When Life Gives You Lululemons (15 page)

Miriam examined a delicate glass bottle when it was passed to her. The small block print on the front read
SENSUAL MASSAGE OIL
, and when she twisted off the top to smell it, she wanted to douse herself in it. Yes. She would happily buy some massage oil and offer Paul a shoulder rub. How long had it been since she'd done that? She accepted a refilled wineglass from Ashley and sank back into the couch.

Sage kept pulling out brightly colored objects in every imaginable shape and size. Like the bath products, these were all packaged beautifully in sleek, minimalist boxes with little indication as to their contents. “Please, feel free to open and touch all of them.”

Miriam examined a box that could have been mistaken for something you'd buy at the Apple store. It featured a picture of what looked like a lavender-colored egg and boasted the ability to vibrate in response to pressure. There were ten preset vibration patterns, or you could program it to remember up to six of your own personal patterns. When she opened it, she could see it charged on a sleek white base and came with a white silk carrying case. It felt as smooth as a river stone, just softer and a bit flexible.

“That one there— Sorry, I don't know your name,” Sage called out.

Miriam was too engrossed in examining the purple egg to realize that Sage was pointing at her.

“Miriam. Miriam Kagan,” Ashley called out.

Miriam snapped her head up and saw the entire room looking back at her as she cupped the vibrator. The heat that started in her chest and moved straight to her face felt nearly overwhelming.

“The one Miriam Kagan has is a bestseller. Miriam, will you hold that up, please?”

Miriam lifted it six inches in the air.

“That little gem is a triumph of design,” Sage declared as though talking about a new Gehry building. “It's more responsive than your Porsche, and trust me, it will make
you
much happier. It's perfect for partner play, given the fact that it's not some crude imitation of your husband's private parts. The medical-grade silicone is nonporous, making it easy to clean, and it's completely waterproof for fun in the shower or a nice hot bath. Miriam, what do you think?”

“Think?” Miriam squeaked. Why was she acting like such a prude? It was a vibrator, for Christ's sake, not a set of leather whips, and yet all she wanted to do was crawl under the couch.

“It's very . . . nice?”

Everyone laughed. Sage smiled beatifically.

“It's yours,” Sage said. “A gift from me. Make sure you put it to good use!”

The room broke into applause. Miriam managed an embarrassed
thank-you before she dropped the vibrator, complete with its charger and packaging, into her purse like a dirty secret.

Everyone's attention shifted to a vibrator shaped exactly like a tube of lipstick, complete with a YSL logo on the side, and Miriam slipped out of the room and into the kitchen, where she grabbed the biggest hunk of Parmesan off the cheese tray and jammed it into her mouth. She'd gone for her second massive piece when Ashley appeared in front of her.

“How fun is this?” she said, laughing, refilling her wineglass for the third time. Miriam didn't want to act like anyone's mother, but Ashley
was
her ride home. “It's so good. We all need to keep it fresh in the bedroom.”

“My bedroom is stale,” Miriam blurted out, then was promptly mortified.

“Oh, honey, I'm sure that's not true. Things always slow down with young kids. But then they pick up again.” Ashley helped herself to the smallest baby carrot on the tray and dipped a millimeter of it into the hummus. “How often do you and Paul do it?”

“Not often.”

“What, like, once a week? Once every week and a half?”

Good God
, Miriam thought. Ashley sounded as bad as Emily, only this woman had three children of her own.

“Something like that,” Miriam lied. “How often do you guys?”

Ashley laughed. “Not as often as Eric would like to, that's for sure. He climbs all over me, and I probably give in three, maybe four times a week.” Miriam must have looked shell-shocked because Ashley rushed to add, “If I say yes in the middle of the night, I'm allowed to just lie there.”

Miriam forced a laugh. “Totally,” she said, although she didn't think that Paul had ever woken her in the middle of the night for sex.

“I'm glad Paul and Eric are hanging out tonight,” Ashley said. “It's so crazy hard to make couple friends where you both like both people, you know?”

