Last Night at Chateau Marmont Read Online Free PDF Page B

seven to three each day.
    “Wait just a minute. . . .” Her mother’s voice trailed off and it was momentarily replaced by Oprah’s before that, too, abruptly ended. “There we go.”
    “Wow, you turned off
Oprah.
It must be important.”
    “She’s interviewing Jennifer Aniston again. I can’t stand to listen to it anymore. She’s over Brad. She’s thrilled to be forty-whatever. She’s never felt better. We get it. Why do we have to keep talking about it?”
    Brooke laughed. “Listen, Mom, can I call you later tonight? I only have fifteen minutes left of break.”
    “Oh sure, honey. Remind me then to tell you about your brother.”
    “What’s wrong with Randy?”
    “Nothing’s wrong with Randy—something’s finally right. But I know you’re busy right now, so let’s just talk later.”
    “Mom . . .”
    “It was thoughtless of me to call in the middle of your shift. I wasn’t even—”
    Brooke sighed loudly and smiled to herself. “Do you want me to beg?”
    “Sweetheart, if it’s a bad time, it’s a bad time. Let’s talk when you are more relaxed.”
    “Okay, Mom, I’m begging you to tell me about Randy. Literally pleading. Please tell me what’s up with him. Please?”
    “Well, if you’re going to be so insistent . . . fine, I’ll tell you. Randy and Michelle are pregnant. There, you forced it out of me.”
    “They’re
what
?”
    “Pregnant, sweetheart. Having a baby. She’s still very early—only seven weeks, I think—but their doctor says all looks well. Isn’t that just wonderful?”
    Brooke heard the television go on again in the background, quieter this time, but she could still make out Oprah’s recognizable laugh.
    “Wonderful?” Brooke asked, setting down her plastic knife. “I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use. They’ve only been dating for six months. They’re not married. They’re not even
living
together.”
    “Since when are you such a prude, my dear?” Mrs. Greene asked, clucking her tongue. “If you’d ever told me that my educated, urbane, thirty-year-old daughter would be such a traditionalist, I never would’ve believed it.”
    “Mother, I’m not sure it’s exactly ‘traditionalist’ to expect that people try to limit baby-making to committed relationships.”
    “Oh, Brooke, relax a little. Not everyone can—or should—get married at twenty-five. Randy’s thirty-eight and Michelle is almost forty. Do you really think anyone cares at this point about some silly little legal document? We should all know well enough by now that it hardly means a thing.”
    Brooke’s mind circled through a number of thoughts: her parents’ divorce nearly ten years earlier, when her father left her mother for the school nurse at the high school where they both taught; the way her mother sat Brooke down after her engagement to Julian and told her that women could be perfectly happy these days without getting married; her mother’s fervent wish that Brooke wait to start a family until her career was fully established. It was interesting to see that Randy, apparently, operated under a completely different set of guidelines.
    “Do you know what I really find amusing?” her mother asked without missing a beat. “The thought that maybe, just maybe, your father and Cynthia will have a baby, too. You know, considering how young she is. Then you’d have a brother
and
a father who are expecting. Really, Brooke, how many girls can say that?”
    “Mom . . .”
    “Seriously, sweetheart, don’t you think it’s pretty ironic—well, I’m not sure ‘ironic’ is the right word, but it’s pretty coincidental—that your father’s wife is a year younger than Michelle?”
    “Mom! Please stop. You know Dad and Cynthia aren’t going to have any children—he’s going to be sixty-five years old, for god’s sake,and she doesn’t even want—” Brooke stopped, smiled to herself, shook her head. “You know, maybe you’re right, and Dad and Cynthia will jump on