When Life Gives You Lululemons (33 page)

“He is not!
What is he, some kind of monster?”

“Senator Hartwell should be ashamed of himself, using the child as a pawn like that.”

“Go on, now, and make sure that man knows who's in charge.”

Again the tears streamed from Karolina's eyes. These women did understand, did care. They couldn't stomach the thought of a father coming between a mother and child. They were on her side, and for the first time in forever, Karolina felt grateful.

“Thank you all for your support,” she managed to eke out, meaning every word.

“Brilliant again,” Emily hissed into Karolina's ear as she led her from the room and toward the parking lot.

“I meant it.” Karolina didn't try to mask her annoyance. “They were all so kind.”

“Of course you did,” Emily murmured, marching toward Karolina's Mercedes SUV. “If there was a single group of people worth winning over, it was this one. You're part of the community now. And trust me, they will mobilize faster and more efficiently than a Navy SEAL team to defend one of their own. They're wealthy and well connected, and they'll get the word out to all their other wealthy and well-connected friends: you're the victim here and Graham's the . . . What did that one woman call him?
Monster
. I have to say, that was a smashing success.”

Karolina climbed into her car, wanting to believe Emily. Wanting to hold Harry, watch a movie with him, make him breakfast and listen as he told her details of his day . . .

“Be ready for the calls to start rolling in. You're going to get questions from everyone. Just do exactly what you did here: be sympathetic and human and admit to your flaws. No need to attack Graham if you keep playing your cards right—let everyone read between the lines and do it themselves. The tides are turning, Lina, and not a minute too soon. It's time people saw him for exactly what he is.”

Karolina started the car. Her phone rang with an unknown 917 number.

“Answer it,” Emily urged. “Answer all of them.” Her face was alight with excitement.

Karolina switched over to Bluetooth and pressed “accept.” As she reversed, she started to talk. Reporters from what felt like every city in the U.S. called and asked the same questions. Was it true that she'd gone to rehab? Was she remorseful and repentant? Was she working with Mothers Against Drunk Driving? Is Senator Hartwell keeping her from seeing her son? Did she believe in second chances? What did the future hold? Had she heard from the mothers of the other boys who were in her Suburban that evening? Karolina talked her whole drive home and then straight through the next four hours of sitting on her couch, sipping cup after cup of Earl Grey, trying to be as honest as she could—or at least as honest as possible when she was lying about everything. Whenever Karolina faltered, she thought of the vasectomy. Still, she was surprised—no, downright shocked—to see how the reporters' tone had changed from hostile and accusatory to understanding. Her very real tears of terror and sadness in front of all those beautiful, privileged women were a public absolution. Karolina the Drunk Model had become Karolina the Suffering Human Being.

So long as things with Harry were uncertain, and she didn't know what Graham might blindside her with, she could not completely relax—but she no longer felt like the entire world hated her.

She was doing the best she could. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't everything, but for right now it was enough.

H
ow long had it been since Miles had done something so spontaneous as fly back unannounced from Hong Kong and surprise her? Emily wondered as she tried not to touch the mud mask she had assiduously applied to her face, neck, and décolletage. She didn't know if it was the complete surprise, or the familiarity, or what, but the last forty-eight hours had been amazing. And not just the sex this time but all of it: they stayed up late into the night and talked about Miles's frustration with the travel his job demanded, Emily's feelings of failure, the fact that they both felt distanced and estranged for reasons beyond geography. Sure, he'd still slept like an asshole for fifteen hours straight, but she supposed she could forgive him when he'd flown more collective hours to see her than they would actually spend together.

“Do you realize you haven't stopped smiling for days?” Karolina
said, walking into the living room and dropping her bag on the sofa. Karolina had taken Emily's advice and switched from her eight-thousand-dollar Hermès Kelly to a much more accessible Michael Kors tote. The supermodel had successfully downgraded herself to something resembling normal—still beautiful but warmer and more relaxed.

