Lauren Weisberger 3-Book Collection: Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont

‘Honey, I’m sorry, this is just all so surprising – you didn’t even mention he was applying out west. If this is what you want to do, then I’m excited for you. And I promise to try very, very hard to stop only thinking about how it will affect me, okay?’

‘Yeah, he did the UCLA application at the last second, and I never thought he’d want to go there. But seriously, I’m not too worried about you. You’ve got a whole new crew now, and I have a feeling you’ll be just fine without me. …’ She let the words trail off, trying to sound casual, but we both knew this was the closest she’d ever get to saying something more important.

‘Well, we’ll have to have a great big going-away dinner for you guys,’ I said with forced cheer, not quite acknowledging my opportunity to disagree.

‘As you can imagine, our mothers are already on that. We’re leaving sort of soon, so they planned a joint dinner at the Four Seasons on Saturday. You’ll be there, right? It’ll be dreadful, but you’re obligated to attend nonetheless.’ She cleared her throat. ‘And, of course, Philip is always invited.’

‘Pen! Of course I’ll be there. And I’ll certainly spare all of you Philip’s company.’

My call waiting beeped with a 917 number I didn’t recognize. I decided to answer it in case it was related to the BlackBerry party.

‘I’m sorry, Pen, I’ve got to take this call. Can I call you later?’

‘Sure, no worries.’

‘Okay, I’ll talk to you in a few. And congratulations! If you’re happy, then so am I. Grudgingly, of course. But happy for you.’

We hung up and I clicked over right before the phone went to voice mail. ‘May I speak with Bette?’ I heard a gravelly male voice ask.

‘Speaking.’

‘Bette, this is Sammy calling from Amy Sacco’s office. You called about a date you wanted to reserve the club?’

Sammy? Wasn’t that the name of the Bungalow 8 bouncer? Could there be more than one Sammy in her employ? I didn’t know that bouncers did office work.

‘Yes, hi, how are you?’ I said as professionally as possible, although he certainly didn’t know my name or remember me as the cranky girl with no umbrella.

‘Great. We got your message, and Amy asked me to call you back because she’s tied up all afternoon.’ The rest was drowned out by the screech of sirens.

‘Sorry, I missed that. It’s just the loudest siren I’ve ever heard. It must be eight fire trucks or something,’ I screamed, trying to be heard over the wails.

‘I hear it, too, only not just through the phone. Where are you now?’

‘I’m at the Starbucks near Eighth and Broadway. Why?’

‘That’s weird. I’m literally across the street. I was just leaving class when I got the message from Amy to call you back. Hold on, I’m coming over.’ He hung up, and I stared at the phone for a second before frantically yanking a lip gloss and brush out of my bag and sprinting for the bathroom, which, naturally, was occupied. I watched as he approached the front door and then bolted back to my table in a side nook, falling back into my seat before he even saw me.

There was no subtle way to fix anything right now since I needed to focus my energy on pretending to look both busy and indifferent, which was impossible. I knew I’d choke if I tried to drink or drop my phone if I pretended to be talking, and so I just sat, staring at my Filofax with such determined interest that I briefly wondered if it might just up and ignite from the intensity of my gaze. A quick mental survey of my physical state revealed a list of clichéd reactions – shaking hands, pounding heart, dry mouth – that could indicate only one thing: my body was telling me that I liked Sammy or, quite possibly, that I worshipped him. Which, if one cared to draw a parallel, was exactly how Lucinda felt right before her first one-on-one meeting with Marcello in The Magnate’s Tender Touch. This was the first time I could ever remember feeling all tingly with nervous anticipation, just like the women in my books always did.

I felt him standing over me before I saw him, a sort of amorphous figure in all black. And he smelled good! Like freshly baked bread or sugar cookies or something equally as wholesome. He probably stood there for thirty seconds, staring at me stare at my Filofax, before I finally mustered the nerve to look up, just as he cleared his throat.

‘Hey,’ I said.

‘Hey,’ he said right back. He was unconsciously rubbing at what appeared to be a flour stain on his black pants, but he stopped when he noticed me watching.

‘Uh, would you like to sit down?’ I stammered, wondering why it was utterly impossible for me to make one intelligible or coherent statement.

‘Sure. I, uh, I just thought it might be easier to do this in person since I was, uh, right across the street, you know?’ It was comforting that he didn’t sound much better.

‘Yeah, definitely, it makes perfect sense. Did you say you were just coming from class? Are you taking a bartending course? I’ve always wanted to do that!’ I was rambling now, but I couldn’t help it. ‘It just seems like it’d be the most useful thing, whether or not you actually work in a bar. I don’t know. It’d be nice to know how to mix a decent drink or something. You know?’

He smiled for the first time, a megawatt ear-to-ear shiner, and I thought I might just cease living if he ever stopped. ‘No, it’s not for bartending, it’s for pastry-making,’ he said.

