was a myth, but there was no denying something agreed with Michelle.

‘I'm working on Brooke, too,' Julian said as he kissed Michelle on the cheek.

‘Brooke's gorgeous just the way she is,' Michelle immediately replied, her expression registering the hit.

Brooke turned to face Julian, forgetting that Michelle and Randy were watching the whole thing.

‘What did you just say?'

Julian shrugged. ‘Nothing, Rook. It was a joke. Just a joke.'

‘You're “working on me”? Was that it? What, you're trying to keep my morbid obesity in check?'

‘Brooke, can we talk about this another time? You know I was just kidding around.'

‘No, I'd like to talk about this right now. What
exactly
did you mean by that?'

Julian was beside her in a second, instantly contrite. ‘Rookie, it was totally just a joke. You know I love the way you look and wouldn't change a thing. I just, uh, don't want
you
to be uncomfortable.'

Randy reached out for Michelle's hand and announced, ‘We're going to get everything set up inside. Here, let me take these bags. Come in whenever you're ready.'

Brooke waited until they'd shut the screen door. ‘Why, exactly, would I be
uncomfortable
? I'm not a supermodel, I know, but who is?'

‘No, I know, it's just that …' He kicked at the stoop with his Converse sneaker and then sat down.

‘It's just what?'

‘Nothing. You know I think you're gorgeous. It's just that Leo thought you might feel uncomfortable in terms of publicity, and, you know, stuff like that.'

He looked at her, waiting, but she was too stunned to speak.

‘Brooke—'

She pulled a piece of gum from her purse and stared at the ground.

‘Rookie, come here. Christ, I shouldn't have said that. It's not at all what I meant …'

She paused and waited for him to explain what he had really meant, but there was only silence.

‘Come on, let's go inside,' she said, trying to keep from tearing up. In a way, it'd be easier not knowing what he really meant.

‘No, wait a minute. Come here,' he said, pulling her down next to him on the stoop and taking both her hands in his.

‘Baby, I'm sorry I said that. Leo and I do not sit around and talk about you, and I know all this horseshit about my “image” is nothing more than that, but I'm
freaking out
about all of this, and I need to listen to him right now. The album just dropped, and I'm trying not to let all this go to my head, but whichever way I think about it, I'm terrified: If it works and the album's a hit – terrifying. If, more likely, this has all just been a lot of very lucky smoke and mirrors and nothing is really going to come of it – even more terrifying. Yesterday I was sitting in my safe little recording studio playing the music I love, totally able to pretend it was just me and a piano and no one else, and all of a sudden there's this other stuff: TV appearances, dinners with executives, interviews. I'm just … not prepared. And if it means I've been kind of an asshole lately, I'm really,
really
sorry.'

There were a million things Brooke wanted to say – how much she missed him now that he was gone so often; how nervous she was about all their recent fighting, the constant roller coaster of up and down; how thrilled she was that he had actually opened up a little and let her in – but instead of pushing him even more, of asking all her questions or airing all her feelings, she forced herself to appreciate the tiny step he'd just taken.

She squeezed his hands and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you,' she said quietly, meeting his eyes for the first time all day.

‘Thank
you,
' he replied, and kissed her cheek right back.

With much still left unsaid and a lingering uneasy feeling, Brooke clasped her husband's hand and allowed herself to be pulled up and escorted inside. She would do her best to forget the weight comment.

Randy and Michelle were waiting for them in the kitchen, where Michelle was preparing a platter of food for make-your-own-sandwiches: sliced turkey, roast beef, rye bread, Russian dressing, tomatoes, lettuce, and pickles. There were cans of Dr. Brown's black cherry soda and a liter of lime seltzer. Michelle handed them each a paper plate and motioned for them to get started.

‘So, what time do the festivities begin?' Brooke asked, helping herself to a few slices of turkey, no bread. She hoped both Randy and Julian would notice and feel guilty.

‘The party starts at seven, but Cynthia wants us there at six to help set up.' Michelle moved around with surprising grace considering her size.

‘Do you think he's going to be surprised?' Brooke asked.

‘I can't believe your father is turning sixty-five.' Julian spread Russian dressing on a piece of bread.