Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (96 page)

‘So, Kamal, let's talk girls. What's the deal with Turkish girls?' Philip asked. Davide laughed appreciatively and Elisa made a big show of rolling her eyes in my direction. I caught on quickly that this is how girlfriends were supposed to act and rolled mine right back.

‘Hypothetically speaking?' Kamal asked. He thought for a moment and then said, ‘Mr Weston, I think you will find Turkish girls the very same as American or British or anywhere else – some are, shall we say, more willing, while others come from good families and want no part of that.'

‘And which ones are we most likely to make the acquaintance of tonight, Kamal? The willing ones or the ice queens?'

Philip had clearly won Kamal over because he began to grin and play along. He took a giant swig from his tumbler before arranging his features in something approximating a serious expression and saying, ‘The former, Mr Weston. I predict you will encounter more of the former category this evening.'

Philip grinned right back and held up his hand for a high-five, which Kamal instantly accommodated. ‘That will be acceptable, Mr Avigdor. Thank you.'

Not surprisingly, no bill ever appeared on the table, and by the time we piled onto the boat – a yacht, maybe, or perhaps a sailboat – that would transport us down the Bosporus to Bella, I was slightly buzzed and somewhat enjoying the night. In an effort to distract myself from watching Isabelle paw Sammy, I'd gone from person to person, persuading them to pose for the photographers for a half-hour upon arrival at the club, followed by another half-hour of on-the-record partying where anything they said or did could be reported by the writers we'd brought along. However, after that, the work would be officially over and everyone could party to any level of debauchery they desired without worrying too much about those pesky
COKE AND HOOKERS
! headlines. There was still the Turkish media to be wary of, but I didn't predict they'd pose much of a problem, and Kamal promised to keep them out of the VIP areas. All in all, most everyone seemed satisfied with the arrangement, and the crew appeared almost excited as the boat docked at a red-carpeted pier.

‘Are all the men going to stare at us?' Elisa asked Kamal, her eyes wide with worry.

‘Stare at you? Why? Of course, they will notice your beauty, but I don't think they will make you uncomfortable,' he said.

‘Well, if they're only used to seeing women wearing burkas, I imagine we'll stand out,' she said thoughtfully.

Sammy shot me a look – one of many that evening, since we'd sat across from each other at dinner – and I managed to stifle a laugh, although not without a snort. She whipped around and glared at me. ‘What? Do you feel like having a bunch of peasants staring at you all night? I didn't have to fly all this way for that – we could've just gone to New Jersey!'

Kamal kindly ignored her as he helped us off the boat and introduced us to another group of men, all of whom appeared to be good-looking and really, really successful. They were the rest of our clients, and each had between two and four knockout girls hanging on their every word. Much to Elisa's and Isabelle's surprise, these girls were not wearing burkas. They weren't even really wearing bras, if we were going to be technical. The amount of naked female flesh on display was almost blinding, and we hadn't even made it inside yet.

One of the new men introduced himself as Nedim and announced, quite grandly, that he owned Bella, the sprawling complex of entertainment that stretched before us. It had its own marina to allow celebrities and visiting VIPs to bypass the whole door situation; guests could merely step off their boats and fall directly onto a banquette, where anything they could even think to desire would be immediately provided. Nedim managed to look like every other club owner I'd ever met: he was the classic chain-smoking, vintage T-shirt and retro sneaker wearing, spiky-haired guy who no one would ever notice if he didn't drive the requisite red Porsche and comp bottles of champagne.

‘Ladies, gentlemen, welcome to Bella,' he announced, sweeping his arms grandly, ‘the premier nighttime destination in Istanbul. Bella rests, as you can see, on the Bosporus River, right at the dividing point between Europe and Asia, and our clientele certainly reflects that international feel. Come with me, please, and prepare yourself to enjoy all that Bella has to offer.'

