Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (177 page)

Brooke read it a second time and then a third. She may have sat there reading and rereading it all day long, but her phone rang again. It was Julian this time.

‘Rook, I can't even tell you how pissed I am! It's one thing if they want to write a bunch of trash about me, but when they start in on you …'

‘I don't want to talk about it,' she lied. She wanted nothing more than to talk about it, to ask Julian point by point if he agreed with any of the twisted claims the article made, but she didn't have the energy.

‘I've already spoken to Samara, and she promised me that the legal team at Sony was preparing to—'

‘Julian, I really don't want to talk about it,' she repeated. ‘It's horrible and hateful and universally untrue – I hope – and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. We are hosting nine people including ourselves for Thanksgiving tomorrow, and I need to start preparing.'

‘Brooke, I don't want you to think for a single second that—'

‘Okay, I know. You're still coming home tomorrow, right?' She held her breath.

‘Of course! I'm on the first flight out, so I'll land around eight and come directly from LaGuardia. Do you need me to pick up anything?'

Brooke clicked the hateful article closed and opened her Thanksgiving shopping list. ‘I think I've got everything … actually, a couple more bottles of wine. Maybe one more red and one more white.'

‘Of course, baby. I'll be home in just a little bit and we can work through this, okay? Call you later.'

‘Mmm. Okay.' Her voice sounded cold and distant, and even though it wasn't Julian's fault, she couldn't help feeling resentful.

They hung up and she thought first about phoning Nola and then her mother, but decided the only way to deal with this was not to deal with it. She called to check on the table rentals, brined the turkey, washed the potatoes for mashing the next day, made the cranberry sauce, and trimmed the asparagus. After that, it was time for a massive apartment clean and reorganization, which she tackled to the blasting sounds of an old hip-hop CD from high school. She'd planned to go for a manicure around five, but when she peeked out the window, at least two and maybe four men with Escalades and cameras were lurking on the street below. Brooke glanced at her cuticles and back at the men: so not worth it.

By the time she crawled into bed that night with Walter, she had managed to delude herself into believing that the whole thing would just go away. Even though it was the very first thing that popped into her mind when she woke up on Thanksgiving morning, she managed to force the thought back. There was so much to do to get ready, and people would be there in five hours. When Julian arrived home a little after nine, she insisted they change the subject.

‘But, Rook, I just don't think it's healthy not to discuss this,' he said as he helped push all their living room furniture against the walls to make room for the rented table.

‘I just don't know what there is to say. It's all a massive bunch of lies, and yes, it's upsetting – mortifying – to read stuff like that about myself and my marriage, but unless any of it's actually true, I just don't see what hashing and rehashing this is going to do …' She looked at him questioningly.

‘Not a single word of it is true. Not that crap about my parents, or me not thinking you're “the one” – none of it.'

‘So let's focus on today, okay? What time did your parents say they're leaving? I won't have Neha and Rohan come over until they're gone. I just don't think we'll be able to fit everyone at the same time.'

‘They're coming at one for a drink, and I told them they had to be gone by two. Does that work?'

Brooke picked up a stack of magazines and hid them in the hallway closet. ‘That's perfect. Everyone else is arriving at two. Tell me again I shouldn't feel guilty that we're kicking them out.'

Julian snorted. ‘We're hardly kicking them out. They're going to the Kamens'. Trust me, they won't want to stay a minute longer.'

She shouldn't have been worried. The Alters arrived exactly on time, agreed only to drink the wine they'd brought (‘Oh, dears, save your bottles for your other guests – why don't we drink the good stuff now?'), made only one disparaging comment about the apartment (‘It certainly is
charming,
isn't it? It's just a wonder you two have been able to live here for as long as you have'), and left fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Thirty seconds after they left, their buzzer rang again.

‘Come on up,' she called into the intercom.

Julian squeezed her hand. ‘It's going to be great.'

Brooke opened the hallway door and her mother swooped in with barely a hello. ‘The baby's sleeping,' she declared, as though she were announcing the arrival of the president and first lady. ‘Where should we put her?'

