Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (226 page)

It was surreal to be chatting so casually with perhaps the most famous woman on the planet. Olive Chase's movies had netted $950 million worldwide. She was recognized everywhere from the Bedouin sands of Egypt to the ice plains of Siberia to the remotest villages of the Amazon. Her romantic trials and tribulations had been the subject of endless coverage and analysis, all of her failed relationships lined up like roadkill behind her. The world had given up on her finding a man, or loving a man, or keeping a man, and her status as Most Gorgeous Single Woman Ever had been firmly cemented – much to the dismay of hundreds of thousands of regular guys, all of whom swore they were perfect for her – when she stepped onto the red carpet with just that … a regular guy. No amount of after-the-fact burnishing or all-out fiction writing could make Clint Sever, an engineer by training but a website designer by passion, anything more than the guy next door. When they'd met the year before under vague circumstances (Andy's entire goal for her upcoming interview was to ferret out more details of the first meeting), Clint was living in Louisville, Kentucky, a universe away from the glitz of Hollywood, and apparently the only Olive Chase movie he'd ever seen was a Christmas special she'd starred in twenty years earlier. He was twenty-nine, of completely average height, weight, and appearance, and in all the interviews Andy had watched, he seemed completely unfazed by his new life and megastar fiancée. He had willingly signed a prenup that would leave him exactly zilch if they ever divorced, regardless of how long the marriage lasted, how many children they had, or what Olive earned during its tenure. He submitted to interviews and walked red carpets and attended A-list parties when required but didn't appear impressed, intimidated, overwhelmed, or even really all that interested in any of it. Olive, on the other hand, couldn't shut up about her ‘new man,' ‘the sexy new guy' in her life, calling him ‘the person who makes me happier than I ever thought possible.' Despite being ten years Clint's senior and having shared a bed with nearly every famous actor, athlete, and musician in existence (she didn't discriminate between men and women, it was rumored), Olive was reputedly head over heels in love with her average joe, and she wanted nothing more than to talk about it.

‘Good! I just love it here.' Olive curled her coltish legs under her and settled into the chaise next to Andy's. ‘No one else should be done for a little while, so I thought we could chat now.'

‘Great,' Andy said, pulling out her notebook, but Olive clearly wasn't in a rush to start the interview.

She motioned for an attendant standing discreetly by the door and said, ‘Darling, do you think you could break the rules and bring us some real drinks? I don't think tea is going to cut it today.'

The woman beamed at Olive. ‘Of course, Miss Chase. What may I bring you?'

‘I'd love a Patrón margarita, no salt.' She paused and shook her head. ‘Actually, extra salt. Bloating be damned.' Olive turned to Andy. ‘Do you want a Shirley Temple? No, probably not with all those fake red dyes and chemicals. Aren't maraschino cherries, like, automatic cancer? I think it's Pellegrino for you!'

Andy was instantly charmed.

‘I ditched Daphne, my PR chick,' Olive said, leaning in conspiratorially. ‘She's going to be so pissed! But my god, what can really happen? You write for a wedding magazine! This is not, like, a
60 Minutes
interview.'

‘That is most definitely true,' Andy said, relieved to have a few unscripted minutes alone with Olive. If she could keep the girl drinking like this, she'd be able to ask anything she wanted.
US Magazine
had already purchased the rights to the first wedding pictures, but Andy hoped she'd be able to get the most complete story and accompany it with dozens of additional and varied pictures beyond the quickie four-page spread
US
would have to race to publish thirty-six hours after the event.

‘So when are you due? By the looks of it, any second.'

Andy laughed. ‘By the feel of it, too. But really not for another few weeks.'

Olive gazed longingly at her belly. ‘I can't wait to get pregnant. What are you having?'

‘I don't know yet,' she said. ‘I like the idea of a surprise at the end of all that work.'

A look flashed across Olive's face, an expression Andy couldn't quite place. Something told her she should change the subject immediately, but Olive beat her to it.

‘So, where do we begin?' she asked. ‘Do you, like, want to hear about my entire childhood? Should I start with conception?'

