Lauren Weisberger 3-Book Collection: Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren WeisbergerЧитать онлайн книгу.
back to vibrant puppy health. Only the cold didn’t go away, and little Millington didn’t stop sneezing. After three weeks of round-the-clock care and nursing – Cameron chipped in, I’ll give him credit there – our little ball of joy wasn’t improving, even with the nearly $3,000 we’d spent on vet consultations, antibiotics, special food, and two late-night emergency-room visits when the wheezing and choking got particularly terrifying. We were missing work, screaming at each other, and bleeding money in the process – my banking and his hedge-fund salaries were barely enough to cover the dog’s expenses. Final doggy diagnosis: ‘Highly reactive to most household allergens including, but not limited to, dust, dirt, pollen, cleaning fluids, detergent, dyes, perfumes, and other animal hair.’
The irony was not lost on me. I, the most allergic person on earth, somehow now owned a dog that was allergic to absolutely everything. It would’ve probably been funny if Cameron, Millington, or I had slept more than four consecutive hours in three weeks, but we hadn’t, and it wasn’t. What would most people do in this situation? I remember asking myself as I lay awake on the first night of the fourth sleepless week. A sane couple in a functional relationship would simply shuttle the dog right back to the breeder and take a long vacation somewhere warm and laugh about what would surely become a fond memory and funny future party story. So what did I do? I hired an industrial cleaning service to remove every piece of hair, every particle of dirt, every smudge from every surface so the dog could breathe, and I asked Cameron to leave once and for all, which he did. Penelope told me eight months later – with what I thought was a little more excitement than the event required – that he’d gotten engaged to his new girlfriend while wearing a kilt on a golf course in Scotland, and that they were moving to Florida, where her family owned a small island. That clinched it: everything worked out exactly as it was meant to. Two years later, the dog had learned to tolerate the smell of Wisk, Cameron toasted fatherhood in the family tradition with a stiff gin and tonic, and I had someone so excited to see me each night that she peed upon my arrival home. Everyone’s a winner.
Millington finally stopped sneezing and settled into a narcoleptic nap beside me, her little body pushed against the side of my leg, rising and falling with her rhythmic breathing, in tune to the TV that I constantly kept on for background noise. After Newlyweds, I stumbled across a Queer Eye marathon. Carson picked through some straight guy’s closet with a pair of salad tongs, describing items as ‘So Gap ’87,’ and I realized they’d probably be just as horrified to check out my closet – as a girl, I was probably expected to do a little better than the off-the-rack Ann Taylor suits, one measly pair of Sevens, and the cotton tank tops that constituted my ‘going out’ clothes.
The phone rang a little after eleven P.M. I held it and stared, patiently waiting for the caller ID to register my caller. Uncle Will: to screen or not to screen? He always called at odd hours on his deadline nights, but I was too exhausted from my day of nothingness to deal with him. I stared at it a moment longer, too lazy to make any real decision, but the machine had already answered.
‘Oh, Bette, pick up the goddamn phone,’ Will said into the machine. ‘I find this caller-revealing feature highly offensive. At least have the savoir faire to brush me off once we’re mid-conversation – anyone can look at a little computer screen and decide not to answer; the impressive accomplishment is extricating yourself from the real-time situation of actually speaking with the person.’ He sighed. I laughed.
‘Sorry, sorry, I was in the shower,’ I lied.
‘Sure you were, darling. In the shower at eleven P.M., just getting ready to go out for the night, huh?’ he teased.
‘Would that be so hard to believe? I have gone out before, you know. Penelope’s party? Bungalow 8? The only person in the Western Hemisphere who didn’t know where it was? Any of this ringing a bell for you?’ I took another bite of my Slim Jim, a snack I’d been inhaling since I’d discovered how much they horrified my parents.
‘Bette, that was so long ago I barely remember it,’ he pointed out thoughtfully. ‘Look, darling, I didn’t call to give you a hard time again, although I fail to see any reason why an attractive girl your age should be sitting home alone at eleven on a Thursday night, chewing imitation meat sticks and talking to a five-pound dog, but that’s neither here nor there. I just had the most brilliant idea of all. Do you have a minute?’
We both snorted. I clearly had nothing but. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. I’m talking to a four-pound dog.’
‘Bette, listen to me. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier, I’m positively idiotic for not seeing the potential, but tell me, darling, what did you think about Kelly?’
‘Who’s Kelly?’
‘The woman you sat next to at Charlie’s dinner at Elaine’s. So, what do you think?’
‘I don’t know, she seemed really nice. Why?’
‘Why? Darling, you are positively brain-dead these days. What do you think about working for Kelly?’
‘Huh? Who’s working for Kelly? I’m so confused.’
He sighed. ‘Let’s take this slowly. Being that you are currently out of a job and seem to be enjoying that fact a little too much, I was thinking that perhaps you would like to work for Kelly.’
‘Planning parties?’
‘Darling, she does a lot more than just plan parties. She chitchats with club owners and trades on gossip she has about other people’s clients to the columnists so they’ll write good things about her own clients and sends gifts to celebrities to convince them to attend her events so the press will as well – all the while looking very pretty when she goes out every night. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I’d like to see you in event-planning. How does that sound?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I was thinking it might be good to do something, uh, you know, something sort of …’
‘Meaningful?’ he offered, pronouncing the word the same way one might say ‘murderous.’
‘Well, yeah. I mean, not like that, not like the parents,’ I mumbled. ‘But I do have a meeting at the Meals on Wheels headquarters tomorrow. Just a change of pace, you know?’
He was quiet for a moment and I knew he was weighing his words carefully. ‘Darling, that sounds lovely, of course. It’s always sweet to make the world a better place. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you that rerouting your career path in that direction puts you at risk of falling back into your Patchouli Rut. You remember what that was like, don’t you, darling?’
I sighed. ‘I know, I know. It just seemed like it might be interesting.’
‘Well, I can’t necessarily say that planning parties would be as interesting as helping the needy, but it would be a hell of a lot more fun. And that, darling, is not a crime. Kelly’s company is new, but easily one of the best – boutique-y, very impressive client list, and a great place to meet all sorts of wildly shallow and self-involved people and get the hell out of that hole in which you’ve recently sequestered yourself. Are you interested?’
‘I don’t know. Can I think about it?’
‘Of course you may, darling. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to debate all the pros and cons of accepting a job where you can party for a living. I expect you’ll make the right decision.’ He clicked down the receiver before I could say another word.
I went to sleep late that night and spent the entire next day procrastinating. I played with the puppies at the pet shop on the corner, made a pit stop at Dylan’s Candy Bar, and alphabetized the paperbacks visible in my apartment. Admittedly, I was curious what the job would entail. There was a part of it that seemed really appealing, the chance to meet some new people and not sit at a desk all day long. Years of banking had taught me to be very good with details, and decades of Will-prompted socializing had ensured I could pretty much talk to anyone about anything – and actually seem interested, even if I was crying with boredom inside. I always felt a little awkward, a bit out of place, but