‘Here,’ she said, handing me my folder of delivery menus. ‘Dinner’s on me. Let’s order something, and then maybe go get a drink.’
I stared at her as though she’d suggested spontaneously hopping a flight to Bangladesh. ‘A drink? Outside? You’re joking.’ I flipped through the menus disinterestedly. ‘There’s nothing to eat.’
She snatched the folder out of my hands and pulled out a few menus at random. ‘Nothing to eat? There’s Chinese, burgers, sushi, Thai, pizza, Indian, Vietnamese, deli, salad bar, Italian … that’s just these. Pick something, Bette. Pick it now.’
‘Seriously, Pen, whatever’s good for you works for me.’
I watched as she dialed someplace called Nawab and ordered two chicken tikka masalas with basmati rice and two baskets of chapati. She put the phone down and turned to me.
‘Bette, I’m only going to ask you one last time: What do you want to do this weekend?’
I sighed meaningfully and resumed my position on the couch. ‘Pen, I don’t care. It’s not a big birthday. I already have to do the book-club ritual, which is more than enough. I don’t know why you’re so insistent that we need to do something – I’d much rather just forget it’s happening.’
She snorted. ‘Yeah, right. Everyone says they don’t care, and everyone cares a lot. Why don’t I put together a little dinner on Saturday night? You, me, Michael, maybe a few people from UBS? Some of the girls from your book club?’
‘That sounds nice, Pen, it really does, but Will said something about dinner on Saturday. We’re going somewhere good, I can’t remember where. Want to come?’
We chatted until the food came and I managed to haul my larger-by-the-minute butt off the couch to the little kitchen table for chow time. As we spooned the thick, spicy chicken chunks onto plates of rice, I thought about how I was going to miss Penelope. It was a great distraction having her around, and more to the point, things between us were finally back to normal. I watched her as she waved her fork around to punctuate a funny story she was telling, and then I stood up and hugged her.
‘What was that for?’ she asked.
‘I’m just going to miss you, Pen. I’m going to miss you a whole lot.’
33
‘Thanks, everyone. You guys really are the best,’ I said as I hugged each person standing in the circle around me. During our special birthday book-club sessions, we met to eat cake and do a couple of group shots. My birthday cake was white chocolate mousse, and the accompanying shot was an old-school lemon drop, complete with sugar packets and sliced lemons. I was slightly buzzed and feeling good after our mini-celebration, one that had concluded with the presentation of a hundred-dollar Barnes & Noble gift card.
‘Enjoy dinner tonight,’ Vika called after me. ‘Give us a ring if you want to meet up after you leave your uncle’s.’
I nodded and waved and made my way downstairs. I was thinking about how I’d have to start taking people up on offers to go out again. It was only one in the afternoon, and I didn’t have to be at Will’s until eight, so I settled in at a little table on the patio at the Astor Place Starbucks with a vanilla latte and a copy of the Post. Some habits die hard, so, as usual, I flipped to Page Six and was stunned by what I saw: a large piece on Abby, complete with a picture. It said that New York Scoop had just canceled her ‘Ellie Insider’ column and dismissed her for falsifying her résumé. Details were sketchy, but according to an unnamed source, she’d listed herself as a graduate of Emory University when she was, in fact, three credits shy of graduation. She did not actually possess a B.A. I’d dialed Penelope before I’d finished reading the piece.
‘Ohmigod, have you read Page Six today? You must see it. Now.’
While I hadn’t exactly forgotten about Abby, I hadn’t made good on my vow to ruin her life, either. She hadn’t written another word about me since the night of the Playboy party, but I didn’t know if that was because my threats had her worried or because now that I no longer worked at Kelly & Company or dated Philip, I didn’t warrant any mention at all. There was also the possibility that her affair with Avery had ended. Either way, I hadn’t stopped praying for her demise.
‘Happy birthday, Bette!’
‘Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks. But listen, have you seen the Post yet?’
