Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (80 page)

‘Whatever you'd normally wear to dinner with your parents,' Penelope said as a very ADHD Avery starting shooting hoops with his balled-up pairs of socks.

‘You might want to reconsider that. Unless, of course, you want me showing up in palazzo pants with a matching
GIVE PEACE A CHANCE
T-shirt. I'll see you both there tonight.'

‘Right on,' Avery said, holding up two fingers in a sort of combination peace/gangster sign. ‘Later, B.'

I hugged Penelope and let myself out, trying not to envision what would inevitably take place the moment I left. If I hurried home, there'd be time to drag Millington out for a quick walk and maybe even take a bath before dinner. I cabbed it home and chased Millington around the apartment for a few minutes as she made a concerted effort to duck me. She instinctively knew when I was planning to take her outside, and unlike any dog I'd ever met, she hated it. All that dust and pollen and ragweed – she'd be incapacitated for hours afterward, but I thought it was important for her to get out every now and then. Otherwise it was around the block and back. I marveled at her metabolism. We'd just made it to Madison Square Park and managed to dodge the crazy guy who usually chased Millington with his grocery cart when I heard my name.

‘Bette! Hey, Bette, over here!'

I turned to see Sammy sitting on a bench, drinking coffee, his breath visible in the icy air. With what appeared to be an absolute knockout of a woman sitting right next to him. Dammit. There was no escape. He'd obviously seen me and then watched as I looked right at him, so there was no conceivable way to pretend the whole thing had never happened. Plus, Millington decided to be social for the first time in her entire short life and took off toward them, yanking her Extend-a-Leash to its maximum capacity and hurling herself into his lap.

‘Hey there, puppy, how are you? Bette, who is this cutie?'

‘Charming,' said the brunette, eyeing Millington coolly. ‘Of course, I prefer the Cavalier King Charles, but Yorkies can be appealing as well.'

Meow.

‘Hi, I'm Bette,' I managed to say, extending my hand to the girl. I'd tried to smile warmly at Sammy, but I imagine that it looked like a grimace.

‘Oh, formal, are we?' she said with a little laugh. She gave me her hand after making me wait three seconds longer than was comfortable. ‘Isabelle.'

Isabelle was no less attractive up close, but she was older than I'd originally figured. She was tall and thin in the way that only the truly hungry can be, but she lacked that certain freshness of youth, that dewy-faced contentment that said ‘I haven't gotten too beat up by the Manhattan dating scene – I still even hold out hope that I'll meet a good guy one day.' Isabelle had clearly given up the dream long ago, although I imagined that her size 2 Joseph pants combined with her gorgeous chocolate brown Chloe bag and obscenely pert breasts provided some sort of comfort.

‘Uh, so what brings you here?' Sammy asked, clearing his throat with such awkwardness that it was obvious these two were not friends or siblings or coworkers. And more to the point, he wasn't volunteering any explanations.

‘Walking the dog. Getting some fresh air. You know, the usual,' I said, realizing that I sounded more than a little defensive. For some reason my polite conversation skills had just evaporated.

‘Yeah, same here,' he said, sounding sheepish and slightly embarrassed.

When it was clear that neither of us could think of anything else to say, I scooped Millington from Sammy's lap, where she was obviously enjoying being stroked – how I could understand! – mumbled a good-bye, and tore off in the direction of my apartment with a speed that bordered on humiliating. I could hear Isabelle laughing and asking Sammy who his little friend was, and it took every ounce of willpower not to whip around and suggest that next time she have her doctor adjust her Botox injection so she wouldn't have that telltale deer-caught-in-headlights expression.

So it was official, I thought, as I stood under the shower's scalding hot water: Sammy had a girlfriend. Or, rather, I suppose it was more appropriate to call her a woman friend, since the female in question couldn't conceivably be a day under forty. Of course he hadn't been jealous that day in Starbucks when he'd made fun of Philip. Feeling more ridiculous with every passing moment, I quickly dressed in one of the old, navy bank pantsuits that had been relegated to the back of my closet and spent not one second longer than necessary drying my hair and applying the faintest traces of concealer.

