Everyone Worth Knowing (49 page)

"Well, he sure hasn't ever done that with me. It just creeped me

out. I casually asked him last night when he got home at three in

the morning if he still keeps in touch with anyone from work, and

he said no just before he passed out. Am I overreacting? This

morning he was so sweet and offered to take me shopping, spend

the day together. . . ."

I didn't quite know what to say. The wedding was still more than

eight months away, and it sounded like Penelope might—just

might—realize before it was too late that Avery was a supreme jackass

and not worth her entire married future. I'd happily fan the fire

whenever possible, but she'd have to come to that conclusion herself.

"Well," I said slowly, picking my words with the utmost care.

"It's normal for every relationship to have its ups and downs, right?

That's why people get engaged first. It's just that. An engagement.

If you discover something about him that you don't think you can

live with forever, well, you're not married, and—"

"Bette, that's not what I'm saying," she said sharply. Oops. "I

love Avery, and of course I'm marrying him. I was just talking to

my best friend about what I'm sure is a ridiculous, unfounded,

paranoid suspicion. It's clearly my own issue, not Avery's. I just

need to be more confident in his feelings for me, that's all."

"Sure, sure, Pen. I totally understand. I didn't mean to imply

otherwise. And of course I'm always here for you, just to listen. I'm

sorry I said that."

"Whatever, I'm just emotional right now. A little homesick.

Look, thanks for listening. I'm sorry about all this stuff. How's

everything with you? Philip? Is he good?"

How had things gotten so out of control that my best friend not

only asked about Philip but also had no idea that Sammy even existed?

It was unfathomable to think I could kiss someone like

Sammy and not have Penelope know about it within thirty seconds

when we were working together all day and hanging out at the

Black Door at night, but it'd been forever since we'd done that. Or

at least it felt like forever.

"It's complicated. Everyone thinks we're dating—even him,

probably—but we're really not," I said, knowing full well that I

was making no sense but not having the energy to explain everything.

"Well, it's probably not my place, but I'm not sure he's right for

you, Bette."

I wondered what she'd say if she knew what my mom had told

me about the Westons.

I sighed. "I know that, Pen. I'm just overwhelmed right now,

you know?"

"Not really," she said. "You haven't exactly explained it."

"It's just that this job has sort of infiltrated the rest of my life.

My boss isn't so great at making distinctions between what happens

in the office and what goes on everywhere else, so there's a

lot of overlap. Does that make sense?"

"No. What does your boss have to do with your personal life?"

"It's not just that. Will got me this job and expects me to do

well. He called in a huge favor for it. And I am doing well, I think,

whatever that means. But the whole Philip thing is sort of tied in."

I knew I was being positively nonsensical, that I could be speaking

an African clicking language for all the clarity I was providing

Penelope or myself, but I just didn't have the energy.

"All right," she said hesitantly. "I have no idea what you're saying,

but I'm always around, you know? I'm only a phone call

away."

"I know, honey, and I appreciate that."

"Again, I'm so sorry about New Year's, but I'm glad you'll be

doing something so much more fabulous. I'll read about it in all

the papers. . . ."

"That reminds me! I haven't told you. . . . How could I have

forgotten this? You know how New York Scoop has been writing

all those nasty things about me?"

"Yeah, they've been hard to miss lately."

"Well, any idea who's writing them?"

"Of course. It's some stupid pseudonym, right? Ellie something?"

"Yeah, and you know who that is?"

"No, should I?"

"That, my dear Pen, is Abby. Vortex. That whore has been following

me around and printing all that stuff under a fake name."

I heard a sharp intake of breath. "Abby is behind all that? Are you

sure? What are you going to do about it? You need to shut her down."

I snorted. "You're telling me! Kelly told me weeks ago, but I

was sworn to secrecy! I've been obsessing over it, but we're always

so rushed and I forgot to tell you. Isn't it crazy? I never thought she

hated me
that
much."

"It
is
weird. I know she's not your biggest fan—or mine, for

that matter—but this seems excessively mean, even for her."

"All I want to do is confront her, and I can't. It's incredibly aggravating."

I glanced at the clock on the cable box and jumped off

the couch. "Ohmigod, Pen, it's already eight. I hate to run—I'm

hosting the holiday book club tonight and I have to get everything

set up."

"I don't know why, but I love that you still read that stuff. You

are such a romantic, Bette."

I thought of Sammy and almost said something but decided to

skip it at the last second.

"Yeah, you know me, always hopeful," I said lightly.

I felt slightly better when we hung up. I should've spent the

evening Googling and reading about the people we'd be taking

with us to Turkey, but I couldn't bear to cancel book club if it

wasn't absolutely necessary. It took me a full hour to arrange the

apartment for the girls, but when the intercom buzzer first rang, I

knew it would be worth it.

