Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

First published in the USA as ‘When Life Gives You Lululemons’ by Simon and Schuster 2018

Copyright © Lauren Weisberger 2018

Cover illustration © Shutterstock.com

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Lauren Weisberger asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007569281

Ebook Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 9780008299514

Version: 2018-05-21

Dedication

To my entire family, with love

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Part One

1. Again with the Nazi Getup?

2. Living the Dream

3. Like a Common Criminal

4. Some of My Best Friends Are Jewish

5. Just Give Up. I Have.

6. Just a Cottage in the Country

7. Vodka and Tampax: A Match Made in Greenwich

8. Happy to Sip and Not to See

9. My Romantic Relationship

10. The Suburbs Make You Fat

11. Mom’s Night Out

12. No Good Deed

13. Celebrities Are Fickle and Oftentimes Stupid

Part Two

14. Viewing of the New German Au Pair

15. Exactly Like Rehab, Only Different

16. Just a Friend and a Blue Glitter Condom

17. Pinterest’s Mom of the Year

18. Road Trip

19. America Wants to Forgive You

20. Make It Stop

21. Munching Xanax Like Gumballs

22. Not the Only One Who Can Google

23. Home to the Custom-Fit Vagina

24. The Tides Are Turning and the Tears Are Terrific

25. The Cocaine of the Kindergarten Set

26. The Thousand-Dollar Throw

27. The Dalai Lama of Blackmail

28. One Little Ambien

29. Willing to Do Whatever It Takes

30. The Girl Has Balls

31. Goodbye Wheatgrass, Hello Sarcasm

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Lauren Weisberger

About the Publisher

Part One

1
Again with the Nazi Getup?
EMILY

Emily racked her brain. There had to be something to complain about. This was New Year’s Eve in Los Angeles, one of the most annoying nights of the year in arguably the most annoying city known to humanity. So why couldn’t she think of a thing?

She sipped her skinny margarita from her chaise and watched her husband’s beautiful body cut through the water like a moving art installation. When Miles emerged, he propped himself on the back of the lit infinity pool, where the turquoise water appeared to spill over the side and straight down the mountain. Behind him, the lights from the valley twinkled for miles, making the city look alluring, even sexy. Night was the only time Los Angeles really shone. Gone were the smog and the junkies and the soul-crushing traffic, all replaced by an idyllic vista of night sky and silently twinkling lights – as if God Himself had descended into the Hollywood Hills and selected the most perfect Snapchat filter for His least favorite city on earth.

Miles smiled at her and she waved, but when he motioned for her to join him, she shook her head. It was unseasonably warm, and all around her, people were partying in that intensely determined way that happened only on New Year’s Eve after midnight: This will be the most fun we’ve ever had; we will do and say outrageous things; we are loving our lives and everyone around us. The massive hot tub was packed with a dozen revelers, all with drinks in hand, and another group sat around the perimeter, content to dangle their feet while they waited for a few inches of space to free up. On the deck above the pool a DJ blasted remixed hip-hop, and dancers everywhere – on the patio, in the pool, on the pool deck, streaming in and out of the house – all moved happily to his playlist. On the chair to Emily’s left, a young girl wearing only bikini bottoms straddled a guy and massaged his shoulders while her bare breasts dangled freely. She worked her way down his back and began a rather aggressive handling of his glutes. She was twenty-three, twenty-five at most, and while her body was far from perfect – slightly rounded belly and overly curvy thighs – her arms didn’t jiggle and her neck didn’t sag. No crepey anything. Just youth. None of the small indignities of Emily’s own body at thirty-six: light stretch marks on her hips; cleavage with just the smallest hint of sag; some errant dark hairs along her bikini line that just seemed to sprout now willy-nilly, indifferent to Emily’s indefatigable waxing schedule. It wasn’t a horror show, exactly – she still looked thin and tan, maybe even downright hot in her elegant Eres two-piece – but it was getting harder with every passing year.

An unfamiliar 917 number flashed on her phone.

‘Emily? This is Helene. I’m not sure if you remember, but we met a couple years ago at the Met Ball.’

Emily looked skyward in concentration. Though the name was familiar, she was having a hard time placing it. Silence filled the air.

‘I’m Rizzo’s manager.’

