Last Night at Chateau Marmont
Page 61
She shouldn’t have been worried. The Alters arrived exactly on time, agreed only to drink the wine they’d brought (“Oh, dears, save your bottles for your other guests—why don’t we drink the good stuff now?”), made only one disparaging comment about the apartment (“It certainly is charming, isn’t it? It’s just a wonder you two have been able to live here for as long as you have”), and left fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Thirty seconds after they left, their buzzer rang again.
“Come on up,” she called into the intercom.
Julian squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be great.”
Brooke opened the hallway door and her mother swooped in with barely a hello. “The baby’s sleeping,” she declared, as though she were announcing the arrival of the president and first lady. “Where should we put her?”
“Well, let’s see. Being that we’re all eating in the living room, and I’m guessing you don’t want her in the bathroom, that only leaves one option. Can you just put her on our bed?” Brooke asked.
Randy and Michelle materialized holding baby Ella in a portable carry seat. “She’s still way too young to roll so it’s probably fine,” Michelle said, leaning over to kiss Julian hello.
“No way!” Randy said, dragging what looked like a folded-up tent. “That’s exactly why I brought the Pack ’n Play. You are not putting her on a bed.”
Michelle gave Brooke a look that said, Well, who can argue with the overprotective daddy? and they both laughed. Randy and Mrs. Greene took Ella back to the bedroom and Julian began to pour glasses of wine.
“So . . . are you doing okay?” Michelle asked.
Brooke closed the oven, set the baster down, and turned to Michelle. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
Her sister-in-law looked instantly contrite. “Oh, sorry, I probably shouldn’t have brought it up, but that article was just so . . . so vicious.”
Brooke inhaled sharply. “Oh, yeah, I guess I figured no one else had read it yet. Since it’s not even out, you know?”
“Oh, I’m sure no one else has!” Michelle said. “A friend of mine forwarded it to me online, but she’s a total freak about the gossip websites. No one reads as much as she does.”
“Got it. Hey, would you mind bringing this to the living room?” Brooke asked, handing Michelle a cheese platter with miniature bowls of fig jam and assorted crackers.
“Of course,” Michelle said. Brooke figured she got the message, but Michelle took two steps out of the kitchen, turned around, and said, “You know, someone keeps calling and asking me questions about you guys, but we don’t say a word.”
“Who?” Brooke asked, her voice filled with the panic she’d successfully suppressed until now. “Remember, I’ve asked you guys not to talk to any reporters about us. Not on the phone, in person, not ever.”
“Oh, we know that. And we never would. I just thought you should know that there are people out there hunting around.”
“Yeah, well, judging from their accuracy, they haven’t done a terrific job with sources,” Brooke said, pouring herself another glass of white wine.
Her mother’s voice broke the awkward silence and Michelle scurried out with the cheese. “What’s going on in here?” she asked, kissing Brooke’s hair. “I’m so relieved you’ve taken over the hosting! It was getting lonely year after year when all you kids went to your father’s.”
Brooke didn’t tell her that the only reason she’d volunteered to make Thanksgiving dinner this year was because her father and Cynthia were going to Cynthia’s family’s place in Arizona. Besides, it was nice to feel like a proper grown-up, even if it was only for an afternoon.
“Yeah, well, let’s see if you’re still saying that when you try the turkey,” Brooke said.
The doorbell rang, and Ella began to wail from the bedroom.
Everyone dispersed: Randy and Michelle to tend to Ella, Julian to open another bottle of wine, and Mrs. Greene to trail Brooke to the door.
“Remind me who these friends are again?” she asked. “I know you’ve told me before, but I can’t remember.”
“Neha and I went to grad school together and she now does prenatal nutrition at a gynecologist’s office in Brookline. Her husband, Rohan, is an accountant, and they’ve been living in Boston for about three years now. Both of their families are still in India, so they don’t really celebrate Thanksgiving, but I thought it’d be nice to include them,” Brooke whispered as they stood in the foyer.
Her mother nodded. Brooke knew she wouldn’t remember half of it and would end up asking Neha and Rohan for the whole story again.
Brooke opened the door and Neha immediately leaned in for a hug. “I can’t believe how long it’s been! Why don’t we see each other more often?”
Brooke hugged her back and then stood on her tiptoes to kiss Rohan on the cheek. “Come in, you guys. Neha, Rohan, this is my mom. Mom, these are friends from way back.”
Neha laughed. “Like, back when we were in our twenties and still hot?”
“Yeah, we do lab coats and clogs better than anyone. Here, let me take your coats,” Brooke said as she ushered them inside.
Julian emerged from the tiny galley kitchen. “Hey, man,” he said, shaking Rohan’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder. “Great to see you. How is everything?” Julian looked especially adorable in a pair of black jeans, a cashmere gray waffle sweater, and a pair of vintage sneakers. His skin glowed with a subtle L.A.-acquired tan and despite being exhausted, his eyes were bright and he moved with a relaxed confidence Brooke had only recently noticed.
Rohan glanced at his own navy chino pants, dress shirt, and tie and actually blushed. He and Julian had never been close friends—Julian found Rohan way too quiet and conservative—but they’d always managed to make small talk in the presence of their wives. Now Rohan could barely meet Julian’s eyes, and he mumbled, “Oh, same old for us. Not nearly as exciting as you. We actually saw your face on a billboard the other day.”
There was an awkward pause until Ella, no longer crying and sporting the cutest little cow onesie Brooke had ever seen, made an appearance, and everyone could ooh and aah over her for a bit.
