Last Night at Chateau Marmont (20 page)

She squeezed some shampoo into her palm, changed the water temperature back to tepid, and kissed his cheek. “There you go, baby.” She slid past him again and smiled as he tentatively stepped under the stream. She lathered her hair and watched Julian enjoy the barely warm water.

It was one of the hundreds, maybe thousands of tiny little details they knew about each other, and this knowledge never failed to make Brooke happy. She loved thinking that she was probably the only person on earth who knew that Julian hated submerging himself in very hot water—baths, showers, Jacuzzis, hot springs, he scrupulously avoided them all—but could withstand muggy, humid temperatures without complaint; that he was also a self-proclaimed “hot drink gulper” (put a cup of scorching hot coffee or a bowl of steaming soup in front of him, and Julian could pour the contents down his gullet without so much as a testing sip); that he had an impressive tolerance for pain, as evidenced by the time he’d broken his ankle and hadn’t reacted with more than a quick “Dammit!” but would squeal and squirm like a little girl whenever Brooke tried to pluck an errant eyebrow hair. Even now, as he lathered up, she knew he was grateful to have bar soap instead of a liquid body wash, and that as long as it didn’t smell like lavender or, worse, grapefruit, he would use anything handed to him.

She leaned over to kiss his unshaven cheek and got a spray of water right in the eyes.

“Serves you right,” Julian said, and patted her butt. “That’ll teach you to mess with a number-four artist.”

“What does Mr. Number Four think about a quickie?”

Julian kissed her back but then stepped out of the shower. “I’m not explaining to your father that we’re late for his party because his daughter jumped me in the shower.”

Brooke laughed. “You’re such a wuss.”

Cynthia was already at the restaurant when they arrived, bustling around the private room in a frantic whirlwind of energy and orders. They were at Ponzu, which, according to Cynthia, was the new hippest restaurant in southeastern Pennsylvania. According to Randy, the place used “Asian fusion” to describe their overambitious attempt to tackle sushi and teriyaki dishes from Japan, Vietnamese-inspired spring rolls, a pad thai that few Thai people would recognize, and a
“signature” chicken and broccoli dish that was no different from his cheapie Chinese delivery joint. No one seemed to mind the lack of any actual fusion dishes, so the four of them kept their mouths shut and immediately set to work.

The guys hung two massive, matching foil signs that read, happy 65th! and congratulations on your retirement, while Brooke and Michelle arranged the flowers Cynthia had brought in the glass vases provided by the restaurant, enough for two arrangements per table. They’d only finished the first batch when Michelle said, “Have you thought about what you’re going to do with all that
money
?”

Brooke almost dropped her scissors she was so surprised. She and Michelle had never talked about anything personal before, and a conversation about Julian’s financial potential seemed totally inappropriate.

“Oh, you know, we’ve still got tons of student loans and all sorts of bills to pay. Not as sexy as it seems.” She shrugged.

Michelle switched out a rose for a peony and cocked her head to the side, examining her work. “Come on, Brooke, don’t kid yourself. You two are going to be rolling in it!”

Brooke had no idea what to say to this, so she just laughed awkwardly.

All of her dad and Cynthia’s friends showed up at exactly six and milled around munching passed hors d’oeuvres and sipping wine. By the time Brooke’s father arrived for what he fully knew was his “surprise” party, the crowd appeared appropriately festive. They proved it when Mr. Greene was escorted to the back room by the maître d’ and everyone shouted “Surprise!” and “Congratulations!” and her father cycled through the usual reactions of people pretending to be surprised by their non-surprise surprise parties. He took the glass of red wine that Cynthia handed him and downed it in a determined effort to enjoy the party, although Brooke knew he’d rather have been home preparing himself for Sunday’s preseason game schedule.

Thankfully Cynthia planned to do the toasts during the cocktail
hour; Brooke was a nervous public speaker and didn’t want to spend the entire evening dreading her two minutes. One and a half vodka tonics made it a bit easier, and she was able to deliver her preplanned speech without a hitch. The audience seemed to especially like the story Brooke told about the first time she and Randy visited their father after the divorce and found him in the kitchen one morning, packing his oven with piles of old magazines and paid bills since he didn’t have a ton of storage space and didn’t want the oven to “go to waste.” Randy and Cynthia followed suit, and despite an awkward mention on Cynthia’s part regarding “the instant connection they felt the very first time they met”—which, incidentally, was when Brooke’s father was still married to Brooke’s mother—everything went off without a hitch.

“Hey, everyone, can I have your attention for just one more minute?” Mr. Greene asked, rising from his place in the middle of a long, banquet-style table.

The room grew quiet.

“I want to thank you all so much for coming. I’d especially like to thank my lovely wife for scheduling this party on a Saturday instead of a Sunday—she finally knows the difference between college and professional football—and thanks to all four of my lovely children for being here tonight; you guys make it all worthwhile.”

Everyone clapped. Brooke blushed and Randy rolled his eyes. When she glanced over at Julian, he was busily typing under the table.

“And one last thing. Some of you may already know that we have a rising star in the family. . . .”

This got Julian’s attention.

“Well, I’m just thrilled to announce that Julian’s album will be debuting at number four on the
Billboard
chart next week!” The room cheered and clapped. “Please raise your glass to my son-in-law, Julian Alter, for accomplishing the near-impossible. I know I speak for everyone when I say how incredibly proud we are of you.”

Brooke watched as her dad walked over and embraced her surprised but clearly delighted husband, and she felt a surge of gratitude to her father. It was exactly the sort of thing Julian had waited a lifetime for his own father to say, and if it wasn’t going to come from him, she was happy he’d get to hear it from her family. Julian thanked her dad and quickly took his seat again, and although he was obviously embarrassed to be the center of attention, Brooke could see how pleased he was. She reached over and squeezed his hand and he squeezed it back twice as hard.