“I think that's an exaggeration. But it was a good visit.”

“Good for you guys, I'm glad. You needed it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“People were starting to talk.”

Emily's eyes widened. “Are you fucking kidding me? There are people in this loser town talking about
me
and
my
personal life?”

Karolina laughed. “Of course there are. I was just with a group of them. My new best friends, and they are so pleased to see you reunited with your husband.”

“You go to one Moms' Night Out and now you're the Doyenne of Greenwich?”

“Isn't that what you wanted?” Karolina batted those L'Oréal lashes.

Emily sniffed. “Yes. I suppose.” There was a pause. “Are you going to make me beg?”

“Yes.”

“You can keep your stupid small-town gossip to yourself, then.”

“Oh, come on, Em. You and Alistair?”

“Alistair?” Emily could feel the now-dried mask cracking around her forehead. “What the hell do they know about Alistair?”

“Everyone thinks he's gorgeous, and he's been after you. I have to say, I'm a little hurt you didn't say anything.”

Emily laughed bitterly. “I sent him a half-naked selfie and he didn't even bother to respond.”

Karolina stared with those shocking blue eyes.

“What?” Emily said.

“So they were right.”

“How so?”

“They said something was going on between you two. Someone
saw you together at a party.” Karolina was obviously trying to keep the judgment out of her voice, but she was failing miserably.

“Those women are bit players in our bigger plan to get you back to your former life, with your son, where you belong. Forget the other stuff. It's just noise.”

Karolina appeared to think about this. “I'm going to change into sweats. Want to watch something?
Handmaid's Tale
?”

Emily shrugged. She was trapped for at least the next thirty minutes, until her mask was ready to come off. “Sure.”

Karolina disappeared up the stairs, and Emily considered changing into something with an elastic waist. Never for a day in her life had she felt a pound overweight. She did it old-school—cigarettes and Diet Coke and vodka sodas with limes—and so long as she kept her mouth shut, she didn't even really need to work out that much. But now? This was Greenwich. The suburbs were threatening to tack five pounds to her hips like she was some sort of common housewife. It was unacceptable.

A ringtone that wasn't her own bleated from deep in the couch, and Emily dug it out. Karolina's phone showed a handsome, smiling photo of Graham across the screen. Of course Emily knew she should ignore it, but that didn't seem like any fun.

“Hello? Graham?” Emily asked as sweetly as she could manage. She had no idea what she was going to say to him.

“Karolina, you listen and listen closely,” Graham said, his voice deep and serious. “I will not have you disparaging me in the press. I will not have it! Your implication at that charity thing that I am keeping you from seeing Harry? How dare you! Do you need attention and sympathy that desperately? Well, then let's make it official. I didn't want to have to do this—not for you, me, or Harry—but you've left me with no choice. You may not come to visiting day next month. And if you breathe one word about it to the press, I'll make the arrangement permanent.”

“Graham, this is—” Emily tried, but he had already hung up. She sat there, dumbfounded, until the anger came rushing back. She dropped
Karolina's phone and picked up her own. She texted Graham twice. The first one simply read:
Vasectomy
. She gave that a full minute to sink in and followed it up with:
Karolina will expect to visit Harry as planned. That's all.

Emily heard Karolina's footsteps and dropped both phones back on the couch. Even with her hair shorn, Karolina looked predictably spectacular in a pair of flowy pajama pants and a coordinating camisole.

“Is that, like, from Victoria's new Here Are My Nipples collection?” Emily asked, rolling her eyes.

Karolina squinted. “What's your problem?”

“Nothing, never mind. Here, watch whatever you want. I changed my mind. I'm actually really tired. I'm going to bed.”

“Okay,” Karolina said, looking a little hurt.

“I'm headed into the city for an early work breakfast.” Emily could tell that Karolina was waiting for her to say who with, but she wanted to escape as quickly as possible.

“ 'Night,” she heard Karolina call as she made her way to the stairs.

