Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know

by Weisberger, Lauren

  I looked at him and was pleased to see that he cared.

  ‘Not even close. And in the interest of full disclosure, I’ve actually tried to seduce him a few times. There’s always an excuse – too much to drink, a late night with another girl. It’s beyond insulting when you think about it, but what can you do? The amount of time I spend with him has a direct effect on my responsibilities at work. Kelly’s thrilled with the publicity he brings the company, and all I have to do is smile for a few pictures. I never thought I’d be doing this, but we have this fairly bizarre unspoken agreement: I act like his girlfriend and he gives me a huge bump at work. It’s creepy, but in a weird way, it’s totally equal. We’re both getting something we want from it.’ It was a relief to say aloud what I hadn’t yet described to anyone.

  ‘I didn’t hear a word you just said.’

  ‘Great. Thanks for listening. You’re the one who asked, you know.’

  ‘I sort of tuned out after you said you’ve never slept with him. You’re really not dating him?’ he asked, spinning his empty cup in little circles with his thumb.

  ‘Sammy, you’ve seen the way Philip is. He’s not capable of dating anyone. I have absolutely no idea why he’s picked me, and frankly, it’s okay for my ego. But I could never be with someone like that. Even if he does have dynamite abs.’

  ‘Dynamite abs, huh? Better than these?’ And before I knew what was happening, he pulled up his shirt to reveal one tight stomach.

  ‘Damn,’ I breathed, reaching out a hand to pat the ripples. ‘I might have to concede this one to you.’

  ‘Might?’ he asked, letting his shirt drop but taking my hand and pulling me closer. ‘Come here.’

  We kissed for real this time, getting as close to each other as the mini-stools would allow, touching faces and hair and necks while we tried to move even closer.

  ‘It is not done here,’ a small man said, knocking twice on the tabletop. ‘It is not right.’

  We pulled away, embarrassed by the reprimand, and straightened ourselves. Sammy apologized to the man, who merely nodded and moved on, and then turned to look at me.

  ‘Did we just have our first public make-out?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure did.’ I laughed, delighted. ‘And I think that was more than a make-out. It might have even qualified for all-out necking. In the Grand Bazaar of Istanbul, no less.’

  ‘What better place is there?’ he said, stepping aside to let me stand. I started walking ahead of him out of the café, but he pulled on my hand. ‘I’m not kidding around here, Bette. I’m not playing with you.’ He looked at me.

  ‘I’m not either, Sammy.’ I thought I might choke on the words, but his smile allowed me to breathe again.

  ‘I’d like to hug you right now, but I don’t want to get flogged for public indecency.’ Instead, he draped his arm over my shoulders. ‘Let’s just get through the rest of this trip, okay? We’ll sneak away when we can, but we shouldn’t get caught.’

  I nodded, although all I really wanted to do was slip a week’s worth of Valium into Isabelle’s and Philip’s respective beverages and watch them flail for a bit before settling into a nice, peaceful, permanent rest. But no! That wasn’t quite fair. Neither was deserving of actual death. I silently conceded to spare both their lives if they boarded one-way flights for the sub-Saharan African village of their choosing. That would be acceptable.

  It took us over an hour to traverse the five-block stretch of road back to the hotel. We made out, grabbed, touched, and groped in every hidden doorway we could find, utilizing every private or deserted alleyway, foyer, tree, or bench that would shield us from disapproving eyes for a few minutes. By the time the golden yellow exterior of the Four Seasons was visible from the street, I’d managed to establish beyond a reasonable doubt that Sammy wore Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

  ‘You go in first. Do what you have to do to get through the next few days – except touch Philip Weston in any way, shape, or form. I loathe the idea of you sharing a room with him.’ He curled his mouth down in a show of disgust and shivered a bit.

  ‘Oh, yeah, and I’m thrilled with the thought of you crawling into bed next to Isabelle, all the while telling her how gorgeous she looks in her new La Perla.’ The mere thought made me nauseated.

  ‘Go,’ he said, pressing his mouth to mine. ‘I’ll see you at dinner tonight, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, giving him a quick kiss back. And then, despite myself, I stammered, ‘I’ll miss you.’ I grinned at the hotel doorman and literally skipped through the lobby to the elevator, and then from the elevator to my room. I barely even noticed Philip sprawled on the bed, wearing only a towel and a silk eye mask.

