Last Night at Chateau Marmont
Page 101
Her mother-in-law peered into her compact and patted an invisible blemish on her chin. “I find it simply astounding that more than half of all marriages will fail, yet every single couple who walks down that aisle thinks it won’t happen to them.”
“Mmm,” Brooke murmured. “How lovely to be discussing divorce rates at a wedding ceremony.”
It was probably the rudest thing she’d ever uttered to her mother-in-law, but the woman didn’t even flinch. Dr. Alter glanced up from his BlackBerry, where he was checking stock prices, but when he saw his wife didn’t react, he went back to staring at his screen.
Thankfully, the music started and a general hush fell over the room. Trent and his parents entered the tent first, and Brooke smiled when she saw how genuinely happy—and not the least bit nervous—he looked. One by one the bridesmaids and groomsmen and flower girls followed, and then it was Fern’s turn, flanked on both sides by her parents, beaming in exactly the way brides do. The ceremony was a seamless blending of Jewish and Christian traditions, and despite herself, it was a pleasure to watch Fern and Trent gaze at each other with that knowing look.
It wasn’t until the rabbi began explaining the chuppah to the audience, how this covering signified the new home the couple would make together, how it would shield and protect them from the outside world and yet was open on four sides to welcome in friends and family, that Brooke teared up. It had been her favorite part of her own wedding ceremony, and it was the moment in each wedding she and Julian had attended where they clasped hands and gave each other the same knowing look Trent and Fern were now sharing. Now not only was she there alone, but it was impossible not to acknowledge the obvious: it had been a long time since their apartment felt like a home, and she and Julian might be on their way to becoming one of her mother-in-law’s statistics.
At the reception one of Fern’s girlfriends leaned over and whispered something to her husband, prompting the husband to give her a Really? look. The girl nodded and Brooke wondered what they were talking about until the husband materialized next to her chair, held out his arm, and asked Brooke if she’d like to dance. The pity dance. She knew it well, was often guilty of nudging Julian to ask solo women at weddings for a dance, thinking she was doing a good deed. Well, now that she knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of such charity, she swore she’d never do it again. She thanked the husband profusely but begged off, claiming something about needing to find some Advil and could see his relief. This time when she headed for her favorite hallway bathroom, she wasn’t sure she could make herself come back out.
She checked her watch. Nine forty-five. She promised herself that if the Alters didn’t leave by eleven, she’d call a cab. She slipped back into the hallway, which was drafty and thankfully deserted. A quick check of her phone revealed no new messages or texts, even though Julian should have been home by then. She wondered what he was doing, if he had already gotten Walter from the dog walker and they were curled together on the couch. Or maybe he’d gone directly to the studio. She didn’t want to go back into the reception yet, so she paced for a bit, first checking Facebook and then looking up the number of a local cab company, just in case. Fresh out of excuses and distractions, Brooke slipped her phone into her clutch, hugged her bare arms against her chest, and headed toward the music.
She felt a palm close over her shoulder, and she knew before she turned around, before he could utter a word, that it belonged to Julian.
“Rook?” His voice was questioning, uncertain. He wasn’t sure how she was going to react.
She didn’t turn around immediately—she was almost nervous she was wrong, that it wasn’t him—but when she did, the onslaught of emotions hit her like a truck. There he was, standing right in front of her, wearing his only suit and smiling at her shyly, nervously, with a look that seemed to say Please hug me. And despite everything that had happened, and all the distance between them these last couple weeks, it was all Brooke wanted to do. There was no denying it: she was reflexively, instinctively ecstatic to see him.
After she collapsed into his arms, she couldn’t speak for almost thirty seconds. He felt warm and smelled right and hugged her so tightly she started to cry.
“I hope those are tears of joy?”
She wiped them away, aware her mascara was running but not caring in the least. “Joy, relief, and about a million other things,” she said.
When they finally pulled apart, she noticed he was wearing Converse sneakers with his suit.
He followed her gaze down to his shoes. “I forgot to pack dress shoes,” he said with a little shrug. He pointed to his head, which was cap-free. “And my hair’s kind of a disaster.”
Brooke leaned in and kissed him again. It felt so good, so normal! She wanted to be angry, but she was just so damn happy to see him. “Oh, no one cares. They’re just going to be happy you’re here.”
“Come with me. Let’s find Trent and Fern. Then you and I can talk.”
Something about the way he said this calmed her. He was there, he was taking charge, and she was just so happy to follow his lead. He led her down the hallway, where a few wedding-goers did double-takes—Isaac and his girlfriend among them, she was pleased to see—and then straight out to the tent. The band was on break as everyone ate dessert, so there was no way they were going to slip in unnoticed. When they entered, the change in the room was palpable. People stared, whispered to each other, and a young girl of maybe ten or eleven actually pointed toward Julian and shouted his name to her mother. Brooke heard her mother-in-law before she saw her.
“Julian!” Elizabeth hissed, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. “What are you wearing?”
Brooke shook her head. That woman never failed to amaze her.
“Hi, Mom. Where’s—”
Dr. Alter was only a second behind her. “Julian, where the hell have you been? Missing your own cousin’s rehearsal dinner, leaving your poor wife alone all weekend, and now showing up looking like that? What’s gotten into you?”
Brooke braced herself for conflict, but Julian just said, “It’s great to see you, Mom, Dad. But you’ll have to excuse me.”
