Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (82 page)

‘They look like lingerie models, for chrissake,' I muttered under my breath to no one in particular.

‘They are,' Philip responded, staring with what can only be described as lust. ‘Don't you recognize Raquel and Maria Thereza here? They're Victoria's biggest girls this year, the youngest Brazilian crop ever.'

I was devastated to see that they don't airbrush nearly as much as I'd always convinced myself they did. We roamed around the glass-enclosed roof – only the ceiling was open to the sky – as Philip handed out high fives to Jimmy Fallon and Derek Jeter in quick succession and cheek kisses (always just missing the lips) to a long line of fashion-magazine editors, sitcom actresses, and Hollywood starlets. I was checking my cell to see if Elisa or Kelly had called when I spotted Philip massaging the back of the titty-tasseled girl, who I now recognized as the one who'd modeled the cotton bikini panties I'd recently ordered from the VS catalog and who I'd mentally blamed for misrepresentation when I'd put them on and looked in the mirror. The Hotel Costes soundtrack thumped out of some flattened, plasma-like unit that hung from one of the outdoor walls while people alternately danced, smoked, did drugs, munched sushi, and ogled each other. I kept checking the door for Elisa, worried they wouldn't find us on the terrace, and eventually sent her a text message with elevator instructions. At some point I accepted a drink from a gorgeous, shirtless waiter wearing a loincloth and heels, but I remained rooted near the door, making sure I could see everyone who arrived and left. There was a brief break in the fun when Caleb announced that a fleet of cars was waiting downstairs to transport everyone to the club, but then the partying continued straight through the elevators and into the two dozen Town Cars that lined the block as far as I could see.

‘Philip, we can't leave this party!' I hiss-whispered as he tried to hustle me into the elevator. ‘We're waiting for the BlackBerry people.'

‘Stop fretting, love. Elisa rang to tell me that your boss rang to tell her that the meeting is canceled for tonight.'

I couldn't have heard that correctly. It was
impossible
!

‘What? You can't be serious.' I couldn't even consider the possibility that I'd been forcefully removed from Penelope's dinner to tend to clients who didn't need tending.

He shrugged. ‘That's what she said. Come on, love, you can call from the car.'

I wedged myself between Caleb and Philip and tried not to touch any of the exposed body parts of the girl who was lying across all our laps.

I dialed Elisa and nearly screamed with frustration when it went to voice mail. Kelly answered on the third ring, sounding vaguely surprised to hear from me.

‘Bette? I can barely hear you. Anyway, the meeting's off for the night. We had a lovely dinner at Soho House and then had drinks by the pool, but I don't think they're quite used to New York partying. They went back to the hotel already, so you're off the hook. But they're very excited about this week!' She was screaming above music somewhere and didn't realize that even though she couldn't hear herself, I could hear her perfectly.

‘Oh, well, okay. Um, that's fine. As long as you're sure—'

‘Are you with Philip?' she shouted.

At the sound of his name coming through the phone, he squeezed my knee and started moving his hand upward.

‘I am. He's right here. Do you want to talk to him?'

‘No, no, I want
you
to talk to him. I hope you guys are at Bungalow. It's going to be a huge night – everyone will be there for Caleb's birthday.'

‘Huh?'

‘Lots of photogs, lots of opportunity …'

Despite the weirdness of Kelly's obvious pimping tactics, I liked my job – and Kelly – at that point. I knew I didn't ever want to go back to mutual funds. I wanted this BlackBerry party to be the best event of the year and I supposed it wouldn't hurt to take a few pictures with Philip before sneaking out and meeting Penelope and Michael at the Black Door. Besides, we were already heading there anyway, right? Despite my outrage at being yanked from Penelope's dinner, I tried to tell myself it wasn't that bad. …

‘Sure thing, I hear you,' I said with faux cheeriness while removing Philip's hand from where it currently resided – my inner thigh – and tapping it the way a grandmother might. ‘Thanks, Kell. See you Monday.'