  ‘Where were you, love? I’m completely knackered. This hangover’s killing me, and you left me here all alone,’ he whined. ‘Why don’t you put together a cold compress for me? That’d be brilliant.’

  ‘Why don’t you get your own cold compress, Philip?’ I asked merrily. ‘I’m just dropping off this stuff on my way to the spa. Take an Advil or two and be dressed and ready in the lobby by seven forty-five, okay?’ I slammed the door hard to make the loudest possible noise and skipped all the way to the slick marble of the hotel’s Turkish bath. I told the spa receptionist to add a massage, pedicure, and tall glass of mint tea to my scrub-down and slowly undressed in the eucalyptus-scented steam room, thinking of Sammy.

  25

  Since we were a dozen people with nothing to do but drink and hang out, we sat at dinner that first night and played pop-culture trivia. It wasn’t called that, of course, nor was there any mention of actually playing a game – never mind a trivia game – because that would be very uncool, but the way we shot questions back and forth indicated that it was, undeniably, just that. It reminded me of the way Michael and Penelope would fire off Beverly Hills, 90210 questions to each other. ‘Who was the original owner of the Peach Pit After Dark?’ Michael would ask, leaning forward as though he couldn’t be more serious. ‘Um, like everyone doesn’t know that? Rush Sanders, Steve’s dad. Given!’ Penelope would say with an exasperated eye roll. They’d continue for hours (‘What hotel did Dylan live in with his father, Jack?’ ‘What is the name of the character in the inaugural season who accidentally shot himself at his own birthday party?’ ‘True or false: Donna slept with Ray Pruit?’), each intent on proving they knew every scene, every character.

  I could hardly claim intellectual superiority over Elisa and Marlena just because they could name all the members of Madonna’s Kabbalah group, especially when my own best friends could state when, exactly, Mel Silver cheated on Jackie (Kelly’s mom), and I could recall the names of Trista and Ryan’s wedding planner and Angelina Jolie’s adopted Cambodian son on command. That said, I’d never seen a group who appeared so comprehensively bored, indifferent, and uninterested play something with such fervor.

  ‘Oh, like everyone on earth doesn’t know that Marc Anthony had two kids before he married J.Lo. That is, like, the most elementary information possible, but can you tell me the location of the court where he filed for divorce?’ Alessandra practically shouted at Monica.

  She huffed. ‘Puh-lease. You’re joking. If you ever read anything in your life you’d know that he filed in the Dominican Republic to speed things up. What you probably don’t know – because it’s hardly out there for the masses to read in those rags they publish every other day – is the name of the boat George keeps at his Lake Como house.’

  ‘George?’ Oliver asked, as everyone leaned closer.

  ‘Clooney,’ Marlena said. ‘Who else?’

  ‘Ohmigod, I can’t even listen to this anymore,’ Leo whined. ‘You’re all so pathetic.’

  I silently cheered Leo for his good sense, but I was premature.

  ‘You all think any of this is relevant? Name three people Jade Jagger used to date, and tell me which jewelry company she currently works for.’

  Philip sighed and then listlessly clapped Leo on the back. ‘Leo, chap, challenge us. That was s
ingularly the worst question I could ever think of – especially since every single person here was at the grand opening of the Garrard store.’

  It went on like this through the entire meal, and it wasn’t until dessert that we’d begun wondering what a Turkish nightclub would look like.

  ‘Well, I’m sure not covering up any more than this. I know it’s a Muslim country and all that, but I’m dressed as conservatively as my wardrobe will permit,’ Isabelle announced, casting her eyes down to her outfit. Her halter dress looked as though it were made of metal; it left her entire back bare, and part of her ass, although anything truly obscene was covered, and it did actually reach to her knees. In front it dipped down to her belly button, but the material still clung to her perfect breasts just next to the nipples. Upon closer inspection, I decided she must’ve taped it there. Silver, open-toed stiletto sandals and an alligator clutch completed her look.