Rizzo. Interesting. He was the new Bieber: the hottest new pop star whose fame had skyrocketed when, two years earlier at age sixteen, he’d become the youngest male to win a Grammy for Album of the Year. Helene had moved to Hollywood to join an agency – either ICM or Endeavor, Emily couldn’t remember – but she’d somehow missed the news that Helene now represented Rizzo.

‘Of course. How are you?’ Emily asked. She glanced at her watch. This was no ordinary call.

‘I’m sorry I’m calling so late,’ Helene said. ‘It’s already four a.m. here in New York, but you’re probably in L.A. I feel terrible interrupting …’

‘No, it’s fine. I’m at Gigi Hadid’s childhood mansion and not nearly as drunk as I should be. What’s up?’

A shriek came from the pool. Two girls had jumped in together, holding hands, and were splashing Miles and a couple of his friends. Emily rolled her eyes.

‘Well, I, uh …’ Helene cleared her throat. ‘We’re off the record, right?’

‘Of course.’ This sounded promising.

‘I’m not sure I understand the whole story myself, but Riz appeared on Seacrest’s Times Square show earlier tonight – everything was fine, it went off without a hitch. Afterward, I went to meet up with some old college friends, and Rizzo was headed to some party at 1 OAK. Sober, at least when he left me. Happy about his performance.’

‘Okay …’

‘And just this second I got texted a picture from a colleague who works in ICM’s New York office and happens to be at 1 OAK right now …’

‘And?’

‘And it’s not good.’

‘What? Is he passed out? Covered in his own puke? Kissing a guy? Doing lines? Groping an underage girl?’

Helene sighed and began to speak, but she was drowned out by shrieking laughter. In the shallow end, a girl with hot pink hair and a thong bikini had found her way atop Miles’s shoulders for an improvised chicken fight.

‘Sorry, can you repeat that? It’s a little chaotic here,’ Emily said as she watched the tiny piece of suit fabric wedge even tighter between the girl’s naked ass cheeks, themselves spread straight across the back of Emily’s husband’s neck.

‘He appears to be wearing a Nazi costume.’

‘A what?’

‘Like with a swastika armband and a coordinating headband. Storm trooper boots. The whole nine.’

‘Oh, Jesus Christ,’ Emily muttered without thinking.

‘That bad?’

‘Well, it’s not great. Prince Harry pulled that stunt forever ago – but we have to work with what we have. I’m not going to lie, I would’ve preferred drugs or boys.’

In the pool, the pink-haired girl on Miles’s shoulders reached behind her back, yanked the tie of her bikini top, and began swinging the top around her head like a lasso.

‘First things first: who knows?’ Emily asked.

‘Nothing has shown up online yet, but of course, it’s only a matter of time.’

‘Just so we’re clear: you’re calling to hire me, yes?’ Emily asked.

‘Yes. Definitely.’

‘Okay, then right now I want you to text your colleague and have him get Rizzo into the men’s room and out of that getup. I don’t care if he’s wearing a gold lamé banana hammock, it’s better than the Nazi thing.’

‘I already did that. He gave Riz his button-down and shoes, confiscated the armband, and let him keep the trousers, which apparently are bright red. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do, especially since I can’t reach Rizzo directly. But someone will post something any second, I’m sure.’

‘Agreed, so listen up. Here’s the plan. You’re going to jump in a cab and head over to 1 OAK and forcibly remove him. Bring a girl or two, it’ll look better, and then get him back to his apartment and don’t let him leave. Sit in front of the damn door if you have to. Do you have his passwords? Actually, forget it – just take his phone. Drop it in the toilet. We need to buy ourselves time without some idiotic drunken tweet from him.’

‘Okay. Will do.’

‘The first flight out of here is six a.m. I’m going home to pack, and then I’ll head to the airport. The story will definitely break while I’m in the air, if not before. Do not – I repeat, do not – make a statement. Do not let him talk to anyone, not even the delivery guy who brings up the food. Information lockdown, you understand? No matter how bad the photos are, or how horrified the reaction – and trust me, it’s going to be bad – I want no response until I get there, okay?’

‘Thank you, Emily. I’m going to owe you for this one.’

‘Go now!’ Emily said, managing not to utter what she was actually thinking – namely, that the charge for her time and the holiday and the travel was going to take Helene’s breath away.

She took the last sip of her margarita, set the drink on the glass table next to her, and stood up, trying to ignore the couple beside her who may or may not have been having actual intercourse.

‘Miles? Honey?’ Emily called as politely as she could manage.

No response.

