Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (76 page)

I left a message with Amy Sacco's office asking if we could reserve Bungalow for the BlackBerry event, just as Penelope called on the other line.

‘Hey, what's going on? What warrants the middle-of-the-day call? How's Aaron? Have you seen him lately?'

‘Do you know how much the quality of my work life has improved since you left?' Penelope asked. ‘No offense, but it's almost worth not having you around to never have him utter the word
powwow.
How's lover boy?'

‘Oh, you mean my boyfriend? He's dreamy,' I said.

‘Tell me,' Penelope said, trying to sound enthusiastic. I know she couldn't stand the thought of Philip, but she'd been kind enough not to say that outright … yet.

‘Let's see. Things are, like, so amazing. We go to these wonderful parties where he spends at least a few minutes talking to me before flirting with every other girl there. Often I'm allowed to bring him his favorite cocktail – gin and tonic, for the record. I let him kiss me for the photographers and then we go our separate ways. No sex, by the way. We haven't even spent the night together since I passed out there the first time I met him.'

‘Maybe he's just so overwhelmed by the amount of sex he's having with every model, actress, and socialite in London, Los Angeles, and New York that he's just physically exhausted? It's possible, you know.'

‘Did I ever tell you what a good friend you are, Pen? Seriously, you always know exactly what to say.'

She laughed. ‘Yeah, well, I don't have to spell out that I think you're not doing yourself justice. But enough, let's talk about me for a second. I have something to tell you.'

‘You're knocked up and feel guilty about getting rid of it because you're engaged and old enough to take responsibility for your own actions?' I asked eagerly, leaning in closer to the phone as though she could see me.

She sighed, and I knew she was rolling her eyes.

‘You're knocked up and it's not Avery's baby?'

When this elicited nothing but another exasperated sound, I decided on just one more.

‘You're knocked up and—'

‘Bette.' Her voice tightened and I could tell she wasn't enjoying this nearly as much as I was.

‘Sorry. What's up?'

‘I'm leaving.'

‘You're what?'

‘I'm leaving. Done. I'm finished.'

‘Ohmigod, no.'

‘Yes,' she said.

‘It's definite?'

‘Yes.'

‘Are you serious? Just like that? Over? Are you okay with it?'

I was doing everything possible to contain my glee at the idea that she wouldn't be going through with the wedding, but it was difficult, especially since I knew she'd probably had to walk in on Avery and some girl, a scenario I'd already decided was the only way she'd ever believe it. That aside, she sounded good. Maybe it was the best thing and she knew it.

‘Honestly? I didn't expect this, but I couldn't be happier. I've wanted to do it for a long time and, well, I'm just so excited about what's next.'

I slowly took a sip of my coffee and contemplated this new information. ‘You wouldn't be this excited if you hadn't met someone else. Who is he? I had no idea you and Avery were having trouble – how could you not tell me?' I choked out. ‘What about the ring? You know, etiquette dictates that if you're the one to break off the engagement, you've got to give it back. Ohmigod, he isn't cheating on you, is he?' I pretended to be horrified at even the idea of it, as though it were just too impossible to even imagine. ‘Is that bastard—'

‘Bette, stop! I'm not leaving Avery, I'm leaving this job!' she hissed, trying not to be overheard by her cubicle mates.

Serious one-eighty – and a major disappointment.

‘You're leaving UBS? Really? What happened?'

‘Well, I kind of had no choice. Avery got accepted to UCLA for law school, so we're moving there. He doesn't start until January, but we figured we'd go now to get settled and learn our way around.'

‘UCLA?'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘So you're not leaving Avery, you're leaving me?' I wail-whispered. The juicy story of my best friend cheating on her fiancé had become the story of my best friend moving to another coast.

‘I'm not leaving you,' she said, sighing. ‘I'm leaving this job and this city and going to California. Probably just for the three years, and then I'll be back. And we'll visit, of course. You'll love coming out there when it's February and you haven't left your apartment in twelve days because the temperature hasn't hit the double digits.'

