Lauren Weisberger - Last Night at Chateau Marmont: A Novel

Last Night at Chateau Marmont

ALSO BY LAUREN WEISBERGER

The Devil Wears Prada

Everyone Worth Knowing

Chasing Harry Winston

A NOVEL

LAUREN WEISBERGER

ATRIABOOKS
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2010 by Lauren Weisberger

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First Atria Books hardcover edition August 2010

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Designed by Rhea Braunstein

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Weisberger, Lauren, 1977
Last night at Chateau Marmont : a novel / by Lauren Weisberger.1st
Atria Books hardcover ed.
p. cm.
1. MusiciansFiction. 2. SuccessFiction. 3. CelebritiesFiction. 4. GossipFiction. 5. WomenSocieties and clubsFiction. 6. Young womenNew York (State)New YorkFiction. 7. Female friendship
Fiction. 8. Manhattan (New York, N.Y.)Fiction. 9. Chick lit. I. Title.
PS3623.E453L37 2010
813.6-dc22

2010023173

ISBN 978-1-4391-3661-4
ISBN 978-1-4391-4694-1 (ebook)

For Dana, my sister and best friend forever

Last Night at Chateau Marmont

WHEN the subway finally screeched into the Franklin Street station, Brooke was nearly sick with anxiety. She checked her watch for the tenth time in as many minutes and tried to remind herself that it wasnt the end of the world; her best friend, Nola, would forgive her, had to forgive her, even if she was inexcusably late. She made her way through the rush-hour throngs of commuters toward the door, instinctively holding her breath in the midst of so many bodies, and allowed herself to be pushed toward the stairwell. On autopilot now, Brooke and her fellow riders each pulled their cell phones from their purses and jacket pockets, filed silently into a straight line and, zombielike, marched like choreographed soldiers up the right side of the cement stairs while staring blankly at the tiny screens in their palms.

Shit! she heard an overweight woman up ahead call out, and in a moment she knew why. The rain hit her forcefully and without warning the instant she emerged from the stairwell. What had been a chilly but decent enough March evening only twenty minutes earlier had deteriorated into a freezing, thundering misery, where the winds whipped the rain down and made it utterly impossible to stay dry.

Dammit! she added to the cacophony of expletives people were shouting all around her as they struggled to pull umbrellas from their briefcases or arrange newspapers over their heads. Since shed run home to change after work, Brooke had nothing but a tiny (and admittedly cute) silver clutch to shield herself from the onslaught. Good-bye, hair, she thought as she began to sprint the three blocks to the restaurant. Ill miss you, eye makeup. Nice knowing you, gorgeous new suede boots that ate up half my weekly salary.

Brooke was drenched by the time she reached Sotto, the tiny, unpretentious neighborhood joint where she and Nola met two or three times a month. The pasta wasnt the best in the cityprobably not even the best on the blockand the space wasnt anything all that special, but Sotto had other charms, more important ones: reasonably priced wine by the full carafe, a killer tiramisu, and a downright hot Italian matre d who, simply because theyd been coming for so long, always saved Brooke and Nola the most private table in the back.

Hey, Luca. Brooke greeted the owner as she shrugged off her wool peacoat, trying not to shake water everywhere. Is she here yet?

Luca immediately put his hand over the phone receiver and pointed with a pencil over his shoulder. The usual. Whats the occasion for the sexy dress, cara mia? You want to dry off first?

She smoothed her fitted, short-sleeved black jersey dress with both palms and prayed that Luca was right, that the dress was sexy and she looked okay. Shed come to think of that dress as her Gig Uniform; paired with either heels, sandals, or boots, depending on the weather, she wore it to nearly every one of Julians performances.

Im so late already. Is she all whiny and mad? Brooke asked, scrunching handfuls of her hair in a desperate attempt to save it from the imminent frizz attack.

Shes a half carafe in and hasnt put the mobile down yet. You better get back there.

They exchanged a triple cheek-kissBrooke had protested the full three kisses in the beginning but Luca insistedbefore Brooke took a deep breath and walked back to their table. Nola was tucked neatly into the banquette, her suit jacket flung across the back bench and her navy cashmere shell showing off tightly toned arms and contrasting nicely with her gorgeous olive skin. Her shoulder-length layered cut was stylish and sexy, her blond highlights glowed under the restaurants soft lights, and her makeup looked dewy and fresh. No one would ever know from looking at her that Nola had just clocked in twelve hours on a trading desk screaming into a headset.

Brooke and Nola didnt meet until second semester senior year at Cornell, although Brookelike the rest of the student bodyrecognized Nola and was equal parts terrified of and fascinated by her. Compared to her hoodie-and-Ugg-wearing fellow students, the model-thin Nola favored high-heeled boots and blazers and never, ever tied her hair in a ponytail. Shed grown up in elite prep schools in New York, London, Hong Kong, and Dubai, places her investment banker father worked, and had enjoyed the requisite freedom that goes along with being the only child of extremely busy parents.

How she ended up at Cornell instead of Cambridge or Georgetown or the Sorbonne was anyones guess, but it didnt take a lot of imagination to see she wasnt particularly impressed by it all. When the rest of them were busy rushing sororities, meeting for lunch at the Ivy Room, and getting drunk at various Collegetown bars, Nola kept to herself. There were glimpses into her lifethe well-known affair with the archaeology professor, the frequent appearances of sexy, mysterious men on campus who vanished soon thereafterbut for the most part, Nola attended her classes, aced everything she took, and hightailed it back to Manhattan the moment Friday afternoon rolled around. When the two girls found themselves assigned to workshop each others short stories in a creative writing elective their senior year, Brooke was so intimidated she could barely speak. Nola, as usual, didnt appear particularly pleased or upset, but when she returned Brookes first submission a week latera fictional piece on a character struggling to adapt to her Peace Corps assignment in Congoit was filled with thoughtful, insightful commentary and suggestions. Then, on the last page, after scrawling out her lengthy and serious feedback, Nola had written, P.S. Consider sex scene in Congo? and Brooke had laughed so hard she had to excuse herself from class to calm down.