‘Miles, love? Can you please move her thighs away from your ears for thirty seconds? I have to leave.’

She was pleased to see her husband unceremoniously lower the girl into the water and swim over to the side. ‘You’re not mad, are you? She’s just some dumb kid.’

Emily knelt. ‘Of course I’m not mad. If you’re going to cheat, you better pick someone a hell of a lot hotter than that.’ She nodded toward the girl, who looked not at all pleased with her wet hair. ‘I got a call from New York. It’s an emergency with Rizzo. I’m running home to get a bag and hopefully get to LAX for the six a.m. I’ll call you when I land, okay?’

This was hardly the first time Emily had been called away in the middle of something – her surgeon girlfriend claimed Emily had worse call hours than she did – but Miles looked positively stupefied.

‘It’s New Year’s Eve. Isn’t there anyone in New York who can handle this?’ His unhappiness was obvious, and Emily felt a pang, but she tried to keep it light.

‘Sorry, love. Can’t say no to this one. Stay, have fun. Not too much fun …’ She added the last part to make him feel better – she wasn’t one iota concerned about Miles doing anything stupid. She bent down and pecked his wet lips. ‘Call you later,’ she said, and wove through the throngs to the circular driveway, where one of the cute valets motioned for a Town Car to pull around. He held the door for her, and she flashed him a smile and a ten-dollar bill.

‘Two stops, please,’ she said to the driver. ‘First one is on Santa Monica Boulevard, where you’ll wait for me. Then to the airport. And fast.’

New York, her first and truest love, awaited.

2
Living the Dream
MIRIAM

It was only the beginning of mile two, and she felt like she might die of suffocation. Her breaths came in jagged gulps, but no matter how deeply she took in air, Miriam was unable to slow her heart rate. She checked her Fitbit for the thousandth time in the past sixteen minutes – how could it have been only sixteen minutes?! – and briefly worried that the reading of 165 might kill her. Which would officially make her the only woman in all of Greenwich, or perhaps all the earth, who had dropped dead after running – really, if she were being honest, walking – a single lousy mile in sixteen minutes.

But she had shown up! Wasn’t that what all the feel-good bloggers and motivational authors were always screeching about? No judgments, just show up! Show up and you’ve already won the battle! Don’t expect perfection – showing up is enough! ‘Fuckers,’ she mumbled, streaming massive puffs of steam in the freezing January air. Motivating for a jog at seven o’clock in the morning on January 1 was more than just showing up. It was a downright triumph.

‘Morning!’ a woman called as she raced by Miriam on the left, nearly jolting what was left of her heart into immediate cardiac arrest.

‘Hi!’ Miriam shouted to the back of the woman, who ran like a black-clad gazelle: Lululemon leggings with elaborate mesh cutouts that looked both cool and extremely cold; fitted black puffer that ended at her nonexistent hips; black Nikes on her feet; and some sort of technical-looking hat with the cutest puffball on top. Her legs went on forever, and her butt looked so firm that it wouldn’t possibly hold so much as a bobby pin underneath, never mind a full-size hairbrush, which Miriam had once tucked successfully and devastatingly under her left ass cheek.

Miriam slowed to a walk, but before she could regain anything resembling composure, two women in equally fabulous workout outfits ran toward Miriam on the opposite side of the street. A golden retriever pulled happily on the leash of the hot pink puffer coat while a panting chocolate Lab yanked along the woman in the army green. The entire entourage looked like a mobile Christmas card and was moving at a brisk pace.

‘Happy New Year,’ the golden retriever owner said as they sprinted past Miriam.

‘You too,’ she muttered, relieved it was no one she knew. Not that she’d met many moms in the five months since they’d moved to town just in time for the twins to start kindergarten and Benjamin to start second grade at their new public school. Beyond saying hello to a few moms at school drop-off twice a day, she hadn’t had much opportunity to meet a lot of other women. Paul claimed it was the same in wealthy suburbs everywhere – that people stayed holed up in their big houses with everything they needed either upstairs or downstairs: their gyms, their screening rooms, their wine cellars and tasting tables. Nannies played with children, rendering playdates unnecessary. Housekeepers did the grocery shopping. Staff, staff, and more staff to do everything from mow the lawn to chlorinate the pool to change the lightbulbs.

