When Life Gives You Lululemons (20 page)

The shower turned off.

Should she open the gift bottle of champagne the hotel had left chilling on ice or save it for later? Later. A couple glasses of cold bubbly while she and Paul wore their fluffy hotel robes and basked in postcoital bliss would be perfect. She laid out the robes on the couch, surveyed her setup, and stripped down to her lacy black thong.

She opened the French doors quietly, prepared to do a seductive dance for Paul before showing him the kit. He was on the bed. His robe was open and his snores were deep and even. All the lights were on.

“Paul? Honey?”

Who could fall asleep this quickly? It was nine-thirty, for God's sake.

“Paul?” She climbed on the bed, straddled him, and dangled her breasts in his face.

He woke and smiled. “Why, hello there,” he said, laughing. He twisted out from under her and rolled to his side of the bed.

“I'm ready for you. In the other room.”

“Miriam, I'm not even sure I can pull it together right here. I'm so exhausted.”

“Did you really just say that?” Miriam tried to keep her voice light, but his words stung.

“You know what I mean.”

“Paul, it's been months. Months. Do you realize that?”

He sat up. “Of course. I think about it all the time.”

“And what do you think about it, exactly?”

“I think that although I may not like it, this is what life looks like with three young children and a lot of upheaval. It's normal.”

“I don't want this to be our normal,” Miriam said.

Paul wrapped her in his arms and spooned her from behind. “I promise I'll make up for it in the morning,” he whispered.

She lay there for a minute, long enough for his breathing to even out, before she made a choice. She wasn't going to wonder for the rest of the night what had gone wrong, or regret her birthday night in a gorgeous hotel suite. When she climbed on top of him, he murmured something about being asleep, but Miriam was persistent. She kissed his lips and his neck and pushed against him, and even though it felt like Paul was responding in spite of himself, he responded. The sex was quick, familiar, and functional, and afterward, when he rolled over and immediately fell asleep, she didn't wake him.

“O
h. My. God. I can't walk. I'm crippled. Permanently maimed. Who the hell does this for fun?” Emily asked, collapsing onto a wooden bench in the Pilates studio's lobby as the other women streamed past them.

Karolina smiled. “I do it in Bethesda all the time.” She paused. “Did it all the time. The megaformer of death.”

“I mean, you look phenomenal, don't get me wrong, but is it worth it? I'd so much rather just starve than have to put myself through that five days a week.”

“I starve too,” Karolina said with a smile. “Come on, let's go get a coffee or something. If we stay here, people might talk to us.”

Emily jumped with the energy of a child. “That's really all you had to say. Walk. I'm right behind you.”

Karolina clicked open her SUV. “Where to?”

“Take me anywhere we can have a private conversation and decent coffee. We have a game plan to discuss.”

“I don't know this town much better than you do, but when I want to hide somewhere, I go to the library.”

“The library?”

“The only people I ever see there in the middle of the day are retirees and nannies who take babies to story hour. But that's upstairs, so you don't really see them either. And there's a café with espresso.”

“Sold! This thing you call a library sounds perfect.”

Once there, they each ordered a large coffee and a KIND bar, which Emily noticed Karolina only nibbled before pushing away.

“You're thinking about today's
Star
headline, aren't you?” Emily asked.

Karolina sighed. “I know it's trash, but it bothers me when they say I have an eating disorder. I don't. I'm just careful.”

“I know, but I'll say it again: the truth is irrelevant. Step one of our plan is to tweak your appearance. You've gotten too thin—even for me. I think you should gain some weight,” Emily said. “Nothing crazy, just a few pounds. Make you look slightly less heroin-chic. Just so you'll be, you know—more relatable.”

“That's your brilliant plan to reinvent me, save my reputation from ruin, and get my son back? I should fatten up?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “You're not listening. I'm not suggesting you morph into some heifer, just that you put on a few pounds to look a little more . . . maternal.”

“Maternal?”

