Last Night at Chateau Marmont by Lauren Weisberger Page B

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 Carmen 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 inher 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