“Not tonight,” Miriam said, although now she wasn't sure. “Paul is
home babysitting. Scratch that—he's parenting. I hate when people say the dad is ‘babysitting' his own children.”

Ashley pulled out her phone and showed Miriam a text from Paul that read,
Guys are coming over to play some poker. Invited Paul, like you said. He's in.

Miriam grabbed her phone.
Where r u?

Three dots appeared and then . . .
Poker night at Eric's house. The Miller girl from across the street came over to sit w/ kids. Everyone asleep. You having fun?

Yes
, she wrote, and tried not to be annoyed that Paul had arranged a babysitter and gone to a friend's house without so much as a text.

Another minuscule carrot dipped into another millimeter of hummus. Ashley shook her head as she chewed. “They say they're playing poker, but it's total bullshit. They are ogling our new au pair.”

“You have a new au pair?”

“Boobs up to here and an ass to die for. We all went to one of those disgusting indoor water parks last weekend, and I thought Eric would have a full-on heart attack when he saw her. She was wearing one of those Brazilian-cut bikini bottoms that's not quite a thong but almost? And what was I in? A rash guard. And water socks. Can you picture it?”

“No,” Miriam said, wondering what this au pair must look like if she made Ashley—size two, perfect figure, gorgeous blond hair, and Botoxed within an inch of her life—feel less than.

“She's our third one, and the last two were perfection: awkward, chubby, one even had bad acne. It didn't stop her from having sex in Tyler's room with a guy she brought home from the city, which is why we had to fire her. Ugh, I'm still trying to get that visual out of my head.”

“She did not!” Miriam said, not bothering to hide her delight.

“Yes, but when you need to rematch in the middle of the year, who's going to be left? Only the hot ones. No moms want them. The ugly girls go like hotcakes, and by August, only supermodels are left. Claire had one last year that was a legit clone of Scarlett Johansson, only prettier.”

“My God.”

“What are you going to do? Take care of your own children? God forbid.” Ashley laughed, and it was obvious that she understood exactly how she sounded but didn't care.

Claire appeared in the kitchen. “I certainly didn't leave my job on Wall Street to be a stay-at-home mom without a full-time nanny!” she said, and winked. “Where's the fun in that?”

“Hear, hear!” Ashley raised her wineglass and, without waiting for anyone else to toast, dumped it down her throat. Miriam made a mental note to call an Uber.

“Miriam? Sage is looking for you.”

At the mere sound of Sage's name, Miriam blushed, picturing the lavender egg resting in her bag. “Me? I'm, uh, I don't really . . .”

“It's probably your turn in the private room,” Ashley said, refilling. “After the demonstration, Sage takes each woman into a separate room so you can make your purchases in private. And you're up.”

“Oh, I'm fine. Thanks, but I already got that one thing and—”

“Come
on
!” Ashley said, grabbing Miriam's arm, sloshing some of her wine onto the counter. “Stop being such a prude. Trust me, Paul is going to thank you for this. Think of the jewelry. Men are often overcome with a desire to buy their wives diamonds when sex is reintroduced to the marriage!”

“It's not that we're
not
having sex,” Miriam muttered, but she stopped herself. Why had she said anything to Ashley about something as personal as her and Paul's sex life?

“Go on. Buy whatever looks good—he'll like
anything
, I promise.”

Before Miriam could protest again, Sage swooped out of nowhere, yanked Miriam into a room, and closed the door behind her. “Welcome to my boudoir,” Sage said, waving her arms expansively.

The juxtaposition between the masculine mahogany of Claire's husband's office and the objects that occupied every centimeter was comical. On the wall behind the desk was an old-school oil portrait of some titan of industry who appeared to be gazing out on a desk filled with sex toys of every imaginable shape and color. The velvet tufted couch was
strewn with naughty black lingerie, and the windowsill served as a staging area for various types of lube.

“Thank you for tonight,” Miriam said, trying to keep her gaze directly on Sage. “It was so . . . informative. And thanks also for the lavender . . . thing. But I think that's all I'm interested in for right now.”

