you next to him at the party.”
“Is he cute?”
“Daphne says he’s unbelievably cute.”
“Well what do you think?
“I don’t know,” I said.
Honestly, I had no idea whether Charlie was cute or not now. The only man I could think about with any clarity was Zach. All the others were just a blur.
“So, tell me everything,” said Julie, as Ariette painted the dye onto her locks. “You sounded terrible when you called me from Daphne’s. What happened after the party?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said, casually flipping through the new Vogue . (They always have next month’s Vogue in the salon way before it’s come out.)
“Yeah, right,” said Julie sarcastically.
Julie knows me too well for me to hide anything from her. I told her about the hideous conversation in the car, selectively skimming over some of the details.
“Eew! How could he say those things?! What a total See You Next Tuesday. You can’t marry this guy, honey. A marriage without sex would be very disappointing. You’re in complete denial,” said Julie.
I had no idea what she was talking about.
“That’s the problem with people who are in denial,” continued Julie. “If they’re in it, they have no idea they’re in it.”
Sometimes Julie makes zero sense.
“But I love him,” I said. Even just thinking about Zach made me feel like I was going to drop six pounds then and there.
“The only person you’re in love with is Jude Law. You’re in love with the idea of being in love,” said Julie. “You’re a hopeless romantic.”
I thought this was a bit much coming from the original hopeless romantic herself. I mean, Julie admits she’s totally in love with Jude Law too, so I would have thought she’d really understand. And Julie didn’t know a thing about relationships anyway. I mean, she’s had tons and none of them has ever worked out.
“But maybe Zach’s right, maybe I am really superficial,” I said.
“You are not superficial, you just seem like you are sometimes because of your Chloé jeans obsession. He’s the superficial one, turning all the problems into your fault. Now, do you think it’s chicer to be a single-process blonde or a double-process blonde?” said Julie, tipping her head back into the sink to have the color rinsed out of her hair.
“Single. Do you think if I gave up Chloé jeans he’d sleep with me?”
“I’ve got one word for you. Postpone.”
Julie was absolutely, completely, and utterly deluded. I couldn’t postpone! I couldn’t even contemplate thinking about not marrying Zach. It was like I’d drunk the Kool-Aid: there was no going back now. And anyway, Muffy was twenty-four hours away from throwing me this divine engagement party. She’d gone even more overboard than Daphne and hired Lexington Kinnicut to do the flowers. He is New York’s uncontested king of the Rose Jungle (the in jungle after Lily Jungles). The wait list for Lexington Kinnicut is comparable only to the wait list for the YSL horn bags. If I called off my engagement and Muffy had to cancel Lexington, she’d die on the spot, literally. The other thing was, I’d planned to introduce Julie and Charlie at the party: if I postponed there’d be no party and no introduction.
Even though there was absolutely no way I was planning to postpone, the second I got home from Bergdorf’s I did call Mom for a postponement consultation. I know that sounds like an oxymoron, because it is, but I was confused beyond belief. I guess I was starting to realize that rushing into marriage with Patrick Bateman wasn’t nearly as appealing as rushing into marriage with Jude Law. I told Mom, in strictest confidence, that Zach and I had a few issues in the Brazilian department and that if I wasn’t exactly considering a postponement, a mini-delay might be in the offing. I made her promise not to tell a soul, since our New York engagement party was the following night. Zach mustn’t find out I had any doubts. After all, why spoil