He escorted us to a massive round table perched right on the water inside a roped-off section of the club that screamed ‘VIP.' Only the flimsiest teak gate separated us from the river, and even that reached only two and a half feet high, a potential drunken disaster if I've ever seen one. The view was incredible: both small and large boats cruised slowly across the murky water, passing in front of a beautifully lit mosque with minarets that appeared to reach the sky. The floors were a shiny dark wood, almost black, and the banquettes were satin brocade with strings of gold filigree woven throughout. It was entirely open-air except for a few white canvas sheets that billowed out in the wind and lent the whole place an air of sexy exoticism; the only light came from Turkish-style glass lanterns and hundreds of tea lights in beaded votive holders. Roughly hewn bowls of mini apricots and pistachios rested on every available surface. It was undoubtedly the sexiest place I'd ever been, far more naturally chic than all the cool spots in New York or Los Angeles, but without that signature self-awareness that places seemed to develop when they knew they were hot.

A fleet of stylish waiters instantly surrounded the table and took our drink orders. Within a half-hour, everyone was pleasantly buzzed, and by the time midnight rolled around, Elisa and Philip were dancing on the tables. They looked pretty comfortable with the grinding groove they had going. It suggested something romantic – and recent. The photographers clicked away, but Nedim and crew kept them so plied with booze and girls and God knows what else that they missed a shot of Marlena straddling a famous Turkish soccer player who also belonged in the VIP area. I managed to separate them before anyone noticed and convince them that they'd be much happier in her room at the Four Seasons, and they didn't even protest when I escorted them to a waiting Town Car out front and instructed the driver to take them back to the hotel. I'd just hung up with the hotel's concierge – who assured me he'd whisk them to Marlena's room and keep out any photogs or reporters – when Sammy appeared at my side.

‘Hey, where've you been hiding?' he said, wrapping his arms around me from behind and kissing my neck. ‘I managed to keep track of you all night, and then you were just gone.'

‘Hi there,' I said.

He glanced around to make sure he didn't see Isabelle or Philip or anyone with a camera. ‘Let's get out of here,' he said gruffly. ‘They're all so drunk, they'll never notice.' Again he kissed my neck, this time more roughly, and for the first time I had an inkling that Sammy wasn't just a nice guy. Thankfully.

‘I can't, Sammy. I want to, but I can't. I've got to keep my eye on everyone here – it's literally my only responsibility.'

‘It's almost two. How much longer can they really keep this up?'

‘You of all people know the answer to that. Until daybreak, easily. Maybe we can figure something out later at the hotel, but right now I've got to go back in there.'

He let his arms drop by his sides and sighed loudly. ‘I know this is how it has to be. It just sucks. You go in first, and I'll come in a couple minutes.' He started to run his fingers through my hair but abruptly pulled them away at the sound of his name.

‘Sammy? Are you out here? Have you seen my boy – my, uh, my assistant?' Isabelle's shrill voice echoed over the water. I turned to see her asking one of the uniformed security guards who'd been watching us carefully to make sure no one harassed us.

‘Jesus Christ,' Sammy muttered, moving away from me. ‘What, she can't find the bathroom herself? I've got to run.'

‘Just wait, I'll handle this,' I said and squeezed his hand. ‘Isabelle, over here! He's over here.'

Isabelle's head swiveled, and when she saw us, she looked at first relieved and then confused. She ignored me completely while addressing Sammy. ‘I've been looking for you forever,' she whined, obviously forgetting I was standing there, and then dropping the whine when she remembered.

‘Sorry to steal him from you, Isabelle. Marlena and the guy she was with were pretty trashed, and Sammy was kind enough to help me put them in a car. We were just on our way back in.'

This seemed to mollify her, although she still hadn't acknowledged my presence. She was staring at Sammy, and he was intently focused on his feet.

‘Okay, well, I'm going to see how everyone's doing inside,' I said cheerily. I made my way to the door, but not before I overheard Isabelle's voice change from whiny to viciously cold.

‘I don't pay you good money to neglect and abandon me!' she hissed.

‘Oh, save it, Isabelle,' Sammy said, sounding more exhausted than annoyed. ‘I was helping her out for five minutes. I was hardly abandoning you.'

‘Well, how do you think it feels to be sitting all alone in there while my guy runs off to help someone else?'

