Everyone Worth Knowing (15 page)

his pretty face toward her neck again. "Come in when you are

finito."
Something about Davide's accent still didn't sound quite right.

It seemed to meander from French to Italian and back to French

again.

"I'm finished," she sang merrily, tossing her cigarette underneath

a table. "Let's go in, okay?"

We had a table for six tucked in the back corner. Elisa immediately

informed me that marginally cool people obsess about getting

a table in the front of the restaurant, but the truly cool request tables

in the back. Skye, Davide, and Leo comprised the rest of the

group that had worked on the Candace Bushnell book party the

night before, and I was relieved to see that Elisa and Davide were

the only couple. They were all sipping drinks and arguing about

something, looking relaxed in the way that only the truly confident

ever can. And naturally, no one was wearing black. Skye and Elisa

were wearing almost identical short dresses, one in a bright coral

color with gorgeous silver heels and the other in a perfect aquamarine

with matching metallic sandals that tied halfway up her calves.

No matter that it was mid-October and relatively cold at night.

Even the guys looked like they'd been prepped at Armani before

dinner. Davide was still wearing his charcoal gray suit from work.

Although it was significantly snugger than most American men

would wear, it looked fabulous on his tall, built frame. Leo was the

perfect combination of hip and casual in a pair of distressed Paper

Denim jeans, a tight vintage T-shirt that said
VIETNAM: WE WERE WINNING

WHEN
i
LEFT,
and the new orange Pumas for guys. I went to

claim the last remaining seat next to Leo, but he hoisted himself effortlessly

to his feet without so much as a break in his sentence,

kissed both my cheeks, and pulled the chair out for me, and then

one for Penelope, who was obviously trying as hard as I was to act

like this was a usual night out for us. When we'd settled in, Leo

handed us menus and motioned for the waiter to take our drink

orders, although he still hadn't so much as paused in the conversation.

I racked my brain trying to think of some remotely cool drink,

but after years of only drinking with my uncle, it was impossible.

Absolut was popular these days, wasn't it?

"Urn, I'll have an Absolut and grapefruit juice, please," I mumbled

when the waiter looked to me first.

"Really?" Elisa asked, looking at me, wide-eyed. "I don't even

think they serve Absolut here. Why don't we get a few bottles of

wine for the table to start?"

"Oh, sure. That would be great." Strike one.

"Don't feel too bad—I was going to order a beer," Penelope

leaned over and whispered. I laughed like it was the most amusing

thing I'd ever heard.

Davide spoke to the waiter in fourth-grade Italian, supplementing

with hand gestures and at one point kissing his fingertips as

though the mere thought of his order was too delicious to resist.

Elisa and Skye just gazed at him in adoration. He switched to his

faux-accented English for the rest of us monolingual idiots. "I have

ordered three bottles of this Chianti to start, if this is acceptable. In

the meantime, everyone prefer sparkling or flat?"

Elisa turned to me and announced, "Davide is from Sicily."

"Oh, really? How interesting," I said. "Are his parents still there?"

"No, no, he's been here since he was four, but he still has such

affection for his birthplace."

Votes were tallied for the bottled water preference—I wisely resisted

saying that I'd be fine with plain old tap water—and Davide

ordered three of each. By my calculations, we'd already spent just

under $300 and hadn't so much as ordered an appetizer yet.

"Great call on the wine, Davide," Skye announced while

punching her manicured nails into her cell phone's keypad. Texting,

I guessed. "I can vouch for it personally. We've summered in

Tuscany for years and it's the only one I'll touch." She turned her

full attention to her phone, which was ringing, and tucked it back

into her bag after looking with distaste at the caller ID display.

I busied myself examining the menu, wondering if every employee

of Kelly
&
Company was in possession of an enormous

trust fund. I couldn't very well contribute much about the subtleties

of Chianti. My parents' idea of "summering" was driving from

Poughkeepsie to Cayuga Lake in Ithaca, where they'd hold a vegan

barbecue on the porch with locals and drink their licorice tea.

Nothing like blowing your first week's pay on a single meal you

didn't want to have in the first place.

"So how tough was last night?" Davide asked. "I mean, what

are the chances that not a single A-list celebrity showed up?"

"Some of the
Sex and the City
cast were there," Leo pointed out

thoughtfully.

"Urn, excuse me, I don't think Chris Noth and John Corbett

count as A-list!" Skye said. "Did you see Sarah Jessica Parker? No!

Besides, SATC"—she used the abbreviation here—"is
so
over. The

whole thing was a nightmare."

The group had been commissioned by Warner Books to throw

the book party for Candace Bushnell's newest novel, and apparently

it had been a zoo. Since I hadn't worked on it from the beginning,

I'd attended another event that night, a dinner welcoming

the CEO of one of Kelly & Company's new accounts.

