Everyone Worth Knowing (48 page)

would all describe how everyone who was anyone partied in Istanbul,

and no one would even realize that we'd been paid to bring

the party there, complete with handpicked photogs to shoot it and

writers to describe it. It was brilliant, and personified our industry's

motto—STAGE
IT, THEN PAGE
IT—to
perfection.

But then an image of Penelope flashed in my mind and I almost

choked: How could I do this to her again?

"Bette, I took the liberty of asking the association to book you

and Philip into the honeymoon suite. It's the least I could do for

my favorite darling couple!" Kelly announced with obvious pride.

"Philip's going?" I croaked. Ever since Sammy's kiss, my faux

relationship with Philip had felt even weirder.

"Well, of course he's going! Most of this was his idea! I was

telling him about our new client at the BlackBerry event and he offered

his services, said he'd be happy to take a group of his friends

over to party if it would be helpful. He even volunteered his

father's jet, but the association had already planned to use their

own. Bette, you must be so happy!"

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but Kelly had

already moved to the conference-room door. "Okay, kids, we've

got a lot of work to do over the next couple weeks. Elisa, I'm

putting you in charge of liaising with the client and the guests to

confirm and reconfirm all the travel details—make sure everyone

knows where and when they'll be going and what they need. Leo,

you're to focus on keeping in touch with writers and photogs and

their editors; put together a quickie press release and a tip sheet

and get them whatever stock photos of our guests you can

scrounge up. Davide, start putting together folders on the group

you'll be hosting. They're all in the database, of course, so pull

their profiles and get the team their social histories, likes, and dis-

likes as quickly as possible, and then follow up with the Four Seasons

so we can ensure they have the right waters and wines and

snacks personalized in each room. I don't think there are any

major romantic conflicts, but make sure. Aside from the fact that

Camilla used to fuck Oliver, and Oliver is supposedly sleeping with

Monica now, I think it's a fairly nonincestuous group of people,

which should make it easier."

Everyone was furiously taking notes, and the List Girls, who'd

been permitted to sit in the back of the room to watch the meeting,

were staring at us in wonderment.

"Kelly, what should I do?" I called as she turned to leave.

"You? Why, Bette, the only thing you need to worry about is

Philip. He's the key to all of this, so you just concentrate on keeping

him as happy as possible. Anything he wants, get it for him.

Anything he needs, provide it. If Philip's happy, his friends are,

too, and this whole project will be a walk in the park." She winked

just in case any of us weren't exactly certain what she meant and

then skipped back to her desk.

Leo and Skye and Elisa chattered happily and decided to lunch

at Pastis to continue their planning, but I begged off. I couldn't get

a waking-nightmare image out of my head: Philip outstretched on

the balcony of a lavish honeymoon suite wearing only silk boxers

and performing all sorts of yogic contortions while a photographer

snapped pictures from our shared bed and Penelope looked on

from afar.

22

I finally got through to Penelope on Tuesday night. She

seemed far away, both in the physical sense of the distance and in

the time difference, but it went beyond that. She swore that she'd

forgiven me for leaving the night of her going-away party, but it

didn't feel like she'd gotten over it. I still hadn't told her about the

Sammy kiss or the situation with my parents at the Harvest Festival,

or even how Abby was behind the horrible New York Scoop articles.

Three months ago, that would have all been incomprehensible,

and now here I was, about to make it much, much worse.

Possibly irreconcilable.

I'd been working up the nerve to call Penelope for the past

three hours while simultaneously thinking about Sammy, wondering

if he was home, preparing to break up with his girlfriend so he

and I could be together. He always seemed so happy to see me at

Bungalow that I knew he'd do the right thing—which was, of

course, to end things with Isabelle and embark on what would

surely be a long and happy love affair with me.

Finally my fingers followed my brain's command to dial, and before

I could hang up for the thousandth time, Penelope answered.

"Hi! How are you?" I asked, much too enthusiastically. I still

didn't have my exact wording down and was trying to buy as

much time as possible.

"Bette! Hi. What's up?" She sounded equally enthusiastic.

"Not much. The usual, you know." I decided then to pull the

Band-Aid off quickly: one rip instead of long, slow torture. "I've

got something to tell you, Pen—"

She cut me off just as I was formulating my first words. "Bette, be-

fore you say anything, I have something awful to tell you." She took

a deep breath and then said, "I can't spend New Year's Eve with you."

What? How was this happening? Did she somehow already

know about the Turkey situation? Was she so upset that she'd decided

to cancel on me first? She must have interpreted my confused

silence as anger because she rushed on.

