Lauren Weisberger 3-Book Collection: Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren WeisbergerЧитать онлайн книгу.
Penelope’s number. I almost screened her before I realized that she was one of only two potential refuges. Should the water bug manage to live through the fumigation and cruise through my living room again, I’d need to crash with her or Uncle Will. Unsure where Will was tonight, I decided it’d be wise to keep the lines of communication intact. I answered.
‘Pen, I’m under attack by the largest roach in Manhattan. What do I do?’ I asked the second I picked up the phone.
‘Bette, I have NEWS!’ she boomed back, clearly indifferent to my panic.
‘News more important than my infestation?’
‘Avery just proposed!’ Penelope shrieked. ‘We’re engaged!’
Goddammit. Those two simple words – we’re engaged – could make one person so happy and another so miserable. Autopilot quickly kicked in, reminding me that it would be inappropriate – to say the least – if I were to verbalize what I really thought. He’s a loser, P. He’s a spoiled, stoner little kid in the body of a big boy. He knows you’re out of his league and is putting a ring on your finger before you realize it as well. Worse, by marrying him you will be merely biding your time until he replaces you with a younger, hotter version of yourself ten years down the line, leaving you to pick up the pieces. Don’t do it! Don’t do it! Don’t do it!
‘Ohmigod!’ I shrieked right back. ‘Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!’
‘Oh, Bette, I knew you would be. I can barely even speak, it’s just all happening so fast!’
So fast? He’s the only guy you’ve dated since you were nineteen. It’s not like this wasn’t expected – it’s been eight years. I just hope he doesn’t catch herpes at his bachelor party in Vegas.
‘Tell me everything. When? How? Ring?’ I rattled off questions, playing the best friend role fairly believably, I thought, all things considered.
‘Well, I can’t talk too long because we’re at the St Regis right now. Remember how he insisted on picking me up for work today?’ Before waiting for my answer, she raced breathlessly ahead. ‘He had a car waiting outside and told me it was just because he couldn’t get a cab, and said that we were expected for dinner at his parents’ house in ten minutes. Of course, I was a little annoyed that he hadn’t even asked if I wanted to go to dinner there – he’d said he’d made reservations at Per Se, and you know how tough it is to get in there – and we were having pre-drinks in the library when in walked both our parents. Before I knew what was happening, he was down on one knee!’
‘In front of all your parents? He did the public proposal?’ I knew I sounded horrified, but I couldn’t help it.
‘Bette, it was hardly public. It was our parents, and he said the sweetest things in the world. I mean, we never would’ve met if it weren’t for them, so I can see his point. And get this – he gave me two rings!’
‘Two rings?’
‘Two rings. A seven-carat flawless round in platinum that was his great-great-grandmother’s for the real ring, and then a very pretty three-carat ascher-cut with baguettes that’s much more wearable.’
‘Wearable?’
‘It’s not as though you can roam the streets of New York in a seven-carat rock, you know. I thought it was really smart.’
‘Two rings?’
‘Bette, you’re incoherent. We went from there to Per Se, where my father even managed to turn off his cell phone for the duration of dinner and make a reasonably nice toast, and then we went for a carriage ride in Central Park, and now we’re at a suite in the St Regis. I just had to call and tell you!’
Where, oh where, had my friend gone? Penelope, who’d never even shopped for engagement rings because she thought they all looked the same, who had told me three months earlier when a mutual college friend had gotten engaged in the back of a horse-drawn carriage that it was the tackiest thing on earth, had just morphed into a very close approximation of a Stepford Wife. Was I just bitter? Of course I was bitter. The closest I’d come to getting engaged was reading the wedding announcements in The New York Times, aka the Single Girls’ Sports Page, every Sunday at brunch. But that was beside the point.
‘I’m so glad you did! And I can’t wait to hear every last detail, but you’ve got an engagement to consummate. Get off the phone with me and go make your fiancé happy. How weird does that sound? “Fiancé.”’
‘Oh, Avery’s on a call from work. I keep telling him to hang up’ – she announced this loudly for his benefit – ‘but he just keeps talking and talking. How has your night been?’
‘Ah, another stellar Friday. Let’s see. Millington and I took a walk over to the river, and some homeless guy gave her a biscuit along the way, so she was really happy, and then I came home, and hopefully killed what must be the largest insect in the tristate area. I ordered Vietnamese, but I threw it out when I remembered reading that some Vietnamese place near me was shut down for cooking dog, and so now I’m about to dine on reheated rice and beans and a packet of stale Twizzlers. Oh, Christ, I sound like a Lean Cuisine commercial, don’t I?’
She just laughed, clearly having no words of comfort at that particular moment. The other line clicked, indicating that she had another call.
‘Oh, it’s Michael. I have to tell him. Do you care if I three-way him in?’ she asked.
‘Sure. I’d love to hear you tell him.’ Michael would undoubtedly commiserate with me over the entire situation once Penelope hung up since he hated Avery even more than I did.
There was a click, which was followed by a brief silence and then another click. ‘Everyone there?’ Penelope squealed. This was not a girl who normally squealed. ‘Michael? Bette? You guys both on?’
Michael was a colleague of mine and Penelope’s at UBS, but since he’d made VP (one of the youngest ever) we’d seen much less of him. Though Michael had a serious girlfriend, it took Penelope’s engagement to really drive the point home: we were growing up.
‘Hi, girls,’ Michael said, sounding exhausted.
‘Michael, guess what? I’m engaged!’
There was the tiniest beat of hesitation. I knew that, like me, Michael wasn’t surprised, but he would be trying hard to formulate a believably enthusiastic response.
‘Pen, that’s fantastic news!’ he all but shouted into the phone. His volume did much to compensate for the lack of any genuine joy in his voice, and I made a mental note to remember that for next time.
‘I know!’ she sang back. ‘I knew you and Bette would be so happy for me. It just happened a few hours ago, and I’m so excited!’
‘Well, we’ll obviously have to celebrate,’ he said loudly. ‘Black Door, just the three of us, multiple shots of something strong and cheap.’
‘Definitely,’ I added, happy for something to say. ‘A celebration is most definitely in order.’
‘Okay, honey!’ Penelope called into the distance, our drinking plans understandably of little interest. ‘Guys, Avery’s off the phone and is pulling on the cord. Avery, stop! I’ve got to run, but I’ll call you both later. Bette, see you at work tomorrow. Love you both!’
There was a click and then Michael said, ‘You still there?’
‘Sure am. Do you want to call me or should I call you?’ We’d all learned early on that you couldn’t trust that the third line had disconnected and therefore always took the precaution of starting a new call before talking shit about the person who’d hung up first.
I heard a high-pitched voice in the background and he said, ‘Dammit, I just got paged. I can’t talk now. Can we talk tomorrow?’
‘Sure. Say hi to Megu for me, okay? And Michael? Please don’t go and