She laughed for a full minute, and I got the distinct feeling I was missing something. ‘My gift to you, Bette. Happy twenty-eighth!’
‘What are you saying? I don’t understand what’s going on. Did you have something to do with this?’ I asked with such hopefulness it was almost humiliating.
‘You might say that,’ she said coyly.
‘Pen! Tell me this instant what happened! This might just be the best day of my life. Explain!’
‘Okay, calm down. It was all very innocent, actually – it just sort of fell into my lap.’
‘What did?’
‘The information that our dear friend Abby is not a college graduate.’
‘And how, exactly, did that happen?’
‘Well, after my ex-fiancé told me he was screwing her—’
‘Correction, Pen. He told you he was screwing someone – I told you he was screwing her,’ I added helpfully.
‘Right. So anyway, after I found out they were screwing, I had the inclination to write her a little letter and tell her what I thought.’
‘What does this have to do with her not graduating?’ I was too eager for the dirt to endure the extraneous details.
‘Bette, I’m getting there! I didn’t want to email her because there’s always the potential that it’ll get forwarded to a million people, but her address in New York is unlisted – she must think she’s some kind of celebrity, and people would just beat down her door to catch a glimpse of the star herself. I called New York Scoop, but they wouldn’t give it out. That’s when it occurred to me to call Emory.’
‘Okay, I’m following so far.’
‘I figured that as a fellow graduate, I’d have no trouble getting her address from them. I called the alumni center and told them I was looking for a classmate, that we’d lost touch but I wanted to invite her to my wedding.’
‘Nice touch,’ I said.
‘Thanks, I thought so. Anyway, they checked their records and told me they had no one under that name. I’ll save you all the gory details, but basically a few more minutes of digging revealed that while darling Abby matriculated with us, she didn’t manage to graduate with our class – or ever.’
‘Jesus. I think I see where this is going, and I could not be more proud right now.’
‘Well, it gets better. I was on the phone with a girl at the registrar’s office. She swore me to secrecy and then told me that the reason Abby withdrew three credits short was because the dean of arts and sciences found out Abby was sleeping with her husband and suggested that she withdraw immediately. We never knew because Abby never told anyone; she just stuck around campus until the rest of us graduated.’
‘Amazing,’ I breathed. ‘And yet not at all surprising.’
‘Yeah, well, it only took a few minutes from there to set up an anonymous Hotmail account, let the good folks at New York Scoop know that their star columnist wasn’t a college graduate, and give them a little clue as to why she’d departed without a degree. I called their offices every day asking for her until I was told yesterday that she was no longer with the paper, at which time I sent a helpful little anonymous tip to Page Six as well.’
‘Ohmigod, Penelope, you evil bitch. I didn’t think you had it in you!’
‘So, as I said before, happy birthday! I found out about it months ago, when I wrote the letter, but I thought if I waited, it would make a fine birthday present. Consider it my gift to you. And myself,’ she added.
We hung up, and I was unabashedly elated, imagining Abby walking the streets, panhandling, or – better yet – wearing a McDonald’s apron. When the phone rang again within seconds, I snapped it open without looking first.
‘What else?’ I said, assum
ing it was Penelope calling back with some forgotten juicy tidbit.
‘Hello?’ I heard a male voice say. ‘Bette?’
Ohmigod, it was Sammy. Sammy! Saaaaaaaammmmmy! I wanted to sing and dance and scream his name to the entire coffee shop.
‘Hiiiii,’ I breathed, barely able to believe that the call I’d waited nearly four months for – the call I’d willed to arrive – was finally happening.
He laughed at my obvious joy. ‘It’s good to hear your voice.’
‘Yours, too,’ I said much too quickly. ‘How have you been?’
‘Good, good. I opened up a place, finally, and—’
‘I know, I’ve been reading all about it. Congratulations! It’s a huge success, and I think that’s just incredible!’ I was dying to know how he’d managed to put it together so quickly, but I wasn’t going to risk anything by asking a thousand annoying questions.