“So, Neha, how do you like Boston?” Brooke’s mother asked. She smeared a small hunk of blue cheese on a cracker and popped it in her mouth.
“Come on up,” she called into the intercom.
Julian squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be great.”
Brooke opened the hallway door and her mother swooped in with barely a hello. “The baby’s sleeping,” she declared, as though she were announcing the arrival of the president and first lady. “Where should we put her?”
“Well, let’s see. Being that we’re all eating in the living room, and I’m guessing you don’t want her in the bathroom, that only leaves one option. Can you just put her on our bed?” Brooke asked.
Randy and Michelle materialized holding baby Ella in a portable carry seat. “She’s still way too young to roll so it’s probably fine,” Michelle said, leaning over to kiss Julian hello.
“No way!” Randy said, dragging what looked like a folded-up tent. “That’s exactly why I brought the Pack ’n Play. You are not putting her on a bed.”
Michelle gave Brooke a look that said, Well, who can argue with the overprotective daddy? and they both laughed. Randy and Mrs. Greene took Ella back to the bedroom and Julian began to pour glasses of wine.
“So . . . are you doing okay?” Michelle asked.
Brooke closed the oven, set the baster down, and turned to Michelle. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
Her sister-in-law looked instantly contrite. “Oh, sorry, I probably shouldn’t have brought it up, but that article was just so . . . so vicious.”
Brooke inhaled sharply. “Oh, yeah, I guess I figured no one else had read it yet. Since it’s not even out, you know?”
“Oh, I’m sure no one else has!” Michelle said. “A friend of mine forwarded it to me online, but she’s a total freak about the gossip websites. No one reads as much as she does.”
“Got it. Hey, would you mind bringing this to the living room?” Brooke asked, handing Michelle a cheese platter with miniature bowls of fig jam and assorted crackers.
“Of course,” Michelle said. Brooke figured she got the message, but Michelle took two steps out of the kitchen, turned around, and said, “You know, someone keeps calling and asking me questions about you guys, but we don’t say a word.”
“Who?” Brooke asked, her voice filled with the panic she’d successfully suppressed until now. “Remember, I’ve asked you guys not to talk to any reporters about us. Not on the phone, in person, not ever.”
“Oh, we know that. And we never would. I just thought you should know that there are people out there hunting around.”
“Yeah, well, judging from their accuracy, they haven’t done a terrific job with sources,” Brooke said, pouring herself another glass of white wine.
Her mother’s voice broke the awkward silence and Michelle scurried out with the cheese. “What’s going on in here?” she asked, kissing Brooke’s hair. “I’m so relieved you’ve taken over the hosting! It was getting lonely year after year when all you kids went to your father’s.”
Brooke didn’t tell her that the only reason she’d volunteered to make Thanksgiving dinner this year was because her father and Cynthia were going to Cynthia’s family’s place in Arizona. Besides, it was nice to feel like a proper grown-up, even if it was only for an afternoon.
“Yeah, well, let’s see if you’re still saying that when you try the turkey,” Brooke said.
The doorbell rang, and Ella began to wail from the bedroom.
Everyone dispersed: Randy and Michelle to tend to Ella, Julian to open another bottle of wine, and Mrs. Greene to trail Brooke to the door.
“Remind me who these friends are again?” she asked. “I know you’ve told me before, but I can’t remember.”
“Neha and I went to grad school together and she now does prenatal nutrition at a gynecologist’s office in Brookline. Her husband, Rohan, is an accountant, and they’ve been living in Boston for about three years now. Both of their families are still in India, so they don’t really celebrate Thanksgiving, but I thought it’d be nice to include them,” Brooke whispered as they stood in the foyer.
Her mother nodded. Brooke knew she wouldn’t remember half of it and would end up asking Neha and Rohan for the whole story again.
Brooke opened the door and Neha immediately leaned in for a hug. “I can’t believe how long it’s been! Why don’t we see each other more often?”
Brooke hugged her back and then stood on her tiptoes to kiss Rohan on the cheek. “Come in, you guys. Neha, Rohan, this is my mom. Mom, these are friends from way back.”
Neha laughed. “Like, back when we were in our twenties and still hot?”
“Yeah, we do lab coats and clogs better than anyone. Here, let me take your coats,” Brooke said as she ushered them inside.
Julian emerged from the tiny galley kitchen. “Hey, man,” he said, shaking Rohan’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder. “Great to see you. How is everything?” Julian looked especially adorable in a pair of black jeans, a cashmere gray waffle sweater, and a pair of vintage sneakers. His skin glowed with a subtle L.A.-acquired tan and despite being exhausted, his eyes were bright and he moved with a relaxed confidence Brooke had only recently noticed.
Rohan glanced at his own navy chino pants, dress shirt, and tie and actually blushed. He and Julian had never been close friends—Julian found Rohan way too quiet and conservative—but they’d always managed to make small talk in the presence of their wives. Now Rohan could barely meet Julian’s eyes, and he mumbled, “Oh, same old for us. Not nearly as exciting as you. We actually saw your face on a billboard the other day.”
There was an awkward pause until Ella, no longer crying and sporting the cutest little cow onesie Brooke had ever seen, made an appearance, and everyone could ooh and aah over her for a bit.
“So, Neha, how do you like Boston?” Brooke’s mother asked. She smeared a small hunk of blue cheese on a cracker and popped it in her mouth.