The guest room Emily had decamped to was a soothing oasis of plum, gray, and navy. Matouk sheets, Frette towels, the softest silk and wool rug her feet had ever touched. Every detail was comfortable and perfect, right down to the television hidden in the bathroom mirror. Emily had never been the lounge-in-the-bath type, but she was feeling restless and bloated and bored and stressed all at once. What could possibly be better than feeling weightless while watching a
This Is Us
from the comfort of heaps and heaps of Molton Brown bubbles? But even with Milo Ventimiglia on the television to distract her, Emily couldn't focus. If everything went as planned the following day, she'd be making a deal with the devil. She dialed Miriam's number.

“Em? Hi. Wait, one sec— Benjamin Kagan! Undo that belt from your sister's neck right now. Do you hear me? RIGHT THIS SECOND! Get upstairs and back to bed NOW!” Emily heard a scuffle and then some crying.

“Much as I love the sound of screaming mothers and bratty children,
maybe you can call me back?” Emily said. On the muted television in the bathroom mirror, the young Mandy Moore was singing in her band. Through the phone, she heard a door slam.

“Hi, sorry, I'm here now,” Miriam said breathlessly. “Please tell me why I thought leaving my job was a good idea?”

“Because your babies are growing up so fast and you feel every second slipping through your fingers like the sand in an hourglass? Or some other bad metaphor like that? I think that's what you told me when I asked you this exact question two weeks ago.”

Miriam sighed. “It's hell some days. You're not calling to cancel your date with Maisie tomorrow, are you? Because she would be devastated. She wanted to sleep in her dress tonight.”

“Of course I'm not canceling! We'll meet at the train station at eight, right?” Emily needed to bring Maisie with her; nothing would unsettle Miranda more than dragging a child into the office. She was hoping it would make Miranda more susceptible to manipulation.

“Have you decided what you're doing yet?”

“We're going to hit all the favorites: Alice's Tea Cup, Serendipity, Dylan's. Shop. Roam. Maybe get a mani. You know, girl stuff.”

“Okay,” Miriam said. “Please no American Girl store, okay?”

“Why not? Too commercial? Anti-feminist? Made with phthalates? What could possibly be your complaint against dolls?”

“She's only five, and I don't want to get her hooked too early.”

“Yes, the Cocaine of the Kindergarten Set. I've heard that. No drugs, no sex, no American Girl. Gotcha. Listen, can we change the subject, please?”

“I only have a second. Paul is going to—”

“Okay, good.” Emily lowered her voice to a near-whisper in case Karolina was listening. “I just happened to answer Karolina's phone and it was Graham. Only he thought I was Karolina, and he—”

“You just
happened
to answer Karolina's phone? Seriously?”

“That's not the important part! He thought I was Karolina, and he freaked the fuck out about her badmouthing him at the charity event. He
told her she couldn't go to Harry's camp visiting day next month, and if she doesn't get in line, he's going to completely cut her off from Harry.”

“Oh my God, he's mentally ill. There can't be any other explanation.”

“How about he's a straight-up asshole?” Emily suggested.

“Not only that, but Trip is avoiding making a mediation appointment. Says Graham's too busy. Luckily he put it in writing so I can present that to the judge when we finally drag him into court. And now he's threatening to keep her from her own son? He's a monster.”

“That does seem to be the word of the day. And I might have texted him from my own phone,” Emily added.

“What do you mean?”

“I texted Graham ‘vasectomy,' and I'm guessing he got my point.”

“Do you really think threatening a sitting United States senator is a good idea? What do you think he's going to do? Quit? Retire? Beg you to keep it quiet? I mean, come on, Emily—no offense, but this isn't a fashion magazine. There might be legal consequences to your actions. Did you think about that?”

Emily considered this and felt a brief wave of panic. “Of course I did.”

“Does Karolina know he called?”

“No.”

“And the cop you hired to ensnare him or entrap him or whatever you want to call it? Did you have her sign an NDA? What if she turns around and blabs about how you hired her?”