“Look, I recognize that Greenwich, Connecticut, is hardly the home of maternal-looking women. But still—even here you look like an alien with those gazelle-like legs and crazy perky tits and sexy, wavy hair down to your ass. And if the Greenwich moms are threatened by you—and trust me, they are—imagine how you're playing in Topeka.
I've never been to Nebraska, but I've heard that the Walmarts there look like carnival freak shows.”

“Isn't Topeka in Kansas?”

Emily exhaled a loud, annoyed sigh.

“Sorry. So you were saying. Weight gain. Anything else?”

“A haircut.”

“Stop it!”

“I'm serious, Karolina. It doesn't have to be all-out butch, but shorter and less sexy is mandatory. And I know you don't want to hear it, but we need to talk rehab.”

Karolina started to protest, but Emily cut her off. “I know, I know, you don't have a drinking problem. You're practically a nun. I did look and could not find a single piece of dirt on you regarding drinking or drugs before this particular . . . incident. You're, like, the only clean supermodel in history. Not even diet pills! As a nod to your impeccable record, I think a week will be sufficient.”

“I am not going to rehab!” Three nannies with three toddlers at the next table turned to look at her.

“Keep it down, Amy Winehouse.”

“Emily.” Karolina knew she sounded exasperated. “How will I ever get custody of Harry if I admit I have a problem? I'm
innocent
, and I will
not
admit to something I haven't done!”

“It's simple, Karolina. We need to turn public opinion in your favor. Only once you're redeemed in the public eye can we go to court for custody, and from a much better position. As it is—as Trip told you—you've got nothing. Zero. So rather than be the quiet, good wife uncomplaining about this baseless witch hunt, let's be proactive. Think of Harry.”

Karolina peered at Emily, who she knew was right. “How would your fake rehab work?”

“We put out an announcement. You're going ‘out west' to ‘contemplate your actions.' If we're coy, everyone will assume rehab. You're not
actually confirming or denying, so they'll be certain that's where you're headed.”

“And where will I be going?”

Emily took a sip of her coffee and frowned. “You'll hide out for a week at Amangiri. I know the GM, and he will guarantee you complete privacy.”

“Where?”

“Are you serious? You haven't been to Amangiri?”

“I told you, Emily. I don't drink. How am I supposed to know about rehabs?”

Emily held up a hand. “Oh my God. Okay. It's a super-luxurious hotel in the middle of fucking nowhere. Like, private-plane nowhere or drive-five-hours-from-the-nearest-city nowhere. In the canyons of Utah. There are maybe twenty rooms built into the side of a mountain with private pools and fireplaces. Spa is insane. Food is ridiculous. There are all sorts of outdoorsy things you can do if you're into that, which of course I'm not. But trust me: you want to go.”

Karolina sipped her coffee and considered. Already she felt like she'd been banished to a foreign land without friends or family nearby. For the first time since before she'd married Graham, she felt like she was floating. Rootless. As though no one in the whole world cared where she was or how she was doing—except Miriam and possibly Emily. Aside from her mother dying, Karolina couldn't think of a single time in her life when she'd felt more helpless or alone. And while some celebrity retreat in the middle of the desert in Utah wouldn't be her first choice, it wouldn't be her last one either. No paparazzi. No Bethesda-people run-ins. No tabloid mudslinging. No supervised visits with Elaine. Hopefully no Internet, so she wouldn't be able to keep hitting “refresh” on Google News to see if any new pictures of Graham and Regan together popped up. All of that and it would count as a step toward repairing her reputation?

“Okay,” she said slowly, nodding. “I'm in.”

“Excellent!” Emily said, slapping the table, which rattled enough
to spill Karolina's coffee. “Sorry, but I knew you were smart enough to listen to me. We leave Friday.”

Karolina's head snapped up. “We?”

Emily smiled. “Oh, yeah. We need to move on this. We leave from JFK at nine, nonstop to Vegas. Then there's some hideously long drive through the desert. I could be convinced to book a car and driver, so just say the word. There are charter and private-plane options, but I have to say, I'm not feeling those lately. Too risky from a leak perspective. So we'll drive. Or we'll make Miriam drive. Look at some Mormons. Listen to some bad music. And then we'll arrive in heaven.”

