Everyone Worth Knowing (69 page)
weddings for the Sunday Styles section or some such nonsense.
Please."
"Worse," I said, more for effect than because I believed it. "I
want to write a romance novel. In fact, I've already got an outline,
and I don't think it's half bad." I braced myself for the verbal barrage,
but surprisingly, it never came.
Instead he peered at me as though he were searching my face
for some answer and just nodded. "Maybe it's all these Will martinis,
but 1 think that makes perfect sense, darling." He leaned in
and kissed my cheek.
Romance novels—it was true. Since Turkey and the luxe world
Kelly & Company had introduced me to, I'd been imagining a starcrossed
pair of characters and the events that would bring them together.
One could say I was drawing from experience, or from
fantasy, but it felt good either way. And it was the first thing I'd felt
good about in a long time. Until tonight.
I was preparing to tell my parents my plans when my cell
phone rang.
How odd,
I thought.
Every single person I know is sit-
ting in this room.
I reached into my bag to switch it off, but I
couldn't help noticing that it was Elisa calling from her cell phone.
Elisa, who I hadn't seen or spoken to since the
Playboy
party, the
very same person who, for whatever reason—a malnourished
brain, some weird obsession with Philip, or perhaps just for
sport—had spoon-fed information about me to Abby for months. I
was simply
too
curious. I walked into the kitchen.
"Hello? Elisa?" I said into the phone.
"Bette, are you there? Listen, I've got the greatest news!"
"Really? What's that?" I asked, pleased to hear that I sounded
cool and aloof and supremely disinterested, exactly as I intended.
"Well, I remember you had some, uh, some connection to that
Bungalow bouncer who opened Sevi, right?"
She was pretending not to remember Sammy's name, as usual,
but I was no longer interested in correcting her. "Yeah, that's right.
I'm actually at Sevi right now," I said.
"You're there? You're at the restaurant now? Ohmigod, that's
just too perfect! Listen, I just got word that Lindsay Lohan has a
layover in New York for one night on her way from LA to London—
you know we're repping Von Dutch now, and she's their
new spokeswoman, right?—and guess what? She wants to eat at
Sevi tonight! Insisted on it, actually. I'm picking her up from the
Mandarin Oriental now. I'm not sure how many she has with her,
but it shouldn't be more than a half-dozen. We'll be there in thirty
minutes, maybe an hour. Tell your chef friend to go VIP all the
way with tonight's menu, okay? Bette, this will be such great press
for him!" She was breathless with excitement.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider telling Sammy. It
would
be great press—the fastest way to guarantee mentions in the few
remaining national magazines that hadn't yet discovered him. But I
peeked through the window in the kitchen door and saw Sammy
placing a cake in the center of the table. It was a huge, rectangular
thing with giant gobs of whipped cream and colored icing, and
when I leaned in to get a better look, 1 saw that the cover of
Tall,
Dark, and Cajun
had been airbrushed on in perfect detail. Everyone
was laughing and pointing and asking Will where I'd gone.
The split-second window of Lindsay Lohan potential slammed
shut and I said, "Thanks but no thanks, Elisa. He's closed for a private
event tonight."
I hung up before she could protest and rejoined the table.
It
wasn't even a lie,
I thought to myself as I looked around.
This just
had
to he the party of the season.
Acknowledgments:
Three people in particular must be thanked for sticking with me on
this project:
The only editor worth knowing, Marysue Rucci, who is the
master of a hundred elegant and subtle ways of saying "this sucks."
David Rosenthal, my publisher, whose Rolodex and dinner parties
keep me from ordering in seven nights a week.
Deborah Schneider, my amazing agent. She handles the logistical
details of my career so I'm free to write the important literature
of our time.
Tremendous thanks also to Hanley Baxter, Aileen Boyle,
Gretchen Braun, Britt Carlson, Jane Cha, Deborah Darrock, Nick
Dewar, Lynne Drew, Wendy Finerman, Cathy Gleason, Tracey
Guest, Maxine Hitchcock, Helen Johnstone, Juan Carlos Maciques,
Diana Mackay, Victoria Meyer, Tara Parsons, Carolyn Reidy, Jack
Romanos, Charles Salzberg, Vivienne Schuster, Jackie Seow, Peggy
Siegal, Shari Smiley, Ludmilla Suvorova, and Kyle White.
And of course, a huge thanks to my parents, Cheryl and Steve,
and my sister, Dana. I could have never written such a masterpiece
without you.
*** While all of the characters in this book are imaginary, the inspiration
for Millington the Yorkshire Terrier is actually Mitzy the Maltese.
About the author:
LAUREN WEISBERGER
graduated from Cornell University. Her
first novel,
The Devil Wears Prada,
was on the
New York Times
hardcover best-seller list for six months. It has been published in
thirty countries. Weisberger lives in New York City.
Helena 3/26/08
Enjoy!
J
