Everyone Worth Knowing (38 page)

and continued calling until I finally fell asleep, a little after three in

the morning. It went to voice mail every time.

16

I resumed my calling seven hours later, desperate to explain to

Penelope that it wasn't how it appeared, but no one was answering.

Avery finally picked up the phone a little after noon, sounding

groggy and slightly hung over.

"Hey, Bette, what's up?"

"Hi, Avery. Is Penelope there, please?" I had zero interest in exchanging

any words with him past the required minimum.

There was a rustle and something that sounded suspiciously

like a whisper before Avery said, "Actually, she's at her parents' for

brunch today. Can I leave her a message?"

"Avery, please put her on. I know she's there and I know she's

upset with me and I want to explain everything. It's not really how

it looked." I was pleading.

His voice got lower and more conspiratorial; he was trying to

talk so Penelope couldn't hear. "Hey, Bette? Don't worry about it. I

would've rather been at Caleb's party last night, too. Trust me—if

there was any way I could've gotten out of that miserable dinner

last night, I would've been right there with you. Pen's just overreacting."

Of course Avery would know about the party. I felt ill.

"It wasn't like that, Avery. I wouldn't have rather been—" I realized

I was justifying my actions to the wrong person. "Can you

just put her on?"

There was some more rustling and a muffled call and then

Penelope was saying hello as though she didn't know I was the

one on the other end.

"Hey, Pen. It's me. How are you?"

"Oh, Bette. Hello. I'm fine, how are you?"

The conversation felt distinctly like dozens I'd had with my

overly polite but slightly senile great-grandmother. Clearly, Penelope

was every bit as furious with me as I'd feared.

"Pen, I know you don't want to talk to me right now. I'm sorry

if Avery tricked you into picking up the phone, but I really want to

apologize. It didn't go down last night the way it appeared."

Silence.

"I got a call from work saying that some people from the

BlackBerry account were in town unexpectedly and I had to go

meet them. I'm in charge of their event this week, and there's just

no way I could've refused to stop in and say hello."

"Yes, that's what you said." Her voice was ice-cold.

"Well, that's exactly what happened. I was planning to run over

there for an hour and do my thing and then hopefully make it

back before dessert. I was waiting for the car Elisa said she'd send

when Philip showed up. Apparently Elisa sent him to get me instead

of the car since the BlackBerry people wanted to meet him,

too. I had no idea, Pen, seriously."

There was a pause and then she said, very quietly, "Avery said

everyone saw you at some guy's birthday party downtown. That

doesn't sound like work to me."

I was more than a little creeped out by the "everyone saw you"

comment but rushed on to explain what had actually transpired. "I

know, Pen, I know. Philip told me that Elisa'd told him that we

were going to meet Kelly there."

"Oh. Did the meeting go well?" She sounded like she was

thawing a bit, but this next part wasn't going to do much to help it

along.

"No, I didn't even get to meet them. Apparently, they got tired

and headed back to their hotel after having a drink with Kelly. At

that point, it was one A.M.! I couldn't get back to you. I'm so sorry,

Pen. I left your going-away dinner because I thought I had no

choice, and it all ended up being for no reason whatsoever." It

sucked, but at least it was true.

"Why didn't you come to the Black Door?" she asked. But then

her voice softened. "I knew you wouldn't have left just to go to some

party," she said. "Avery kept insisting that you'd invented that whole

work story because this was going to be the most amazing birthday

party ever, but I didn't really think you'd do that. It just got harder to

believe when I saw you ride off with Philip."

I wanted to strangle Avery with the phone cord, but I was finally

making progress with Penelope and had to concentrate on

that. "You know I'd never do that, Pen. There was nowhere else I

wanted to be last night. And if it's any comfort, it was a horror of

an evening. Absolutely, positively, undeniably
not
fun."

"Well, I'm sure I'll read about it online this week." She said it

lightly and laughed, but I could tell she was still upset. "Speaking

of which, did you see this morning's edition?"

My heart skipped a very small beat. "This morning? It's Sunday!

What are you talking about?"

"Oh, it wasn't nearly as bad as some of the others. Don't

worry," she rushed to say. I knew she intended to make me feel

better, but her statement had the opposite effect. "Avery showed

me a few minutes ago. It just has some snarky comment about

how you were wearing a business suit to a costume party."

It was incredible! Relatively speaking, the installment was totally

innocuous, but for some reason it was even more upsetting

than all the lies and misrepresentations about my nighttime activities:

if I couldn't even make clothing choices without inviting public

commentary, there was not a shred of privacy left.

"Great. That's just great" was about all I could manage to say.