The heady smell of burning wood greeted Miriam the moment she stepped into the mudroom, and a quick peek in the family room confirmed that her husband had read her mind about wanting to sit next to a fire. It was one of the things she loved most about suburban living so far: morning fires. Otherwise bleak mornings were instantly cozy; her children’s cheeks were even more delicious.

‘Mommy’s home!’ Matthew, five years old and obsessed with weaponry, shouted from the arm of the couch, where he balanced in pajamas, brandishing a realistic-looking sword.

‘Mommy! Matthew won’t give me a turn with the sword and we’re supposed to share!’ his twin sister, Maisie, screeched from under the kitchen table, which was her favorite place to sulk.

‘Mom, can I have your password to buy Hellion?’ Benjamin asked without looking up from Miriam’s hijacked iPad.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Who said yes to screen time right now? No iPad. It’s family time.’

‘Your fingerprint, then? Please? Jameson says it’s the coolest game he’s ever played! Why does he get it and I don’t?’

‘Because his mommy is nicer than me,’ she said, managing to kiss her son on top of his head before he squirmed away.

Paul stood at the stove in flannel pajama pants and a fleece sweatshirt, intently flipping pancakes on the griddle. ‘I’m so impressed,’ he said. ‘I have no idea how you motivated this morning.’ Miriam couldn’t help but think how handsome he was despite all the premature gray hair. He was only three years older than she, but he could have been mistaken for being a decade her senior.

Miriam grabbed her midsection, ending up with two handfuls of flesh. ‘This is how.’

Paul placed the last pancake on a plated pile nearly a dozen high and turned off the stove. He walked over and embraced her. ‘You’re perfect just the way you are,’ he said automatically. ‘Here, have one.’

‘No way. I didn’t suffer through twenty minutes of sheer hell to kill it all with a pancake.’

‘Are they ready, Daddy? Are they? Are they?’

‘Can we have whipped cream on them?’

‘And ice cream?’

‘I don’t want the ones with the blueberries!’

In a flash, all three children had gathered at the kitchen table, nearly hyperventilating with excitement. Miriam tried to ignore the epic mess and focus on her children’s joy and her husband’s kindness, but it was tough with flour covering every inch of countertop, batter splattered on the backsplash, and errant chocolate chips and blueberries spread across the floor.

‘Anyone want some fruit salad or yogurt?’ she asked, pulling both from the fridge.

‘Not me!’ they all shouted in unison through mouthfuls of pancake.

Yeah, me neither, Miriam thought to herself as she scooped some out. She spooned a bite into her mouth and nearly spat it into the sink. The yogurt had clearly gone bad, and not even the sweet strawberries could mask the rancid taste. She scraped the entire bowl’s contents into the garbage disposal and considered hard-boiling some eggs. She even nibbled one of those cardboard-like fiber crackers, but two bites in, she just couldn’t.

‘Live a little,’ she murmured to herself, grabbing a chocolate chip pancake from the top of the pile and shoving it into her mouth.

‘Aren’t they good, Mommy? Do you want to try it with whipped cream?’ Benjamin asked, waving the canister like a trophy.

‘Yes, please,’ she said, holding out her remaining piece for him to squirt. Screw it. She was setting a good example for her daughter that food wasn’t the enemy, right? Everything in moderation. No eating disorders in this house. She had just popped a pod into the coffee machine when she heard Paul mutter, ‘Holy shit.’

‘Daddy! Language!’ Maisie said, sounding exactly like Miriam.

‘Daddy said a bad word! Daddy said “shit”!’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he murmured, his face buried in the newspaper Miriam had set on the table. ‘Miriam, come look at this.’

‘I’ll be right there. Do you want a cup too?’

‘Now. Come here now.’

‘What is it, Daddy? What’s in the newspaper?’

‘Here, have another pancake,’ Paul said to Maisie as he handed the paper over to Miriam.

Below the fold but still on the very first page blared the headline: MADD: MOTHERS ALL-FOR DRUNK DRIVING! SENATOR’S WIFE SLAPPED WITH DUI … WITH KIDS IN THE CAR!

‘Holy shit.’

‘Mommy! You said “shit”!’

‘Daddy, now Mommy said a bad word!’

‘Shit, shit, shit!’ sang Matthew.

‘Who wants to watch a movie?’ Paul asked. ‘Benjamin, why don’t you go down to the basement and put on Boss Baby for everyone.’ Again, there was a mad scramble as they bolted toward the stairs, and then, seconds later, blessed silence.

