Lauren Weisberger - Last Night at Chateau Marmont

‘Oh, that’s sweet of you,’ Samara said with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘But he’s making this one easy. He was a total pro today.’

‘Both of you need to stop,’ Julian said, and Brooke could immediately tell that he was pleased. ‘Brooke, I’d also like to introduce you to Jon. Jon, this is my wife, Brooke.’

Good god. It was him. She didn’t have a clue why or how it had happened, but sitting right there at her husband’s table, holding a beer and looking perfectly relaxed, was Jon Bon Jovi. What was she supposed to say? Do? Where the hell was Nola when she needed her? Brooke wracked her brain. So long as it wasn’t something horrifying like ‘I’m a huge fan’ or ‘I really love and respect the way that you’ve been married to the same woman for all these years,’ she’d probably be fine, but it wasn’t like she sat down to drinks with a superstar every day …

‘Hey,’ Jon said, offering a nod in Brooke’s direction. ‘That’s some wicked cool hair you have. Is the color real?’

Brooke’s hand immediately flew to her wavy locks, and she knew without looking that her complexion currently matched her hair. Her red was so pure, so intensely pigmented, that you either absolutely loved it or unequivocally hated it. She loved it. Julian loved it. And apparently, so did Bon Jovi. Nola! she shouted to herself. I need you to hear this right now!

‘Yeah, it’s real,’ she said, rolling her eyes in mock disgust with it. ‘Source of many a cruel childhood joke, but I’m getting used to it.’ She saw Julian smiling at her out of the corner of her eye; hopefully only he knew how false her modesty was right then.

‘Well I think it’s fucking awesome,’ Jon declared, and raised his tall, tapered beer glass. ‘A toast to fire cro—’ He stopped short and an adorably sheepish look crossed his face. Brooke wanted to tell him he could call her ‘fire crotch’ anytime.

‘A toast to hot redheads and first appearances on Leno . Congrats, man. That’s big.’ Jon held his glass aloft and everyone clinked it with his own. Brooke’s champagne flute was the last to touch it, and she wondered if there was any way she could smuggle the glass home with her.

‘Cheers!’ everyone called out. ‘Congratulations!’

‘So how was it?’ Brooke asked Julian, happy to give him the opening to shine once again in front of all these people. ‘Tell me everything.’

‘He was perfect,’ Samara announced in her clipped, professional voice. ‘His performance followed really solid guests.’ She paused and turned to Julian. ‘I thought Hugh Jackman was charming. Did you?’

‘Yeah, he was good. And so was that chick from Modern Family, ’ Julian said, nodding.

‘We caught a break with that – two legitimately interesting and famous guests, none of the child performers or the magicians or the animal trainers,’ Samara said. ‘Trust me, nothing’s worse than getting upstaged by a studio full of chimpanzees.’

Everyone laughed. A waiter arrived at the table and Leo ordered for the group without consulting anyone. Brooke normally hated it when people did that, but even she couldn’t argue with his choices: another bottle of champagne, a round of tequila gimlets, and a bunch of snack plates, everything from truffled porcini bruschetta to mozzarella and arugula. By the time the first dish of crab cakes in an avocado puree arrived, Brooke had happily rediscovered her earlier buzz and was feeling almost euphoric from the excitement. Julian – her Julian, the same one who slept in socks every night – had just performed on The Tonight Show. They were staying in a gorgeous suite at the infamous Chateau Marmont, eating and drinking like rock royalty. One of the most famous musicians of the twentieth century had announced he loved her hair. Of course her wedding was the best day of her life (weren’t you required to say that no matter what?), but this was quickly clocking in as a very close second.

Her cell phone screeched from her bag on the ground, a shrill fire-alarm-like ring she’d chosen post-nap to ensure she didn’t oversleep again.

‘Why don’t you get it?’ Julian asked through a full mouth as Brooke stared at her phone. She didn’t want to answer it, but she was worried something was wrong; it was already after midnight back at home.

‘Hey, Mom,’ she said as quietly as she could. ‘We’re all in the middle of dinner right now. Is everything okay?’

‘Brooke! Julian’s on right now and he’s incredible! He looks adorable, and the band is playing perfectly, and my god, you just want to eat him up. I think it’s the best he’s ever been.’ Her mother’s words tumbled out in a frantic jumble, and it was all Brooke could do to put the pieces together.

She glanced at her watch. Nine-twenty California time, which meant The Tonight Show was airing that very second up and down the East Coast. ‘Really? He looks good?’ Brooke asked.

This got everyone’s attention.

‘Of course, it’s airing on the East Coast now,’ Samara said, pulling out her BlackBerry. Sure enough, it was vibrating with the intensity of a washing machine.

‘Amazing,’ her mother was saying through the receiver. ‘He looks absolutely amazing. And Jay gave him a really nice introduction. Wait – he’s just finishing up the song now.’

‘Mom, I’ll call you later, okay? I’m being really rude right now.’

‘All right, honey. It’s late here so call me in the morning. And congratulate Julian for me.’

Brooke clicked to disconnect the call, but her phone instantly rang again. Nola. She glanced around the table and noticed that with the exception of Jon, who had wandered over to say hello to another group, everyone else was on the phone, too.

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