“Miriam?” Karolina asked. She had so many questions. “Mormons?”

“It's Utah!” Emily cackled. “You watched
Big Love
, right? Oh, and yes, Miriam's coming too, I already asked her. She was predictably irritating about arranging babysitters, but even she couldn't turn down an all-expenses-paid trip to Amangiri.”

Karolina swallowed. Why was this sounding way more like a girls' spa trip than a necessary step toward putting her life back together? “How much is this costing me?”

Emily outright guffawed. “Trust me, you do
not
want to know. It's obscene, like, even in my world. But look on the bright side: it's cheaper than thirty days inpatient somewhere! And the linens will be soooooo much nicer.”

“Fine. If it's not rehab, I'm in. I'll think of Harry.”

“Between now and then, we need to work on a few things. Most important, I'll work up some language and email it to a few key people. Implying rehab but not saying it. Then we'll need to practice your nondenial denial. I'll lead you through every step.” She paused. “And then we will get busy legally. Miriam told me she's reviewing your divorce papers?”

“Yes.”

“She says the prenup is pretty clear-cut?”

“Yes.”

“We could fight it.”

Karolina shook her head. “I don't want his trust fund from Daddy.”

“We'll find a way to remind the public about that,” Emily said. “Next we've got to get you more active on social media. It's time to get your social accounts back up and running. But we need to lose the throwback modeling photos. And no more of you dressed like a senator's wife. We're going for accessible, warm, engaging.”

“You mean chunky?”

“Try wearing something a little more down-home.”

“Because you're such an expert at that?”

“Jiggly thighs and pleather shoes. That is your golden ticket right now.”

“Has anyone ever told you you're crazy?” Karolina asked.

“Yeah, just, like, every minute of every day. Listen, we need to talk Graham for a minute.”

Karolina's mind flashed to the picture she'd seen from a party the night before benefiting a pediatric cancer unit at Children's National Medical Hospital. Regan Whitney was on the board, naturally, and Graham had gone as her date. It was their first public appearance together. She held his arm as they walked into the restaurant.

The color must have gone from her face because Emily said, “Yes, I saw it too. Low-key, under the radar, but still touching each other. Testing the waters. They'll probably show up at a few more local events together before issuing any kind of formal announcement. At least that's what I'd advise them to do.”

“He's going to marry her, isn't he?”

“Sure is. The second your divorce goes through. She's his ticket to the White House.”

Karolina touched her fingers to her forehead. “This is a nightmare.”

Emily grabbed Karolina's arm. “Forget about that for a minute. Right now we need to discuss Graham's past. I want the dirt.”

“He's irritatingly clean.”

“That's bullshit!”
Emily said. Once again, women turned to stare. “There is no way a man can be that much of an asshole and not have secrets. Illegitimate children? Juvenile crimes that got expunged? A drug problem? Run-ins with escort services? Hell, it's not sexy, but I'll take white-collar crime at this point. Insider trading? Anything.”

Karolina thought of one night in particular, a couple years into their marriage. Graham had always been meticulous, from the way he kept his closet to the manner in which he conducted his relationships. It had taken him over a year of dating Karolina before he'd trusted her enough to confide even the smallest colorful detail about his parents' marriage. She remembered thinking he could have been one of those dorks in high school who'd never gone to a party where people were drinking. And then he had completely rocked her world. He told her a story she could barely believe. A story she would never, ever tell another living soul.

Most definitely not Emily.

Emily saw something in Karolina's eyes, because her own narrowed. “What are you thinking right now?”

“Nothing!” Karolina's voice got an octave higher.

“Come on! You were married to him for
ten years
! No man is a saint. This man set you up. Ruined your reputation. He keeps you from your son. So spill.”

Despite her fury at Graham, Karolina held back. It might ruin Graham, but it would also ruin Harry. “There's really nothing. I'll tell you if I think of something,” she lied.