‘This can’t be right,’ Miriam said, studying the mug shot of her old school friend. ‘Karolina would never do that.’

‘Well, it’s right here in print. Failed roadside sobriety test. Empty bottles of booze in the backseat. Refused to take a Breathalyzer. And five kids in the car, including her own.’

‘There is no way that’s possible,’ Miriam said, scanning the story. ‘Not the Karolina I know.’

‘How long has it been since you’ve spoken to her? Maybe she changed. I don’t imagine things are so easy being in the spotlight, like they both are now.’

‘She was the face of L’Oréal for ten years! The mega-model to end all supermodels. I hardly think she has issues with the spotlight.’

‘Well, being the wife of a United States senator is something else entirely. Especially one who plans to run for president. It’s a different kind of scrutiny.’

‘I guess so. I don’t know. I’m going to call her. This just can’t be right.’

‘You guys haven’t spoken in months.’ Paul sipped his coffee.

‘That doesn’t matter!’ Miriam realized she was nearly shouting and lowered her voice. ‘We’ve known each other since we were children.’

Paul held up both hands in surrender. ‘Send her my love, okay? I’ll go check on the monsters.’

Karolina’s number rang five times before going to voicemail. ‘Hi! You’ve reached Karolina. I’m not available to take your call, but leave me a message and I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can. Bye, now.’

‘Lina? It’s me, Miriam. I saw that hideous headline and I want to talk to you. I don’t believe it for a single second, and neither does one other person who’s ever met you. Call me as soon as you get this, okay? Love you, honey. Bye.’

Miriam clicked ‘end’ and stared at her screen, willing Karolina’s name to appear. But then she heard a scream coming from downstairs – a real pain scream, not an I-hate-my-siblings scream or an It’s-my-turn scream, and Miriam took a deep breath and stood up to go investigate.

It had barely even begun, and already this year was shaping up to be a loser. She grabbed a now-cold pancake off the plate on her way to the basement: 2018 could take its resolutions and shove them.

3
Like a Common Criminal
KAROLINA

‘Hey, Siri! Play “Yeah” by Usher!’ Harry called from the back of the Suburban. A chorus of cheers went up from the boys when Siri chirped, ‘Okay, playing “Yeah” by Usher,’ and the bass blasted through the speakers.

Karolina smiled. Never in a million years would she have thought having a car full of twelve-year-old boys could be fun. They were loud and rowdy and even sometimes smelled bad, yes. But Harry’s friends were also sweet and quick to laugh and made an attempt at manners, at least when she was around. They were good kids from nice families, and once again she felt grateful for the move that had taken them from New York – the city of social land mines – to Bethesda, where everyone seemed a little more easygoing.

Sweet boy, Karolina thought for the thousandth time as she sneaked a look at Harry from the rearview mirror. Every day he was starting to look more and more like a teenager: broadening shoulders, dark fuzz above his lip, a smattering of pimples on his cheeks. But just as often he seemed like a little boy, as likely to spend an hour playing with Lego as texting with his friends. Harry was outgoing and confident, like his father, but he had a softer, more sensitive side too. Right around the time they moved to Bethesda, Harry started asking Graham more about his late mother: where she and Graham had met, what she liked to read, how she’d felt when she was pregnant with him. And always Graham put him off, promising to tell Harry about his mother later. Later, when he was finished with a report he needed to read. Later, that weekend, when they had more free time. Later, during their ski vacation, because his mother had loved to ski. Later, later, later. Karolina wasn’t sure if it was laziness or avoidance or genuine pain causing Graham to put off his son, but she knew Harry needed answers. It took her nearly three days while Graham was at work and Harry at school to assemble all the scattered pictures and letters and clippings she could find, but when she presented Harry with the memory box of his mom, his relief and joy made every minute worthwhile. She reassured Harry that his mom would always be his mom, and that it was okay to talk about her and remember her, and Karolina’s big, strong tween had collapsed into her arms like a kindergartener returning from his first day away from home.

‘Guess what?’ Nicholas, a lanky lacrosse player with shaggy blond hair, called from the third row. ‘My dad got us tickets to the ’Skins/Eagles game next weekend. First playoff game. Who’s in?’

The boys hooted.

‘Hey, Mom, do you think Dad will take me?’ Harry asked.

‘My dad said tickets weren’t that expensive,’ Nicholas said.

