Last Night at Chateau Marmont by Lauren Weisberger Page A

a kiss for me. And as soon as you have a second, I’d really like to get a date nailed down—”
    “Uh-huh, okay, Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    “Because it’ll only take a second, and—”
    “Mom . . .”
    “Okay. Call me tomorrow. Love you, Rookie.”
    “Love you, too, Mom.” She heard the door open just as she hung up the phone.
    She knew he would take his coat off and greet Walter, which gave her just enough time to peel off the foil wrapper and unscrew the wire basket around the cork. She had remembered to bring two flutes, which she placed on her bedside table before stretching out, catlike, atop the made bed. Her nervousness lasted only a second, just until Julian opened the door.
    “Guess who’s staying at the Chateau Marmont?” he said, his smile a mile wide.
    “Who?” She sat up in bed, momentarily forgetting her outfit.
    “I am,” he said, and instantly Brooke felt a wave of anxiety.
    “No way,” she breathed. It was all she could manage.
    “Oh yes. In a suite. Where I’ll be picked up by limo and taken to the NBC studio for the
Leno
taping.”
    She forced herself to focus on his good news and remind herself that it had nothing to do with her. “Wow, Julian, that’s amazing! They mention that place constantly in
Last Night, US Weekly,
all of them. Kate Hudson just hosted an all-night party in the bungalows. J. Lo and Marc Anthony ran into Ben Affleck by the pool and Marc supposedly made a scene. Belushi
overdosed
there, for chrissake. The place is absolutely legendary.”
    “And guess what else?” Julian asked, sitting down beside her on the bed and running his hand over her mesh-covered thigh.
    “What?”
    “My extremely hot wife is going to be joining me, so long as she promises to bring this mesh outfit with her,” he said, leaning in to kiss Brooke.
    “Stop it!” she shrieked.
    “Of course, only if she wants to.”
    “You’re joking!”
    “I’m not. I spoke to Samara, my new
publicist
”—his eyebrows shot up and he grinned at her—“and she said it’s fine so long as we pay for your plane ticket. Leo thought it’d be better if we went alone, just so I wouldn’t be distracted, but I told him I could never do something this big without you. So what do you say?”
    She ignored the Leo part. “I think that’s freaking incredible!” she said, throwing her arms around his neck. “I think I can’t wait to
canoodle
with you by the bar and party all night in the bungalows.”
    “Is that really what it’s like?” Julian asked, pushing her backward against the pillows and arranging himself, still fully dressed, on top of her.
    “Hell yes. From everything I’ve read, we can fully expect Cristal-filled pools, heaping mountains of cocaine, more cheating celebrities than a high-end escort service, and enough gossip on an hourly basisto fill ten tabloids. Oh, and orgies. I’ve never read that, but I’m sure they happen. Probably right in the restaurant.”
    Walter jumped up on the bed and, chin to the air, began to howl.
    “That does sound pretty awesome, doesn’t it, Walter?” Julian asked, kissing Brooke’s neck.
    Walter howled in response and Brooke laughed.
    Julian dipped his finger in his champagne glass, put it up to Brooke’s lips, and kissed her again.
    “What do you say to some practice?” he asked.
    Brooke kissed him back and pulled off his shirt, her heart swelling with the sense of possibility. “I’d say that’s the best damn idea I’ve heard in a long, long time.”

    “Can I get you another Diet Coke?” the bermuda-clad waiter asked as he sidled up next to Brooke’s lounge chair, blocking her sun. In the direct sunlight it felt reasonably warm, and although she thought the low seventies was a bit too chilly for bikini weather, her fellow pool-goers apparently disagreed.
    She glanced at the half-dozen or so people sipping delicious-looking cocktails around the pool, reminded herself that although it was only midafternoon on a Tuesday this