Everyone Worth Knowing by Lauren Weisberger Page B

clueless?"
    "Welcome to my life." She sighed. "Avery's the same way—he
    knows everyone and everything. I just can't be bothered. The effort
    required for mere maintenance is too exhausting. But tonight will
    be fun. I'd like to meet people who plan parties for a living. And
    the food's supposed to be great."
    "Well, I'm not sure that's a huge selling point with this crowd.
    I've spent forty hours with Elisa this week and haven't seen her eat
    a thing. She seems to subsist solely on cigarettes and Diet Coke."
    "Hot-girl diet, huh? Good for her. You've got to admire that
    level of commitment." Penelope sighed again. "I'm headed home
    in a few. Want to share a cab downtown?"
    "Perfect. I'll pick you up at the corner of Fourteenth and Fifth
    a little before nine. I'll call when I get in the cab," I said.
    "Sounds good. I'll wait outside. Bye."
    I headed for my closet. After some discards and retries, I settled
    on a pair of tight black pants and a plain black tank top. I extracted
    some decently high heels, bought during a shopping trip in
    SoIIo, and took the time to blow out the exceedingly thick black
    hair I inherited from my mother—the kind that everyone thinks
     
    they want until they realize it barely fits in a ponytail and instantly
    adds thirty minutes to any preparation time. I even attempted some
    makeup, which got put to use so infrequently that the mascara
    wand was all clumpy and a few of the lipsticks were stuck inside
    their tubes. No matter/ 1 thought, singing along to Mike & the Mechanics'
    "The Living Years" as I worked on my face . . . this was
    even kind of fun. I had to admit, the end results were worth the
    extra effort: my love handles no longer bulged over the waistline
    of my pants, my boobs had retained their chubby-girl fullness even
    though the rest of me had shrunk, and the mascara I'd haphazardly
    brushed across my lashes had accidentally smeared to perfection,
    giving my somewhat bland gray eyes a sexy, smoldering look.
    Penelope was waiting outside at exactly ten to nine, and we
    were deposited at our requested address right on time. There were
    a ton of restaurants on West Broadway, and everyone seemed to
    be clustered at outdoor tables looking exceedingly well-scrubbed
    and unnervingly happy. We had a little trouble finding the place
    because the restaurant management had neglected to post a sign.
    Perhaps it's an issue of practicality; since the shelf life of most New
    York hot spots is under six months, it actually leaves one less thing
    to remove when they close. Luckily, I remembered the street number
    from Zagat and we scoped it out from the far corner. Groups
    of scantily but expensively clad women congregated around the
    bar as older men kept their drinks filled, but I didn't see Elisa or
    anyone else from the office.
    "Bette! Over here!" Elisa called, a champagne glass in one hand
    and a cigarette in the other. She was planted in the middle of
    Cipriani's outdoor tables, leaning seductively against one of the
    Italians' chairs, her branch-like limbs looking as though they might
    snap at any moment. "Everyone else is inside. So glad you could
    come!"
    "Jesus Christ, she's skinny," Penelope muttered under her
    breath as we walked toward the tables.
    "Hi," I said and leaned in to kiss Elisa hello. 1 turned to introduce
    her to Penelope but noticed that Elisa was still waiting there,
    her face thrust forward and filled, eyes closed. She had expected
     
    the traditional Euro double kiss, and I'd given up halfway through.
    I'd recently read a convincing piece in Cosmo decrying the double
    kiss as a stupid affectation and decided to make a stand: there
    would be no more double kisses for me. I left her hanging but
    said, "Thanks for inviting me. I absolutely love it here!"
    She recovered quickly. "Ohmigod, me, too. They have the best
    salads of anywhere. Hi, I'm Elisa," she said, offering a hand to
    Penelope.
    "I'm so sorry, that was so rude of me." I flushed, realizing I
    must have