Lauren Weisberger 3-Book Collection: Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren Weisberger

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СКАЧАТЬ went to his office at the paper once or twice a week, less if he could help it.

      ‘Hello, darling. I’m struggling a bit with this week’s column.’ He was quiet for a split second before adding, ‘Lately, it seems I’m struggling a bit with every week’s column.’

      He sounded frustrated and resigned at the same time, two sentiments I wasn’t accustomed to hearing from Will.

      ‘Are you okay, Will? What’s going on there?’ I asked, forcing myself to forget my own problems for just a few seconds.

      He sighed heavily. ‘Nothing interesting, darling, that’s for sure. Readership of “Will of the People” is way down this year. Another few papers dropped it from syndication. My new thirty-one-year-old editor has no sense of humor – keeps telling me that “today’s readers” are more “socially sensitive” and that therefore I should strive to be more “politically correct.” Naturally, I told him to fuck off, but he won’t stay quiet for long. Then again, why would anyone want to read my column when they can read about pretty young party planners gallivanting about with rich, famous pretty boys?’

      I felt like I’d been punched. ‘You saw.’

      ‘Naturally. Am I to assume there was any truth to that tawdry little write-up?’ he asked.

      ‘Of course not!’ I wailed loud enough to cause the cashier to turn and glare at me. ‘I saw Philip at Sanctuary this weekend, when I was there for work. We shared a cab home because it was less complicated. The other girl was his family friend. Childhood family friend. The whole thing could not have been less scandalous.’

      ‘Well, then, it seems this Ellie Insider character is doing her job splendidly. Take comfort in the fact that they didn’t use your name, darling. But don’t think for a minute that it won’t come soon.’

      ‘Do you know who she is, Will? I mean, you must have met her somewhere along the line, don’t you think?’

      I heard Will chuckle and imagined the worst. ‘Well, I’ve certainly heard lots of names bandied about, but there are no solid leads. Some people insist it’s some socialite ratting out all her friends. Others seem to think it’s an unknown with a few well-placed sources. For all we know, it could be that ex–fashion editor – oh, what was her name? The one who keeps busy penning nasty book reviews? I could see her writing trash like this.’

      ‘It’s just creepy. I’m about ready for whomever it is to start focusing on someone else, you know? Someone a little more interesting, who might actually be living a scandalous life? I definitely don’t qualify.’ I bit into a piece of pizza, possibly the most perfect slice in the world.

      ‘I understand, darling, truly I do. But Philip qualifies, don’t forget! I hate to go rushing off, but my column doesn’t seem to want to write itself this week. Talk soon? Will we see you at dinner this Thursday?’

      ‘Of course,’ I said automatically before realizing that I was expected to attend the launch of a new Gucci fragrance that night. I knew I’d have to call back and cancel, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it now. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Talk to you later.’

      I finished my little slice of heaven and ordered a second, which I also knocked off in record time. I was listlessly staring at a tattered copy of the Post someone had left on the table when my phone rang. HOME flashed on the caller ID.

      ‘Hello?’ I answered, wondering whether it was my mother or father – or both, since they often enjoyed the tag-team calling of first one, then the other, then all three of us talking from different extensions.

      ‘Bette, is that you?’ my mother practically shouted. ‘Can you hear me?’ Her voice was, as usual, louder than necessary. She was convinced that cell phones required above-average volume from all involved parties and therefore screamed whenever she called mine.

      ‘I can hear you, Mom. Perfectly. How are you?’

      ‘I can’t really talk since I’m running into a scheduling meeting, but one of the girls at the clinic today said she saw your picture on some website. A picture of you and a famous boy and another girl? Or something to that effect.’

      Impossible! My mother, who had only recently registered for her own email address, was now receiving information about the content of online gossip columns? I was quick to deny it. ‘It was nothing, Mom, just a little photo of me at a work event.’

      ‘Bette, that’s wonderful! Congratulations! I can’t wait to see it. I asked Dad to get online and print it out, but he couldn’t seem to open the page or something. Save us a copy?’

      ‘Of course,’ I said meekly. ‘Will do. But seriously, it’s nothing important, just work stuff. I have to get back to the office, so can I call you later?’

      ‘Sure, dear. Congrats again. Not at the job long, and already you’re making headlines!’

      If only she knew, I thought as I clicked off the phone. Thankfully, there was no chance my father would ever figure out how to register for the free account that New York Scoop offered to readers. As long as no one actually printed it out and showed it to them, I was safe. At least for now.

       12

      ‘I’d like to open tonight’s meeting with a toast to Bette,’ Courtney said, raising her mojito above her head.

      I’d been reading a text message from Kelly politely requesting (read: ordering) that I ‘put in an appearance’ at the Mr and Mrs Smith premiere that was being overseen by Skye and Leo. The movie would end at exactly eleven o’clock, which meant I could stop by the after-party at Duvet and still be home by twelve-thirty and asleep by one A.M. – which would be the earliest night in weeks. I had just concluded my calculations when the sound of my name made me snap to attention.

      ‘Me? What have I done to deserve a toast?’ I asked distractedly.

      The group stared at me as though unable to comprehend my stupidity. Janie spoke first. ‘Excuse me, do you think we live in a vacuum? That our lives cease to exist outside this book club?’

      I just stared, having a fairly good idea where this was headed, but still trying to prevent it from happening.

      Jill mashed some limes with sugar in a bowl before spooning more of the muddled mixture into my drink. ‘Bette, we all read New York Scoop, you know – hell, everyone reads it. And you appear to be the featured story every day. When on earth were you planning to mention that your boyfriend just happens to be Philip Weston?’ She said his name with a slow deliberateness and everyone laughed.

      ‘Whoa, girls, let’s hold on a second here. He is not my boyfriend.’

      ‘Well, that’s not what Ellie Insider seems to think,’ Alex chirped in. Her hair was an unsavory shade of puke green tonight and I marveled at the thought that even the East Village punk crowd was reading that horrific column.

      ‘Yeah, that’s true,’ Vika added thoughtfully. ‘You do seem to be with him quite frequently. And why not? He’s wildly, undeniably, fabulously gorgeous.’

      I thought about that for a moment. He was indeed gorgeous, and every СКАЧАТЬ