Last Night at Chateau Marmont
Page 14
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“So, how were your weeks?” she asked the Alters, smiling at Carmen as she accepted a tall, thick Bloody Mary complete with lemon wedge and celery stalk. It was all she could do not to drain the whole thing in one gulp. “Busy as always?”
“Yes, I just cannot even imagine how you both maintain schedules like that!” Cynthia said a bit too loudly. “Brooke’s told me how many, uh, procedures you both do in a day, and well, it’s enough to exhaust anybody! Me, I get a strep outbreak and I’m ready to collapse, but you two! Geez Louise, it must be madness.”
Elizabeth Alter’s face broke into a wide, immensely condescending smile. “Yes, well, we do manage to keep busy. But isn’t that so boring! I’d love to hear what’s going on with the children. Brooke? Julian?”
Cynthia sat back, deflated and properly reprimanded. The poor woman was walking through a minefield she was helpless to navigate. She absentmindedly rubbed her forehead and looked suddenly very tired. “Yes, of course. How are you two doing?”
Brooke knew better than to offer any details about her own job. Although her mother-in-law had been the one to get Brooke the interview at Huntley, she’d done so only after thoroughly satisfying herself that Brooke wouldn’t reconsider a career in magazines, fashion, auction houses, or public relations. If Brooke simply had to use that graduate degree in nutrition, she couldn’t understand why she didn’t at least serve in an advisory role to Vogue or serve as a private consultant to her legion of Upper East Side friends; anything, really, with a little more glamour than, in her words, “a dingy ER with homeless people and drunks.”
Julian knew enough to step in and save her. “Well, I actually have a little announcement,” he said with a cough.
Suddenly, although Brooke was so excited for Julian she could barely contain it, a wave of panic washed over her. She found herself praying he wouldn’t tell them about the showcase, since he’d undoubtedly be disappointed by their reaction and she hated to watch him go through that. No one brought out that protective instinct in her like Julian’s parents; the mere thought of what they’d say made Brooke want to bundle him up and take him straight home, where he’d be shielded from their meanness and, worse, their indifference.
They all waited a moment while Carmen brought in a new pitcher of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice and then turned their attention back to Julian.
“I, uh, just heard from my new manager, Leo, that Sony wants to showcase me this week. Thursday, actually.”
There was a beat of silence when everyone expected someone else to say something, and Brooke’s father was the first one to speak. “Well, I might not know exactly what showcasing is, but it sure sounds like good news. Congratulations, son!” he said, leaning across Cynthia to clap Julian on the back.
Dr. Alter, looking irritated at the use of “son,” scowled into his coffee before turning to Julian. “Why don’t you explain to we lay people what that means?” he asked.
“Yes, does that mean someone is finally going to hear your music?” Julian’s mother asked, tucking her feet under her like a young girl and smiling at her son. Everyone pointedly ignored the emphasis on “finally”—everyone except Julian, whose face registered the hit, and Brooke, who witnessed it.
After all these years Brooke was certainly accustomed to hearing Julian’s parents say awful things, but she never hated them any less for it. When she and Julian were first dating, he had slowly revealed how fundamentally his parents disapproved of him and of the life he’d chosen. During their engagement, she’d seen their objection to the plain gold band Julian insisted on giving Brooke rather than one of the “Alter family estate pieces” his mother had pushed. Even when Brooke and Julian conceded to marrying at the Alters’ home in the Hamptons, his parents had been horrified at the couple’s insistence that the wedding be small, low-key, and off-season. After they were married and in the years since, when the Alters acted more freely in front of her, she saw at countless dinners and brunches and holidays just how toxic they could be.
“Well, basically it means that they realize the album is close to being finished and they really like it so far. They’re going to arrange a showcase of industry people, sort of introduce me to them in a private performance, and then gauge the reaction.” Julian, who was usually so modest he wouldn’t even tell Brooke when he’d had a good day at the recording studio, couldn’t help but beam with pride. She wanted to kiss him on the spot.
“I might not know a whole lot about the music industry, but that sounds like a huge vote of confidence on their part,” Brooke’s dad said, holding his glass aloft.
Julian couldn’t contain his smile. “It is,” he said, grinning. “It’s probably the best-case scenario right now. And I’m hoping—”
He stopped as the phone began to ring and Julian’s mother immediately began to look around for a handset. “Oh, where is that damn phone? That must be L’Olivier calling to confirm a time for tomorrow. Hold that thought, dear. If I don’t reserve them now, I’m not going to have flowers for tomorrow night’s party.” And with that, she unfolded herself from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen.
“You know your mother with her flowers,” Dr. Alter said. He sipped his coffee, and it was unclear whether or not he’d even heard Julian’s announcement. “We’re having the Bennetts and the Kamens over for dinner tomorrow and she’s been in a tizzy about the planning. Christ, you’d think the decision between stuffed sole or braised short ribs was a matter of national security. And the flowers! She must have spent half the afternoon with those fegelas last weekend, and she’s still wavering. I told her a thousand times: no one cares about the flowers; no one will notice. Everyone throws these lavish weddings and spends tens of thousands of dollars on mountains of orchids or whatever the hell is in fashion these days, and who ever even looks at the damn things? Such a colossal waste, if you ask me. Spend the money on great food and booze—that’s what people really enjoy.” He took another gulp, looked around the room, and squinted. “Now, what were we talking about?”
Cynthia gracefully stepped in and smoothed over the tense moment. “Well isn’t that just some of the greatest news we’ve heard in ages!” she said with excessive enthusiasm. Brooke’s dad nodded excitedly. “Where exactly will it be held? How many people are invited? Have you decided yet what you’re going to play?” Cynthia peppered him with questions and for once Brooke didn’t find the interrogation irritating. They were all the things Julian’s own parents should have asked but never would, and Julian was clearly delighted to be on the receiving end of such interest.