‘Yeah, thanks. So, look, I’m kind of racing around, but I just wanted to call and—’
Oh. He had the tone of someone who’d moved on, most likely had a new girlfriend who had a fulfilling job helping other people … someone who didn’t own a pair of tattered, stained sweatpants but who always lounged around the apartment in the cutest silk pajama sets. Someone who—
‘… and see if you’ll have dinner with me tonight?’
I waited to make sure I’d heard him right, but neither of us ended up saying anything. ‘Dinner?’ I tentatively ventured. ‘Tonight?’
‘You probably have plans, don’t you? I’m sorry to call at the last minute, I just—’
‘No, no plans,’ I shouted before he could change his mind. No chance of playing it cool, either, but suddenly that didn’t seem to matter. I hadn’t missed a brunch or a Thursday dinner since I’d quit Kelly & Company, so Will would just have to understand about tonight. ‘I can totally have dinner.’
I could hear him smiling through the phone. ‘Great. Why don’t I swing by your place around seven? We can have a drink in your neighborhood, and then I’d like to bring you by the restaurant. If that sounds okay …’
‘Okay? That sounds perfect, just perfect,’ I gushed. ‘Seven? I’ll see you then.’ And I snapped my phone shut before I could say one word to fuck it up. Fate. It was absolutely, positively, undeniably fate that had inspired Sammy to call on my birthday: a sign that we were, most definitely, destined to be together forever. I was debating whether or not to tell him that I turned twenty-eight that day when it occurred to me that I was going to see him that night.
My preparations were frenzied. I called Will from the cab on my way home, begging his forgiveness, but he merely laughed and told me that he’d happily take a rain check if it meant I was finally going out with a boy. I raced into the corner nail place for a quickie manicure and pedicure and then threw in a ten-dollar, ten-minute chair massage to try to relax. Penelope took charge of stylist duties and assembled multiple outfit pieces, including three dresses and an intricately beaded tank top, two pairs of shoes, four bags, and her entire stash of jewelry, which had recently been supplemented by her parents in an attempt to cajole her out of mourning. She dropped them off and left, planning to spend the night with Michael and Megu and wait for an update from me. I tried things on and discarded them, frantically straightened the apartment, danced to Pat Benatar’s ‘We Belong’ with Millington in my arms, and, finally, sat demurely on the couch and waited for Sammy’s arrival exactly one hour before he was due.
When Seamus rang my buzzer, I thought I might cease breathing. Sammy arrived at my door a moment later. He had never looked so good. He was wearing some sort of shirt/jacket/no-tie combo that came across as stylish and sophisticated without trying too hard, and I noticed that he’d let his hair grow to that perfect length that wasn’t really short or long – Hugh Grant–ish, if I had to explain it. He smelled both soapy and minty when he leaned forward to kiss my cheek, and had I not been death-gripping the door frame, I would’ve surely collapsed.
‘It’s really great to see you, Bette,’ he said, taking my hand and leading me toward the elevator. I walked effortlessly in my borrowed D&G sandals and felt pretty and feminine in a skirt that skimmed my knees and a summerweight cashmere cardigan that revealed just the right amount of cleavage. It was just like all the Harlequins always said it was: even though it had been months since we’d last seen each other, it felt like not a single day had passed.
‘You, too,’ I managed, content to just gaze at his profile all night.
He led me to a charming neighborhood wine bar three blocks west, where we settled into a back table and immediately began talking. I was delighted to see that he hadn’t really changed at all.
‘Tell me how you’ve been,’ he said, sipping from the glass of Syrah he’d expertly ordered. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘No, no, no way. I’m not the one with the hugely exciting news,’ I said. Well, isn’t that the understatement of the century? I thought. ‘I think I’ve read pretty much every word they’ve written about you, and it all sounds so fantastic!’
‘Yeah, well, I got lucky. Really lucky.’ He coughed and looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘Bette, I, ah, I’ve got something to tell you.’