Andy laughed. Olive was unlike any other celebrity she'd ever interviewed. There had been Harper Hallow and Mack, who had set a new bar (at least for Andy) in terms of fame. There was the well-known stylist with her own television show; the infamous woman chef who berated employees with a string of curse words and insults; the young country singer marrying the much older pop singer; the number-one-ranked female tennis player in the world; the reality TV star who'd transcended the
Housewives
franchise and become a worldwide name brand; the Oscar-
winning
, Spanish-speaking actress with the most jaw-dropping figure. Many of them were household names. Most were crazy as loons. All of them were attractive and intriguing in their own often weird ways. And here was Olive Chase, undoubtedly the most famous and successful of all of them, and she seemed so … normal. Killer body, gorgeous hair, great skin, addictive laugh … check, check, check. But disarmingly sweet? Willing to discuss anything (and without a publicist!)? The kind of person who immediately feels like a best friend in the making? Not what Andy was expecting.

‘Let's maybe start with how you guys met,' Andy said, pen poised above paper, praying to herself that Olive would offer something more than vague platitudes.

‘Oh, that one's easy. We met the same way everyone does these days – online!'

Andy tried to control her excitement; she hadn't read about Olive dating online anywhere. ‘Yes, but I wouldn't imagine a whole lot of celebrities meet people online. Weren't you concerned about privacy?'

Another long pull of her margarita and a brush-back of her silken hair. Olive appeared to consider this. She nodded. ‘Of course I was concerned about it. But I had to find a way! I can't tell you how many actors and athletes and male models and musicians and hedge fund guys and just general all-around assholes I was set up with over the years. I think I dated every dickhead in North America, and quite a few in Europe. But then I'd be sitting home, late at night, alone as usual, and surfing the ordinary-people websites. There were so many great guys out there! Funny, charming, lovely men. Men who wrote poetry or loved fly-fishing or built homes from scratch or taught high school. I e-mailed with one guy in Tampa who was raising three kids all by himself after his wife died of ovarian cancer. Can you imagine?'

Andy shook her head.

‘Me neither! I never met anyone like this, only men who wanted to be the first to tell you how talented or gorgeous or rich or powerful they were. And I have to say, I was over it. I created a profile where I was completely honest about my personality, very forthcoming, and didn't include a picture or any mention of acting. I didn't think anyone would ever e-mail me back without a picture, but they did. You'd be surprised. Clint was one of the first men I started corresponding with, and we hit it off immediately. Sometimes we'd e-mail ten, twelve times a day. We started talking on the phone after two weeks. We got to know each other in, like, the most organic way you could ever imagine, because appearance or money or status had nothing to do with it.'

‘I can certainly see the appeal,' Andy said, not untruthfully.

‘He fell in love with the real me, not some media creation of me.'

‘How'd you meet for the first time?' Again, Andrea reminded herself not to appear too eager. She had no idea why Olive was confiding details to her that she hadn't shared with anyone else, but she was desperate to keep them coming.

‘Let's see, it was probably about five or six weeks of talking every day. By then he knew I lived in L.A. and was an aspiring actress, and he offered to come out to visit me, but I couldn't risk getting chased by photographers the whole time. Not to mention that my house might have been a little intimidating. So I went to Louisville.'

Olive said this like a native,
Loo-ah-ville.

‘You went to Louisville?' Andy tried, but it came out sounding more like
Looey-ville
.

‘I went to Louisville. Flew commercial, connected in Denver, the whole nine. I didn't let him pick me up at the airport in case there were paparazzi waiting. He came to my hotel.'

‘Isn't there a really lovely, famous old hotel in Louisville that they've recently'

‘Oh, I stayed at the Marriott.' Olive laughed. ‘No penthouse, no presidential suite or private butler, no special treatment. Just a pseudonym and a regular old room at the Marriott.'

‘And?'

‘And it was fantastic! I mean, don't get me wrong, the bathroom was kind of gross, but our first meeting was amazing. I had him come up to the room so I wouldn't get recognized in the lobby, and he joked on the phone about how forward I was being, but when he knocked on the door, I just knew that everything was going to be okay.'