By the time I'd arrived at the Four Seasons, I'd almost managed to convince myself that I didn't care. After all, if Sammy really wanted to date someone with better clothes, more money, and a chest three times the size of mine, well, that was certainly his prerogative. Who needed someone that shallow, anyway? I was just working myself up to start a list of his many, many flaws (none of which were immediately apparent, but which certainly must exist somewhere) when my cell phone rang. It was Elisa, probably calling, as usual, to ask obsessively detailed questions about when, where, why, and with whom I'd last seen Philip, so I screened it and approached the mâitre d'. The phone rang again mere seconds later, and even though I switched it to vibrate, she sent a text message that read:
911.
C
ALL IMMEDIATELY
.

‘Bette? Hey, have you found them yet?' Michael asked, walking toward me, looking haggard and slightly miserable. Penelope had told me he was on yet another huge M&A deal. All-nighters four days and running.

‘No, are we the first ones here?' I kissed him on the cheek and thought about how long it'd been since I'd seen him. Weeks and weeks; so long I couldn't remember. ‘Where's Megu?'

‘She's at the hospital. I think Pen said they might all have a private table in the back, so let's go there.'

‘Perfect.' I took the arm he offered and had an odd feeling of homecoming. ‘You know, it's been forever since we've all hung out. What are you doing afterward? Why don't we talk Pen into going to the Black Door for a drink or six?'

He smiled even though it looked like it took all his energy and nodded. ‘Definitely. We're all already in the same place, and when the hell does that ever happen? Let's do it.'

The table looked to seat about eighteen or twenty, but just as I was saying my hellos to Penelope's father, my phone began to vibrate again.

‘I'm so sorry, please excuse me,' I said to Penelope's dad and bolted toward the door again to turn it off. Elisa again. Christ, what could be so important that she needed to take the full-stalk approach? I waited for it to stop buzzing and then flipped it open to turn it off, but she must have dialed again because I heard her voice emanating from my palm.

‘Bette? Is that you? Bette, it's crucial.'

‘Hey, listen, this really isn't a good time for me. I'm at my friend's—'

‘You've got to get down here right away, Kelly's freaking out because—'

‘Elisa, you didn't even let me finish. It's eight-thirty on a Saturday night and I'm just about to start dinner at the Four Seasons with my friend and her entire family and it's really important, so I'm sure you can handle whatever Kelly's freaking out about.' I congratulated myself on being firm and setting boundaries, something my mother had been trying to teach me from age six.

She was breathing heavily at this point, and I heard the faint clinking of glasses in the background. ‘Sorry, hon, but Kelly's not taking no tonight. She's at dinner with the BlackBerry people right now at Vento and she needs us to meet them at Soho House by nine-thirty, latest.'

‘Impossible. You know I'd be there if I could. It's mandatory that I stay here for at least the next couple hours,' I said, hearing a waver in my voice. ‘I mean, nine-thirty is ridiculously early, and I don't understand why, if she expected us to meet them, it has to be on a Saturday night, or why she couldn't have mentioned it beforehand.'

‘Look, I hear you, but there's no way out. You're in charge of the party, Bette! They came into town early and Kelly thought a dinner meeting would appease them, but apparently they want to meet you … and Philip. Tonight. Since the party is so close, and apparently they're nervous.'

‘Philip? You can't be serious.'

‘You
are
dating him, Bette. And he
did
agree to host this event for us,' she said, sounding like a bossy older sister. I saw Penelope approaching me out of the corner of my eye and knew I was being horrifically rude.

‘Elisa, I really—'

‘Bette, honey, I don't want to pull rank here, but your job's on the line. I'll help as much as possible, but you've
got to be here.
I'll send a car to the Four Seasons in thirty minutes. Get in it.'

As the call cut off, Penelope threw her arms around my neck.

‘I love your plan!' she said, grabbing my hand and walking me toward the table. I overheard Mr Wainwright talking loudly about a lawsuit he was overseeing to a rather subdued, dignified-looking woman, and I wondered if Penelope might not want to save her grandmother from her future father-in-law.