Leo sighed. "I know, you're right, of course. It was just so,

so . . . B and T!"

"Yes, it was, wasn't it? I mean, who were all those girls on the

outside patio? They were positively
attacking
the champagne—

you'd think they'd never seen it before. And those two guys with

the Staten Island accents who actually got in a fight? Hideous,"

Skye added.

"Yeah, Penelope, you didn't miss anything," Elisa reassured her,

even though Penelope clearly had no idea what anyone was discussing.

"That's the beauty of book parties, though. The publishers

are usually so out of the loop, they have no clue whether it actually

drew a good crowd or not."

Davide delicately sipped his wine and nodded. "At least we

won't have to endure another "Why the List Makes the Party'

speech from Kelly. I honestly don't think I could listen to it again."

I'd been hearing about "The List" since Monday, but Kelly

hadn't yet taken any time to introduce me to the "most comprehensive

database of everyone worth knowing." She'd set aside the

next day, a Friday, to demonstrate for me the glory that is The List.

I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, not quite able to accept

that Kelly really was the insanely upbeat woman she appeared

to be, but so far she'd maintained her relentless optimism

on full throttle. And even though I don't think Will had given her

much of a choice in hiring me, she seemed genuinely happy to

have me there. I'd invested four full days in studying her intently,

desperate to discover some hideous flaw or irritation, and I still

hadn't managed to uncover a single negative aspect of her personality.

Could it be possible that she really was all-around adorable,

sweet, and successful? The most serious offense I'd found so far

was her tendency toward chipper emails with numerous emoticons.

But she hadn't once used the word
powwow
or placed any

sweaty hands anywhere inside my workspace, so I was more than

content to let it slide.

My phone rang just as everyone began arguing about whether or

not Kelly had already had her eyes done at the ripe old age of thirtyfour,

and although I scrambled to silence it, I realized that this crowd

not only didn't mind if I answered it, they expected as much.

"Bette, hey, how are you?"

It was Michael, and he sounded slightly confused.

"Michael, honey, how are you?" Honey? I'd let it slip without

even realizing it. The table looked on curiously, none more so than

Penelope. "Honey?" I saw her mouth at me questioningly.

"Honey?" Michael laughed on the other end. "What, are you

drunk? I got released early! Tell me where you are and I'll come

meet you."

I laughed ingratiatingly, totally unable to picture Michael, who

was a dead ringer for Jon Cryer, punning in his sweetly dorky way

as Davide waxed on about the villa they'd just rented in Sardinia

for next August. "I'm at dinner with a few colleagues, but we'll be

finished here in an hour or so. Can I call you when I get home?"

"Sure," he said, sounding even more confused. "Call me on my

land line, though, because my cell's out of battery."

"Talk to you then." I clicked the phone shut.

"Was that
our
Michael?" Penelope asked, clearly curious.

"Who was thaaaaaaaat?" Elisa asked, leaning hungrily across

the table. "Love interest? Hot manager from the bank? Unresolved

feelings that can finally be acknowledged because you no longer

work together? Do tell!"

And even though the thought of having sex with Michael was

less appealing than sleeping with my own uncle and Michael was

madly in love with his sweet and adorable girlfriend and Penelope

knew full well that Michael and I had absolutely nothing between

us, I went with it. "Um, something like that," I said, deliberately

looking down while the table's attention focused on me for the

first time all evening. "We're, uh, just figuring things out now."

"Ooh," Elisa squealed. "I just knew it! Make sure Kelly adds him

to The List so he can bring all his gorgeous banker friends to the

events! What fun. Let's have a toast! To Bette and her new boyfriend!"

"Well, he's not exactly my—"

"To Bette!" everyone chorused, raising wineglasses and clinking.

Penelope raised her glass but stared straight ahead. They all sipped.

I gulped and nudged Penelope. Blessedly, everything started to get a

little fuzzy around dessert.

"So I spoke to Amy and she said we're good for Bungalow

tonight," Leo announced, brushing his flawlessly highlighted hair

away from his eyes. So far I'd heard them discuss the best places in

the city to get a facial, the really stylish new men's flip-flops at

John Varvatos, and how annoying it was when their favorite Pilates

instructor started class ten minutes late. And only Leo was gay.

"Bungalow? Is that Bungalow 8?" I asked, my usual filter having

been relaxed by the free-flowing wine.

Conversation slammed to a halt and four perfectly groomed

and/or made-up faces swiveled toward me. It was finally Skye who

summoned the strength to withstand the burden of my question.

"Yes," she said quietly, refusing to make eye contact, clearly

humiliated
for
me. "Amy Sacco owns Bungalow 8 and Lot 61 and is

a
very
good friend of Kelly's. We're all on the list for tonight, which