Last Night at Chateau Marmont (7 page)

“Julian, sweetheart, I know you want a Bloody. Brooke, would you like a mimosa?” Elizabeth Alter asked. It was a simple question but, much like everything the woman asked, it felt like a trap.

“Actually, I’d love a Bloody Mary as well.”

“Of course.” Julian’s mom pursed her lips in some sort of indefinable drink disapproval. To this day, Brooke wasn’t sure whether her mother-in-law’s dislike of her had to do with Julian and the fact that Brooke supported his musical ambitions, or if the woman found Brooke distasteful all on her own.

They were left no choice but to take the two remaining chairs—both straight backed, wooden, and unwelcoming—that sat opposite each other but were wedged between both couches. Feeling vulnerable and awkward, Brooke tried to jumpstart the conversation.

“So, how were your weeks?” she asked the Alters, smiling at Car
men as she accepted a tall, thick Bloody Mary complete with lemon wedge and celery stalk. It was all she could do not to drain the whole thing in one gulp. “Busy as always?”

“Yes, I just cannot even imagine how you both maintain schedules like that!” Cynthia said a bit too loudly. “Brooke’s told me how many, uh, procedures you both do in a day, and well, it’s enough to exhaust anybody! Me, I get a strep outbreak and I’m ready to collapse, but you two! Geez Louise, it must be madness.”

Elizabeth Alter’s face broke into a wide, immensely condescending smile. “Yes, well, we do manage to keep busy. But isn’t that so boring! I’d love to hear what’s going on with the children. Brooke? Julian?”

Cynthia sat back, deflated and properly reprimanded. The poor woman was walking through a minefield she was helpless to navigate. She absentmindedly rubbed her forehead and looked suddenly very tired. “Yes, of course. How are you two doing?”

Brooke knew better than to offer any details about her own job. Although her mother-in-law had been the one to get Brooke the interview at Huntley, she’d done so only after thoroughly satisfying herself that Brooke wouldn’t reconsider a career in magazines, fashion, auction houses, or public relations. If Brooke simply
had
to use that graduate degree in nutrition, she couldn’t understand why she didn’t at least serve in an advisory role to
Vogue
or serve as a private consultant to her legion of Upper East Side friends; anything, really, with a little more glamour than, in her words, “a dingy ER with homeless people and drunks.”

Julian knew enough to step in and save her. “Well, I actually have a little announcement,” he said with a cough.

Suddenly, although Brooke was so excited for Julian she could barely contain it, a wave of panic washed over her. She found herself
praying
he wouldn’t tell them about the showcase, since he’d undoubtedly be disappointed by their reaction and she hated to watch him go through that. No one brought out that protective instinct in
her like Julian’s parents; the mere thought of what they’d say made Brooke want to bundle him up and take him straight home, where he’d be shielded from their meanness and, worse, their indifference.

They all waited a moment while Carmen brought in a new pitcher of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice and then turned their attention back to Julian.

“I, uh, just heard from my new manager, Leo, that Sony wants to showcase me this week. Thursday, actually.”

There was a beat of silence when everyone expected someone else to say something, and Brooke’s father was the first one to speak. “Well, I might not know exactly what showcasing is, but it sure sounds like good news. Congratulations, son!” he said, leaning across Cynthia to clap Julian on the back.

Dr. Alter, looking irritated at the use of “son,” scowled into his coffee before turning to Julian. “Why don’t you explain to we lay people what that means?” he asked.

“Yes, does that mean someone is finally going to hear your music?” Julian’s mother asked, tucking her feet under her like a young girl and smiling at her son. Everyone pointedly ignored the emphasis on “finally”—everyone except Julian, whose face registered the hit, and Brooke, who witnessed it.

After all these years Brooke was certainly accustomed to hearing Julian’s parents say awful things, but she never hated them any less for it. When she and Julian were first dating, he had slowly revealed how fundamentally his parents disapproved of him and of the life he’d chosen. During their engagement, she’d seen their objection to the plain gold band Julian insisted on giving Brooke rather than one of the “Alter family estate pieces” his mother had pushed. Even when Brooke and Julian conceded to marrying at the Alters’ home in the Hamptons, his parents had been horrified at the couple’s insistence that the wedding be small, low-key, and off-season. After they were married and in the years since, when the Alters acted more freely in
front of her, she saw at countless dinners and brunches and holidays just how toxic they could be.

