Everyone Worth Knowing

Everyone Worth Knowing by Lauren Weisberger Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: Everyone Worth Knowing by Lauren Weisberger Read Free Book Online
Authors: Lauren Weisberger
Tags: Fiction
swirled in my head, coming too fast and from too
    many directions for me to actually process them. Aaron had balls—
    who knew! I'd just quit my job. Quit it. With no forethought or
    planning. Must tell Penelope. Penelope engaged. How would I get
    all my stuff home? Could I still charge a car to the company? Could
    I collect unemployment? Would I still come to midtown just for the
    kebabs? Should I burn all my skirt suits in a ceremonial living-room
    bonfire? Millington will be so happy to hit the dog run in the middle
    of the day! Middle of the day. I would get to watch The Price Is
    Right all the time if I wanted. Why hadn't I thought of this before?
    I stared at the screen a while longer, until the gravity of what
    had just happened settled in, and then I headed straight to the restroom
    to freak out in the relative privacy of a stall. There was laidback
    and there was plain fucking stupid, and this was quickly
    beginning to resemble the latter. I breathed a few times and tried
    uttering—coolly and casually—my new mantra, but whatever came
    out sounding like a choked cry as I wondered what the hell I'd
    done.
     
    4
    "Christ, Bette, it's not like you maimed someone. You quit your
    job. Congratulations! Welcome to the wonderful world of adult irresponsibility.
    Things don't always go according to plan, you know?"
    Simon was trying his best to soothe me while we waited for Will to
    get home because he couldn't tell that I was already completely relaxed.
    The last time I'd felt this zen, I thought, might have been the
    ashram retreat. "It's just kind of eerie, not having any idea what to
    do next." It was that same involuntary calm-cum-paralysis.
    Though I knew I should be more panicked, the last month had
    actually been pretty great. I'd intended to tell everyone about quitting,
    but when it came time to actually make the calls, I was overtaken
    by an all-consuming combination of ennui, laziness, and
    inertia. It's not like I couldn't tell people I quit—it was just a matter
    of dialing and announcing—but the effort of explaining my reasons
    for leaving (none) and discussing my game plan (nonexistent)
    seemed utterly overwhelming each time I picked up the phone. So
    instead, in what I'm sure was some sort of psychologically distressed/
    avoidance/denial state, I slept until one every day, spent
    most of the afternoon alternately watching TV and walking Millington,
    shopped for things I didn't need in an obvious effort to fill the
    voids in my life, and made a conscious decision to start smoking
    again in earnest so I'd have something to do once Conan was over.
    It sounds comprehensively depressing, but it had been my best
    month in recent memory and might have gone on indefinitely had
    Will not called my work number and spoken to my replacement.
    Interestingly, I had lost ten pounds without trying. I hadn't ex-
    ercised at all save for the treks to hunt and gather my food, but I
    felt better than ever, or certainly better than I had working sixteenhour
    days. I'd been thin all through college but had packed on the
    pounds quite efficiently as soon as I'd started work, having no time
    to exercise, choosing instead to down a particularly disgusting
    daily diet of kebabs, doughnuts, vending-machine candy bars, and
    coffee so sugar-heavy my teeth felt permanently coated. My parents
    and friends had politely ignored my weight gain, but I knew I
    looked terrible. Annually I'd declare my New Year's resolution of
    more dedicated gym-going; it usually lasted a solid four days before
    I'd kick my alarm clock and claim the extra hour for sleep.
    Only Will repeatedly reminded me that I looked like hell. "But,
    darling, don't you remember how scouts would stop you on the
    street and ask you to model? That's not happening anymore, is it?"
    Or "Bette, honey, you had that no-makeup, fresh-faced, all-natural
    girl thing working so well a few years ago—why don't you spend a
    little time trying to revisit that?" I heard him and knew

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