"Are you there? Bette, I'm so sorry, I can't even begin to explain

to you how sorry I am. My parents just called to tell us that

they've rented a villa at Las Ventanas for the week between Christmas

and New Year's. I told them I already had plans for New

Year's, but then they said that they'd invited Avery's parents and

brother, too, so we all have to go, and I have no choice. As usual."

This was too good to be true.

"Really? You're going to Mexico instead?" I was asking just to

make sure I had the story straight, but to Penelope I must have

sounded very, very angry.

"Oh, Bette, I'm so, so, so sorry. Of course I'll reimburse you for

the ticket you can't use, and I'll buy you another to come back as

soon as you can. Just please forgive me. If it's any comfort, my

New Year's is going to be an absolute nightmare. . . . " She sounded

so distraught that I wanted to hug her.

"Pen, don't worry about it—"

"Really? You're not mad?"

"If we're all being honest here, I was calling to tell you that I

couldn't come out there over New Year's. Kelly wants to send us

all to Turkey."

"Turkey?"
She sounded confused. "Why Turkey?"

"Work, if you can believe it. We got a new client—some nightclub

owners' association—and they want us to promote the

nightlife in Istanbul. We're basically exporting the party to them

and making sure it gets covered here. They figured New Year's was

the perfect time to start."

She started laughing and said, "So you just made me go

through that whole sob story when you were calling to cancel on

me, anyway? You're such a bitch!"

"Urn, excuse me, you just straight-up told me not to come visit

you, so I don't see where you get off calling me a bitch." We were

both laughing, and I felt like a huge weight had been lifted.

"In all seriousness, though, that sounds so cool," she said. "Are

you going to have time to sightsee while you're there? I've heard

people describe the Hagia Sofia as a transcendent experience. And

the Blue Mosque. The Grand Bazaar. A sightseeing boat ride down

the Bosporus! My God, Bette, it sounds incredible. . . ."

I didn't want to tell her that the only daytime activities I'd seen

on the itinerary so far were hot-stone massages, or that the only

boat ride scheduled was a booze cruise, so I just murmured along

with her and tried to change the subject. "I know, it should be

great. What's going on with you?"

"Oh, not much," she said. "This and that, you know?"

"Penelope! You recently moved across the country, if I recall.

How is it out there? What's going on? Tell me everything!" I lit a

cigarette and pulled Millington onto my lap, all set to hear how

fabulous sun-drenched LA was, but Penelope's tone was clearly

not thrilled.

"Well, so far it's okay," she said carefully.

"You sound miserable. What's going on?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "California's fine. Nice, actually.

Really nice. When you get past the whole wheatgrass smoothie

garbage, it's really not a bad place to live. We've got a great apartment

in Santa Monica, a couple blocks from the beach, and it's fantastic

being so far away from our parents. I don't know, it's

just

"It's just what?"

"Well, I thought Avery would calm down a little when we got

out here, but he immediately hooked up with a whole crew of Horace

Mann kids who moved out here after college. I hardly see him

anymore. Since he doesn't start classes until mid-January, he's got

another whole month of nothing but time to go out all night, every

night."

I didn't say what I was thinking: typical. "Oh, honey, I'm sure

he's just getting used to a new place. Things will slow down once

he starts school."

"I guess. You're right, I'm sure. It's just that, well, he . . ." She

paused. "Never mind."

"Penelope! What were you about to say?"

"You're going to think I'm the most evil person ever."

"Let me remind you, my friend, that you're talking to someone

who's quote-unquote dating a guy for strictly professional

reasons. I don't think I'm exactly in a position to judge anyone

right now."

She sighed. "Well, I checked Avery's Yahoo account the other

night when he was at the Viceroy, and I found a few emails that

are rather unsettling."

"You guys have access to each other's email accounts?" I asked,

horrified.

"Of course not. But his password was hardly difficult to figure

out. I typed in the name of his bong, and voila! Instant access."

"His bong? What did you find?" I certainly didn't think she was

evil for hacking into his account. I tried for months to watch as

Cameron typed in his password, but he was always too fast.

"I know I'm probably overreacting, but there are some very

cute emails to a girl he used to work with in New York."

"Define
cute."

"He went on and on about how she could hold her liquor better

than any other girl he's ever met."

"Wow, he's a real Don Juan, P. The guy could write a book on

seduction."

"Right? I know it sounds ridiculous, but they actually sounded

flirty. He signed them 'xoxo.'"

"Oh, God. Is he gay? He's definitely not gay, is he? What

straight guy on earth does that?"