Elle’s tears gave way to resolve as she and her two best friends worked late into the evening devising plans to bring Warner to his senses.
Elle decided around 3:00 A.M. that she would go to law school and beat Warner at his own game. Decided, maybe, after one too many pink Margotitas. Tequila-induced or not, the idea stuck. If Warner was going to Stanford Law School to find someone “serious,” he was going to find one serious Elle Woods.
Elle spent the rest of the fall semester in hibernation, studying for the Law School Aptitude Test, which she had scheduled to take in January. Everyone attributed her social disappearance to her breakup with Warner.
Three months later, Elle was positively beaming as she emerged from the LSAT. Not only were the required sections a breeze, but the extra section, “Logic Games,” allowed her to use what she considered to be one of her greatest strengths: abstract organization. Ever since high school Elle had been a whiz at seating arrangements for parties, saving events that could have been diversity disasters without her strategic social skills. She was famous for the dinner parties to which she would invite sorority sisters with open rivalries or roommates on the outs. She partnered talkers with listeners and athletes with beauties, with dazzling success.
So when she encountered the silly time-zone puzzles in the “Logic Games” section she finished four minutes ahead of the clock. Nothing on the exam came close to approaching the subtleties and entanglements of Elle’s social world.
Days after the exam, Elle sauntered into her mother’s contemporary Los Angeles art gallery on La Brea. The walls had been sponged in rich vegetable-dye pigments and covered with deep brushed metal. The redwood-stained floor shone, and the lighting in the gallery was set to flatter her mother more than the art.
“Kiss noise!” Elle’s mother said when she saw her. Elle leaned across her mother’s desk and they exchanged air kisses to avoid smudging each other’s artfully applied makeup.
“Mother, I’ve got some news that may surprise you,” Elle announced nervously as she settled into a comfortless straight-backed chair.
“Oh, darling! You’re finally marrying Warner!” Eva guessed. Elle had always told her mother everything, but hadn’t had the guts to tell her about the awful October night when Warner dumped her. She knew her mother would be devastated. Although her mother ran one of L.A.’s most successful galleries, she had always told Elle that a woman’s most exalted achievement was in landing a moneyed husband and maintaining a successful marriage.
“No, Mother,” Elle said, “um, not yet. The news is, I’ve decided not to work in the gallery this fall. I’m, uh, well, I’ve decided to go back to school.”
Eva smiled and turned stiffly back to her work looking at slide submissions from new artists. Elle could sense her disappointment. “Design or film, dear?” she asked.
“I’m going to law school.”
Eva bolted out of her chair. She was teetering from shock in her Gucci stilettos and was afraid she might faint. She quickly reached for her chair, and once she was seated, she stared at Elle for several moments before she could speak. “Law school? What are you talking about? Darling, one must pass tests for that sort of nonsense and—”
Elle interrupted. “Oh, I know,” she said, and giggled nervously, tugging at the quilted Chanel fabric of her pale-pink-and-white checked micromini. “I’ve already taken the test and I think I aced it. It may seem sudden, I know, Mother, but I just totally want to be a lawyer.” She shuffled her perfectly coordinated pink-and-white spectator pumps on the gleaming floor and tried to think of a reason that would satisfy her mother.
“I see,” Eva said. “Have you applied to schools already?”
“Well, of course! I applied to Harvard, and Pepperdine as a backup. And, um, Stanford too, I think.” She paused. “Yes, those three, definitely,” Elle lied. She had only applied to Stanford. After all why would she set foot on a campus that didn’t have Warner on it?
“Well, your father will be devastated!” Eva said. “Do you have any idea how much his medical malpractice insurance was last year?”
Elle thought about telling her about the nobler pursuits of the law that she had recently brushed up on to help her write her personal-essay part of the Stanford application, but decided it would be a waste of time. Ultimately, she would get Warner back and both of her parents would be happy.
In late April, while standing in the foyer of the Delta Gamma house leafing through her mail, Elle found a very thin envelope from Stanford. As was typical for a sunny day, the house was empty. Elle ran up the winding green carpeted staircase to her room, gripping the white railing painted with delicate gold anchors with one hand and holding the letter in the other, praying it was a letter of acceptance. She listed all of her credentials in her head before she opened the letter to try to calm her nerves. She had a 4.0 grade point average, a perfect LSAT score, and tons of extracurricular activities. She just hoped that Stanford had liked her personal statement.
Leaning against the inside of her bedroom door, Elle opened the letter with trembling hands and began to read aloud. Her eyes began to fill with tears of joy after she read the letter’s first sentence. “Dear Ms. Woods, we are pleased to extend a spot to you in our first-year class.”
After graduation Elle moved back to her parents’, and from that day on, with Underdog faithfully at her side, she began the project of becoming someone she was sure Warner would regard as “serious.”
Her first instinct, as always, was to turn to Cosmo for advice. The magazine, ripe with articles with titles such as “How to Make Sure He’s Ga-Ga for You!,” had been virtually foolproof in the past. However, when Serena found Warner’s brother and his bride featured in Town & Country, Elle knew that that was her new bible.
With Glamour and Allure tucked safely under her bed, and Town & Country under her arm, Elle shopped at Laura Ashley, traded in her BMW convertible for a Range Rover, and bought a pair of Oliver Peoples wire-rim glasses (without prescription lenses of course). She began wearing pearls.
In August, after a month of daily six-hour shopping excursions, Elle Woods was ready. She packed her flowery sundresses, tartan headbands, and pink furry slippers, zipped her Louis Vuittons, and headed north with Underdog.