Everyone Worth Knowing (32 page)

because I have to, and all of a sudden, my activities are fair game

for public consumption."

"Not yours—
his,"
Will pointed out, absentmindedly fingering

the platinum ring that Simon called a wedding band and Will referred

to as "Simon's security blanket."

"You're right. I just can't seem to extricate myself. He's omnipresent.

And it's such a weird situation."

"How so?" We both smiled when Simon swooshed by in an

angry huff of ivory linen, and Will mouthed the word
snit.

"Well . . . I don't actually like Philip as a person, but—"

"Darling! Don't let that stop you from dating someone! If
liking

the person was a requirement for having sex with them, well then,

we'd all be in trouble."

"See, that's the other thing. I'm not actually sleeping with him.

Or rather, he's not sleeping with me."

Will raised an eyebrow. "I have to admit, that one puzzles me."

"Well, at first it was because I didn't want to. Or at least

that's what I thought. I just thought he was kind of a jerk, and even

though I'm sure of it now, there's something that attracts me to him.

Not in any kind of redeeming-quality way whatsoever, but he's cer-

tainly different from everyone else I know. And he's just not interested."

Will was about to say something but stopped himself just as his

mouth opened. He appeared to regroup for a minute and then

said, "I see. Well, ah, I have to say, I'm not actually surprised."

"Will! Am I that much of a cow?"

"Darling, I have neither the time nor the inclination to spoonfeed

you compliments right now. You know that's precisely not

how I meant it. I just find it unsurprising since it's the men who

talk about sex the most, the ones who make it such a crucial element

of their identities, who actually define themselves by it, are

usually the ones not performing up to par. With most people,

when they're happy with that area of their lives, they're also happy

to keep it private. All of this is by way of saying that I think you

have the best situation possible right now."

"Oh, really? Why's that?"

"Because from what you've mentioned before, it's important

to your boss and colleagues that the Brit stay in the picture,

right?"

"Correct. Your niece is a glorified prostitute, and it's all your

fault."

He ignored that comment. "Well, it seems that it's an easy out,

no? You can continue spending time with him as you—or your

company—see fit, but you don't actually have to, ah, participate in

anything unsavory. You're getting credit for minimal work, darling."

That was an interesting way of looking at it. I wanted to tell

him about Sammy, maybe even ask his advice, but I realized it was

ridiculous to talk about my unrequited crush. Before I could

broach the subject either way, my cell phone rang.

"Philip," I announced, wondering, as usual, whether to answer

it. "He seems to instinctively call at the most inopportune

times."

"Answer it, darling. I'm going to find Simon and soothe his jangled

nerves. That man is a walking basket case, and I'm afraid it's

due in no small part to yours truly." With that, he strolled out.

"Hello?" I said, pretending, as everyone does, that I had no

idea who was calling.

"Please hold for Philip Weston," a hollow voice replied. A moment

later, Philip came on. "Bette! Where are you? The driver said

you're not home, and I can't imagine where else you'd be."

There were a few things to process here, not the least of which

was how I'd just been blatantly accused of having no life outside

of him.

"I'm sorry, who's speaking?" I asked formally.

"Oh, stop banging on like that, Bette. It's Philip. I sent a car to

your flat, but you're not there. Bungalow is blowing up tonight and

I want to see you. Get over here," he commanded.

"While I appreciate the sentiment, I have plans tonight, Philip. I

can't make it," I said for emphasis.

I could hear Eminem in the background and then muffled

words from another male voice.

"Hey, some guy wants me to say hello for him. The fucking

bouncer.
Jesus, Bette, you must patronize this establishment more

than I had originally thought. Man, what's your name?"

If I'd been given the choice at that moment, I would've chosen

death over talking to Sammy through Philip. But before I could

change the subject or ask him to move away so I could hear him

better, Philip said, "Are you listening to my conversation? Sod off,

man."

I cringed.

"Philip, thank you so much for the gorgeous flowers," I blurted

out, trying desperately to divert his attention. "They were the most

beautiful I've ever seen, and I'm so happy you'll be doing the

BlackBerry party."

"What?" More mumbled talking. "The bouncer's called Sammy

and he says he's working with you on a party or something. What's

he talking about, Bette?"

"Yes, that's what I was just saying. The BlackBerry party." I was

screaming into the phone now, trying to be heard over the background

noise. "The one you agreed to do . . . the flowers . . . the

note . . . any recollection?"

"Flowers?" He sounded genuinely confused.

"The ones you sent me just earlier today? Remember?"

"Oh, right on, love. I suppose Marta sent them. She's quite attentive

to the details, sending shit at all the right times. She's my

best girl."

