Last Night at Chateau Marmont
Page 63
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Later, after everyone had gone home and they’d done all the dishes and folded the chairs, Brooke curled up next to Julian on the couch.
“Pretty crazy that Neha’s been planning the exact same thing, isn’t it?” she asked excitedly. Although the conversation had naturally drifted to other subjects over dessert, Brooke hadn’t stopped thinking about it.
“It sounds absolutely perfect,” Julian said, kissing the top of her head. His phone had been ringing all night, and although he kept silencing it and pretending everything was fine, he was clearly distracted.
“Even more perfect, because as soon as I can get out there on my own, I’ll have so much more free time to travel with you, so much more flexibility than I do now. Won’t that be great?”
“Mmm. Definitely.”
“I mean, the time and effort that would go into doing something like that on your own—never mind the money—is so overwhelming, but it would be perfect for the two of us to do it together. We’d be able to cover for each other and still see double the patients. It is literally the ideal scenario,” Brooke said happily.
It was just the good news she’d needed. Julian’s absences, the snoopy reporters, the horrible article still stung, but something to look forward to helped turn the volume down on everything else.
His phone rang yet again. “Just answer it already,” she said, sounding more irritated than she’d intended.
Julian stared at the caller ID, which read “Leo,” and clicked Talk. “Hey, man, happy Thanksgiving.” He nodded a few times, laughed, and then said, “Sure, okay. Yeah, I’ll check with her, but I’m sure she can make it. Yep. Count us in. Later.”
He turned and faced her with a huge grin. “Guess where we’re going?”
“Where?”
“We, my dear, were invited to the ultra-exclusive Sony VIP holiday lunch and cocktails. Leo said the whole world goes to the party at night in the city, but only their top artists are invited to join all the top record execs at some crazy, trillion-dollar house in the Hamptons during the day. Performances by surprise guests. We’ll travel back and forth by helicopter. Nothing has ever been written about this party before because it’s so secret and so exclusive. And we are going!”
“Wow, that sounds incredible. When is it?” Brooke asked, her mind already cycling through outfit options.
Julian jumped up and headed to the kitchen. “Friday before Christmas. I don’t know what the date is.”
She grabbed his phone and scrolled through to the calendar. “December twentieth? Julian, it’s my last day at Huntley before school closes for the holidays.”
“So?” He pulled a beer from the refrigerator.
“So, that’s our holiday party. At Huntley. They asked me to plan their first-ever healthy menu of fun party foods for the girls. I also promised Kaylie that I’d meet her father and her grandmother. Parents are invited to the party and she’s been very excited about introducing all of us.”
Brooke was proud of her tremendous progress with the girl over the last couple months. By increasing the frequency of their sessions and asking a lot of pointed questions about Whitney Weiss, Brooke was able to determine that Kaylie was flirting with purging, but she was also now certain that she didn’t fit any of the criteria of someone suffering from a full-blown eating disorder. With lots of talking and listening and an abundance of extra attention, Kaylie had put back on a healthful portion of the weight she’d lost so rapidly, and she seemed to have developed more self-confidence to go with it. Probably most important of all, she’d joined the theater club and scored a coveted supporting role in this year’s production of West Side Story. She finally had friends.
Julian rejoined her on the couch and clicked on the television. Noise filled the room.
“Can you turn that down?” she asked, trying to mask the irritation in her voice.
He obliged, but only after giving her a strange look. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive here,” he said, “but can’t you just call in sick? We’re talking helicopters and meeting the head of Sony Music. Don’t you think someone else can figure out the cupcakes?”
At no point in the last five years of marriage could she remember him being so patronizing, so incredibly condescending. What made it worse was the way he was peering at her, oblivious to how obnoxious and self-centered he sounded.
“You know what? I’m positive someone else could ‘figure out the cupcakes,’ as you so asininely put it. What’s my silly, frivolous job compared to the worldwide importance of yours, right? But you’re forgetting one thing. I actually like what I do. I help these girls. I’ve invested a ton of time and energy in Kaylie, and guess what? It’s paying off. She’s happier and healthier than she’s been in a year. She’s not hurting herself anymore or crying every day. I know that can’t compare to a number four Billboard hit in your world, but in mine, it’s pretty freaking great. So no, Julian, I won’t be joining you at your super-fancy VIP holiday party. Because I’ve got my own party to attend.”
She stood up and glared at him, waiting for an apology, an attack, anything but what he was doing: staring blankly at the muted TV, shaking his head in disbelief, a look on his face that seemed to say, I’m married to a lunatic.
“Well, I’m glad we worked that out,” she said quietly as she walked back toward the bedroom.
She waited for him to come in and talk about it, hug her, remind her that they never went to sleep angry, but when she crept back to the living room over an hour later, he was curled up on the couch, under the purple afghan, snoring softly. She turned and went back to bed alone.
11
Knee-Deep in Tequila and Eighteen-Year-Old Girls
JULIAN laughed as the fatter lobster pulled ahead. “One and a half pounds has taken the lead. They’re just about to round the corner, folks,” he said in his best imitation of a sports announcer. “I think I’ve got this one.”
Its rival, a smaller lobster with a shiny black shell and what Brooke would swear were soulful eyes, scuttled forward to close the gap. “Not so fast,” she said.
They were sitting on the kitchen floor, their backs against the island, cheering on their respective competitors. Brooke felt vaguely guilty for trying to race her lobster before tossing him in a pot of boiling water, but they didn’t seem to mind. It was only when Walter nosed one of them and it refused to move another inch that Brooke swooped in and rescued hers from further torture.
