Lauren Weisberger - Chasing Harry Winston

“Is that William?” he asked possessively.

“No, darling, I’m sorry to report that it’s nothing as exciting as a secret lover. It’s actually my mother calling.”

“So you admit there is a secret lover?”

She laughed gaily and decided to give the poor man a break; besides, it wasn’t even challenging anymore. “There is absolutely no secret lover. Just a Brazilian mother in her fifties who wants to tell me all the ways I’ve been a horrible daughter lately.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he said gruffly and hung up.

Adriana took a deep breath and clicked over. “Mama! So good to hear from you.”

“Tell me, Adi, wherever are you these days?”

“In the figurative or the literal sense?”

“Adriana, I am not in the mood for games,” Mrs. de Souza said.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, worrying not that her father had a heart attack or one of her hundreds of cousins had met an untimely death, only that her parents were considering an extended visit to New York.

“I just got off the phone with Gerard. He said you left this morning with a suitcase the size of a Land Rover.”

“You called my doorman to spy on me?” Adriana cried, forgetting that Toby’s driver could hear every word. “How dare you!”

“I called my doorman,” Mrs. de Souza shot back. “Adriana, I thought we just discussed this. Your father did not appreciate your American Express bill last month. It was, I recall, ten thousand on clothes and shoes, and another ten on travel and entertainment. You were ordered to significantly reduce all frivolous expenses, and now you’re off flitting around again.”

“Mama! I am not ‘flitting around’ anywhere. I happen to be in Los Angeles.” She lowered her voice and covered her mouth with her hand.

“I’m seeing a man. A very eligible man.” She lowered her voice even further, to a whisper. “This is not an expenditure; it’s an investment.”

Well, this seemed to quiet the old woman. Adriana found it humiliating that she was at her parents’ mercy, since it was their apartment. They could arrive anytime, without warning, and stay for as long as they liked. They could question every dollar she spent on clothes or facials or flights simply because they were paying the bills. And now, as a thirty-year-old woman, she was being forced to justify Toby. She was glad no one else was there to witness it.

“Is that so?” her mother asked. “And who, may I ask, is this gentleman?”

“Oh, just a little movie director. You know Toby Baron, don’t you?”

Adriana heard her mother gasp and was nearly delirious with pleasure.

“Tobias Baron? Didn’t he win an Oscar?”

“He most certainly did. And he was nominated for two others. Yes, he’s probably one of the top three most influential directors alive today,” Adriana said proudly.

“What is your relationship with Mr. Baron?” her mother asked.

“Oh, he’s my boyfriend.” Try as she might, she couldn’t mask the glee in her voice.

“Boyfriend? Adi, querida , you haven’t had a boyfriend since seventh grade. Do you mean to tell me you are dating him exclusively?”

“That is exactly what I’m telling you, Mama,” Adriana said. “In fact, this visit was all his idea. He said it felt strange not having me be a part of his life in Los Angeles, not knowing his friends and what his home looks like.” Again she lowered her voice and bent her head below the driver’s seat back. “Which, incidentally, I’ve heard is incredible.”

Truth be told, she’d done more than heard: In her many hours spent researching Toby online, she’d run across an article in InStyle that featured a dozen or so interior shots of his bachelor pad. Adriana already knew he preferred a sparse modern look for his four bedrooms and five baths; that his home was Balinese-style with indoor/outdoor showers and gardens, plus separate pavilions for eating, living, and sleeping; that, to top it all off, there was a drop-dead gorgeous infinity pool that looked like it stretched to, well, infinity over the valley below. She had decided sight unseen that with only a few minor adjustments (surely the master bedroom would need a built-in vanity and the immediate installation of proper California Closets), she would be very, very happy living there.

“Well, querida , we’re willing to overlook it this time. But please do show a bit of restraint in the future. I don’t have to tell you that your father has been under a lot of stress lately.”

“I know, Mama.”

“And behave yourself with Mr. Baron,” her mother warned. “Don’t forget everything I’ve taught you.”

“Mama! Of course I won’t forget.”

“If anything, the rules become even more important with wealthy and powerful men. They are the most accustomed to having women fall at their feet, and in turn are the most appreciative when they meet someone who refuses to do so.”

“I know, Mama.”

“Maintain your mystery, Adriana! I realize you go to bed with men far faster now than we did in my day, but that makes it even more important to remain a bit unattainable in other areas. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama. I understand perfectly.”

“Because you’re not setting a great precedent by flying across the country to see a man,” Mrs. de Souza said.

“Mama! It’s time. He’s been to visit me in New York four times already.” So she might have been exaggerating a touch, but her mother didn’t have to know that.

“And you’re staying at a hotel, I hope?”

“Of course. Even though it would be much less expensive to stay at his house…”

The mere suggestion of this sent her mother into a panic. “Adriana! You know better than that! Of course your father and I would appreciate your showing a bit more financial sensitivity, but this particular area is nonnegotiable.”

“I was kidding , Mama. I have a suite reserved at the Peninsula and I plan to use it.”

“And remember: no spending the night! If you absolutely must be intimate with him, then at least have the good sense to leave afterward.”

“Yes, Mama.” Adriana smiled to herself. Most moms warned their daughters against casual sex for fear of potential disease, disrespect, or reputation. Mrs. de Souza had none of these concerns; she feared only that a false move would irreparably damage the relationship’s power balance and make the end goal-Adriana’s swift betrothal to a proper man-even more difficult to achieve.

“Well, all right, dear, I’m glad we had this chat. He does sound very promising. Certainly far favorable to the men you usually date…”

“I’ll call you when I’m back in New York on Sunday, okay?”

Her mother made a tsk-tsk sound and said, “Let me see here…I’m just checking my book. Ah, yes, we’ll be in Dubai then. The cell should work, but it’s always better if you just ring the apartment phone. Do you have that number?”

“I have it. I’ll call you there. Wish me luck!”

“You don’t need luck, querida . You’re an absolutely stunning girl that any man-Mr. Tobias Baron certainly included-would be delighted to have. Just remember your responsibilities, Adriana.”

They kissed over the phone and hung up. Adriana glanced at the driver to see how much he might have heard, but he was talking quietly into his own Bluetooth headset. There was no denying that her mother was exhausting and, judging from Leigh’s and Emmy’s stories, quite different from most moms, but it was hard to argue with her accomplishments. Mrs. de Souza had turned a phenomenally successful modeling career into a lifetime of luxury and leisure, all provided by a kind, hardworking man who worshipped the ground she walked on. A compound in São Paulo, an oceanfront mansion in Portugal, and gorgeous flats in both New York and Dubai…well, that wasn’t something to sneeze at. The furs and jewels, cars and staff weren’t bad, either, and naturally Mrs. de Souza made very good use of her unlimited and unquestioned spending (a clause she’d insisted upon before the wedding ceremony took place). It might be tiresome enduring the endless “lessons” from her mother, but Adriana did not question the woman’s authority on all things men-related.