Last Night at Chateau Marmont
Page 66
Ensconced in a booth with her hands wrapped around a cup of hot coffee, Brooke sighed in happy contentment. If she could’ve scripted the most perfect New Year’s Eve ever, it would’ve looked exactly like their last twenty-four hours. Julian was reading aloud to her from the paper, an article about a man imprisoned for twenty-eight years before being exonerated by DNA evidence, when her phone rang.
He looked up.
“It’s Nola,” Brooke said, staring at the screen.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“You don’t mind? She’s going to want to tell me all about her night, I’m guessing.”
Julian shook his head. “I’m happy to just sit here and read. I really don’t mind.”
“Hey, Nol,” Brooke said as quietly as possible. She couldn’t stand people shouting into cell phones.
“Brooke? Where are you?”
“What do you mean, where are we? We’re in the Hamptons, you know that. I actually think with all this snow, we’re going to have to stay until—”
“Have you seen the online edition of Last Night yet?” Nola interrupted.
“Last Night? No, the Wi-Fi at the house was down. I have the Times right here. . . .”
“Look, I’m only telling you this because I don’t want you to hear it somewhere else. Last Night wrote this whole horrible column this morning, theorizing on all the possible reasons Julian canceled his New Year’s gig last night.”
“They what?”
Julian looked at her and raised his eyes questioningly.
“Of course they’re all ridiculous. But I remember you said Leo was in South America somewhere, and, well, I just thought you guys might want to know if you didn’t already.”
Brooke took a deep breath. “Great. That’s just great. Can you tell me what it said?”
“Just pull it up on Julian’s phone, okay? I’m really sorry to ruin your morning, but it also says that you two are probably ‘hiding out’ in the Hamptons, so I wanted to give you the heads-up that you might get some company.”
“Oh no,” Brooke moaned.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let me know if I can do anything, okay?”
They said good-bye and Brooke only realized after they’d hung up that she hadn’t so much as asked about Nola’s night.
Before she was even finished briefing Julian, he began searching for the Last Night article on his phone. “Here, I got it.”
“Read it out loud.”
Julian’s eyes skimmed back and forth. “Wow,” he murmured, flicking the screen with his pointer finger. “Where do they get this stuff?”
“Julian! Start reading or hand it over!”
A timid young girl not a day over sixteen appeared at their table holding two plates. She looked at Julian, but Brooke wasn’t totally positive she recognized him. “Veggie egg white omelet with wheat?” she asked in a near-whisper.
“Right here,” Brooke said, holding up a hand.
“I guess that means you’re having the breakfast combo?” she said to Julian with a smile so huge there was no longer any doubt. “French toast with powdered sugar, two eggs sunny-side up, and well-done bacon. Can I get you guys anything else?”
“Thanks, we’re good,” Julian said, immediately plunging his fork into the fluffy French toast. She had completely lost her appetite.
He washed everything down with a swig of coffee and picked up his phone again. “You ready?”
Brooke nodded.
“Okay. The headline is ‘Where Is Julian Alter?’ and right next to it is a picture taken from god knows where of me looking sweaty and wasted.” He showed her the screen.
Brooke chewed her dry toast, wishing she’d opted for the rye. “I recognize that one. It was taken thirty seconds after you walked offstage after your performance at Kristen Stewart’s party in Miami. It was ninety-five degrees that day and you’d been singing for nearly an hour.”
Julian began reading. “‘Although sources tell us the famous singer is hiding out in his parents’ house in East Hampton after canceling a New Year’s Eve MTV performance last night, what no one seems able to agree on is why. Many suspect trouble in paradise for the sexy crooner who shot to fame with his debut album, For the Lost. One source with knowledge of the music industry claims that now is “temptation time” when so many quick-rising stars give in to the lure of drugs. Although there have been no specific reports of drug abuse, “rehab is one of the first places I look when a new artist goes off the radar,” said the music industry source.’”
Julian looked up at her, his mouth agape, the phone hanging limply in his hand. “They’re suggesting I’m in rehab?” he asked.
“I don’t think they’re suggesting you’re in rehab per se,” Brooke said, drawing out her words. “Actually, I’m not sure what they’re saying. Keep reading.”
“‘A source with knowledge of the music industry’?” Julian read again. “Are they kidding?”
“Keep reading.” Brooke ate a forkful of omelet and tried to look unworried.
“‘Others claim Julian and his long-term love, nutritionist wife Brooke, have been feeling the strain of fame. “I can’t imagine any couple thriving under such trying circumstances,” said noted Beverly Hills psychiatrist Ira Melnick, who has not treated the Alters personally but has broad experience with such “inter-fame couples” (where one person is famous and the other is unknown). “If they are in fact receiving couples’ counseling right now,” Dr. Melnick continued, “they’ll at least have a fighting chance.”’”
“‘A fighting chance’?” Brooke screeched. “Who the hell is Dr. Melnick and why is he commenting on our relationship when we’ve never met him?”
Julian just shook his head. “And who said we’re ‘feeling the strain of fame’?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re referring to the whole Today show/pregnancy thing? Keep reading.”
“Wow,” Julian said, clearly reading ahead. “I always knew these gossip rags were bullshit, but this just keeps getting better and better. ‘While rehab or couples’ counseling is the most likely cause of Julian’s disappearance’”—Julian spat out this last word dripping with sarcasm— “‘there is a third option. According to a close family source, the singer was being courted by famous Scientologists, most notably John Travolta. “I don’t know if it was just a friendly gesture or a recruiting reach-out, but I can say without doubt that they have been in touch,” the family source said. Which leads us all to wonder: will JBro go the way of TomKat and keep the faith? Stay tuned. . . . ’”
He looked up.
