Last Night at Chateau Marmont

Alone in a house like a silent tomb

The man counts every jewel in his crown

What can’t be saved is measured in pounds

He was a father’s dream, he was a fist of sand

My brother, you slipped away with the second hand

Like parallel lines that never cross

For the lost, for the lost

In my dreams the voices from beyond the door

I remember them saying you weren’t coming no more

You wouldn’t believe how quiet it’s become

The heart obscure fills with shame

He was a brother’s dream, he was a fist of sand

My brother, you slipped away with the second hand

Like parallel lines that never cross

For the lost, for the lost

He finished the song to rousing applause – genuine, enthusiastic applause – and moved effortlessly into the second. He had hit his stride, and there wasn’t a single sign of any anxiety. Just that familiar sheen across his forearms and the furrowed brow of concentration as he sang the words he had spent months, sometimes years, perfecting. The second song was over in a flash, and then the third, and before she realized what was happening, the crowd was ecstatically cheering and calling for an encore. Julian looked pleased and a little confused – his instructions to play three songs in under twelve minutes couldn’t have been clearer – but he must’ve gotten the green light from someone offstage, because he smiled and nodded and eased right into one of his more upbeat songs. The crowd roared their approval.

By the time he pushed back the piano bench and took a modest bow, the air in the room had changed. More than the loud cheering and clapping and whistles, there was that electrified feeling of having been part of something important. Brooke stood, hemmed in on all sides by her husband’s admirers, when Leo approached. He gruffly greeted the hair-tie girl by name – Umi – but she immediately rolled her eyes and walked away. Before Brooke could process that, Leo grabbed her arm a little too tightly and leaned in so close she wondered for the briefest second if he was going to kiss her.

‘Get ready, Brooke. Get ready for one fucking crazy ride. Tonight is only the start, and it’s going to be insane.’

4

a toast to hot redheads

‘Kaylie, sweetheart, I don’t know how else to say it: you do not need to lose weight. Look at your statistics; look at this chart. You are absolutely perfect just the way you are.’

‘No one else here looks like me,’ Kaylie said, lowering her eyes. The girl absently twisted her limp brown hair in circles around her forefinger, methodically wrapping and turning, wrapping and turning. Her face was filled with anxiety.

‘What do you mean?’ Brooke asked, although she knew what Kaylie meant.

‘I just … I never felt fat until I came here. At public school, I was totally normal, maybe even on the skinny side! And then this year rolls around and they stick me in this weird place because it’s supposed to be so fancy and special, and suddenly I’m obese.’ The girl’s voice cracked at the last word, and it was all Brooke could do not to hug her.

‘Oh, sweetheart, you’re no such thing! Come here, look at this chart. One hundred twenty-five pounds at five-one is well within the healthy range.’ Brooke held out her laminated chart showing the huge range of normal weights, but Kaylie barely glanced at it.

She knew it wasn’t particularly comforting in light of all the astonishingly thin girls in Kaylie’s ninth-grade class. Kaylie was a scholarship student from the Bronx, the daughter of an air-conditioning repairman who raised her alone after her mother was killed in a car accident. Her father was clearly doing something right, considering the girl’s straight-A record in middle school, success on the field hockey team, and, according to what Brooke heard from other teachers, an ability to play the violin that far surpassed that of her peers, and yet here was his lovely, accomplished daughter, and all she could see was that she didn’t fit in.

Kaylie tugged at the hem of her plaid skirt, which rested across thighs that were strong and muscular, but nowhere near fat, and said, ‘I guess I just have bad genes. My mom was really overweight, too.’

‘Do you miss her?’ Brooke asked, and Kaylie could only nod, the tears welling in her eyes.

‘She always told me I was perfect just the way I am, but I wonder what she would’ve said if she could see the girls here. They’re perfect. Their hair is perfect and their makeup is perfect and their bodies are perfect, and even though we all have the same exact uniform, even the way they wear it is perfect.’

It was one aspect of the job she had least expected but had grown to appreciate more than she could express, this crossover between nutritionist and confidante. They’d learned in grad school that anyone who came into regular contact with teenagers and was merely willing to listen could play an important role as a caring, involved adult, but Brooke hadn’t known what they meant until she started at Huntley.

Brooke spent a few more minutes explaining that although it might not have felt that way, Kaylie was well within a healthy weight limit. It was a hard argument, especially considering the girl’s muscular, athletic body was broader than most of her classmates’, but she tried. If only I could fast-forward her through four years of high school and send her straight to college, Brooke thought. She’d realize then that none of this ninth-grade nonsense means anything in the long run.

But Brooke knew from experience that this was impossible. She, too, had self-consciously been on the larger end of normal all through high school and Cornell, straight up until grad school, when she went on a drastic diet and lost almost twenty pounds. She couldn’t keep it off, though, and gained fifteen of it back almost immediately. Now, despite mostly healthful eating and a dedicated running program, Brooke was also on the outer limits of the healthy range for her height and, just like Kaylie, was acutely aware of that fact. She felt hypocritical even trying to tell Kaylie not to worry about it when she herself thought about it every day.

‘You are perfect, Kaylie. I know it doesn’t always feel that way, especially surrounded by girls with so many advantages, but believe me when I tell you that you’re absolutely beautiful. You’re going to make friends here, find the girls you connect with, and feel more at home. And then before you know it, you’ll kiss the SATs and prom and some dumb boyfriend from Dalton good-bye, and you’ll run off to a fantastic college where everyone’s perfect in their own way, in exactly the way they choose. And you’ll love it. I can honestly promise you that.’

Brooke’s phone rang, the special piano-sounding ring that she’d attached only to Julian’s number. He never called when she was at work, knowing she wouldn’t be able to answer, and even kept his texts to a minimum. She knew in an instant something was wrong.

‘Excuse me, Kaylie. This will just be a minute.’ She swiveled in her chair the best she could to get some privacy in the small office. ‘Hi. Is everything okay? I’m with a patient right now.’

‘Brooke, you are not going to believe this, but—’ He stopped and breathed in deeply, dramatically.

‘Julian, seriously, if this is not an emergency, I need to call you back.’

‘Leo just called. One of the main bookers from Leno was at the showcase last week. They want me to perform on the show!’

‘No!’

‘It’s true! It’s a hundred percent guaranteed done deal. Next week, Tuesday night. Taping at five. I’ll be the musical performance on the show, probably right after the interviews. Do you believe it?’

‘Ohmigod!’

‘Brooke, say something else.’

She forgot where she was for a moment. ‘I can’t believe it. I mean, of course I can believe it, but it’s just so incredible.’ She heard Julian laughing and thought how long it’d been. ‘When are you home tonight? We must celebrate. I have something in mind …’

‘Does it involve my favorite mesh thingy?’

Brooke smiled into the phone. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of that Dom Pérignon we got as a gift and can never justify opening.’

‘Mesh. Tonight deserves champagne and mesh. Meet you home at eight? I’ll take care of dinner.’

‘You don’t have to deal with dinner. Let me pick something up. Or we can go out! Why don’t we go somewhere and really celebrate?’

‘Let me handle it,’ Julian said. ‘Please? I have something in mind.’

Brooke’s heart surged. Maybe now he’d be able to ease up on his time at the studio and spend more time at home. She felt the familiar pangs of excitement and anticipation she’d felt earlier in their marriage, before anything had become routine. ‘Absolutely. I’ll see you at eight. And, Julian? I can’t wait.’

‘Me neither.’ He made a kissing sound into the phone – something he hadn’t done in years – and hung up. For the first time in five full minutes, Brooke remembered where she was.