Unfortunately, I had to walk through the door and couldn't hear Sammy's response. The VIP area was completely empty by the time I fought through the hordes of commoners. American rap and hip-hop had given way to some sort of Turkish trance music, and it seemed the entire space was pulsating with barely concealed bodies. Camilla, Alessandra, and Monica had all found men – a soccer player from Real Madrid, an anchorman for CNN International, and an English playboy who claimed to know Philip from their boarding-school days – and were tucked away with them in various dark corners around Bella, under the watchful eye of Nedim and the other owners. I spotted Elisa and Davide standing next to the dance floor, gesturing wildly to each other. I figured they were fighting, until I got close enough to hear. They weren't actually arguing or having any kind of exchange at all: both were so obviously high on coke that they were talking
at
the other one, each so caught up in the importance of their own ideas that they shouted enthusiastically over the other's voice. As usual, the photographers and reporters had claimed a little table for themselves, away from the rest of us, and seemed once again to be drowning themselves in hard alcohol. Six empty packs of cigarettes were littered around them, and they barely glanced up when I asked if they needed anything. I didn't see Leo, but Philip wasn't hard to locate – I merely looked for the blondest girl in the room, with the biggest boobs, and then moved my eyes a few inches to the right. He had his arm around her waist as they both stood in front of the DJ stand. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place her from behind. As I waited for them to turn around, I watched as Philip removed a giant wad of cash from the back pocket of his AG jeans and thrust it toward the skinny DJ, who maintained the requisite DJ earphone-pressed-to-shoulder stance.

‘Hey, mate, how much will it cost for you to play something with some bloody words?' he asked as the girl giggled and swigged from her drink. ‘I can't listen to this Turkish shit anymore.'

The DJ palmed the cash and made it disappear under one of the machines on his table. He beckoned to another kid sitting in the booth and said a few words to him. The second guy turned to Philip and said, ‘What you want to hear? He will play you anything.'

‘Tell him we want a little Bon Jovi or Guns n' Roses.'

The helper translated and the DJ nodded, appearing puzzled. Within ten seconds ‘Paradise City' was blaring from the speakers and Philip was mock-smashing his head to the beat. When he spotted me, he leaned in to whisper something to the girl and she nodded and scampered off.

‘Hey, love, how much better are these tunes?' he asked, checking his reflection in the glass of the DJ booth.

‘Was that Lizzie Grubman?' I asked, finally figuring out why she looked so familiar.

He resumed hitting his head against an imaginary wall. ‘Apparently she and Tara Reid heard about our posh party here this weekend and wanted to have a look for themselves.'

‘She's, uh, she's pretty,' I said lamely, knowing I should be happy, professionally speaking, that Lizzie Grubman and Tara Reid had followed our group to Istanbul.

‘Face like a crocodile handbag,' he said, grabbing me and pulling me onto the dance floor. ‘Come on, love, loosen up a little. Let's have a dance.'

I sneaked away after a few minutes and went back to Elisa, who seemed to have calmed a bit. She was sitting on Davide's lap, chattering quietly as he massaged her shoulders and took long drags off the joint that hung from his lips.

‘Hey, do you think you can handle things here? I think a bunch of people went back to the hotel, and I should probably make sure everything's in order there.'

‘Sure, whatever. You worry too much, Bette. Everyone's having a great time. Where's Leo? Just tell him you're going back and we'll see you at the hotel, okay?' She giggled as Davide exhaled the pot smoke in her face.

‘Excellent. Will do. I'll see you tomorrow.'

‘Yeah, whatever. I don't plan to see daylight tomorrow, but I'll find you when we wake up. Oh, where's Philip?' she asked, trying very hard to sound casual.

‘Philip? Last I saw, he was dancing with Lizzie Grubman and Tara Reid.'

‘What? They're here?' She leapt off Davide and plastered on a huge smile. ‘I'm totally going to say hi. See you later, Bette.'

I looked around for Leo, but when I couldn't find him anywhere, I figured he'd met a guy and had retired to his room for playtime. Nedim offered to escort me back to the hotel in his Porsche, and I was tempted to accept until he let his hand brush against my lower back while smiling suggestively and saying he'd give me a tour of Istanbul's late-night hotspots. I declined politely and took a Town Car. The woman at the front desk greeted me by name and briefed me on who had returned so far and when.