Julian whisked her over to Trent and Fern. They were busy making their rounds at all the tables, and Brooke could feel hundreds of eyes on her and Julian as they approached the happy couple.
“Mmm,” Brooke murmured. “How lovely to be discussing divorce rates at a wedding ceremony.”
It was probably the rudest thing she’d ever uttered to her mother-in-law, but the woman didn’t even flinch. Dr. Alter glanced up from his BlackBerry, where he was checking stock prices, but when he saw his wife didn’t react, he went back to staring at his screen.
Thankfully, the music started and a general hush fell over the room. Trent and his parents entered the tent first, and Brooke smiled when she saw how genuinely happy—and not the least bit nervous—he looked. One by one the bridesmaids and groomsmen and flower girls followed, and then it was Fern’s turn, flanked on both sides by her parents, beaming in exactly the way brides do. The ceremony was a seamless blending of Jewish and Christian traditions, and despite herself, it was a pleasure to watch Fern and Trent gaze at each other with that knowing look.
It wasn’t until the rabbi began explaining the chuppah to the audience, how this covering signified the new home the couple would make together, how it would shield and protect them from the outside world and yet was open on four sides to welcome in friends and family, that Brooke teared up. It had been her favorite part of her own wedding ceremony, and it was the moment in each wedding she and Julian had attended where they clasped hands and gave each other the same knowing look Trent and Fern were now sharing. Now not only was she there alone, but it was impossible not to acknowledge the obvious: it had been a long time since their apartment felt like a home, and she and Julian might be on their way to becoming one of her mother-in-law’s statistics.
At the reception one of Fern’s girlfriends leaned over and whispered something to her husband, prompting the husband to give her a Really? look. The girl nodded and Brooke wondered what they were talking about until the husband materialized next to her chair, held out his arm, and asked Brooke if she’d like to dance. The pity dance. She knew it well, was often guilty of nudging Julian to ask solo women at weddings for a dance, thinking she was doing a good deed. Well, now that she knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of such charity, she swore she’d never do it again. She thanked the husband profusely but begged off, claiming something about needing to find some Advil and could see his relief. This time when she headed for her favorite hallway bathroom, she wasn’t sure she could make herself come back out.
She checked her watch. Nine forty-five. She promised herself that if the Alters didn’t leave by eleven, she’d call a cab. She slipped back into the hallway, which was drafty and thankfully deserted. A quick check of her phone revealed no new messages or texts, even though Julian should have been home by then. She wondered what he was doing, if he had already gotten Walter from the dog walker and they were curled together on the couch. Or maybe he’d gone directly to the studio. She didn’t want to go back into the reception yet, so she paced for a bit, first checking Facebook and then looking up the number of a local cab company, just in case. Fresh out of excuses and distractions, Brooke slipped her phone into her clutch, hugged her bare arms against her chest, and headed toward the music.
She felt a palm close over her shoulder, and she knew before she turned around, before he could utter a word, that it belonged to Julian.
“Rook?” His voice was questioning, uncertain. He wasn’t sure how she was going to react.
She didn’t turn around immediately—she was almost nervous she was wrong, that it wasn’t him—but when she did, the onslaught of emotions hit her like a truck. There he was, standing right in front of her, wearing his only suit and smiling at her shyly, nervously, with a look that seemed to say Please hug me. And despite everything that had happened, and all the distance between them these last couple weeks, it was all Brooke wanted to do. There was no denying it: she was reflexively, instinctively ecstatic to see him.
After she collapsed into his arms, she couldn’t speak for almost thirty seconds. He felt warm and smelled right and hugged her so tightly she started to cry.
“I hope those are tears of joy?”
She wiped them away, aware her mascara was running but not caring in the least. “Joy, relief, and about a million other things,” she said.
When they finally pulled apart, she noticed he was wearing Converse sneakers with his suit.
He followed her gaze down to his shoes. “I forgot to pack dress shoes,” he said with a little shrug. He pointed to his head, which was cap-free. “And my hair’s kind of a disaster.”
Brooke leaned in and kissed him again. It felt so good, so normal! She wanted to be angry, but she was just so damn happy to see him. “Oh, no one cares. They’re just going to be happy you’re here.”
“Come with me. Let’s find Trent and Fern. Then you and I can talk.”
Something about the way he said this calmed her. He was there, he was taking charge, and she was just so happy to follow his lead. He led her down the hallway, where a few wedding-goers did double-takes—Isaac and his girlfriend among them, she was pleased to see—and then straight out to the tent. The band was on break as everyone ate dessert, so there was no way they were going to slip in unnoticed. When they entered, the change in the room was palpable. People stared, whispered to each other, and a young girl of maybe ten or eleven actually pointed toward Julian and shouted his name to her mother. Brooke heard her mother-in-law before she saw her.
“Julian!” Elizabeth hissed, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. “What are you wearing?”
Brooke shook her head. That woman never failed to amaze her.
“Hi, Mom. Where’s—”
Dr. Alter was only a second behind her. “Julian, where the hell have you been? Missing your own cousin’s rehearsal dinner, leaving your poor wife alone all weekend, and now showing up looking like that? What’s gotten into you?”
Brooke braced herself for conflict, but Julian just said, “It’s great to see you, Mom, Dad. But you’ll have to excuse me.”
Julian whisked her over to Trent and Fern. They were busy making their rounds at all the tables, and Brooke could feel hundreds of eyes on her and Julian as they approached the happy couple.