Oh, Christ. There was no possible way that was a good sign, none whatsoever. I chided myself for my premature enthusiasm, for thinking that the fact that Sammy had called – and on my birthday, no less – meant anything more than he was just being friendly and making good on a promise between old friends. It was those goddamn Harlequins – they were the problem. I vowed to quit those miserable things: because they just made it too easy to maintain totally unreasonable expectations. I mean, Dominick or Enrique never said ‘I’ve got something to tell you’ before asking the woman of their dreams to marry them. Those were clearly the words of a man about to announce that he was in love – just not with me. I didn’t think I could handle even a whiff of bad news.
‘Oh, really?’ I managed to say, folding my arms across my chest in an unconscious attempt to brace myself for the news. ‘What’s that?’
Another strange look crossed his face, and then we were interrupted by the waiter placing the check in front of Sammy. ‘Sorry to rush you out, guys, but we’re closing now for a private party. I’ll take this as soon as you’re ready.’
I wanted to scream. Hearing that Sammy was in love with a swimsuit model cum Mother Teresa was going to be hard enough – did I really have to wait to hear the news? Apparently yes. I waited as Sammy rooted around in his wallet for the exact amount and then waited again while he went to the men’s room. More waiting for a cab outside, and then another wait while Sammy and the cabbie discussed the best route to Sevi. We were finally on our way to his restaurant, but there was another wait when Sammy apologized profusely but proceeded to answer his cell phone. He murmured a bit and made some ‘uh-huh’ noises, and at one point he said yes, but otherwise he was vague, and I knew in the pit of my stomach that he was talking to her. When he finally clicked off his phone, I turned to him, stared him right in the eye, and said, ‘What did you have to tell me before?’
‘I know this is going to sound weird – and I swear I only found out myself a couple days ago – but remember how I told you about those silent investors?’
Hmm. This wasn’t sounding like a declaration of love for another woman – positive development, to be sure.
‘Yeah. They were looking to back the next hot young chef or something, right? You had to pitch some ideas and menus?’
‘Exactly.’ He nodded. ‘Well, the thing is, I sort of have you to thank for this.’
I looked at him adoringly, waiting for him to tell me that I was his inspiration, his encouragement, his muse, but what he said next didn’t really have anything to do with me.
‘I feel weird being the one to tell you, but they insisted it happen this way. The investors who backed me are Will and Simon.’
‘What?’ I whipped around to look at him. ‘My Will and Simon?’
He nodded and
took my hand. ‘You really didn’t know, did you? I thought you may have convinced them somehow, but they insisted you had no idea. I only recently found out, too. I hadn’t even seen them since they came to brunch at Gramercy Tavern months ago.’
I was so stunned I could barely speak, and yet the only information that seemed to process was what I hadn’t heard: so far, Sammy wasn’t telling me he was hopelessly, passionately in love with someone else.
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Say you’re not mad,’ he said, leaning closer to me.
‘Mad? Why would I be mad? I’m so happy for you! I don’t know why Will didn’t tell me. I guess I’ll get the entire story at brunch on Sunday.’
‘Right. He said that, too, actually.’
There wasn’t time for me to process this new development, since the cab reached the Lower East Side in record time. As soon as we pulled up I recognized the tiny awning from the pictures in the paper. Just as Sammy slammed the car door, I noticed a well-dressed couple examining the sign posted outside. They turned to us and with great disappointment said, ‘Looks like they’re closed tonight for some reason,’ before turning to find somewhere else to eat.
I looked at him quizzically, but he just smiled. ‘I have a surprise for you,’ he murmured.
‘A private tour?’ I asked with such hope in my voice that it was almost embarrassing.
He nodded. ‘Yes. I wanted tonight to be extra-special. I closed down so we could be alone. I hope you don’t mind that I’ll have to be in the kitchen for a few minutes,’ he said. ‘I’ve planned a special Sevi menu just for tonight.’
Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know Page 80