‘There aren't law schools on the East Coast? Avery really has to be so selfish as to drag you all the way out, out,
there
?'

‘Oh, Bette, shut up and be happy for me. UCLA is a great school, and besides, I could use a change. I've lived in the city for five years since graduation, and eighteen before it. I'll be back, there's no getting around that. But for now I think it could be nice to do something different.'

It occurred to me right then that as a friend, I was required to express some sort of support, however lame it might come across.

‘Honey, I'm sorry, this is just all so surprising – you didn't even mention he was applying out west. If this is what you want to do, then I'm excited for you. And I promise to try very, very hard to stop only thinking about how it will affect me, okay?'

‘Yeah, he did the UCLA application at the last second, and I never thought he'd want to go there. But seriously, I'm not too worried about you. You've got a whole new crew now, and I have a feeling you'll be just fine without me. …' She let the words trail off, trying to sound casual, but we both knew this was the closest she'd ever get to saying something more important.

‘Well, we'll have to have a great big going-away dinner for you guys,' I said with forced cheer, not quite acknowledging my opportunity to disagree.

‘As you can imagine, our mothers are already on that. We're leaving sort of soon, so they planned a joint dinner at the Four Seasons on Saturday. You'll be there, right? It'll be dreadful, but you're obligated to attend nonetheless.' She cleared her throat. ‘And, of course, Philip is always invited.'

‘Pen! Of course I'll be there. And I'll certainly spare all of you Philip's company.'

My call waiting beeped with a 917 number I didn't recognize. I decided to answer it in case it was related to the BlackBerry party.

‘I'm sorry, Pen, I've got to take this call. Can I call you later?'

‘Sure, no worries.'

‘Okay, I'll talk to you in a few. And congratulations! If you're happy, then so am I. Grudgingly, of course. But happy for you.'

We hung up and I clicked over right before the phone went to voice mail. ‘May I speak with Bette?' I heard a gravelly male voice ask.

‘Speaking.'

‘Bette, this is Sammy calling from Amy Sacco's office. You called about a date you wanted to reserve the club?'

Sammy? Wasn't that the name of the Bungalow 8 bouncer? Could there be more than one Sammy in her employ? I didn't know that bouncers did office work.

‘Yes, hi, how are you?' I said as professionally as possible, although he certainly didn't know my name or remember me as the cranky girl with no umbrella.

‘Great. We got your message, and Amy asked me to call you back because she's tied up all afternoon.' The rest was drowned out by the screech of sirens.

‘Sorry, I missed that. It's just the loudest siren I've ever heard. It must be eight fire trucks or something,' I screamed, trying to be heard over the wails.

‘I hear it, too, only not just through the phone. Where are you now?'

‘I'm at the Starbucks near Eighth and Broadway. Why?'

‘That's weird. I'm literally across the street. I was just leaving class when I got the message from Amy to call you back. Hold on, I'm coming over.' He hung up, and I stared at the phone for a second before frantically yanking a lip gloss and brush out of my bag and sprinting for the bathroom, which, naturally, was occupied. I watched as he approached the front door and then bolted back to my table in a side nook, falling back into my seat before he even saw me.

There was no subtle way to fix anything right now since I needed to focus my energy on pretending to look both busy and indifferent, which was impossible. I knew I'd choke if I tried to drink or drop my phone if I pretended to be talking, and so I just sat, staring at my Filofax with such determined interest that I briefly wondered if it might just up and ignite from the intensity of my gaze. A quick mental survey of my physical state revealed a list of clichéd reactions – shaking hands, pounding heart, dry mouth – that could indicate only one thing: my body was telling me that I liked Sammy or, quite possibly, that I worshipped him. Which, if one cared to draw a parallel, was exactly how Lucinda felt right before her first one-on-one meeting with Marcello in
The Magnate's Tender Touch.
This was the first time I could ever remember feeling all tingly with nervous anticipation, just like the women in my books always did.