Karolina forced herself to smile, though the boys couldn’t see her in the driver’s seat. ‘I’m sure he’d love that,’ she lied, and sneaked a peek at Harry to see if he could hear it in her voice. Despite the fact that Harry was passionate about professional football in general and the Redskins specifically – and Graham, as a sitting U.S. senator, could name his seats anywhere in the stadium – father and son had never attended a game together. Every year Graham swore to Karolina and Harry that they’d sit in the owner’s box, fly to an important away game, or invite a bunch of Harry’s friends and get seats on the fifty-yard line, and every year another season went by without the Hartwell boys in attendance. Harry had been to a game exactly once, two years earlier, when Karolina took pity on him and bought tickets off StubHub. He’d been thrilled and cheered like crazy in his head-to-toe gear, but she knew he would have preferred to go with Graham: Karolina had unknowingly gotten tickets on the visitor side, and she couldn’t totally follow who had the ball, and in spite of her best intentions, she kept cheering at the wrong times.

‘Mom! Hey, Mom!’ Harry interrupted her thoughts. ‘There are cop cars behind us with their lights on.’

‘Hmmm?’ Karolina murmured, more to herself. She glanced in the rearview and saw two police cruisers with their lights ablaze, so close to the Suburban that they were nearly pushing up against the bumper. ‘My goodness, it must be important. Okay, okay, give me a second,’ she said aloud. ‘I’m moving over.’

She was grateful Harry was safely beside her, because she always got nervous when she saw an emergency vehicle in her neighborhood. Their house might be on fire, but so long as Harry was safely in her sight, she could deal with anything. She put on her blinker and eased the unwieldy truck onto the side of the road as gracefully as she could, sending a silent apology to the Crains, who lived five doors down and owned the beautiful lawn her tires were probably digging up. Only the cruisers didn’t quickly pass her on the left, as she’d expected; they too pulled to the side and came to a stop directly behind her truck.

‘Ohhh, Mrs. Hartwell, you’re busted!’ Stefan, another of Harry’s friends, yelled as all the boys laughed. Karolina did too.

‘Yes, you know me,’ Karolina said. ‘Going twenty in a residential neighborhood. Crazy!’ She watched in the rearview as the officers stood next to her license plate and appeared to type it into an iPad-like device. Good, she thought. They would see the United States government plates that were on all three of their cars, and this whole silly thing would be over.

But the two officers who approached her window weren’t laughing. ‘Ma’am? Is this your vehicle?’ asked the female officer, while the male cop stood behind her and watched.

‘Yes, of course,’ Karolina said, wondering why they’d ask her such a ridiculous question. She was driving it, wasn’t she? ‘Officer, I really don’t think I was speeding. We literally just pulled out of the driveway. See? We live right back there. I’m just taking my son’s friends—’

The female cop looked hard at Karolina and said, ‘I’ll need your license and registration, please.’

Karolina checked the woman’s face. She wasn’t kidding. Karolina carefully removed her driver’s license from her wallet and was relieved to find the car’s registration tucked neatly in the glove compartment. ‘I, um, as you may recognize the name from my license there … I am actually married to Senator Hartwell,’ Karolina said, giving her best smile. She wasn’t usually one to name-drop, but then again, she wasn’t usually being pulled over by angry-looking cops.

The male officer furrowed his eyebrows. ‘Ma’am, have you been drinking?’

Karolina was vaguely aware of the boys going quiet with this question, and her mind flashed back to an hour earlier, when she’d deliberately opened a bottle of Graham’s outrageously expensive cabernet that he’d been buying by the case lately. Harry and his friends had been polishing off pizzas, and of course she’d known she’d be driving them home shortly, so she’d had half a glass. If that. She hadn’t even wanted it, really, but it had been satisfying to open the bottle and know that it would likely go bad before Graham got home from New York. He’d asked to join him for a New Year’s dinner at a friend’s penthouse in Manhattan, but Karolina didn’t want to leave Harry behind on New Year’s Eve. She’d been upset that he’d gone without her, although she wasn’t completely surprised.

Summoning her most dazzling smile and her most direct eye contact, she said, ‘Officers, I have children in the car. I assure you that I have not been drinking. I didn’t think I was speeding either, but I suppose it’s possible. If so, I’m very sorry about that.’

At the mention of children, the male officer took his flashlight and began walking the perimeter of the car. He didn’t seem to care that the light was shining directly in the boys’ eyes. Karolina could see them all squint.