“It’s Nola,” Brooke said, staring at the screen.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“You don’t mind? She’s going to want to tell me all about her night, I’m guessing.”
Julian shook his head. “I’m happy to just sit here and read. I really don’t mind.”
“Hey, Nol,” Brooke said as quietly as possible. She couldn’t stand people shouting into cell phones.
“Brooke? Where are you?”
“What do you mean, where are we? We’re in the Hamptons, you know that. I actually think with all this snow, we’re going to have to stay until—”
“Have you seen the online edition of Last Night yet?” Nola interrupted.
“Last Night? No, the Wi-Fi at the house was down. I have the Times right here. . . .”
“Look, I’m only telling you this because I don’t want you to hear it somewhere else. Last Night wrote this whole horrible column this morning, theorizing on all the possible reasons Julian canceled his New Year’s gig last night.”
“They what?”
Julian looked at her and raised his eyes questioningly.
“Of course they’re all ridiculous. But I remember you said Leo was in South America somewhere, and, well, I just thought you guys might want to know if you didn’t already.”
Brooke took a deep breath. “Great. That’s just great. Can you tell me what it said?”
“Just pull it up on Julian’s phone, okay? I’m really sorry to ruin your morning, but it also says that you two are probably ‘hiding out’ in the Hamptons, so I wanted to give you the heads-up that you might get some company.”
“Oh no,” Brooke moaned.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let me know if I can do anything, okay?”
They said good-bye and Brooke only realized after they’d hung up that she hadn’t so much as asked about Nola’s night.
Before she was even finished briefing Julian, he began searching for the Last Night article on his phone. “Here, I got it.”
“Read it out loud.”
Julian’s eyes skimmed back and forth. “Wow,” he murmured, flicking the screen with his pointer finger. “Where do they get this stuff?”
“Julian! Start reading or hand it over!”
A timid young girl not a day over sixteen appeared at their table holding two plates. She looked at Julian, but Brooke wasn’t totally positive she recognized him. “Veggie egg white omelet with wheat?” she asked in a near-whisper.
“Right here,” Brooke said, holding up a hand.
“I guess that means you’re having the breakfast combo?” she said to Julian with a smile so huge there was no longer any doubt. “French toast with powdered sugar, two eggs sunny-side up, and well-done bacon. Can I get you guys anything else?”
“Thanks, we’re good,” Julian said, immediately plunging his fork into the fluffy French toast. She had completely lost her appetite.
He washed everything down with a swig of coffee and picked up his phone again. “You ready?”
Brooke nodded.
“Okay. The headline is ‘Where Is Julian Alter?’ and right next to it is a picture taken from god knows where of me looking sweaty and wasted.” He showed her the screen.
Brooke chewed her dry toast, wishing she’d opted for the rye. “I recognize that one. It was taken thirty seconds after you walked offstage after your performance at Kristen Stewart’s party in Miami. It was ninety-five degrees that day and you’d been singing for nearly an hour.”
Julian began reading. “‘Although sources tell us the famous singer is hiding out in his parents’ house in East Hampton after canceling a New Year’s Eve MTV performance last night, what no one seems able to agree on is why. Many suspect trouble in paradise for the sexy crooner who shot to fame with his debut album, For the Lost. One source with knowledge of the music industry claims that now is “temptation time” when so many quick-rising stars give in to the lure of drugs. Although there have been no specific reports of drug abuse, “rehab is one of the first places I look when a new artist goes off the radar,” said the music industry source.’”
Julian looked up at her, his mouth agape, the phone hanging limply in his hand. “They’re suggesting I’m in rehab?” he asked.
“I don’t think they’re suggesting you’re in rehab per se,” Brooke said, drawing out her words. “Actually, I’m not sure what they’re saying. Keep reading.”
“‘A source with knowledge of the music industry’?” Julian read again. “Are they kidding?”
“Keep reading.” Brooke ate a forkful of omelet and tried to look unworried.
“‘Others claim Julian and his long-term love, nutritionist wife Brooke, have been feeling the strain of fame. “I can’t imagine any couple thriving under such trying circumstances,” said noted Beverly Hills psychiatrist Ira Melnick, who has not treated the Alters personally but has broad experience with such “inter-fame couples” (where one person is famous and the other is unknown). “If they are in fact receiving couples’ counseling right now,” Dr. Melnick continued, “they’ll at least have a fighting chance.”’”
“‘A fighting chance’?” Brooke screeched. “Who the hell is Dr. Melnick and why is he commenting on our relationship when we’ve never met him?”
Julian just shook his head. “And who said we’re ‘feeling the strain of fame’?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re referring to the whole Today show/pregnancy thing? Keep reading.”
“Wow,” Julian said, clearly reading ahead. “I always knew these gossip rags were bullshit, but this just keeps getting better and better. ‘While rehab or couples’ counseling is the most likely cause of Julian’s disappearance’”—Julian spat out this last word dripping with sarcasm— “‘there is a third option. According to a close family source, the singer was being courted by famous Scientologists, most notably John Travolta. “I don’t know if it was just a friendly gesture or a recruiting reach-out, but I can say without doubt that they have been in touch,” the family source said. Which leads us all to wonder: will JBro go the way of TomKat and keep the faith? Stay tuned. . . . ’”