The waiters had just begun bringing out the appetizers when Julian leaned over to Brooke and asked if they could go to the restaurant’s main room for a moment to talk privately.

“Is this your way of getting me into the bathroom?” she whispered as she followed Julian. “Can you imagine the scandal? I just hope if we’re caught, it’s Sasha’s mother who catches us. . . .”

Julian led her into the hallway where the restrooms were, and Brooke yanked on his arm. “I really was just kidding,” she said.

“Rook, I just got a call from Leo,” he said, leaning against a bench.

“Oh yeah?”

“He’s out in L.A. now, and I guess he’s been having a bunch of meetings on my behalf.” Julian looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped.

“And? Anything exciting?”

With this, Julian couldn’t contain himself anymore. A huge smile broke out on his face, and although Brooke had an immediate gut feeling that the something exciting was going to be something she didn’t like, she mirrored him and smiled right back.

“What? What is it?” she asked.

“Well, actually . . .” Julian’s voice trailed off and his eyes grew wide. “He said that
Vanity Fair
wants to include me with a group of up-and-coming young artists for the October or November cover. A
cover,
can you believe it?”

Brooke wrapped her arms around his neck.

Julian brushed his lips quickly against her and pulled away first. “And guess what? Annie Leibovitz is shooting it.”

“You’re joking!”

He grinned. “I’m not. It’s going to be me and four other artists. Mixed mediums, I think. Leo thought they’d probably do a musician, a painter, an author, that sort of thing. And guess where they’re going to shoot it? At the Chateau.”

“Of course they are. We’re going to be regulars!” She was already mentally calculating how she could miss the least amount of work and still accompany him. There was also the issue of what to pack. . . .

“Brooke.” Julian’s voice betrayed nothing but his expression was pained.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry to do this to you, but I’ve got to leave right now. Leo booked me on a six o’clock flight out of JFK tomorrow morning, and I still need to get back to New York and grab some things from the studio.”

“You’re leaving
now
?” she sputtered, realizing Julian’s ticket for one was already booked, and although he was doing his best to appear solemn faced, he couldn’t contain his excitement.

Instead, he hugged her and scratched the spot between her shoulders. “I know it sucks, baby. I’m sorry this is so last-minute, and I’m sorry I have to leave in the middle of your dad’s party, but—”

“Before.”

“What?”

“You’re not leaving in the middle of the party, you’re leaving before we even eat.”

He was silent. For a moment she wondered if he was going to tell her the entire thing was a big joke, that he didn’t have to go anywhere.

“How are you getting home?” she finally asked, her voice tinged with resignation.

He pulled her into a hug. “I called a taxi to the train station so no one has to leave. That way you’ll have the car to get back tomorrow. Does that work?”

“Sure.”

“Brooke? I love you, baby. And I’m going to take you out to celebrate everything as soon as I’m back. It’s all good stuff, you know?”

Brooke forced a smile for his sake. “I know it is. And I’m excited for you.”

“I think I’m back on Tuesday, but I’m not totally sure,” he said, kissing her softly on the lips. “Leave all the planning to me, okay? I’d like for us to do something special.”

“I’d like that too.”

“Will you wait for me here?” he asked. “I’m just going to run back in and quickly say good-bye to your dad. I don’t want to draw all sorts of attention to myself. . . .”

“Honestly, I think it’d be better if you just went,” Brooke said, and she could see his relief. “I’ll explain what happened. They’ll understand.”

“Thank you.”

She nodded. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

They walked hand-in-hand together down the stairs and managed to escape to the parking lot without running into any of the party guests or her family. Brooke once again assured Julian that it was better this way, that she would explain everything to her father and Cynthia and thank Randy and Michelle for their hospitality, and that all of it was preferable to making a big good-bye scene where he’d need to explain himself a hundred times over. He tried to look solemn when he kissed her good-bye and whispered his love, but the moment the taxi came into view, he bounded toward it like an excited golden retriever going after a tennis ball. Brooke reminded herself to give him a big smile and a happy wave, but the taxi pulled away before Julian could turn around and wave back. She headed back inside, alone.

She glanced at her watch and wondered if she had time for a run after her last appointment and before going to Nola’s. She committed to making it happen just as she remembered that it was ninety-three degrees outside and only an insane person would run anywhere in that kind of heat.

There was a knock on her door. It was her first session with Kaylie since the new school year had begun, and she was eager to see the girl. Her e-mails had been sounding more and more positive, and Brooke was confident that she was well on her way to adjusting to school. But when the door opened, it was Heather who walked in.

“Hey, what’s up? Thanks again for the coffee this morning.”

“Oh, my pleasure. Listen, I just wanted to let you know that Kaylie won’t be making her appointment today. She’s home with some sort of stomach flu.”

Brooke glanced at the day’s absentee sheet on her desk. “Really? Because she’s not on the list today.”

“Yeah, I know. She was in my office earlier today and she looked horrible, so I sent her to the nurse and the nurse sent her home. I’m sure it’s nothing serious, but I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Heather turned to leave, but Brooke called out, “How did she seem to you? Other than feeling ill.”

Heather appeared to think about this. “You know, it’s hard to say. It was only our first meeting since last year, and she didn’t really open up. I’ve heard some rumblings from the other girls that Kaylie befriended Whitney Weiss, which gives me pause for obvious reasons, but Kaylie didn’t bring it up. I will say that it definitely looks like she lost a significant amount of weight.”

Brooke’s head snapped up. “How much would you say is significant?”