“Pretty crazy that Neha’s been planning the exact same thing, isn’t it?” she asked excitedly. Although the conversation had naturally drifted to other subjects over dessert, Brooke hadn’t stopped thinking about it.
“It sounds absolutely perfect,” Julian said, kissing the top of her head. His phone had been ringing all night, and although he kept silencing it and pretending everything was fine, he was clearly distracted.
“Even more perfect, because as soon as I can get out there on my own, I’ll have so much more free time to travel with you, so much more flexibility than I do now. Won’t that be great?”
“Mmm. Definitely.”
“I mean, the time and effort that would go into doing something like that on your own—never mind the money—is so overwhelming, but it would be perfect for the two of us to do it together. We’d be able to cover for each other and still see double the patients. It is literally the ideal scenario,” Brooke said happily.
It was just the good news she’d needed. Julian’s absences, the snoopy reporters, the horrible article still stung, but something to look forward to helped turn the volume down on everything else.
His phone rang yet again. “Just answer it already,” she said, sounding more irritated than she’d intended.
Julian stared at the caller ID, which read “Leo,” and clicked Talk. “Hey, man, happy Thanksgiving.” He nodded a few times, laughed, and then said, “Sure, okay. Yeah, I’ll check with her, but I’m sure she can make it. Yep. Count us in. Later.”
He turned and faced her with a huge grin. “Guess where we’re going?”
“Where?”
“We, my dear, were invited to the ultra-exclusive Sony VIP holiday lunch and cocktails. Leo said the whole world goes to the party at night in the city, but only their top artists are invited to join all the top record execs at some crazy, trillion-dollar house in the Hamptons during the day. Performances by surprise guests. We’ll travel back and forth by helicopter. Nothing has ever been written about this party before because it’s so secret and so exclusive. And we are going!”
“Wow, that sounds incredible. When is it?” Brooke asked, her mind already cycling through outfit options.
Julian jumped up and headed to the kitchen. “Friday before Christmas. I don’t know what the date is.”
She grabbed his phone and scrolled through to the calendar. “December twentieth? Julian, it’s my last day at Huntley before school closes for the holidays.”
“So?” He pulled a beer from the refrigerator.
“So, that’s our holiday party. At Huntley. They asked me to plan their first-ever healthy menu of fun party foods for the girls. I also promised Kaylie that I’d meet her father and her grandmother. Parents are invited to the party and she’s been very excited about introducing all of us.”
Brooke was proud of her tremendous progress with the girl over the last couple months. By increasing the frequency of their sessions and asking a lot of pointed questions about Whitney Weiss, Brooke was able to determine that Kaylie was flirting with purging, but she was also now certain that she didn’t fit any of the criteria of someone suffering from a full-blown eating disorder. With lots of talking and listening and an abundance of extra attention, Kaylie had put back on a healthful portion of the weight she’d lost so rapidly, and she seemed to have developed more self-confidence to go with it. Probably most important of all, she’d joined the theater club and scored a coveted supporting role in this year’s production of West Side Story. She finally had friends.
Julian rejoined her on the couch and clicked on the television. Noise filled the room.
“Can you turn that down?” she asked, trying to mask the irritation in her voice.
He obliged, but only after giving her a strange look. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive here,” he said, “but can’t you just call in sick? We’re talking helicopters and meeting the head of Sony Music. Don’t you think someone else can figure out the cupcakes?”
At no point in the last five years of marriage could she remember him being so patronizing, so incredibly condescending. What made it worse was the way he was peering at her, oblivious to how obnoxious and self-centered he sounded.
“You know what? I’m positive someone else could ‘figure out the cupcakes,’ as you so asininely put it. What’s my silly, frivolous job compared to the worldwide importance of yours, right? But you’re forgetting one thing. I actually like what I do. I help these girls. I’ve invested a ton of time and energy in Kaylie, and guess what? It’s paying off. She’s happier and healthier than she’s been in a year. She’s not hurting herself anymore or crying every day. I know that can’t compare to a number four Billboard hit in your world, but in mine, it’s pretty freaking great. So no, Julian, I won’t be joining you at your super-fancy VIP holiday party. Because I’ve got my own party to attend.”
She stood up and glared at him, waiting for an apology, an attack, anything but what he was doing: staring blankly at the muted TV, shaking his head in disbelief, a look on his face that seemed to say, I’m married to a lunatic.
“Well, I’m glad we worked that out,” she said quietly as she walked back toward the bedroom.
She waited for him to come in and talk about it, hug her, remind her that they never went to sleep angry, but when she crept back to the living room over an hour later, he was curled up on the couch, under the purple afghan, snoring softly. She turned and went back to bed alone.
11
Knee-Deep in Tequila and Eighteen-Year-Old Girls
JULIAN laughed as the fatter lobster pulled ahead. “One and a half pounds has taken the lead. They’re just about to round the corner, folks,” he said in his best imitation of a sports announcer. “I think I’ve got this one.”
Its rival, a smaller lobster with a shiny black shell and what Brooke would swear were soulful eyes, scuttled forward to close the gap. “Not so fast,” she said.
They were sitting on the kitchen floor, their backs against the island, cheering on their respective competitors. Brooke felt vaguely guilty for trying to race her lobster before tossing him in a pot of boiling water, but they didn’t seem to mind. It was only when Walter nosed one of them and it refused to move another inch that Brooke swooped in and rescued hers from further torture.
