Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (170 page)

Brooke sighed. ‘I had to ask for another day off for next weekend in Miami, and let's just say that Margaret was less than thrilled.'

‘She can't expect her staff not to have personal lives.'

Brooke snorted. ‘It's probably not unfair for her to expect us to show up every now and then.'

‘You're being too hard on yourself. Can I change the topic to something a little more fun? No offense.'

‘What, the party this weekend?'

‘Am I invited?' Nola grinned. ‘I could be your date.'

‘Are you kidding? I'd love it, but I didn't think it was an option.'

‘What, would I rather be in New York having drinks with some loser when I could be nibbling caviar with a fledgling rock star wife?'

‘Done. I'm sure Julian will be thrilled he won't have to babysit me all night.' Brooke's phone vibrated on the coffee table. ‘Speak of the devil …'

‘Hey!' Brooke said into the receiver. ‘Nola and I were just talking about the party this weekend.'

‘Brooke? Guess what? I just spoke to Leo who heard from the VP at Sony. They said that the album's initial numbers are far exceeding their expectations.'

Brooke could hear music and some general clattering in the background, but she couldn't remember where Julian was that afternoon. Maybe Atlanta? Or were they playing in Charleston that night? Yes, that was definitely it. Atlanta was last night – she remembered speaking to Julian when he called around one in the morning, and he sounded drunk but in generally good spirits. He'd been calling from the Ritz in Buckhead.

‘No one wants to commit to anything yet since the airplay-tracking week still has three days to go, but the sales-tracking week ended today and supposedly it's on pace.'

Brooke had spent two hours the night before reading up on all the other singers and groups who had released albums in the last couple weeks, but she still didn't understand how the tracking worked. Should she ask? Or would he just get annoyed at her ignorance?

‘For at
least
a move from number four to number three. Possibly even higher!'

‘I'm so proud of you! Are you guys having fun in Charleston?' she asked brightly.

There was silence. She panicked for a second. Were they not in Charleston? But then he said, ‘Believe it or not, we're all busting our asses down here. Practicing, performing, breaking down, setting up, staying in a different hotel every night. Everyone's
working
here.'

Brooke was quiet for a moment. ‘I wasn't suggesting that all you're doing is partying.' Brooke somehow managed to refrain from reminding him about his drunken, very late call last night.

Nola caught Brooke's eye and motioned that she'd be in the other room, but Brooke waved and gave her a look that said,
Don't be ridiculous.

‘Is this about leaving in the middle of your dad's party? How many times have I apologized about that? I can't believe you're still punishing me.'

‘No, it's not about that, although for the record you walked out with about six seconds' warning and you haven't been home since and that was almost two weeks ago.' She softened her voice. ‘I guess I thought you'd be back for a day or two after the shoot, before you resumed the tour.'

‘What's with the attitude?'

It felt like a slap. ‘The
attitude
? Is it really so horrible that I said I hoped you were having fun? Or asked when we might see each other? Gee, I'm an awful person.'

‘Brooke, I don't have time for a tantrum right now.'

The way he said her full name gave her a chill.

‘A “tantrum,” Julian?
Really?
' She almost never told him how she really felt – he was too stressed, too busy, too distracted, or too far away – so she tried hard not to complain. To be upbeat and understanding, just like her mother said, but it wasn't easy.

‘Well then what exactly are you so worked up about? I'm sorry I can't get home this week. How many times do you want me to apologize? I'm doing this for us, you know. You might want to remember that sometimes.'

Brooke felt that all-too-anxious feeling. ‘I don't think you understand,' she said quietly.

He sighed. ‘I'll try and take a night and get home before Miami this weekend, okay? Would that make things better? It's just not so easy two weeks after your album drops.'

She wanted to tell him to go screw himself, but instead she took a deep breath, counted to three, and said, ‘That would be great if you could manage it. I'd love to see you.'

