Everyone Worth Knowing (60 page)

As usual, any previous command I had of the English language

had vanished.

"My patience?" I repeated.

"Bette, I want to make this work—more than anything—but I

need you to be patient with me. I got a phone call this morning

that blew me away."

"What kind of phone call?" I asked. This was
definitely
not

good news.

"From a lawyer. Some partner at a huge firm in midtown. He

said he represented some investors who might be interested in

backing a new restaurant. Apparently, they have a stake in a bunch

of different businesses, but no restaurants right now. They're looking

to get behind a hot new chef—his words, not mine—and

they're considering a few different options. He asked if it sounded

appealing to me."

Well, I don't know what I was expecting, but this wasn't it.

Luckily, I remembered that I was expected to react. "Congratulations!"

I said automatically. "That's just great news, don't you

think?"

He looked relieved. "I do—of course I do. It's just that if I want

to pursue this, I'm going to be crazy busy. They want me to write

up a pitch covering all my ideas on possible spaces, themes, decor,

even preferred prep and sous and pastry chefs. I'd have to give

them all that—and three entirely different menu proposals—in the

next month."

I finally understood the "patient" part.

He continued, "I barely have any time as it is with work and

class, but this is going to take every possible free second I can

find. The good news is that it'll allow me to put the brakes on the

whole Isabelle situation, which is a huge relief, but I'm going to be

busier than ever. I wouldn't ever ask you to wait for me, but, well,

if there's any way you could understand that—"

"Don't say another word," I said, leaning in toward him across

the table. "I understand completely, and I couldn't be happier for

you." I forced myself to say what I knew was right, and when I

was rehashing the conversation later on, back in my own apartment

with Millington on my lap, I congratulated myself on getting

the words out. It wasn't what I'd hoped to hear, that much was

sure, but like every single heroine I'd ever read about, I would

fight for what I wanted.

I managed to smile at Sammy even though he looked genuinely

distraught. "You'll be great," I said. We held hands across

the table, and I squeezed his as I said this. We finished our drinks

and I held back the tears until he put me in a cab. This was just

another small obstacle to overcome, and I was willing to do it.

Anything worth having was worth working for, and Sammy was

worth having. If patience was what it took, then patience was what

I had. Sammy and I were clearly meant to be together.

28

"Okay, everyone, this is it. Quiet down now, and let's get

started!" Kelly had just inhaled her fourth Diet Coke and ordered

her fifth as we settled in for our final meeting before the
Playboy

party. We were at a secluded sectioned-off table at Balthazar,

Kelly's favorite lunch place and her preferred venue for working

meetings before big events. The food had just arrived; Kelly

pushed aside her Nicoise salad and stood up from the table, shaking

slightly with caffeine nerves.

"As you all know, tomorrow is D-day. We'll run through the

checklist together, but this is a mere formality. Why, you may ask, is

this a mere formality? Because everything—
everything
—will be executed

without a hitch. If there is
ever
a time for perfection, it's tomorrow

night. And just in case there's any doubt in anyone's mind, it

will be fucking
perfect,
because I won't have it any other way."

We were all nodding, accustomed to Kelly's pre-event pep rallies,

when there was a slight commotion at the door. Our table

turned to look, along with everyone else in the restaurant. Leo

spoke first.

"Ashlee and Jessica Simpson with"—he strained his neck to assess

the accompanying group—"that kid, what's his name? The one

Ashlee was dating on and off? Ryan something? And the girls' father."

"Who's on it?" Kelly barked.

"Got it," Elisa snapped back.

She pulled her cell phone from her massive peacock blue Marc

Jacobs Stella bag and began scrolling through numbers. She found

the one she was looking for and pressed Send. Ten seconds later

she was talking rapidly as we all listened.

"Hi, this is Elisa from Kelly & Company. Yeah, exactly. Anyway,

1 just got word that the girls are in town, and we would love to

host them at our
Playboy
party tomorrow." It was assumed that the

person on the other line knew all about the party. After all, who

didn't?

Elisa smiled and gave Kelly a knowing look while pointing at

her phone. "Yes, of course. No, I understand entirely. We'll be willing

to provide a completely private fifteen-minute arrival window

so they won't share the carpet with anyone else, and naturally

they'll be escorted to their own table in the VIP section."

She paused to listen and then said, "The girls will have a personal

concierge all night, so anything they need can be arranged

immediately. I can guarantee they'll be subjected to absolutely no

interviews; however, if they'd be so kind as to pose for a few select

photographers, it would be our pleasure to cover the cost of

their hotel suites, hair and makeup, transportation, and, if required,

wardrobe selection."