“Well, basically it means that they realize the album is close to being finished and they really like it so far. They’re going to arrange a showcase of industry people, sort of introduce me to them in a private performance, and then gauge the reaction.” Julian, who was usually so modest he wouldn’t even tell Brooke when he’d had a good day at the recording studio, couldn’t help but beam with pride. She wanted to kiss him on the spot.

“I might not know a whole lot about the music industry, but that sounds like a huge vote of confidence on their part,” Brooke’s dad said, holding his glass aloft.

Julian couldn’t contain his smile. “It is,” he said, grinning. “It’s probably the best-case scenario right now. And I’m hoping—”

He stopped as the phone began to ring and Julian’s mother immediately began to look around for a handset. “Oh, where is that damn phone? That must be L’Olivier calling to confirm a time for tomorrow. Hold that thought, dear. If I don’t reserve them now, I’m not going to have flowers for tomorrow night’s party.” And with that, she unfolded herself from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen.

“You know your mother with her flowers,” Dr. Alter said. He sipped his coffee, and it was unclear whether or not he’d even heard Julian’s announcement. “We’re having the Bennetts and the Kamens over for dinner tomorrow and she’s been in a tizzy about the planning. Christ, you’d think the decision between stuffed sole or braised short ribs was a matter of national security. And the flowers! She must have spent half the afternoon with those
fegelas
last weekend, and she’s still wavering. I told her a thousand times: no one cares about the flowers; no one will notice. Everyone throws these lavish weddings and spends tens of thousands of dollars on mountains of orchids or whatever the hell is in fashion these days, and who ever even looks at the damn things? Such a colossal waste, if you ask me. Spend the
money on great food and booze—that’s what people really enjoy.” He took another gulp, looked around the room, and squinted. “Now, what were we talking about?”

Cynthia gracefully stepped in and smoothed over the tense moment. “Well isn’t that just some of the greatest news we’ve heard in ages!” she said with excessive enthusiasm. Brooke’s dad nodded excitedly. “Where exactly will it be held? How many people are invited? Have you decided yet what you’re going to play?” Cynthia peppered him with questions and for once Brooke didn’t find the interrogation irritating. They were all the things Julian’s own parents should have asked but never would, and Julian was clearly delighted to be on the receiving end of such interest.

“It’ll be at a small, really intimate downtown music venue, and my agent said they were inviting about fifty people in the industry—television and radio bookers, music execs, some people from MTV, that sort of thing. Most likely nothing too exciting will come of it, but it’s a good sign that the label is happy with the album.”

“They rarely do these for their debut artists,” Brooke announced with pride. “Julian’s actually being too modest—it’s a very big deal.”

“Well at least
that’s
good news,” his mother announced, taking her seat on the couch again.

Julian’s mouth tightened and his fists clenched by his sides. “Mom, they’ve been supportive with the way the album’s been taking shape for months now. Sure, the senior execs were pushing for more of a guitar focus, but ever since then, they’ve been great. So I don’t know why you have to say it like that.”

Elizabeth Alter looked at her son and appeared momentarily confused. “Oh, sweetheart, I was talking about L’Olivier. It’s good news that they have enough of the calla lilies I was wanting, and the designer I like the most is available to come over and install them. Don’t be so touchy.”

Brooke’s father glanced at her with a look that said,
Who is this
woman?
Brooke shrugged. She, like Julian, had accepted that his parents were never going to change. It was why she stood by him a hundred percent when he rejected their offer to buy the newlyweds an apartment near theirs on the Upper East Side. It was why she chose to work two jobs rather than take the “allowance” they’d once proposed, understanding all the strings that would accompany it.

By the time Carmen announced brunch was ready, Julian had gone completely silent and glazed over—turtled, Brooke always called it—and Cynthia looked rumpled and exhausted in her polyester pantsuit. Even Brooke’s dad, who still valiantly searched for neutral conversation (“Do you believe this brutal winter we’re having this year?” and “You into baseball, William? Yanks seem like an obvious choice, but I know a man’s team isn’t always determined by where he’s from. . . .”) appeared defeated. Under normal circumstances Brooke would have felt responsible for everyone’s misery—after all, they were all only there because of her and Julian, right?—but today she let it all go
. Suffer one, suffer all,
she thought, and excused herself to use the powder room, which she bypassed immediately for the kitchen.