“Yes, I just cannot even imagine how you both maintain schedules like that!” Cynthia said a bit too loudly. “Brooke’s told me how many, uh, procedures you both do in a day, and well, it’s enough to exhaust anybody! Me, I get a strep outbreak and I’m ready to collapse, but you two! Geez Louise, it must be madness.”
Elizabeth Alter’s face broke into a wide, immensely condescending smile. “Yes, well, we do manage to keep busy. But isn’t that so boring! I’d love to hear what’s going on with the children. Brooke? Julian?”
Cynthia sat back, deflated and properly reprimanded. The poor woman was walking through a minefield she was helpless to navigate. She absentmindedly rubbed her forehead and looked suddenly very tired. “Yes, of course. How are you two doing?”
Brooke knew better than to offer any details about her own job. Although her mother-in-law had been the one to get Brooke the interview at Huntley, she’d done so only after thoroughly satisfying herself that Brooke wouldn’t reconsider a career in magazines, fashion, auction houses, or public relations. If Brooke simply had to use that graduate degree in nutrition, she couldn’t understand why she didn’t at least serve in an advisory role to Vogue or serve as a private consultant to her legion of Upper East Side friends; anything, really, with a little more glamour than, in her words, “a dingy ER with homeless people and drunks.”
Julian knew enough to step in and save her. “Well, I actually have a little announcement,” he said with a cough.
Suddenly, although Brooke was so excited for Julian she could barely contain it, a wave of panic washed over her. She found herself praying he wouldn’t tell them about the showcase, since he’d undoubtedly be disappointed by their reaction and she hated to watch him go through that. No one brought out that protective instinct in her like Julian’s parents; the mere thought of what they’d say made Brooke want to bundle him up and take him straight home, where he’d be shielded from their meanness and, worse, their indifference.
They all waited a moment while Carmen brought in a new pitcher of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice and then turned their attention back to Julian.
“I, uh, just heard from my new manager, Leo, that Sony wants to showcase me this week. Thursday, actually.”
There was a beat of silence when everyone expected someone else to say something, and Brooke’s father was the first one to speak. “Well, I might not know exactly what showcasing is, but it sure sounds like good news. Congratulations, son!” he said, leaning across Cynthia to clap Julian on the back.
Dr. Alter, looking irritated at the use of “son,” scowled into his coffee before turning to Julian. “Why don’t you explain to we lay people what that means?” he asked.
“Yes, does that mean someone is finally going to hear your music?” Julian’s mother asked, tucking her feet under her like a young girl and smiling at her son. Everyone pointedly ignored the emphasis on “finally”—everyone except Julian, whose face registered the hit, and Brooke, who witnessed it.
After all these years Brooke was certainly accustomed to hearing Julian’s parents say awful things, but she never hated them any less for it. When she and Julian were first dating, he had slowly revealed how fundamentally his parents disapproved of him and of the life he’d chosen. During their engagement, she’d seen their objection to the plain gold band Julian insisted on giving Brooke rather than one of the “Alter family estate pieces” his mother had pushed. Even when Brooke and Julian conceded to marrying at the Alters’ home in the Hamptons, his parents had been horrified at the couple’s insistence that the wedding be small, low-key, and off-season. After they were married and in the years since, when the Alters acted more freely in front of her, she saw at countless dinners and brunches and holidays just how toxic they could be.
“Well, basically it means that they realize the album is close to being finished and they really like it so far. They’re going to arrange a showcase of industry people, sort of introduce me to them in a private performance, and then gauge the reaction.” Julian, who was usually so modest he wouldn’t even tell Brooke when he’d had a good day at the recording studio, couldn’t help but beam with pride. She wanted to kiss him on the spot.
“I might not know a whole lot about the music industry, but that sounds like a huge vote of confidence on their part,” Brooke’s dad said, holding his glass aloft.
Julian couldn’t contain his smile. “It is,” he said, grinning. “It’s probably the best-case scenario right now. And I’m hoping—”
He stopped as the phone began to ring and Julian’s mother immediately began to look around for a handset. “Oh, where is that damn phone? That must be L’Olivier calling to confirm a time for tomorrow. Hold that thought, dear. If I don’t reserve them now, I’m not going to have flowers for tomorrow night’s party.” And with that, she unfolded herself from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen.
“You know your mother with her flowers,” Dr. Alter said. He sipped his coffee, and it was unclear whether or not he’d even heard Julian’s announcement. “We’re having the Bennetts and the Kamens over for dinner tomorrow and she’s been in a tizzy about the planning. Christ, you’d think the decision between stuffed sole or braised short ribs was a matter of national security. And the flowers! She must have spent half the afternoon with those fegelas last weekend, and she’s still wavering. I told her a thousand times: no one cares about the flowers; no one will notice. Everyone throws these lavish weddings and spends tens of thousands of dollars on mountains of orchids or whatever the hell is in fashion these days, and who ever even looks at the damn things? Such a colossal waste, if you ask me. Spend the money on great food and booze—that’s what people really enjoy.” He took another gulp, looked around the room, and squinted. “Now, what were we talking about?”
Cynthia gracefully stepped in and smoothed over the tense moment. “Well isn’t that just some of the greatest news we’ve heard in ages!” she said with excessive enthusiasm. Brooke’s dad nodded excitedly. “Where exactly will it be held? How many people are invited? Have you decided yet what you’re going to play?” Cynthia peppered him with questions and for once Brooke didn’t find the interrogation irritating. They were all the things Julian’s own parents should have asked but never would, and Julian was clearly delighted to be on the receiving end of such interest.
