Lauren Weisberger - Chasing Harry Winston

He walked her to the tiny elevator tucked into a pitch-black corner of the lobby and stepped aside as an exceedingly attractive couple stepped off.

“It was nice to meet you, Em. Emmy. Which do people call you?”

“Both. But my closest friends have always used Em, so I like that.” She gave him her most winning smile.

“Well, uh, I’m headed out in the morning, so I guess this is good-bye.”

“Oh. Really? Where’s home?” She realized she didn’t even know where he lived.

“Not home yet, unfortunately. I’ll be in Geneva for the next two days, and then possibly Zurich, depending.”

“Sounds busy.”

“Yeah, the travel schedule can be intense. But, uh, well, it really was great to meet you.” He paused and grinned. “I said that already, didn’t I?”

Emmy told herself that the lump in her throat was a combination of PMS and jet lag and too much wine, and had absolutely positively nothing to do with Paul. Yet she was afraid she’d cry if she tried to speak, so she merely nodded.

“Get some rest, okay? And don’t let any of the Costes people push you around. Promise?”

She nodded again.

He tipped her face up toward his own and for a second she was quite certain he was going to kiss her. Instead, he looked into her eyes and smiled again. Then he kissed her cheek and turned away.

“Good night, Emmy. Take care of yourself.”

“Good night, Paul. You, too.”

She stepped onto the elevator, and before the doors closed, he was gone.

“Fatty! Fatty! Fatty!” the nasty bird cawed. It had awakened, like a human infant, at five-forty-five that morning-a Saturday!-and refused to go back to sleep. Adriana tried humming to it, feeding it, holding it, playing with it, and, finally, locking it in the guest bathroom with the lights off, but the little winged beast persisted in its verbal barrage.

“Big girl! Big girl! Big girl!” it screeched, its head bobbing up and down like a dashboard dog.

“Now you listen to me, you little fucker,” Adriana hissed, her lips nearly touching the cage’s metal bars. “I am a lot of things-a lot of lousy, crummy things-but fat is not one of them. Do you understand me?”

The bird cocked its head to the side as if he were considering her question. Adriana thought he may have even nodded, and she turned to go back to bed, satisfied. She hadn’t even stepped through the bathroom door when the bird cawed-more quietly this time, she would swear-“Fat girl.”

“You bastard!” she screamed, nearly lunging at the cage. It took every ounce of willpower not to toss the whole thing out the twenty-sixth-floor window. The bird merely looked at her curiously. “Oh my god,” she muttered to herself. “I’m talking to a parrot.”

Adriana had always thought Emmy was overreacting about the bird; it wasn’t until this very moment-when the sleep deprivation really began to set in and her self-esteem hung by a thread-that she understood how damaging it must be to reside with the animal fulltime.

She rooted through the linen closet in search of an oversized towel but eagerly grabbed a Frette fitted sheet when it was the first thing she saw. Tossing it over the cage and tucking its elasticized border snugly underneath, Adriana briefly worried that she might be suffocating it. Deciding she could live with that possible consequence, she drew the bathroom blinds and shut off the lights. Miraculously, the bird remained quiet. It wasn’t until she was safely back under the covers with her cucumber eye mask resecured that she exhaled. Thank god.

She was drifting off when the phone rang, and she was so tired that she actually answered it.

“Adi? Are you still sleeping?” Gilles’s voice, uncharacteristically deep for someone so slight, boomed through the phone.

“We’re not meeting today until one. It’s only ten. Why are you calling me?”

“Well, well, someone’s not a morning person!” he sang, sounding delighted.

“Gilles…”

“Sorry. Look, I have to cancel lunch today. I know I’m a hideous friend, but I got a better offer.”

“A better offer? First the bird calls me fat, and now you’re saying you got a better offer?”

“The bird? What? ”

“Forget it. So enlighten me, what constitutes a better offer than chopped salads and Bloody Marys and manicures?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Maybe, um…let’s see…only the opportunity of a lifetime. Are you ready for this?”

“I’m ready,” Adriana said, working hard to sound highly uninterested.

“The agency called to say that Ricardo got stuck on a shoot in Ibiza and couldn’t make it back for today’s booking.”

“Mmm.” Adriana vaguely remembered that Gilles and Ricardo were sworn competitors, although she tended to think that this vicious competition stemmed more from Gilles than from Ricardo, who, much to Gilles’s chagrin, seemed quite content to accept almost all of the agency’s most prestigious assignments. He did most of the big names in Hollywood and his calendar was booked annually for-and a year in advance of-the awards shows. The two men had gone to beauty school together, assisted together at all the Madison Avenue salons, and then, even though both were promoted to the floor at the exact same time, Ricardo had somehow become a superstar.

“Any idea what today’s booking is?” Gilles sounded ready to jump out of his skin.

“Let’s see, what could it be? A photo shoot!” she said with snotty faux enthusiasm.

He ignored her. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m sure you don’t want to hear what it will be like to do Angelina’s hair on the set of The City Dweller , which just so happens to be the movie they’re calling her sexiest ever. Funny, I was thinking about inviting you to come along and meet everyone, but I’m sure you’d never be into that…”

“Angelina?”

“The one and only.”

“Her sexiest movie ever?”

“They’re saying it makes Mr. and Mrs. Smith look like The Sound of Music. ”

Adriana exhaled. “Do you think Brad will be there?”

“Who knows? Anything’s possible. I heard there’s a good chance she’ll have Maddox with her.”

Maddox. An interesting development. As much as Adriana disliked children-especially the shriekers and the ones with runny noses-she’d fallen in love with the entire Brangelina brood. Granted, screams and snot didn’t really come across in the pages of US Weekly , but Adriana was certain these children were different: composed, dignified, possibly even sophisticated. And there was no denying their style. She’d love to see that stylish Cambodian adoptee in person. Pax would be worthwhile, too, but no one-not Zahara nor even Shiloh-would be as rewarding as a Maddox sighting. She bolted upright in bed and began a frantic search through her open closet. What does one wear to a movie set?

“I’m so there!” she squealed, her usually aloof demeanor completely shattered. “Where and when?”

Gilles was kind enough not to laugh. “I thought you might be interested,” he said with deliberate coolness. “Corner of Prince and Mercer in an hour. I’m not sure where the hair and makeup trailers will be parked exactly, but text me when you’re there and I’ll come find you.”

Adriana clicked her phone shut and bolted into the shower. Hesitant to look like she’d made any effort beyond the cursory, she applied a little lemon-scented baby powder to her roots but kept her hair unwashed, resulting in a sexy tumble of waves. She used tinted moisturizer instead of her usual skin-perfecting foundation and rubbed a bit of lip gloss into her cheeks before slicking it across her lips. A quick dab of white shimmer powder in the corners of her eyes-a trick passed down from her mother’s modeling days-and a single coat of brownish-black mascara completed her face. Her wall-mounted magnifying mirror confirmed that not a trace of makeup was detectable, but the outcome left her looking fresh-faced, glowing, and gorgeous.