The cars pulled up single file along Twenty-seventh Street and I saw that the line was almost a hundred people, all of whom stared, slack-jawed, as we exited the fleet of cars in our outrageous costumes. Sammy was standing off to one side while a man from the party wearing a long blond wig and very high heels yelled at him. I tried to get his attention as we cut in front of the entire line, but another bouncer approached us first.

‘How many are you?' he asked Philip pleasantly, giving no indication that he knew who anyone was.

‘Oh, I don't know, man, forty? Sixty? Who bloody knows?'

‘Sorry, dude – not tonight,' the doorman replied, turning his back. ‘Private party.'

‘My man, I don't think you understand. …' Philip clapped him on the back and the bouncer looked like he might deck him, but then he noticed the credit card Philip was brandishing – the one and only Black Card. The negotiations began.

‘I only have three tables right now. I'll let in six per table and an additional ten people, but that's the best I can do,' he said. ‘Any other night, no problem, but tonight it's really out of my hands.'

This guy was clearly new and had no idea who he was dealing with, and Philip looked like he was ready to let him know. His voice tight and controlled, he got within three inches of the bouncer's face and said, ‘Look, man, I don't give a toss what your problem is. Caleb is one of my closest mates and it's
his
party. Three tables is bullshit. I want six tables, starting with two bottles apiece, and everyone admitted.
Now
.'

I noticed Sammy finishing his conversation and tried to slink away from the front as quietly as possible so I could lose myself in the crowd; I was desperate not to let him see me with Philip. All around me, guys were working their cell phones, calling anyone and everyone they knew who might get the bouncer to release the velvet rope; girls approached the doormen with puppy eyes, stroking their arms and quietly making their pleas for admittance. Sammy walked toward Philip and caught my eye as I moved closer again to hear what was happening. I fervently hoped he would tell them all to fuck off, to take their money and party elsewhere, but he just looked quickly at me again and addressed the other bouncer.

‘Anthony, let them in.'

Anthony, who'd already been surprisingly accommodating and nonconfrontational, appeared dismayed at this development and began to argue. ‘Dude, they have like eighty fucking people. I don't care how much cash they got, it's my ass on the line if—'

‘I said let them in. Clear out whatever tables you need to and give them whatever they want. Do it now.' And with that, Sammy glanced at me one last time and stepped inside the door, leaving Anthony to handle us.

‘See there, mate?' Philip gloated, unable to help himself, assuming it was his fame that had secured our entrance. ‘Do what the good man said. Take this card here and get us our goddamn tables. You can handle that, can't you?'

Anthony took the Black Card, his hands shaking with rage, and held the door open for the forty or so of us who had already arrived. The line quieted as we filed inside, and everyone tried to see the famous among us.

‘There's Johnny Depp!' I heard one girl stage-whisper.

‘Ohmigod! Is that Philip Weston?' asked another.

‘He dated Gwyneth, didn't he?' one of the guys said.

Philip swelled with noticeable pride and directed me to the table that the mâitre d' had just emptied for us. The evicted party stood a few feet away, holding their drinks, their faces flush with shame as we took our seats around the banquette.

Philip pulled me onto his lap and rubbed my leg, kneading it in that way that tickles uncomfortably and hurts at the same time. He mixed me a vodka tonic using the $400 bottle of Grey Goose that was immediately deposited at our table, and greeted every single person who walked past by name, occasionally burying his face in my neck.

During one of these burrowings, he rested his chin on my shoulder and gazed at the model sitting next to me, legs crossed seductively, face in her hands, elbows on her knees, nipple tassels slipping slightly off-center.

‘Just look at her,' he whispered, his voice husky, his eyes fixed on the youngest-looking girl of all. ‘Look how she imitates the older models, watching how they move their hips, their eyes, their mouths, and doing exactly that because she knows it's sexy. She's just growing into that body of hers, doesn't quite realize what she possesses, and she's learning like a newly hatched chick. Isn't it smashing to watch?'

Mmm, absolutely smashing. Downright gripping, actually,
I thought, but I just shook him off and announced I'd be right back. He nearly fell on her as I untangled myself from him, and I heard him complimenting her directly as I walked toward the front of the club.