“No pressure!” Sage sang, pulling Miriam around the room in a small circle. “Just look around. I know it can sometimes feel a little embarrassing, but trust me, I can't even tell you how many marriages I've saved with a few well-chosen items.”

Miriam's laugh sounded hollow and uncomfortable. “Oh, Paul and I are totally fine. Just young kids, you know? Nothing more serious than that.”

“Of course not,” Sage agreed. “But those—lean years, shall we call them?—can quickly become the norm if you aren't vigilant. One minute you're blaming it on nursing and the next minute your youngest is four and you can't remember the last time you've had sex.”

Five
, Miriam thought.

“Then the next thing you know, your husband's sexting the nanny or the tennis coach or his nurse or his secretary, and bam! End of life as you know it. Clichés exist for a reason.”

Miriam's thoughts flashed to Paul, who was likely sitting around another multimillion-dollar home at that very moment, staring at the gorgeous, unsuspecting au pair who'd made the mistake of stopping by the kitchen for a banana or a can of Coke. Miriam glanced around at the lingerie, which looked microscopic. “I can't wear any of that,” she said, waving her hand toward a mesh catsuit that may or may not fit a ten-year-old.

Sage nodded in agreement while Miriam tried not to be offended. “No, that's not what I'm thinking. Here, look at this. It's my all-time bestseller and just a great, nonthreatening way for the bashful to jump right in.”

“What is it?” Miriam asked, accepting the beautiful navy box that read
love is art
in small script.

“It's a gigantic white canvas—think the size of a shower curtain—and it comes with completely safe and organic body paint. You lay it out on the bedroom or bathroom floor, apply the paint to each other, and then make love right on top of the canvas. When you're finished, you get to shower together and soap each other up to get off all the paint. I bet you used to shower all the time together. Can you even remember the last time?”

“No,” Miriam murmured, staring at the box.

“The best part is that you'll have made a masterpiece that you send back to the company, and they frame it in a color of your choosing and you mount it over the bed. Every time you go to sleep, you'll both remember that night. It's literally the best date night ever.”

“That actually does sound cool,” Miriam said, trying to envision her and Paul covering each other in black paint and rolling around on the canvas together. It seemed fun. It didn't require her to jam herself into anything binding or itchy, nor insert anything into her body—or his. She wouldn't have to pretend to be a cowgirl or a schoolgirl or an any other kind of girl—just herself having some old-fashioned sexy fun with her husband. Yes, Sage was right. This was a good start.

“You can't even imagine how many of these I've sold tonight. You're going to walk into half the master bedrooms in Greenwich and see these hanging on the wall.”

“I'll take it!” Miriam said, yanking out her Amex.

“You'll love it,” Sage promised, tucking the box into a discreet brown paper bag. “And so will your husband. Here, sign with your finger and you're good to go.”

Miriam accepted the iPad from Sage and nearly passed out when she saw the total: $475.

“Um, I didn't realize . . . I thought . . . It's quite a bit of money . . .”

“Oh, that's just because it includes the framing, sweetie! Trust me. It's going to change your life for the better. And you can't put a price on that.”

There was a knock on the door. “Just a moment!” Sage called out. “We're nearly finished here.”

So much for “I won't pressure you to buy anything,”
Miriam thought as she scrawled her name with her fingertip. Watching over Miriam's shoulder, Sage pressed “submit” and flashed her an enormous smile. “Enjoy it, okay? And come back again soon. He's going to be hooked!”

Miriam half-staggered back out to the living room, where Ashley was sitting with three or four other women. They were all laughing so hard that tears streamed down their faces.

“What'd you get?” Ashley called to Miriam.

“Oh, nothing, really,” Miriam said, trying to hide the telltale brown paper bag behind her leg.

“I bet you got the canvas!” called a woman Miriam recognized as co-president of the school's PTA. The women all nodded.

“Hey, not to pry,” said the one who had twins the same age as Miriam's. “But Ashley said you're friends with Karolina Hartwell. Is it true she drank an entire bottle of tequila and then got in the car with all those kids?”