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

he was
    right—when the button on the single pair of Sevens I owned nestled
    so far into my fleshy stomach that it was sometimes difficult to
    locate, it was hard to deny the extra poundage. That unemployment
    made me thinner was telling. My skin was clearer, my eyes
    brighter, and for the first time in five years the weight had melted
    off my hips and thighs but stayed squarely put in my chest—surely
    a sign from God that I wasn't supposed to work. But of course I
    wasn't supposed to enjoy being shiftless and lazy, so I was trying
    to demonstrate the appropriate combination of chagrin, regret, and
    distress. Simon was buying it.
    "I think a cocktail is exactly what's in order right now. What
    can I make you to drink, Bette?"
    Little did he know that I'd taken to drinking alone. Not in that
    desperate, solitary, "I must drink to deal, and if I happen to have
    no company, well then, so be it" sort of way, but in the liberated
    "I'm an adult and if I'd like a glass of wine or a sip of champagne
    or four shots of vodka straight up" way, well then, why the hell
    not? 1 pretended to consider his offer before saying, "How about a
    martini?"
    Uncle Will swooped in at that moment and, as he usually did,
    charged the air with an energy that was immediate and intense.
    "Ab fab!" he announced, stealing the phrase from his sneaked sessions
    of BBC-watching, which he relentlessly denied. "Simon,
    make our little banker-no-longer an extra-dry martini with Grey
    Goose and three olives. I'll have my usual. Darling! I'm so proud of
    you!"
    "Really?" He hadn't sounded too thrilled when he'd left me a
    message earlier that day, ordering me to be at the apartment that
    night for drinks. ("Bette, darling, your little game is up. I just spoke
    to the terrified little mouse who now claims to occupy your cubicle,
    which makes me wonder what, exactly, you're doing at this
    moment. Highlights, I'm hoping? Perhaps you've taken a lover. I'll
    expect you tonight at six on the dot so you may provide us with all
    the gory details. Plan on accompanying us to a little dinner party
    afterward at Elaine's." Click.)
    "Darling, of course I am! You finally left that dreadful bank.
    You are an absolutely intoxicating creature, so fascinating, so fabulous,
    and I think that dreary job of yours was suppressing it all."
    He placed his huge, well-manicured hands around my middle and
    almost shrieked. "What is this I see? A waist? By God, Simon, the
    girl's got her figure back. Christ, you look like you've spent the last
    few weeks getting lipoed in all the right places. Welcome back,
    darling!" He raised one of the martinis that Simon had made for all
    of us (Will was no longer permitted to make the drinks because of
    his notoriously heavy-handed pouring) and simultaneously removed
    the charcoal wool hat he'd been wearing since before I was
    born.
    Simon smiled and raised his glass as well, clinking ours
    lightly so as not to splash any of the precious liquid. I, of course,
    wasn't so careful and slightly soaked my jeans in the boozy mixture.
    I would've licked it off the denim directly had I been alone. Ahem.
    "There," Will announced. "It's official. So what will be next?
    Writing for a magazine? A stint in fashion, perhaps? I hear Vogue is
    hiring right now."
    "Oh, come on." I sighed, resenting being made to think about
    it at all. "Vogue? You think I'm in any way equipped or qualified to
    work for that editor in chief—what's her name?"
     
    Simon chimed in here. "Anna Wintour. And no on both
    counts."
    "No? Well, what about Bazaar, then?" Will asked.
    "Will . . ."I looked down at my scuffed, ugly flats and back at
    him again. I might have graduated from Birkenstocks and pigtail
    braids, but I was still fully entrenched in the post-college Ann Taylor
    work wardrobe.
    "Oh, stop your whining, darling. You'll find something. Remember,
    you're always welcome to join me, you know. If you get
    truly desperate, that is." Will had been mentioning this as delicately
    as