"I've decided to honor tonight's Latin theme," I announced after

everyone had settled in. We were reading
Bought by Her Latin

Lover,
and the cover featured a tall man in black tie (presumably

the Latin lover) embracing an elegant woman in an evening dress

on the deck of what looked like a yacht. "We have here one

pitcher of sangria, and another of margaritas."

They clapped and cheered and poured.

"In addition, I have chicken quesadillas, mini burritos, and

some killer chips and guac dip. And for dessert, Magnolia cupcakes."

"What do pink-frosted cupcakes have to do with our Latin

theme?" Courtney asked, plucking one off the serving tray.

"That was, admittedly, random—I can't think of a Spanish

dessert I'd prefer to a Magnolia cupcake," I said. Just then Millington

gave a little bark from her hiding spot in the corner. "Baby,

come here. Come here, good girl," I called. She obliged and

strolled over, giving everyone a view of the tiny sombrero she

wore for the occasion.

"You didn't." Jill laughed, scooping Millington up and admiring

her hat.

"Oh, I did. Got it at that baby-costume store in midtown. See, it

comes with a chinstrap so it stays on. How great is that?"

Janie helped herself to another quesadilla and absently

scratched Millington. "Bette, to think you went from a hesitant

early member who refused to host to the Martha Stewart of the

club. . . . Well, I just have to say, it's very impressive."

I laughed. "I guess my job is seeping into other areas of my

life, huh? I can pull together an event in my sleep at this point."

We ate and drank first, working up a decent sangria buzz so we'd

be able to discuss with complete frankness how much we'd loved

the night's selection. By the time Vika pulled her well-worn copy

from her messenger bag, we were fairly far gone.

"I'll read the summary from the website," she announced, unfolding

a printout. "Everyone ready?"

We all nodded.

"Okay, here goes. 'Spanish millionaire Cesar Montarez wants

Rosalind the moment he sees her; this electrifying attraction is like

nothing he's ever felt before. But Cesar has little respect for

money-hungry women—mistresses or trophy wives. Rosalind is determined

she'll never be either, until Cesar discovers that she has

secret debts. Now he can
buy
her as his
mistress . . .
and Rosalind

has little choice but to pay his price. . . .' Wow. Certainly sounds

hot. Thoughts?"

"It's just so romantic when he spots her at that seaside restaurant.

He just
knows
she's the one. Why aren't normal guys like

that?" Courtney asked.

I'm sure Sammy is like that,
I thought, my mind drifting.

We all weighed in on our favorite characters, plot twists, and

sex scenes, which inevitably led to conversation about our own

lives—work stories and a few family complaints, but mostly men.

It was almost midnight when the buzzer rang from the lobby.

"Yes?" I asked, pressing the button on the intercom.

"I have a Philip Weston here to see you, Bette. Should I send

him up?"

"Philip? He's here? Right now?" I didn't realize I'd said that out

loud until Seamus sang back, "Sure is, Bette."

"I have company," I said, panicked. "Can you ask Philip to call

when he gets home?"

"Bette, love, ring me up. My mate here—what's your name?

Seamus? Good bloke! We're sharin' a pint and talking about what a

good girl you are. Now be a good girl and ring me up."

I glanced down at my ripped jeans and tattered T-shirt and

wondered what on earth Philip could want at midnight. It would

be obvious with a normal guy, but Philip had never drunk-dialed—

never mind drunk-visited—and I actually felt queasy.

"What the hell." I sighed. "Come on up."

"Ohmigod, Philip Weston is here? Right now?" Janie asked,

sounding breathless. "But we all look like hell.
You
look like hell."

She was right, of course, but there wasn't time to do anything

about it.

"Bette, don't think you're getting off this easy. We'll leave, but

you better be prepared to explain yourself at the next meeting,"

Vika warned.

Courtney nodded. "You've been denying that the New York

Scoop columns are true, but now Philip Weston shows up at your

apartment in the middle of the night? We deserve every juicy detail!"

There was a knock, followed by a dull thud in the hallway. I

opened the door, and Philip reeled inside.

"Bette, love, I'm a tad pissed," he slurred, slumping against the

wall.

"Yes, I can see that. Come on in," I said, half dragging, half

supporting him as he shuffled in, and the girls parted down the

middle to clear a path.

"Philip Weston," Janie breathed.

"The one and only." He grinned and scanned the room before

flopping backward onto the couch. "Dollface, where did all these

smashing girls come from?"

Courtney stared at him for a full ten seconds before turning to

me and saying, quite pointedly, "Bette, we're going to clear out for

now. Everyone, let's go and leave Bette and Philip to, uh, to themselves.