Andy sipped her water.

‘And was it?'

Olive all but squealed. ‘It was more than okay, it was perfect! Of course he knew who I was the moment he saw me' –
somehow
, and Andy wasn't sure how, Olive managed not to sound obnoxious saying this – ‘but I just explained that I was still the person he'd e-mailed with and talked to for all those weeks. He was surprised, or I guess pretty shocked – he had nightmares I'd be a four-hundred-pound man or something – but we opened a bottle of wine and kept talking about all the things we had before – places we wanted to visit, our dogs, his relationship with his sister and mine with my brother. We just, like, totally opened up to each other, as real people. I knew right then I would marry him.'

‘Really? Right then? That's amazing.'

Olive leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Well, not right then, but definitely a couple hours later after we had the best sex you could ever imagine.' Olive nodded, as though agreeing with herself. ‘Yes, that's when I knew.'

‘Mmm,' Andy murmured, looking at her notes. She prayed her phone was recording everything clearly, because there was no way anyone was going to believe this. Andy checked Olive's half-full margarita and wondered if she'd been drinking earlier, but Olive appeared sober. Andy's phone rang. She clicked off the ringer and apologized.

‘Get it!' Olive implored. ‘I've been yakking my head off all this time. Let someone else have a chance.'

‘Oh, it's fine. I'm sure it's nothing.'

‘Answer it!'

Andy looked at Olive, who had turned on her full-wattage Hollywood smile, and knew she had to obey her. She pressed ‘talk' and said hello, but the caller had already hung up.

‘Must have just missed them,' Andy said, and turned back on the recording feature.

‘So are you married? Knocked up by accident? Single girl using a sperm donor? I was this close to doing the sperm-donor thing myself.'

Andy smiled, her mind immediately going to her grandmother. ‘No, just plain old married. Although yes, I guess you could say I was knocked up by accident.'

‘What, were you like totally not using anything but still telling everyone you weren't trying? That's my favorite. I'm always like, sweetheart, if you're not playing defense, you're playing offense. Not not-trying is
trying,
you know?'

‘Up until a few months ago I would've agreed with you.' Andy laughed.

The attendant appeared and asked if they'd like another drink.

‘I know a lot of people think seven months isn't long enough to
really
know someone, but with us it is. It feels like we've known each other since birth. I can't explain it, really. There's just this connection, and it has nothing to do with my job or his. You know?'

‘I do,' Andy said, although she didn't. Andy was in the camp that said making a lifelong commitment to another person after knowing them seven months was insane.

This time it was Olive's phone that rang. ‘Hello? Oh, hi, sweetie.' She continued to nod and murmur and at one point giggled like a teenager. ‘Don't be naughty, Clint! I'm here with a reporter. No, you can't. It's a girls' day! Okay. Love you too.'

Olive clicked her phone closed and turned to Andy. ‘Sorry, love, what were you saying?' Her phone buzzed again, and this time Olive reached to read a text message. ‘It looks like the other girls are finishing up. Did you get everything you needed? You're welcome to come meet everyone if you want …' Olive offered this sweetly, but Andy could tell the actress would prefer she didn't take her up on it.

‘Um, okay. I, uh, I was just hoping to go over some of the wedding details. I won't be at the wedding because of maternity leave, but my colleague Emily will be there.'

Olive pouted. ‘I want you to come.'

It was all Andy could do not to swoon. ‘I'd love to, trust me. Santa Barbara is just gorgeous, but I don't think I can leave the baby. Maybe you could give me some advance details on the dress, the flowers, how you chose the food, the decorations, that sort of thing?'

‘Oh, you can just talk to my stylist about that stuff. She picked everything.'

‘Everything? She picked your dress?'

Olive nodded and stood up. ‘The dress, the food, the flowers, the music we'll walk to, the whole thing. She knows me so well. I told her to choose whatever she liked best.'

In years of covering weddings, Andy had never heard anything like it. Olive Chase didn't want any input into the biggest day of her life? Really?