‘Plan?'

‘Yes, Michael told me about the reunion at the Black Door tonight. Such a good call! It's been forever since we've done that and' – she looked around – 'I'll need to drink heavily after this. You have no idea what Avery's mother did tonight. Took my mom and me aside and presented me, quite proudly, with a copy of
Fête Accompli!: The Ultimate Guide to Creative Entertaining
and the entire Barefoot Contessa cookbook series. Oh, but it gets better. Not only did she highlight all of her suggestions for dinner-party themes, she also made notes by all of Avery's favorite dishes so I may properly instruct the cook. She made a special point of letting me know that as a general rule, he doesn't like any food that should be consumed with sticks, in her words.'

‘Sticks?'

‘Chopsticks. She said they “confuse him.”'

‘That's fantastic. She sounds like a real treat.'

‘Yep. My mother just stood there, nodding. She did manage to comfort Avery's mom by pointing out how easy it would be for us to find household help in California, what with the hordes of Mexican immigrants. The “promised land of cheap labor,” I think were her exact words.'

‘Let's just remember never to allow our parents in the same room again, okay?' I said. ‘They'd have a field day with this one. You remember what a disaster it was last time?'

‘Are you kidding?' she said. ‘How could I not?'

We'd cleverly kept our two sets of parents from being in the same place through four years of college, but during graduation it had proven impossible. Each was curious about the other and after much prodding from both mothers, Penelope and I had grudgingly scheduled a dinner for everyone on Saturday night. The stress began with the restaurant selection: my parents were rallying to try the all-organic raw-food bar that had published a number of famous cookbooks, while Penelope's parents insisted on going to their usual place when they visited – Ruth's Chris Steak House. We compromised on some high-end, pan-Asian chain that displeased everyone, and things only spiraled downward from there. The restaurant didn't serve my mother's type of tea or Penelope's father's favorite cabernet. As far as conversation topics went, politics, careers, and future plans for the graduates were out, since there were no shared opinions or ideas whatsoever. My father ended up talking to Avery for most of the meal and then making fun of him later; I spoke to my mother, Penelope talked only to hers, and her father and brother exchanged the occasional sentence or two in between gulps from the three bottles of red wine they killed together. It had ended as awkwardly as it started, with everyone eyeing each other suspiciously and wondering what their daughters saw in one another. Penelope and I had dropped them all at their respective hotels, hit the bars immediately, and proceeded to drunkenly imitate each one, all while swearing to never repeat that evening.

‘Come here – talk to my father for me, will you? It's been a few decades since he's socialized outside the office and he doesn't seem to know what to do.' She seemed in reasonably high spirits, and I wondered how to tell her that I could only stay through drinks because I had to go to a party with the gorgeous bad boy I was supposedly dating.

‘Pen, I'm so sorry to do this and I acknowledge that it's the shittiest, most selfish thing in the whole world, but I just got a call from work and I have absolutely positively no choice but to go because I'm in charge of this particular project and there are people in from out of town that my boss is currently with and she's insisting that I meet them and even though I told her that I was at something really, really important she basically threatened my job – through a third party, of course – if I'm not downtown in under an hour and I argued and argued, but she was adamant, so I'm planning to get down there and back as quickly as possible and of course I'm still up for the Black Door if you guys don't mind waiting for me.' Stop. Deep breath. Ignore death look on Penelope's face. ‘I'm sorry!' I wailed loud enough to cause a few of the waiters to glance in our direction. I somehow managed to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach, Michael's surprised look from a few feet away, and the reproachful stare from Penelope's mother for making the commotion.

‘When do you have to leave?' Penelope asked calmly, her expression revealing nothing.

‘In a half-hour. They're sending a car.'

She unconsciously twisted the small diamond stud in her right ear and gazed at me. ‘Do what you need to do, Bette. I understand.'

‘You do?' I asked, not quite believing her, but hearing no anger in her voice.

‘Of course. I know you want to be here, and sure, I'm disappointed, but I know you wouldn't go unless it was really important.'