“How’s it going out there, love?” Carmen asked as she spooned apricot jam into a sterling silver bowl.

Brooke held out her empty Bloody Mary glass and paired it with a pleading look.

“That bad?” Carmen laughed and motioned for Brooke to pull the vodka from the freezer as she prepared the tomato juice and Tabasco sauce. “How are your parents holding up? Cynthia seems like a real nice lady.”

“Uh-huh, she’s lovely. They’re grown-ups and they made their own idiotic choice to come visit. It’s Julian I’m worried about.”

“Nothing he hasn’t seen before, love. No one deals with them better.”

Brooke sighed. “I know. But he’s depressed for days afterward.”

Carmen plunged a celery stalk into the thick Bloody Mary and
handed it to Brooke. “Reinforcement,” she announced, and kissed Brooke on the forehead. “Now get back out there and protect your man.”

The actual eating part of brunch wasn’t half as bad as the cocktail hour. Julian’s mother threw a minor hissy fit over the crepe filling (although everyone else loved the chocolate ones Carmen whipped up, Elizabeth thought they were far too fattening for an actual meal), and Dr. Alter disappeared for a spell into his study, but as a result, neither of them insulted their son for more than an hour. Good-byes were blessedly painless, but by the time she and Julian put her father and Cynthia into a cab, she could see Julian was withdrawn and unhappy.

“You okay, baby? My dad and Cynthia were so excited. And I can barely—”

“I don’t feel like talking about it, okay?”

They walked in silence for a couple minutes.

“Hey, we have the whole rest of the day free. Absolutely nothing to do. Want to go to a museum while we’re up here?” Brooke asked, taking his hand and tugging gently on his arm as they walked toward the subway.

“Nah, I don’t think I’m up for the Sunday crowds.”

She thought for a moment. “You’ve been wanting to see that 3-D IMAX movie for a while. I wouldn’t mind going with you,” she lied. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I’m fine, Brooke. I really am,” Julian said quietly, pulling on his wool scarf. She knew he was the one lying now.

“Can I invite Nola to the showcase? It sounds so fabulous, and you know Nola can’t miss any opportunity at fabulousness.”

“I guess, but Leo said it’s going to be really small, and I already invited Trent. He’s only in New York on this rotation another couple weeks and he’s been working like crazy. I thought he could use a night out.”

They talked more about the showcase, and they discussed what he would wear, which songs he would play, and in what order. She was
happy she could draw him out, and by the time they reached their apartment, Julian seemed almost like himself.

“Have I told you how proud I am of you?” Brooke asked when they stepped onto their own elevator, both clearly relieved to be home.

“Yeah,” Julian said with a small smile.

“Well, come inside, baby,” Brooke said, pulling him down the hallway by the hand. “I think it’s about time I showed you.”

“W
HERE
are we?” Brooke grumbled, stepping out of the cab and looking around the dark and deserted side street in West Chelsea. The tall black pull-on boots she’d found at an end-of-season sale kept sliding down her tights.

“Heart of the gallery district, Brooke. Avenue and 1 OAK are right around the corner.”

“I should know what those are, shouldn’t I?”

Nola just shook her head. “Well, at least you look good. Julian’s going to be proud to have such a hot wife tonight.”

Brooke knew her friend was just being kind. It was Nola who, as usual, looked stunning. She’d jammed her suit jacket and her sensible pumps into her oversized LV tote and replaced them with a massive multistrand necklace and a pair of those sky-high Louboutin heels that were somewhere between a bootie and sandal, a style approximately six women on earth could pull off without being mistaken for a professional dominatrix. Things that would look downright trashy on everyone else—scarlet lipstick, flesh-colored fishnets, and the black lace bra that peeked through her sheer tank—on Nola managed to look both edgy and playful. Her pencil skirt, which as one-half of
an expensive suit had been appropriate enough for one of the most conservative work environments on Wall Street, now showed off her toned backside and perfect legs. If Nola had been any other female on earth, Brooke would have hated her mightily.