It didn’t make much sense that the bouncer was into pastries, but I thought it was nice that he had outside interests. After all, aside from the nightly ego rush of rejecting people based on appearance alone, I imagined it got pretty boring.

‘Oh, really? Interesting. Do you cook a lot in your free time?’ I was only asking to be polite, which, unfortunately, came across loud and clear in my voice. I rushed on. ‘I mean, is that a particular passion of yours?’

‘Passion?’ He grinned again. ‘I’m not sure I would call it a “passion,” but yeah, I like to cook. And I sort of have to, for work.’

Ohmigod. I couldn’t believe he’d called me out for using that ridiculous word, passion.

‘You have to?’ It came out sounding downright snotty. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Where do you cook?’

‘I’m studying to be a chef, actually,’ he said, diverting his eyes from mine.

This was a new and interesting development. ‘A chef? Really? Where?’

‘Well, nowhere yet, really. I already graduated from CIA and I’m taking a few classes at night. Like pastry-making.’ He laughed.

‘How’d you get into that?’

‘I’m not particularly into it, but it’s good to know. Aside from making omelet dinners growing up when it was my turn, I didn’t really ever cook. I lived in Ithaca for a summer in high school with a buddy and worked as a waiter at the Statler Hotel on Cornell’s campus. One day the general manager saw me refilling a guest’s coffee by holding the carafe almost four feet above the cup and freaked out – he loved it. He convinced me to apply to the hotel school there. He got me a few scholarships, and I worked the whole time – busboy, waiter, night manager, bartender, you name it – and when I graduated he hooked me up with a yearlong apprenticeship at a Michelin-starred restaurant in France. It was entirely his doing.’

I was vaguely aware that my mouth was quite unattractively hanging open in shock at this information, but Sammy graciously saved me from myself by continuing.

‘You’re probably wondering why I’m working as a bouncer at Bungalow, huh?’ He grinned.

‘No, not at all. Whatever works for you. Um, I mean, it’s just a different side of the hospitality industry, right?’

‘I’m paying my dues now. I’ve worked in what feels like every imaginable restaurant in this city.’ He laughed. ‘But it’ll be worth it when I finally open my own place. Hopefully it’ll be sooner rather than later.’

I must have still looked confused because he just laughed. ‘Well, clearly the first and foremost reason is the money. You can actually make a decent living piecing together a few security and bartending gigs, and I have a bunch of that stuff going on. It keeps me from going out at night and spending, so I stick it out. Everyone says there’s nothing like opening a restaurant in this city. I’ve been told it’s really important to know all the social politics, from who’s sleeping with whom to who’s really important and who’s just pretending they’re a player. It doesn’t really interest me, but I don’t exactly run with that crowd, so there’s no better way than to watch them in their native environments.’

He clamped a hand over his mouth and peered at me. ‘Look, I probably shouldn’t have said all that. I didn’t mean any offense to you and your friends, it’s just that—’

Love. All-consuming and overwhelming love. It was all I could do not to grab his face and kiss him full on the mouth … he looked so horrified.

‘Seriously, don’t say another word,’ I said. I moved my hand to touch his reassuringly, but I lost my nerve at the last minute and my fingers ended up awkwardly suspended above the table. Lucinda from Magnate would’ve been cool enough to pull off that move, but I, apparently, was not. ‘I think it’s really great what you’re doing. I can’t imagine some of the things you must see every night. Ridiculous stuff, right?’

It was all he needed to hear. ‘Christ, it’s incredible. All those people – they have so much money and so much time and don’t seem to want to do anything but beg me to let them into these clubs every night,’ he said. His eyes met mine.

‘It’s got to be kind of fun, though, isn’t it? I mean, people fall all over themselves trying to be nice to you,’ I managed, too distracted by his gaze to think straight.

‘Oh, come on, Bette, we both know it’s hardly like that. They kiss my ass because they need me, not because they know anything about me or like me as a person. I have a very short shelf life for respect and likability – namely, the few minutes between the time they arrive and the time they walk inside. They wouldn’t remember my name if they saw me anywhere away from that velvet rope.’

The look of distress returned to his face, and I noticed how his forehead wrinkled when he frowned, and it only made him cuter. He sighed and I had a bizarre desire to hug him. ‘I have such a big mouth. Forget everything I just said. I really don’t take the job all that seriously, so I shouldn’t make it sound like it’s a bigger deal than it really is. It’s just a means to an end, and I can put up with anything if it’ll get me closer to my restaurant one day.’

I was desperate for him to keep talking, saying anything about anyone just so I could continue to watch his perfect face and examine the way his mouth moved and his hands gestured, but he was finished. When I opened my mouth to tell him that I understood exactly what he meant and had never really thought of it from that perspective, he gently cut me off. ‘I guess you’re just easy to talk to,’ he said and smiled so sweetly that I had to remind myself to breathe. ‘I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention any of this stuff to anyone at your office. It’s just easier for me to do what I need to do without everyone, well, uh, you know.’