Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont

‘Yeah, I guess so. Why don’t I go up with, er, Mr Fisher so we can start bringing stuff up. Ask her if she needs any help.’

Mr Fisher smiled a way that could only be described as lecherous. ‘Please, we’re like family now,’ he said, looking at my chest. ‘Call me John.’

I almost choked on the now cold coffee I was holding and wondered if the man revered the world over for reviving the Dior brand had died without my knowing and been reincarnated as my doorman.

Alex nodded and wiped his glasses on his T-shirt. I loved it when he did that. ‘You go with your parents. I’ll call.’

I wondered if it was a good or bad thing that my father was now best friends with my (designer) doorman, the man who would inevitably know every detail of my life. The lobby looked nice, if a little retro. It was done in a light-colored stone of some sort, and there were a few uncomfortable-looking benches in front of the elevators and behind the mailroom. Our apartment was number 8C, and it faced southwest, which, from what I’d heard, was a good thing. John opened the door with his master key and stood back like a proud papa.

‘Here she is,’ he announced grandly.

I walked in first, expecting to be hit with an overpowering smell of sulfur or perhaps see a few bats winging their way around our ceiling, but it was surprisingly clean and bright. The kitchen was on the right, a narrow, one-person-wide strip with white tile floors and reasonably white Formica cabinets. The countertops were some sort of flecked granite imitation, and there was a microwave built in above the stove.

‘This is great,’ my mom said, pulling open the refrigerator. ‘It’s already got ice trays.’ The movers pushed past us, grunting while they lugged my bed.

The kitchen opened to the living room, which had already been divided in two by a temporary wall to create a second bedroom. Of course, that meant that all the windows had been cut out of the living room entirely, but that was OK. The bedroom was a decent size – definitely bigger than the one I’d just left – and the sliding glass door leading to the balcony made up one whole wall. The bathroom was between the living room and the real bedroom and was done in Pepto pink tiling and pink paint. Oh well. Could be kitschy. I walked into the real bedroom, which was significantly bigger than the living room one and looked around. A tiny closet, a ceiling fan, and a small, dirty window that looked directly into an apartment in the building next door. Lily had wanted this one and I’d happily agreed. She preferred having the extra space since she spent so much time in her bedroom studying, but I’d rather have the light and the balcony entrance.

‘Thanks, Lil,’ I whispered to myself, knowing that Lily couldn’t possibly hear me.

‘What’d you say, honey?’ my mom asked, coming up behind me.

‘Oh, nothing. Just that Lily did really, really well. I had no idea what to expect, but this is great, don’t you think?’

She looked like she was trying to find the most tactful way of saying something. ‘Yes, for New York, it’s a great apartment. It’s just hard to imagine paying so much and getting so little. You know your sister and Kyle only pay fourteen hundred a month total for their condo, and they have central air, marble bathrooms, brand-new dishwasher and washer-dryer, and three bedrooms and two bathrooms?’ she pointed out, as if she were the first to make this realization. For $2,280 you could get a beachfront townhouse in LA, a three-story condo on a tree-lined street in Chicago, a four-bedroom split-level in Miami, or a goddamn castle with a moat in Cleveland. Yes, we knew this.

‘And two parking spots, access to the golf course, gym, and pool,’ I added helpfully. ‘Yeah, I know. But believe it or not, this is a great deal. I think we’ll be very happy here.’

She hugged me. ‘I think you will be, too. As long as you don’t work too hard to enjoy it,’ she said lightly.

My dad walked in and opened the duffel bag that he’d been dragging around all day, one I’d assumed held racquetball clothes for his game later. But he pulled out a maroon box emblazoned with ‘Limited Edition!’ across the front. Scrabble. The collector’s edition, where the board came mounted on its own lazy Susan and the squares had little raised borders so the letters didn’t slide around. We’d been admiring them together in specialty game stores for the past ten years, but no occasion had ever warranted purchasing one.

‘Oh, Dad. You shouldn’t have!’ I knew the board cost well over two hundred dollars. ‘Oh! I just love it!’

