Lauren Weisberger - When Life Gives You Lululemons

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ALSO BY LAUREN WEISBERGER

The Singles Game

Revenge Wears Prada

Last Night at Chateau Marmont

Chasing Harry Winston

Everyone Worth Knowing

The Devil Wears Prada

Simon & Schuster

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2018 by Lauren Weisberger

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition June 2018

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Interior design by Ruth Lee-Mui

Jacket design by Jackie Seow

Jacket illustration by Ralwel / Istock /Getty Images Plus

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Weisberger, Lauren, 1977 author. Title: When life gives you lululemons : a novel / Lauren Weisberger. Description: New York : Simon & Schuster, [2018] Identifiers: LCCN 2018000347| ISBN 9781476778440 (hardback) | ISBN 9781476778457 (trade paper) Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Contemporary Women. | FICTION / Humorous. | FICTION / General. Classification: LCC PS3623.E432457 W48 2018 | DDC 813/.6dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018000347

ISBN 978-1-4767-7844-0

ISBN 978-1-4767-7846-4 (ebook)

To my entire family, with love

E mily racked her brain. There had to be something to complain about. This was New Years Eve in Los Angeles, one of the most annoying nights of the year in arguably the most annoying city known to humanity. So why couldnt she think of a thing?

She sipped her skinny margarita from her chaise and watched her husbands beautiful body cut through the water like a moving art installation. When Miles emerged, he propped himself on the back of the lit infinity pool, where the turquoise water appeared to spill over the side and straight down the mountain. Behind him, the lights from the valley twinkled for miles, making the city look alluring, even sexy. Night was the only time Los Angeles really shone. Gone were the smog and the junkies and the soul-crushing traffic, all replaced by an idyllic vista of night sky and silently twinkling lightsas if God Himself had descended into the Hollywood Hills and selected the most perfect Snapchat filter for His least favorite city on earth.

Miles smiled at her and she waved, but when he motioned for her to join him, she shook her head. It was unseasonably warm, and all around her, people were partying in that intensely determined way that happened only on New Years Eve after midnight: This will be the most fun weve ever had; we will do and say outrageous things; we are loving our lives and everyone around us . The massive hot tub was packed with a dozen revelers, all with drinks in hand, and another group sat around the perimeter, content to dangle their feet while they waited for a few inches of space to free up. On the deck above the pool a DJ blasted remixed hip-hop, and dancers everywhereon the patio, in the pool, on the pool deck, streaming in and out of the houseall moved happily to his playlist. On the chair to Emilys left, a young girl wearing only bikini bottoms straddled a guy and massaged his shoulders while her bare breasts dangled freely. She worked her way down his back and began a rather aggressive handling of his glutes. She was twenty-three, twenty-five at most, and while her body was far from perfectslightly rounded belly and overly curvy thighsher arms didnt jiggle and her neck didnt sag. No crepey anything. Just youth. None of the small indignities of Emilys own body at thirty-six: light stretch marks on her hips; cleavage with just the smallest hint of sag; some errant dark hairs along her bikini line that just seemed to sprout now willy-nilly, indifferent to Emilys indefatigable waxing schedule. It wasnt a horror show, exactlyshe still looked thin and tan, maybe even downright hot in her elegant Eres two-piecebut it was getting harder with every passing year.

An unfamiliar 917 number flashed on her phone.

Emily? This is Helene. Im not sure if you remember, but we met a couple years ago at the Met Ball.

Emily looked skyward in concentration. Though the name was familiar, she was having a hard time placing it. Silence filled the air.

Im Rizzos manager.

Rizzo. Interesting . He was the new Bieber: the hottest pop star whose fame had skyrocketed when, two years earlier at age sixteen, hed become the youngest male to win a Grammy for Album of the Year. Helene had moved to Hollywood to join an agencyeither ICM or Endeavor, Emily couldnt rememberbut shed somehow missed the news that Helene now represented Rizzo.

Of course. How are you? Emily asked. She glanced at her watch. This was no ordinary call.

Im sorry Im calling so late, Helene said. Its already four a.m. here in New York, but youre probably in L.A. I feel terrible interrupting...

No, its fine. Im at Gigi Hadids childhood mansion and not nearly as drunk as I should be. Whats up?

A shriek came from the pool. Two girls had jumped in together, holding hands, and were splashing Miles and a couple of his friends. Emily rolled her eyes.

Well, I, uh... Helene cleared her throat. Were off the record, right?

Of course. This sounded promising.

Im not sure I understand the whole story myself, but Riz appeared on Seacrests Times Square show earlier tonighteverything was fine, it went off without a hitch. Afterward, I went to meet up with some old college friends, and Rizzo was headed to some party at 1 OAK. Sober, at least when he left me. Happy about his performance.

Okay...

And just this second I got texted a picture from a colleague who works in ICMs New York office and happens to be at 1 OAK right now...