‘I'm going to try, Rook. Look, I've got to run, but please know I love you. And I miss you. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?' Before she could say another word, he hung up.

‘He hung up on me!' she yelled, before slamming her cell phone into the cushiony couch, where it bounced off a pillow before landing on the floor.

‘You okay?' Nola's voice was soft and soothing. She stood in the doorway of the living room, holding a handful of takeout menus and a bottle of wine. ‘For the Lost' began playing from the TV's radio station, and both Nola and Brooke turned toward the set.

‘Can you turn that off, please?' Brooke collapsed onto the couch and covered her eyes, although she wasn't crying. ‘What am I going to do?' she moaned.

Nola swiftly changed the channel. ‘First, you're going to decide whether you want lemongrass chicken or jumbo prawn curry from the Vietnamese place, and then you're going to tell me what's going on with you guys.' Nola seemed to remember the bottle in her hand. ‘Scratch that. First, we're going to have a drink.'

She quickly cut the foil wrapper with the tip of the wine opener and was about to plunge it into the cork when she said, ‘I thought you were over that stupid Layla picture.'

Brooke snorted and accepted a glass of red from Nola that, in more polite company, would've been considered overfilled but for tonight looked exactly right. ‘What, you mean the one where my husband has his arm wrapped around her twenty-six-inch waist with a smile so massive, so positively beatific, that he looks like he's in the throes of an orgasm?'

Nola sipped her wine and put her feet up on the table. ‘Some dumb starlet was looking to take advantage of a little press time with the next big thing. She couldn't care less about Julian.'

‘I know that. And it's not the picture so much as … He went from Nick's and a part-time internship to
this
? It all changed overnight, Nola. I wasn't ready.'

There was no point in denying it anymore: Julian Alter, her husband, was officially and undeniably famous. Intellectually, Brooke was aware that it had been an impossibly long and difficult road; so many years of daily practice and gigs and songwriting (not including the countless gigs and hours Julian had logged before they'd even met). There'd been demo tapes, promo tracks, singles that almost worked but never did. Even once he'd scored the long-shot record deal that was never supposed to go anywhere, there had been weeks and months of poring over contract books, hiring and working with entertainment lawyers, contacting more experienced artists for their advice and possible mentoring. There were the many months that followed spent in a Midtown recording studio, tweaking the keyboard and the vocals hundreds, maybe thousands of times to get the sound just right. The endless meetings with producers and A&R guys and intimidating executives that knew – and acted like – they held the golden keys to his future. There was the Sony casting call for new band members and then the interviewing and auditioning that followed; the nonstop travel between Los Angeles and New York to make sure everything was proceeding smoothly; the consultations with PR people who could guide the public's perception; and the instructions from the media trainers on how to behave in front of the cameras. And of course the stylist in charge of Julian's image.

For years Brooke had willingly worked two jobs to support them despite the confusing twinges of resentment she sometimes felt when she was exhausted and alone, a studio widow in the apartment. There were her own dreams – sidelined for now by choice – the wish to really carve out a niche for herself at work, travel more, have a baby. There was the financial strain from having to invest and reinvest every last dollar into different areas of Julian's career. The hideously long hours in the studio. All the late nights away from home, when both of them were in loud, smoky bars for Julian's gigs instead of curled up on the couch or away for the weekend with other couples. And now the travel! The constant, unrelenting, endless travel for Julian, moving from city to city, coast to coast. They both tried, they really did, but it seemed to be getting harder and harder. An uninterrupted phone conversation these days felt like a luxury.

Nola refilled both their glasses and picked up her phone. ‘What do you want?'

‘I'm not really hungry,' Brooke said, and was surprised herself that she actually meant it.

‘I'm ordering us a shrimp and a chicken to share and a bunch of spring rolls. That okay?'