Another pause, and then a frown. "Yes, of course they'll both

be there. Mm-hmm, I'd be happy to set that up for you." Her excitement

had subsided and she was now clearly faking it. "Great!

I'll be in touch first thing tomorrow morning so we can arrange all

the details. I so look forward to seeing them tomorrow night. Fabulous!

Ciao!"

"Well done!" Kelly said as our group broke into light applause,

reminding me again that Kelly was, as far as bosses go, pretty

great. "What was their final request that you said we could accommodate?"

Elisa gritted her teeth. "Oh, the publicist mentioned how both

girls have crushes on Philip Weston. She wanted to know if he

would come over and meet them."

Kelly screeched. "Of course! Too easy! Bette, you and Philip

will greet those girls the moment they walk in and show them to

their seats. Tell Philip to flirt, flirt, flirt. Elisa, have Bette call and

follow up with the publicist tomorrow, okay? Speaking of which,

Bette, how are we doing with your end?"

I could feel Elisa staring at me, and I sensed the look wasn't

filled with love. "Uh, everything seems to be in order." My focus

was the midnight surprise. I'd been working on it nonstop for the

past month, ironing out every minute detail, and I was finally confident

it was going to be spectacular. Kelly had approved my plan

but insisted it stay between us, since she didn't want to risk anything

being leaked to the press. As a result, no one but the two of

us and Hef himself had any idea what was happening at midnight.

"The midnight show is a go—I expect everything will run smoothly

there."

Elisa yawned loudly.

I continued. "I've credentialed all the press with passes that are

impossible to copy, alter, or fake, and each will be sent by messenger

to its recipient exactly one hour before start time. Here are

copies of the press grid"—I paused here to pull out a stack of papers

and pass them around the table—"with every reporter and

photographer who will be in attendance; what, if anything specific,

they're most interested in covering; who they tend to feature the

most; the people and places each will or will not be able to access;

and, of course, their drink preferences."

Kelly nodded and studied the sheet. "Are escorts listed on

here?"

"Certainly. Everyone from the office will take turns, according

to my schedule, escorting various members of the press to ensure

they're exposed to the people we'd like them to meet."

"I had a final meeting yesterday with the production company

we're using, and I'm comfortable with how that side is shaping

up," Elisa interjected. "Their plans for bar layout, bartenders, lighting,

risers, music, decorations, and catering all seem to mesh with

our instructions and the client's preferences."

Kelly pushed the lettuce around on her plate and then changed

her mind, choosing to sip her chardonnay instead. "Okay, that's

good," she murmured. "But back to this press situation for a

minute. Bette, did you touch base with all the photo editors to let

them know they have our full cooperation with anything they

might need?"

"I did. I had a couple of the interns call them at the beginning

of the week, and they reached everyone by Wednesday. All in all, I

think we're in great shape."

The lunch meeting continued like this for another hour before

Kelly gave us the rest of the afternoon off to go home, attend

grooming appointments, try to relax, and mentally prepare ourselves

for the following evening. I'd already planned to stay in that

night—with Millington and a huge bowl of extra-buttered microwave

popcorn—and watch bad movie after bad movie on TNT,

so I was ecstatic to hear that I had the afternoon off, too. Of

course, the extra time would mean even more opportunity to think

about Sammy. It hadn't been too much of a problem the past couple

of weeks because I'd been swamped with prep work, but I

shuddered to think of how much I could obsess if given a little

free time.

Kelly paid the check and everyone was saying good-bye when

Elisa pulled me aside.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked.

"Sure, what's going on?"

"Look, I know that things have gotten a little weird between us,

but I really think we should do our best to work together tomorrow

night. Neither of us wants to spend the whole night
working,

so we need to figure out a system where only one of us is on and

the other can relax. And then switch. You know?"

I was surprised to hear her acknowledge that there was tension

between us, but I was glad she no longer seemed so annoyed.

"Sure, sounds good. I can't imagine there's going to be much time

tomorrow to do anything besides
deal,
but we can try, you know?"

This was apparently all she needed to hear. "Great. That

sounds great. See you tomorrow, Bette!"

I watched as she tightened her fringed scarf around her emaciated

neck and ducked into the cold street.
Strange girl,
I thought,

watching her hail a cab. I waited until her taxi had pulled away before

heading outside myself. I had all afternoon to myself for the

first time in recent memory, and I didn't want to waste a single second

of it.