  ‘Do you think they even have Cristal there?’ Davide asked with urgency. ‘They do have bottle service, don’t they, Bette?’

  I was about to tell him that he would probably survive the night regardless of the presence or lack of magnums of Cristal, but Kamal, who’d been listening quietly with no expression whatsoever, leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Friends, I assure you that you will find everything to your satisfaction. Tonight’s venue will surely please you, as we have arranged it all.’

  ‘So, Kamal, let’s talk girls. What’s the deal with Turkish girls?’ Philip asked. Davide laughed appreciatively and Elisa made a big show of rolling her eyes in my direction. I caught on quickly that this is how girlfriends were supposed to act and rolled mine right back.

  ‘Hypothetically speaking?’ Kamal asked. He thought for a moment and then said, ‘Mr Weston, I think you will find Turkish girls the very same as American or British or anywhere else – some are, shall we say, more willing, while others come from good families and want no part of that.’

  ‘And which ones are we most likely to make the acquaintance of tonight, Kamal? The willing ones or the ice queens?’

  Philip had clearly won Kamal over because he began to grin and play along. He took a giant swig from his tumbler before arranging his features in something approximating a serious expression and saying, ‘The former, Mr Weston. I predict you will encounter more of the former category this evening.’

  Philip grinned right back and held up his hand for a high-five, which Kamal instantly accommodated. ‘That will be acceptable, Mr Avigdor. Thank you.’

  Not surprisingly, no bill ever appeared on the table, and by the time we piled onto the boat – a yacht, maybe, or perhaps a sailboat – that would transport us down the Bosporus to Bella, I was slightly buzzed and somewhat enjoying the night. In an effort to distract myself from watching Isabelle paw Sammy, I’d gone from person to person, persuading them to pose for the photographers for a half-hour upon arrival at the club, followed by another half-hour of on-the-record partying where anything they said or did could be reported by the writers we’d brought along. However, after that, the work would be officially over and everyone could party to any level of debauchery they desired without worrying too much about those pesky COKE AND HOOKERS! headlines. There was still the Turkish media to be wary of, but I didn’t predict they’d pose much of a problem, and Kamal promised to keep them out of the VIP areas. All in all, most everyone seemed satisfied with the arrangement, and the crew appeared almost excited as the boat docked at a red-carpeted pier.

  ‘Are all the men going to stare at us?’ Elisa asked Kamal, her eyes wide with worry.

  ‘Stare at you? Why? Of course, they will notice your beauty, but I don’t think they will make you uncomfortable,’ he said.

  ‘Well, if they’re only used to seeing women wearing burkas, I imagine we’ll stand out,’ she said thoughtfully.

  Sammy shot me a look – one of many that evening, since we’d sat across from each other at dinner – and I managed to stifle a laugh, although not without a snort. She whipped around and glared at me. ‘What? Do you feel like having a bunch of peasants staring at you all night? I didn’t have to fly all this way for that – we could’ve just gone to New Jersey!’

  Kamal kindly ignored her as he helped us off the boat and introduced us to another group of men, all of whom appeared to be good-looking and really, really successful. They were the rest of our clients, and each had between two and four knockout girls hanging on their every word. Much to Elisa’s and Isabelle’s surprise, these girls were not wearing burkas. They weren’t even really wearing bras, if we were going to be technical. The amount of naked female flesh on display was almost blinding, and we hadn’t even made it inside yet.

  One of the new men introduced himself as Nedim and announced, quite grandly, that he owned Bella, the sprawling complex of entertainment that stretched before us. It had its own marina to allow celebrities and visiting VIPs to bypass the whole door situation; guests could merely step off their boats and fall directly onto a banquette, where anything they could even think to desire would be immediately provided. Nedim managed to look like every other club owner I’d ever met: he was the classic chain-smoking, vintage T-shirt and retro sneaker wearing, spiky-haired guy who no one would ever notice if he didn’t drive the requisite red Porsche and comp bottles of champagne.

  ‘Ladies, gentlemen, welcome to Bella,’ he announced, sweeping his arms grandly, ‘the premier nighttime destination in Istanbul. Bella rests, as you can see, on the Bosporus River, right at the dividing point between Europe and Asia, and our clientele certainly reflects that international feel. Come with me, please, and prepare yourself to enjoy all that Bella has to offer.’

