Last Night at Chateau Marmont
Page 48

In the days Before the Picture, nothing was better than settling into a bath with a fresh-off-the-presses Last Night. Now she was always vaguely terrified of what she might stumble across, but old habits were tough to break. She worked her way through the first few pages, pausing for a moment to reflect on how so many married celebs were willing to dish on their sex lives with gems like, “Our secret to keeping things sexy? He brings me breakfast in bed on Sundays and then I really show him my appreciation,” and “What can I say? I’m a lucky guy. My wife is seriously hot stuff in the bedroom.” The page where they showed stars doing “normal people” things was unusually boring: Dakota Fanning shopping at a mall in Sherman Oaks, Kate Hudson hanging on her guy du jour, a shot of Cameron Diaz picking a bikini wedgie, Tori Spelling clutching a blond child and exiting a salon. There was a mildly interesting spread on what had become of eighties childhood stars (who knew Winnie Cooper was a math genius!), but it wasn’t until she turned to the so-called features section that she forgot to breathe. There she found a multipage spread titled “Soulful Songwriters Who Rock Our World,” and it featured write-ups and pictures on probably a half dozen artists. Her eyes flew across the page, searching intently. John Mayer, Gavin DeGraw, Colbie Caillat, Jack Johnson. Nothing. She flipped the page. Bon Iver, Ben Harper, Wilco. Nothing again. But wait! Oh my god. There, at the bottom of the fourth page was a yellow box. WHO IS JULIAN ALTER? the purple headline screamed. That hideous picture of Julian and Layla Lawson occupied the top half of the box and the bottom was filled with text. Ohmigod, Brooke thought, and noticed in an oddly out-of-body way that her heart was pounding and she was holding her breath. She was simultaneously desperate to read it and desperate for it to evaporate, vanish, completely disappear from her consciousness forever. Had anyone read this yet? Had Julian read this yet? As a subscriber, she knew she received the magazine a day before it hit the newsstands, but was it really possible no one had managed to tell her about this beforehand? She grabbed a towel to blot the sweat from her forehead and dry her hands, took a deep breath, and began to read.
Not only did Julian Alter make a splash earlier this summer with a rocking Leno performance and a super-steamy photo, but he’s got the goods to back it up: his first album debuted at #4 on the Billboard charts last week. Now everyone can’t help but wonder . . . who is this singer?
Brooke used her feet to push herself into more of a sitting position. She was aware of a growing queasiness and she quickly blamed it on the combination of too much wine and steaming hot water. And if you believe that . . . she thought to herself. Deep breath. It was natural to feel a little strange reading a surprise article about your own husband in a national magazine. She willed herself to keep going.
EARLY YEARS: Born on Manhattan’s Upper East Side in 1977, he attended the prestigious Dalton School and spent summers in the south of France. Positioned to be the perfect prepster, Alter’s interest in music didn’t jibe well with his society parents.
CAREER: After graduating from Amherst in 1999, Alter turned down med school to pursue his musical ambitions. He signed with Sony in 2008 after a two-year stint as an A&R intern. Alter’s first album is projected to be one of the most successful debuts of the year.
PASSIONS: When he’s not in the studio, Alter likes to spend quality time with his pooch, Walter Alter, and hang out with friends. High school classmates claim he was quite the tennis star at Dalton but doesn’t play anymore because tennis doesn’t “gel with his image.”
LOVE LIFE: Don’t get your hopes up for a hookup with Layla Lawson any time soon! Alter has been married to longtime love Brooke for five years, despite whispers of trouble in paradise due to Julian’s new scheduling demands. “Brooke was incredibly supportive when he was a nobody, but she’s having a really hard time with all the attention,” said a source who knows both Julian and Brooke. The couple live in a modest one-bedroom near Times Square, although friends say they’re looking to upgrade.
At the very bottom of the box was a photo of herself and Julian, taken by one of the professional photographers at the Friday Night Lights party, one that she hadn’t seen yet. Her eyes hungrily devoured it, and she breathed an enormous sigh of relief: somehow, miraculously, they both looked good. Julian was leaning down and kissing her shoulder, and you could see the hint of a smile on his face. Brooke had one arm draped across the back of his neck and the other was holding a brightly colored margarita; her head was thrown back a bit and she was laughing. Despite the cocktail, the two cowboy hats, and the pack of cigarettes rolled up in Julian’s shirtsleeve as part of his costume, Brooke was thrilled they looked happy and carefree, not drunk or sloppy. Were she forced to find something wrong with the picture, she probably would’ve pointed to her midsection, where, due to a perfect storm of her body contorting in an unusual angle, the shadows cast off from the dark room, and a bit of a breeze from the back patio, her plaid shirt puffed out like she had a potbelly. Nothing egregious, just the suggestion of a little spare tire that in reality didn’t exist. But the truth was, she could live with a bad camera angle. All things considered—and there were myriad other ways each could’ve looked horrifically bad—she was pretty pleased.
But then there was that article. Where to even begin? Julian sure wasn’t going to be happy about all the prep school stuff. No matter how many times Brooke tried to reassure him that no one cared where anyone went to high school, he couldn’t stand even the mildest suggestion that his accomplishments were somehow the result of his extremely privileged upbringing. There was that bit about Julian’s passions including spending time with his dog—a little humiliating for all involved, considering they didn’t mention how much he loved hanging with her or his family, nor were there any real hobbies listed. The suggestion that girls across America were upset that Julian and Layla wouldn’t be getting together soon was alternately flattering and disconcerting. And that quote about her being supportive but stressed by the attention? It was certainly true, so why was it worded like a nasty accusation? Did one of their friends really give that quote, or do these magazines just make things up and credit them to anonymous sources whenever it suits them? Of everything written in the entire article, the single line that really got her heart pounding was the part about how she and Julian were supposedly looking to upgrade their apartment. What? Julian knew full well that Brooke was desperate to get back to Brooklyn, but they certainly hadn’t started looking.