Elisa was draped across an attractive man at a banquette near the door, her head and shoulders leaning against his chest while her bare feet – still red with sandal-strap lines – rested in Davide's lap. She didn't appear to be too concerned – or even aware of – the BlackBerry situation. I wasn't sure she was conscious or even alive until I got close enough to see her concave stomach rise and fall with the slightest motion.

‘Bette, honey, there you are!' She mustered enough energy to make herself heard over the music even though she probably hadn't consumed enough calories that day to remain in a standing position. I decided to address the BlackBerry debacle another time.

‘Hey,' I mumbled, displaying my lack of enthusiasm.

‘Come here. I want you to meet the most talented skin-care therapist in Manhattan. Marco, this is Bette. Bette, Marco.'

‘Aesthetician,' he immediately corrected.

I'd been on my way to thank Sammy, but there was no avoiding putting in at least a few minutes at their table. I sat down and immediately poured myself a vodka tonic. ‘Hi, Marco, nice to meet you. How do you know Elisa?'

‘How do I know Elisa? Why, I like to think I can claim responsibility for that flawless,
glowing
skin!' He held her head between his manicured fingers and thrust it toward me as though it were an inanimate object. ‘Here, look. Do you see this evenness? Do you see the complete and utter lack of blemishes or discoloration? This is achievement!' He spoke with a slight Spanish accent and much flourish.

‘Mmm, she does look great. Maybe you could help me out sometime,' I said, because I couldn't think of anything else.

‘Mmm,' he said back, examining my face. ‘I'm not so sure about that.'

I took that as my cue to excuse myself, but Elisa hoisted herself into a sitting position and said, ‘Darlings, amuse yourselves for a few minutes while Davide and I say hello to a few friends.'

I looked up to see Davide lean forward so the table would obscure his hands. He deftly opened Elisa's white and gold Dior bag on the floor, removed a key from its ring, poured white powder from a tiny packet into the key's longest groove, and held it quickly up to his nose. His hand covered the entire key, and if you weren't watching very closely, it wouldn't look like anything more than a casual nose itch, perhaps a little allergy sniffle. He refilled it within a second or two and passed it invisibly to Elisa, who also worked so quickly that I wasn't even sure what had passed under her nose or when. Another few seconds and the key ring was back in her purse and the two were jumping out of their seats, ready to work the room.

‘They could at least have offered us some, don't you think?' Marco asked.

‘Yeah, I guess so,' I said, not quite sure whether to announce that I'd never tried it, and while I was immensely curious, I was more scared.

Marco sighed meaningfully and took a long pull from his drink.

‘Rough day?' I asked, again unsure of both how to proceed or escape.

‘You can say that again. Elisa fucked up my schedule again. She knows how much I hate it when she passes out in my chair.' Another sigh.

‘She passed out? Is she okay?'

His huge eye roll was followed by a long, exhausted exhalation. ‘Look at her – does she look okay to you? Hey, I'm all about starving yourself – I've certainly had to do it myself a few times – but you've got to take responsibility for your actions! You
know
when you're about to pass out! There are little flashes of light before your eyes and you get really dizzy. Your body does this to let you know that it's time to take a bite of that PowerBar you should be toting around for occasions like this. You gotta heed the warnings, you know, and get the hell out of my chair, or else you're going to screw up my entire schedule.'

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to this, so I just sat and listened.

‘These girls think they can come in after a long week of nose drugs and no food and just conk out in my chair and I'll take care of them. Well, that used to be okay, but I've got better things to do now. The way I see it, it's the same as some heroin junkie: I couldn't care less if you're using, man, just don't overdose in my home because then it becomes my problem. You know?'

I nodded.
The world is lucky to have a guy as sensitive as Marco,
I thought.

‘People have it worse than I do, though,' he continued earnestly. ‘Friend of mine's a makeup artist. He brings one case of makeup with him, and another of PowerBars and fruit-juice boxes because the girls are always conking out on him. At least when mine faint in the chair, I don't have to start all over. He also usually sees them right before big events, at their hungriest, since they've been on super-starvation to fit into their dresses. It's tough, man. They leave us to pick up the pieces.'