‘Use it in good health,’ he said, hugging me back. ‘Or better yet, to kick your old man’s ass, as I know you will. I remember when I used to let you win. I had to, or you’d stomp around the house, sulking all night. And now! Well, now my old brain cells are fried and I couldn’t beat you if I tried. Not that I won’t,’ he added.

I was about to tell him that I’d learned from the best, but Alex had walked in. And he didn’t look happy.

‘What’s wrong?’ I immediately asked as he fidgeted with his sneakers.

‘Oh, nothing at all,’ he lied while glancing in the direction of my parents. He shot me a ‘just hold on a sec’ look and said, ‘Here, I brought a box.’

‘Let’s go get a few more,’ my dad said to my mom, moving toward the door. ‘Maybe Mr Fisher has some sort of cart. We could bring a bunch up at once. Be right back.’

I looked at Alex, and we both waited until we’d heard the elevator open and close.

‘So, I just talked to Lily,’ he said slowly.

‘She’s not still mad at me, is she? She’s been so weird all week.’

‘No, I don’t think it’s that.’

‘So what is it?’

‘Well, she wasn’t at home …’

‘So where is she? Some guy’s apartment? I can’t believe she’s late for her own moving day.’ I yanked open one of the windows in the converted bedroom to let some of the cold air dissipate the smell of new paint.

‘No, she was actually at a police precinct in midtown.’ He looked at his shoes.

‘She was where? Is she OK? Ohmigod! Was she mugged or raped? I have to go to her right away.’

‘Andy, she’s fine. She was arrested.’ He said it quietly, as if he were breaking the news to a parent that their child wasn’t going to pass fourth grade.

‘Arrested? She was arrested?’ I tried to stay calm, but I realized too late that I was screaming. My dad walked in, pulling a giant cart that looked ready to topple under the weight of unevenly stacked boxes.

‘Who was arrested?’ he asked off-handedly. ‘Mr Fisher brought all this stuff up for us.’

I was racking my brain for a lie, but Alex stepped in before I could think of anything remotely plausible. ‘Oh, I was just telling Andy that I saw on VH-1 last night that one of the girls from TLC was arrested on drug charges. And she always seemed like one of the straighter ones …’

My dad shook his head and surveyed the room, only half listening and probably wondering when exactly Alex or myself had become so interested in female pop stars that we actually discussed it. ‘I’m thinking that the only real place your bed can go is with the head against the far wall,’ he said. ‘Speaking of which, I better go see how they’re doing.’

I literally flung my body in front of Alex the minute the apartment door closed.

‘Quickly! Tell me what happened. What happened?’

‘Andy, you’re shrieking. It’s not so bad. Actually, it’s kind of funny.’ His eyes crinkled as he laughed, and for a brief second he looked just like Eduardo. Ew.

‘Alex Fineman, you better fucking tell me right now what happened with my best friend—’

‘OK, OK, relax.’ He was clearly enjoying this. ‘She was out with some guy last night that she referred to as Tongue Ring Boy – do we know who that is?’

I stared at him.

‘Anyway, they went out for dinner and Tongue Ring Boy was walking her home, and she thought it’d be fun to flash him, right there on the street outside the restaurant. “Sexy,” she said. To get him interested.’

I envisioned Lily unwrapping a dinner mint and strolling outside after a romantic meal, only to pull away and yank up her shirt for a guy who’d paid to have someone ram a post through his tongue. Jesus.

‘Oh no. She didn’t …’

Alex nodded somberly, trying not to laugh.

‘You’re telling me my friend got arrested for showing her breasts? That’s ridiculous. This is New York. I see women every day who are practically topless – and that’s in the workplace!’ I was shrieking again, but I couldn’t help it.

‘Her bottom.’ He was looking at his shoes again, and his face was so red, I couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or hysterical.

‘Her what?’

‘Not her breasts. Her bottom. Her lower half. Like, all of it. Front and back.’ An ear-to-ear grin had finally broken out, and he looked so delighted that I thought he might wet himself.