I felt him standing over me before I saw him, a sort of amorphous figure in all black. And he smelled good! Like freshly baked bread or sugar cookies or something equally as wholesome. He probably stood there for thirty seconds, staring at me stare at my Filofax, before I finally mustered the nerve to look up, just as he cleared his throat.

‘Hey,' I said.

‘Hey,' he said right back. He was unconsciously rubbing at what appeared to be a flour stain on his black pants, but he stopped when he noticed me watching.

‘Uh, would you like to sit down?' I stammered, wondering why it was utterly impossible for me to make one intelligible or coherent statement.

‘Sure. I, uh, I just thought it might be easier to do this in person since I was, uh, right across the street, you know?' It was comforting that he didn't sound much better.

‘Yeah, definitely, it makes perfect sense. Did you say you were just coming from class? Are you taking a bartending course? I've always wanted to do that!' I was rambling now, but I couldn't help it. ‘It just seems like it'd be the most useful thing, whether or not you actually work in a bar. I don't know. It'd be nice to know how to mix a decent drink or something. You know?'

He smiled for the first time, a megawatt ear-to-ear shiner, and I thought I might just cease living if he ever stopped. ‘No, it's not for bartending, it's for pastry-making,' he said.

It didn't make much sense that the bouncer was into pastries, but I thought it was nice that he had outside interests. After all, aside from the nightly ego rush of rejecting people based on appearance alone, I imagined it got pretty boring.

‘Oh, really? Interesting. Do you cook a lot in your free time?' I was only asking to be polite, which, unfortunately, came across loud and clear in my voice. I rushed on. ‘I mean, is that a particular passion of yours?'

‘Passion?' He grinned again. ‘I'm not sure I would call it a “passion,” but yeah, I like to cook. And I sort of have to, for work.'

Ohmigod. I couldn't believe he'd called me out for using that ridiculous word,
passion.

‘You
have
to?' It came out sounding downright snotty. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Where do you cook?'

‘I'm studying to be a chef, actually,' he said, diverting his eyes from mine.

This was a new and interesting development. ‘A chef? Really? Where?'

‘Well, nowhere yet, really. I already graduated from CIA and I'm taking a few classes at night. Like pastry-making.' He laughed.

‘How'd you get into that?'

‘I'm not particularly into it, but it's good to know. Aside from making omelet dinners growing up when it was my turn, I didn't really ever cook. I lived in Ithaca for a summer in high school with a buddy and worked as a waiter at the Statler Hotel on Cornell's campus. One day the general manager saw me refilling a guest's coffee by holding the carafe almost four feet above the cup and freaked out – he loved it. He convinced me to apply to the hotel school there. He got me a few scholarships, and I worked the whole time – busboy, waiter, night manager, bartender, you name it – and when I graduated he hooked me up with a yearlong apprenticeship at a Michelin-starred restaurant in France. It was entirely his doing.'

I was vaguely aware that my mouth was quite unattractively hanging open in shock at this information, but Sammy graciously saved me from myself by continuing.

‘You're probably wondering why I'm working as a bouncer at Bungalow, huh?' He grinned.

‘No, not at all. Whatever works for you. Um, I mean, it's just a different side of the hospitality industry, right?'

‘I'm paying my dues now. I've worked in what feels like every imaginable restaurant in this city.' He laughed. ‘But it'll be worth it when I finally open my own place. Hopefully it'll be sooner rather than later.'

I must have still looked confused because he just laughed. ‘Well, clearly the first and foremost reason is the money. You can actually make a decent living piecing together a few security and bartending gigs, and I have a bunch of that stuff going on. It keeps me from going out at night and spending, so I stick it out. Everyone says there's nothing like opening a restaurant in this city. I've been told it's really important to know all the social politics, from who's sleeping with whom to who's really important and who's just pretending they're a player. It doesn't really interest me, but I don't exactly run with that crowd, so there's no better way than to watch them in their native environments.'

He clamped a hand over his mouth and peered at me. ‘Look, I probably shouldn't have said all that. I didn't mean any offense to you and your friends, it's just that—'