It was my turn to be confused. "Marta?"

"My assistant. She runs my life, makes me look good. Works

well, doesn't it?" I could almost hear him grinning through the

phone.

"So did she tell you that she agreed on your behalf to host this

party?" I kept my voice as steady and measured as was humanly

possible.

"Not for a second, love, but that's all right. If she's keen on it,

then so am I. She'll just tell me where to be and when. What?" he

asked, sounding distracted.

"What?" I asked back.

"Hold on a moment, the bouncer wants to talk to you. He said

it's about work."

This was unacceptable. I'd almost—almost—forgotten that

Sammy had been standing there listening to this entire exchange.

He'd heard the bit about the flowers, and certainly how patronizing

Philip had been during his charming pronouncement that

the bouncer wanted to talk to me. "Wait! Philip, don't just go

and—"

"Hello, Bette?" It was Sammy. I couldn't even speak. "You still

there?"

"I'm here," I said meekly. The flutter feeling described so

vividly in all my books began immediately, and with great forcefulness.

"Hey, listen, I just wanted to—"

I cut him off without thinking and blurted, "I'm sorry he

sounds like such an asshole right now, but he really can't help it,

since that's exactly what he is."

There was a momentary silence and then a deep, appreciative

laugh. "Well, you said it, not me. Although I won't disagree

with you." Again I heard some sort of muffled exchange and

then heard Sammy call out, "I'll keep it right here for you,

man."

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Your boyfr—your, uh, your friend—spotted another, uh, a

friend and went inside to say hello. He just left me with his phone.

Hope he's not too upset if it gets accidentally run over by a cab.

Listen, I really wanted to apologize for this afternoon. I don't know

what got into me, but I had no right to say that stuff to you. We

don't even know each other, and I was totally out of line."

Here it was! My big apology, and he couldn't have sounded

more sincere had he showed up outside my apartment and serenaded

me in the adorable Calvin Klein boxer briefs I just knew he

wore. I wanted to crawl through the phone and into his lap, but I

managed to maintain some semblance of cool.

"Not at all. I'm sorry I snapped at you like that, too. It was just

as much my fault, so please don't worry about a thing."

"Great. So this won't get in the way of our professional relationship,

right? Amy told me today that I'm going to be the primary

liaison for your party, and I didn't want this to affect how well either

of us does our job."

"Uh, right." Our jobs. Of course. "Yes, yes, no problem at all."

I tried to hide my disappointment and obviously didn't do well

because he stammered right back, "Uh, yeah, well, our jobs, and of

course our, uh, our friendship. You know?" I could almost feel him

blushing and wanted nothing more than to stroke his face with my

palm right before wrapping my entire body around his.

"Right. Our friendship." This was getting worse with every

passing second, and I decided that no matter how nice it was to

hear his voice, nothing good could come from continuing the conversation.

"Oh, Bette, I almost forgot to tell you! I spoke to Amy and she

okayed you guys having Bungalow that night. It's in the books and

there's no problem whatsoever. She just has a few requests for

some of her people that she'd like included on the list, but otherwise

you'll control the guest list entirely. She almost never agrees

to that. Perfect, right?"

"Wow!" I said with forced enthusiasm. "That's really great news.

Thanks so much!"

Some girls started giggling in the background, one of them

saying his name a few times, obviously trying to get his attention.

"Well, duty calls. I better get back to work. Good talking to

you, Bette. And thanks for being so understanding about today.

Can I call you tomorrow? To, uh, discuss the other details?"

"Sure, sure, that'd be great," I said quickly, eager to hang up

since Will had just walked back in, and he had ominously placed a

sheet of paper in his lap. "I'll talk to you then. Bye."

"Was that your boyfriend?" Will asked, picking up his drink

again and settling back into the chair.

"No," I sighed, reaching for my own martini. "It most definitely

was not."

"Well, not to rain on this little party here, but you'll have to

read it at some point." He cleared his throat and picked up the

sheet. "By Ellie Insider. She writes a paragraph about her trip to

Los Angeles last week and all the movie stars with whom she partied.

That's followed by a short ditty concerning her immense popularity

with designers, to the point where they all clamor to dress

her for events. We're up next. It's short, but not sweet. 'Since any

friend of Philip Weston's is a friend of ours, we realized we didn't

know much about his new girlfriend, Bette Robinson. We do know

that she's a graduate of Emory University, an ex-employee of UBS

Warburg, and the new darling of Kelly & Company PR, but did you

know that she's also the niece of columnist Will Davis? The oncefavored

arbiter of all things Manhattan has, admittedly, become a