Bergdorf Blondes Read Free Page B

issues.
    When I once suggested to Julie that maybe her issues would eventually be resolved she replied, “God, I hope not. I’d be so uninteresting if I was just rich and not screwed up about it.” Without her issues, she said, “I’d be a personality-free zone.”
    Luckily it’s très chic to be neurotic in New York, which means that Julie and I fit in perfectly.
     
    You can imagine Julie’s reaction to the e-mail about the glaring difference between our kind of Chloé jeans happiness and Jolene’s and K.K.’s and Cari’s fiancé happiness. We were having brunch a few days later at Joe’s, this super-unhealthy diner on the corner of Sullivan and Houston. Julie was way overdressed in that tiny new Mendel mink jacket that everyone’s gone nuts about. But then Park Avenue Princesses overdress for everything, even ordering in. I would too if I had that many new clothes every week. She was basking in her shoplifting triumph but frowned when I reminded her about Mimi’s shower.
    “Are you trying to give me another issue? Eew! How could you! It’s beyond!” she cried tearfully.
    “How could I what?” I said, pouring maple syrup onto a silver dollar pancake.
    “E-mail me that whole thing about, like, everyone but me having a fiancé. It’s so unfair. I’m happy but I’m not beyond happy like K.K. and Jolene. You’ve got to be in love for that.”
    “You don’t have to be in love to be happy,” I said.
    “You only think that because you’ve never been inlove. God, I feel so unhappy and so un- chic ! I heard they all look amazing now that they’re engaged.”
    Underneath all the issues and the drama and the clothes and the vitamin C injections, Julie is hopelessly romantic. She claims to have been in love more than fifty-four times. She started young—acquiring her first boyfriend at seven—“but that was before the oral sex epidemic hit,” she always says. She actually believes love songs. Like she really does think that love lifts you up where you belong and seriously fell for the Beatles’ crazy idea that all you need is love. Most of her love-type problems have been caused by Dolly Parton, who inspired her so much with “I Will Always Love You” that Julie says she genuinely loves all her exes, “even the ones I really hate,” which her shrink says is a “ huge issue.” She thinks “Heartbreak Hotel” refers to the Four Seasons Hotel on Fifty-seventh Street where she checks in every time she rows with a boyfriend. If I could afford a suite at that divine place, I’d break up with a man every two weeks, too. Julie was convinced the only way she could be happy was to be in love and have a fiancé on her arm like everyone else.
    “I have all the Vuitton bags Marc Jacobs ever made, but what’s the point if my other arm doesn’t have a fiancé supporting it? And look!” she gasped, pointing at my legs under the table. “You’re wearing fishnets! Are fishnets in, too? Why didn’t anyone tell me? ”
    Julie flopped her head dramatically onto the tableand wiped her tears on her mink, which I thought was a really spoiled princessy way to behave, but this is totally in keeping with her personality so I shouldn’t be too shocked, I suppose. After a few minutes she calmed down and her face suddenly lit up. Julie’s mood swings are so unpredictable, sometimes I think she’s schizophrenic.
    “I’ve got an idea. Let’s go fishnet-stocking and fiancé shopping together!” she said excitedly.
    Julie honestly thinks fiancés are as easy to come by as hose.
    “Julie, why on earth would you want to get married now?” I said.
    “Eew! I don’t. I said I wanted a fiancé! I’m not necessarily going to marry him right away. Ooh, I can hardly wait. We are going Prospective Husband hunting,” she continued.
    “We?!” I exclaimed. “Isn’t America supposed to be a modern country where career girls don’t need things like fiancés?”
    “Everyone wants to fall in love eventually. Fiancés