‘Well, let's see. Being that we're all eating in the living room, and I'm guessing you don't want her in the bathroom, that only leaves one option. Can you just put her on our bed?' Brooke asked.

Randy and Michelle materialized holding baby Ella in a portable carry seat. ‘She's still way too young to roll so it's probably fine,' Michelle said, leaning over to kiss Julian hello.

‘No way!' Randy said, dragging what looked like a folded-up tent. ‘That's exactly why I brought the Pack 'n Play. You are not putting her on a bed.'

Michelle gave Brooke a look that said,
Well, who can argue with the overprotective daddy?
and they both laughed. Randy and Mrs. Greene took Ella back to the bedroom and Julian began to pour glasses of wine.

‘So … are you doing okay?' Michelle asked.

Brooke closed the oven, set the baster down, and turned to Michelle. ‘Yeah, I'm fine. Why?'

Her sister-in-law looked instantly contrite. ‘Oh, sorry, I probably shouldn't have brought it up, but that article was just so … so vicious.'

Brooke inhaled sharply. ‘Oh, yeah, I guess I figured no one else had read it yet. Since it's not even out, you know?'

‘Oh, I'm sure no one else has!' Michelle said. ‘A friend of mine forwarded it to me online, but she's a total freak about the gossip websites. No one reads as much as she does.'

‘Got it. Hey, would you mind bringing this to the living room?' Brooke asked, handing Michelle a cheese platter with miniature bowls of fig jam and assorted crackers.

‘Of course,' Michelle said. Brooke figured she got the message, but Michelle took two steps out of the kitchen, turned around, and said, ‘You know, someone keeps calling and asking me questions about you guys, but we don't say a word.'

‘Who?' Brooke asked, her voice filled with the panic she'd successfully suppressed until now. ‘Remember, I've asked you guys not to talk to any reporters about us. Not on the phone, in person, not
ever.
'

‘Oh, we know that. And we never would. I just thought you should know that there are people out there hunting around.'

‘Yeah, well, judging from their accuracy, they haven't done a terrific job with sources,' Brooke said, pouring herself another glass of white wine.

Her mother's voice broke the awkward silence and Michelle scurried out with the cheese. ‘What's going on in here?' she asked, kissing Brooke's hair. ‘I'm so relieved you've taken over the hosting! It was getting lonely year after year when all you kids went to your father's.'

Brooke didn't tell her that the only reason she'd volunteered to make Thanksgiving dinner this year was because her father and Cynthia were going to Cynthia's family's place in Arizona. Besides, it was nice to feel like a proper grown-up, even if it was only for an afternoon.

‘Yeah, well, let's see if you're still saying that when you try the turkey,' Brooke said.

The doorbell rang, and Ella began to wail from the bedroom.

Everyone dispersed: Randy and Michelle to tend to Ella, Julian to open another bottle of wine, and Mrs. Greene to trail Brooke to the door.

‘Remind me who these friends are again?' she asked. ‘I know you've told me before, but I can't remember.'

‘Neha and I went to grad school together and she now does prenatal nutrition at a gynecologist's office in Brookline. Her husband, Rohan, is an accountant, and they've been living in Boston for about three years now. Both of their families are still in India, so they don't really celebrate Thanksgiving, but I thought it'd be nice to include them,' Brooke whispered as they stood in the foyer.

Her mother nodded. Brooke knew she wouldn't remember half of it and would end up asking Neha and Rohan for the whole story again.

Brooke opened the door and Neha immediately leaned in for a bear hug. ‘I can't believe how long it's been! Why don't we see each other more often?'

Brooke hugged her back and then stood on her tiptoes to kiss Rohan on the cheek. ‘Come in, you guys. Neha, Rohan, this is my mom. Mom, these are friends from way back.'

Neha laughed. ‘Like, back when we were in our twenties and still hot?'

‘Yeah, we do lab coats and clogs better than anyone. Here, let me take your coats,' Brooke said as she ushered them inside.