  He escorted us to a massive round table perched right on the water inside a roped-off section of the club that screamed ‘VIP.’ Only the flimsiest teak gate separated us from the river, and even that reached only two and a half feet high, a potential drunken disaster if I’ve ever seen one. The view was incredible: both small and large boats cruised slowly across the murky water, passing in front of a beautifully lit mosque with minarets that appeared to reach the sky. The floors were a shiny dark wood, almost black, and the banquettes were satin brocade with strings of gold filigree woven throughout. It was entirely open-air except for a few white canvas sheets that billowed out in the wind and lent the whole place an air of sexy exoticism; the only light came from Turkish-style glass lanterns and hundreds of tea lights in beaded votive holders. Roughly hewn bowls of mini apricots and pistachios rested on every available surface. It was undoubtedly the sexiest place I’d ever been, far more naturally chic than all the cool spots in New York or Los Angeles, but without that signature self-awareness that places seemed to develop when they knew they were hot.

  A fleet of stylish waiters instantly surrounded the table and took our drink orders. Within a half-hour, everyone was pleasantly buzzed, and by the time midnight rolled around, Elisa and Philip were dancing on the tables. They looked pretty comfortable with the grinding groove they had going. It suggested something romantic – and recent. The photographers clicked away, but Nedim and crew kept them so plied with booze and girls and God knows what else that they missed a shot of Marlena straddling a famous Turkish soccer player who also belonged in the VIP area. I managed to separate them before anyone noticed and convince them that they’d be much happier in her room at the Four Seasons, and they didn’t even protest when I escorted them to a waiting Town Car out front and instructed the driver to take them back to the hotel. I’d just hung up with the hotel’s concierge – who assured me he’d whisk them to Marlena’s room and keep out any photogs or reporters – when Sammy appeared at my side.

  ‘Hey, where’ve you been hiding?’ he said, wrapping his arms around me from behind and kissing my neck. ‘I managed to keep track of you all night, and then you were just gone.’

  ‘Hi there,’ I said.

  He glanced around to make sure he didn’t see Isabelle or Philip or anyone with a camera. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said gruffly.
‘They’re all so drunk, they’ll never notice.’ Again he kissed my neck, this time more roughly, and for the first time I had an inkling that Sammy wasn’t just a nice guy. Thankfully.

  ‘I can’t, Sammy. I want to, but I can’t. I’ve got to keep my eye on everyone here – it’s literally my only responsibility.’

  ‘It’s almost two. How much longer can they really keep this up?’

  ‘You of all people know the answer to that. Until daybreak, easily. Maybe we can figure something out later at the hotel, but right now I’ve got to go back in there.’

  He let his arms drop by his sides and sighed loudly. ‘I know this is how it has to be. It just sucks. You go in first, and I’ll come in a couple minutes.’ He started to run his fingers through my hair but abruptly pulled them away at the sound of his name.

  ‘Sammy? Are you out here? Have you seen my boy – my, uh, my assistant?’ Isabelle’s shrill voice echoed over the water. I turned to see her asking one of the uniformed security guards who’d been watching us carefully to make sure no one harassed us.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Sammy muttered, moving away from me. ‘What, she can’t find the bathroom herself? I’ve got to run.’

  ‘Just wait, I’ll handle this,’ I said and squeezed his hand. ‘Isabelle, over here! He’s over here.’

  Isabelle’s head swiveled, and when she saw us, she looked at first relieved and then confused. She ignored me completely while addressing Sammy. ‘I’ve been looking for you forever,’ she whined, obviously forgetting I was standing there, and then dropping the whine when she remembered.

  ‘Sorry to steal him from you, Isabelle. Marlena and the guy she was with were pretty trashed, and Sammy was kind enough to help me put them in a car. We were just on our way back in.’

  This seemed to mollify her, although she still hadn’t acknowledged my presence. She was staring at Sammy, and he was intently focused on his feet.

  ‘Okay, well, I’m going to see how everyone’s doing inside,’ I said cheerily. I made my way to the door, but not before I overheard Isabelle’s voice change from whiny to viciously cold.