"Well, as evidenced by the fact that I did indeed wear a suit to a

costume party last night, you can see that I wasn't planning on

leaving your dinner."

"I know, Bette. We're past that, okay?"

We were about to hang up when I remembered that I hadn't

invited Penelope to the BlackBerry party.

"Hey, Pen, why don't you come on Tuesday? Bring Avery if

you want, or just come by yourself. It should be fun."

"Really?" she asked, sounding pleased. "Sure, that sounds great.

You and I can finally sit down and catch up. It feels like it's been a

while, doesn't it?"

"I'd love to, Pen. All I want to do is sneak off to some corner

and make fun of everyone we see, but I should tell you now that

I'm not going to have a free second. I'm in charge of the whole

thing, and I just know I'll be racing around, dealing with a hundred

things. I'd love for you to come by, but it won't be the best

night for catching up."

"Oh, right. Of course. I knew that," she said.

"What about right after Thanksgiving?" I asked. "We could have

dinner alone, just the two of us, before you go."

"Uh, sure. Why don't we play it by ear?" I'd lost her again; she

sounded desperate to hang up.

"Okay. Well, uh, I'm sorry again about last night. I'm looking

forward to next week . . ."

"Mmm. Have a good day, Bette. Bye."

"Bye, Pen. Talk to you soon."

17

When you're twenty-seven and the phone rings in the middle

of the night, you're apt to think it's some guy drunk-dialing

an invitation to come over and "hang out" rather than a workrelated

disaster that will surely change your life forever. Not so

the night before the BlackBerry party. When my cell phone blared

at three-thirty in the morning, I was certain I would have to

deal.

"Is this Betty?" an older woman asked as soon as I'd flipped

open the phone.

"Hello? Who is this? This is Bette," I said, still groggy even

though I'd already bolted upright and had a pen in hand.

"Betty, this is Mrs. Carter," the woman's voice said.

"I'm sorry. Could you say your name again, please?"

"Mrs. Carter." Silence. "Jay-Z's mama."

Aha! "Hi, Mrs. Carter." I thought about the way I'd separated

the invites on the party list and how Mrs. Carter was the only person

who was cross-referenced as "Celeb Mother."

"We are just so excited to be hosting your son and his whole

pos—uh, his friends tomorrow. Everyone's just really looking forward

to it!" I said, silently congratulating myself on the feigned sincerity

I heard in my own voice.

"Yes, dear, well, that's why I'm calling. Is this too late? I figured

a big party planner like yourself would definitely still be awake at

midnight. I wasn't wrong, was I, sweetheart?"

"Urn, no, not at all. Of course, I am in New York, so it's three

in the morning here, but please don't worry about a thing. You

could call me anytime. Is something wrong?"
Please no, please no,

please no,
I chanted silently, wondering what else I could add to

the $150,000 paycheck, penthouse suites at the Hotel Gansevoort,

and business-class plane tickets we'd thrown in for the man, his

mom, his superstar girlfriend, and his nine closest friends. When

I'd asked why they needed hotel rooms at all—even I knew Jay-Z

had a palatial New York pad—his mom had laughed and said, "Just

book it."

"Well, dear, my son just called and said he really doesn't see

the need to take a flight that early tomorrow. He was hoping you

could book us all on something later."

"Something later?"

"Yes, you know, a flight that gets in later than the one already—"

"I understand what you mean," I said a little too sharply. "It's

just that the event starts at seven and as of now you're all scheduled

to land at two. If we make it any later, there's a chance you

won't arrive in time."

"Well, I'm sure you'll figure that all out, dear. I've really got to

be getting some rest for our big travel day tomorrow—that LA-to-

New York leg always tuckers me out—but just fax me the confirmation

when it's all fixed. Ta-ta now." And she hung up before I

could say another word.

Ta-ta? Ta-fucking-ta? I threw my cell phone against the wall and

felt absolutely no satisfaction when it made a weak bleating sound,

right before the battery cover popped off and the screen went blank.

Millington had buried her face under my pillow hoping to escape my

wrath. I wondered if it wasn't too late in life to develop a severe and

all-consuming addiction to tranquilizers. Or painkillers. Or both.

Blessedly, the airlines were open all night, and I was dialing American

from my land line before I could damage any more of my belongings.

The operator who answered sounded just as tired and hassled

as I felt, and I braced myself for what would surely be an unpleasant

interaction.

"Hi, I have an annoying question. I made reservations for a

party of twelve to fly from LAX to JFK on your eight A.M. flight and

I was hoping I could change them all to something just slightly

later?"

"Name!" she barked, sounding not just disinterested, which I

expected, but downright hostile. I wondered if she was going to

"accidentally" disconnect me just because she didn't feel like dealing.