Julian emerged from the tiny galley kitchen. ‘Hey, man,' he said, shaking Rohan's hand and clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Great to see you. How is everything?' Julian looked especially adorable in a pair of black jeans, a cashmere gray waffle sweater, and a pair of vintage sneakers. His skin glowed with a subtle L.A.-acquired tan and despite being exhausted, his eyes were bright and he moved with a relaxed confidence Brooke had only recently noticed.

Rohan glanced at his own navy chino pants, dress shirt, and tie and actually blushed. He and Julian had never been close friends – Julian found Rohan way too quiet and conservative – but they'd always managed to make small talk in the presence of their wives. Now Rohan could barely meet Julian's eyes, and he mumbled, ‘Oh, same old for us. Not nearly as exciting as you. We actually saw your face on a billboard the other day.'

There was an awkward pause until Ella, no longer crying and sporting the cutest little cow onesie Brooke had ever seen, made an appearance, and everyone could ooh and aah over her for a bit.

‘So, Neha, how do you like Boston?' Brooke's mother asked. She smeared a small hunk of blue cheese on a cracker and popped it in her mouth.

Neha smiled. ‘Well, we love our neighborhood and we've met some nice people. I like our apartment a lot. The city really does have a great quality of life.'

‘What she wants to say is that it's boring beyond description,' Brooke said, spearing an olive with a toothpick.

Neha nodded. ‘She's right. It's spirit crushing.'

Mrs. Greene laughed and Brooke could tell her mother was charmed. ‘So why don't you two move back to New York? I know Brooke would be thrilled.'

‘Rohan will be done with his MBA next year, and if I have any say at all, we'll sell our car – I hate the driving – give up our perfectly lovely apartment, say good-bye to our extremely polite neighbors, and hightail it right back here where we can only afford a walk-up in a sketchy neighborhood surrounded by rude, aggressive people. And I will love every minute of it.'

‘Neha …' Rohan overheard this last part and gave his wife a look.

‘What? You can't expect me to live there forever.' She turned to Brooke and Mrs. Greene and lowered her voice. ‘He hates it, too, but he feels guilty about hating it. Who ever hates Boston, you know?'

By the time everyone had gathered around the cloth-draped card table to start the meal, Brooke had all but forgotten about the hideous article. There was plenty of wine, and the turkey was moist and perfectly cooked, and although the mashed potatoes were a little bland, her guests protested that they were the best damn mashed potatoes they'd ever eaten. They chatted easily about the new Hugh Grant movie and the upcoming trip to Mumbai and Goa that Neha and Rohan were planning over the holidays to visit their families. Things were so relaxed, in fact, that when Brooke's mother leaned over and quietly asked her how she was holding up, she almost dropped her fork.

‘
You've
read it?' Brooke spat, staring at her mother.

‘Oh, honey, of course I read it. Four different women forwarded it to me this morning. Gossip hounds, each and every one of them. I can't even imagine how devastating it is to read—'

‘Mom, I don't want to talk about it.'

‘—something like that about yourself, but anyone who's ever met you two will know it's complete – pardon my French – bullshit.'

Neha must have caught the tail end of this, because she too leaned over and said, ‘Seriously, Brooke, it was all so obviously fictional. I mean, not one word of it was true. Don't think about it for a second.'

She felt like she'd been slapped again. Why did she think no one would read this? How had she managed to delude herself into believing that the whole thing would just go away?

‘I'm trying not to think about it,' she said.

Neha nodded, and Brooke knew she understood. If only she could say the same for her mother.

‘Did you see those photographers out there when you came in?' Mrs. Greene asked Neha and Rohan. ‘They're like vultures.'

Julian must have seen her face tighten, because he cleared his throat, but Brooke wanted to explain once and for all so they could move along. ‘It's not that bad,' she said, passing the platter of grilled asparagus to Randy. ‘They're not there all the time, and we had a bunch of blackout shades put in, so they really can't get any shots. Unlisting our number helped. I'm sure it's the initial excitement over the album. They'll be totally bored of us by New Year's.'

‘I hope not,' Julian said with a dimpled smile. ‘Leo just told me he's pushing for a Grammy appearance. He thinks there's a pretty good chance I could get picked to perform.'