Brooke waved her glass, nearly spilling her wine. The first one had gone down so quickly. ‘Fine, that's fine.' She thought for a moment and remembered she was doing to Nola exactly what Julian always did to her. ‘So what's going on with you? Anything new with …'

‘Drew? He's done. I had a little … distraction this past weekend, and it reminded me that there are a lot more exciting men out there than Drew McNeil.'

Brooke once again covered her eyes. ‘Oh no. Here we go.'

‘What? It was just a little fun.'

‘When did you find the time?'

Nola feigned looking hurt. ‘Remember after dinner on Saturday, you wanted to go home and Drew and I were going out?'

‘Oh, god. Please don't tell me this was another threesome. My weak heart can't handle another threesome.'

‘Brooke! Drew left right after you did, but I wanted to stay for a little. I had another drink and then left all by my lonesome around one thirty and went outside to hail a cab.'

‘Aren't we a little too old for late-night booty calls? Do the kids even still call them that these days?'

Nola covered her eyes. ‘My god, you're such a prude. I was about to get into the first open cab in twenty minutes when this guy tries to steal it from me. He just jumped into the other side.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yeah, well, he was pretty cute and I told him he could share with me as long as I got dropped off first, and before I even knew what was happening, we were making out.'

‘And then?' Brooke asked, even though she knew.

‘It was amazing.'

‘Do you even know his name?'

‘Save it,' Nola said, rolling her eyes.

She stared at her friend, trying to remember back to her single days. She'd dated plenty of people and hooked up with her fair share, but never had she been so, so …
free
in her willingness to fall into bed with people. Sometimes, when she wasn't terrified for Nola, she was envious of her confidence and the assertive way she approached her sexuality. The one time Brooke had had a one-night stand, she had to force herself to do it by repeatedly telling herself that it would be fun and exciting and empowering. One broken condom, twenty-four hours of nausea from the morning-after pill, six weeks until the HIV test could be assuredly negative, and exactly zero calls from her so-called lover later, she knew she wasn't cut out for that lifestyle.

She took a deep breath and was relieved to hear the buzzer sound to let them know the food had arrived. ‘Nola, do you realize you could've been—'

‘Could you just spare me the “he could've been a serial killer” lecture, please?'

She held her hands up in surrender. ‘Okay, okay. Look, I'm glad you had fun. Maybe it's just my own jealousy talking.'

Nola made a little shrieking sound at this. She pulled her knees up on the couch and reached over to take Brooke's hand, which she promptly slapped.

‘What was that for?' Brooke asked with a wounded look.

‘Don't ever say you're jealous again!' Nola said with an intensity Brooke rarely saw from her. ‘You're beautiful and talented and you can't even imagine how wonderful it is, as your friend, to see the way Julian looks at you. I know I haven't always been his number one fan, but he loves you, there's no denying it. Whether you realize it or not, you guys are inspiring to me. I know it took a lot of hard work for both of you, but it's all paying off.'

There was a knock at the door. She leaned over and hugged Nola. ‘I love you. Thanks for that – I needed to hear it.'

Nola smiled, grabbed her wallet, and headed into the hallway.

The girls ate quickly and Brooke, exhausted from the day and a half bottle of wine, ducked out as soon as they finished. Out of habit she purposefully walked to the 1 train and claimed her favorite end seat, not remembering until she was halfway home that she could afford to take taxis. She screened her mother's call during the three-block walk home and began to fantasize about her single-girl evening ritual: herbal tea, hot bath, freezing cold room, sleeping pill, and a blacked-out sleep under her massively puffy comforter. Perhaps she'd even shut off her phone, so Julian wouldn't wake her with his sporadic calls, unpredictable in every way except for the certainty that she would hear music, girls, or both in the background.

Lost in a reverie and desperate to get inside and strip off her clothes, Brooke didn't see the flowers on her doormat until she tripped over them. The cylindrical glass vase was as tall as a toddler and lined with vibrantly green banana leaves. It brimmed over with calla lilies, rich purple and creamy white in color, a single towering stalk of bamboo the only accent.