‘Mom, what’s happening?’ Harry asked, sounding nervous.

‘Nothing, honey. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Just let them do what they need to do.’

With this, the male officer called to the female officer and gestured to something with his flashlight. They exchanged looks. Karolina felt her heart do a little flip-flop, though there wasn’t a reason in the world she should be nervous.

‘Mrs. Hartwell, please get out of the car. Slowly,’ the female officer said.

‘Excuse me?’ Karolina asked. ‘Why on earth would I get out of my car? I’m not even wearing a coat—’

‘Now!’ the male cop barked, and it became immediately clear that this wasn’t a routine traffic stop.

Karolina jumped out of the driver’s seat so quickly that she didn’t bother to use the running board, and as a result she twisted her ankle and had to grab the door to keep from falling.

The officers exchanged another look.

‘Mrs. Hartwell, we have observed both reckless driving and empty bottles of alcohol in the backseat of your vehicle. Keeping your arms down by your sides, please walk in the middle of the street for a distance of approximately twenty feet. Our officers are stationed down the road, so there will be no oncoming traffic.’

‘Wait – you found what? In my car? You must be mistaken,’ Karolina said, trying not to shiver. ‘My husband is going to be livid when he finds out about this!’

The female officer gestured toward the very road Karolina lived on, now slick with rain, and motioned for her to walk. Immediately and without thinking, Karolina wrapped her arms around her chest to keep warm in her too-flimsy silk blouse and began to stride confidently toward her house. If there was one thing Karolina could do better than nearly anyone else on earth, it was work a catwalk. But what she hadn’t expected was seeing her neighbors’ doors and curtains open, their familiar faces squinted toward her, recognition dawning on their features as they realized who was performing a field sobriety test like a common criminal on their beautiful, quiet street.

Is that Mrs. Lowell? Karolina wondered, seeing an elderly woman peek out behind a crisp linen curtain. I didn’t realize she was visiting now. I can’t believe she’s seeing me like this. Karolina could feel her cheeks start to color despite the cold, and somehow she must have missed the small pothole in the road, because the next thing she knew, she’d stumbled and nearly fallen.

‘Did you see that?’ Karolina said to the officers, who were watching her closely. ‘We’ve been telling the town forever that this road is badly in need of repair.’

They gave each other that look again. Without a word exchanged, the male cop approached Karolina and said, ‘Ma’am, you’re under arrest for suspicion of driving while under the influence. You have the right to remain—’

‘Wait – what?’ Karolina shrieked, before noticing that Harry had stuck his head out of the Suburban’s window and was intently watching the entire scene. ‘Under arrest?’

‘— silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to …’

The words were familiar, of course. So many police procedurals she’d watched with Graham, and nights of Law & Order marathons in her single days, but who knew they actually said those things in real life? Was this actually happening? It seemed so surreal: one moment she was just another mom driving home her son’s friends, and then next she was being escorted into the backseat of a police cruiser.

‘Wait, excuse me! Sir! Listen please, I can’t just leave the children in the car!’ Karolina called as the car door slammed closed. She was alone in the backseat, entirely cut off from the world with a thick layer of presumably bulletproof glass.

The officer’s voice came through some sort of speaker. ‘Officer Williams will look after your son and his friends and ensure that everyone gets home safely. I’ll be taking you to the station now.’

The engine started, and with it, the sirens went on. She couldn’t hear Harry, but she could see that he was screaming ‘Mom’ and trying very hard not to cry. Hand against the window, she mouthed to him, ‘Don’t worry, everything’s fine,’ but Karolina knew he couldn’t see. With lights and sirens blaring in the quiet night, the cruiser pulled away from Karolina’s son.

‘How dare you!’ she screamed at the officer, before noticing a camera with a blinking light mounted in the corner right above her window, but the officer didn’t so much as glance up. Never in her life had she felt so completely helpless. So totally alone.

They hadn’t allowed Karolina a phone call until nearly two hours after she’d been arrested. Was that even legal? she wondered, trying to keep calm. At least the woman officer had come by the holding room to tell Karolina that Harry and his friends were all home. The parents of the boys had each come to the station to retrieve their sons, and when Graham didn’t answer his phone, Harry had suggested they call his grandmother Elaine, who had swept in to take Harry back to her house. Karolina was relieved that Harry was safe, but she was filled with dread at the idea of retrieving him from her mother-in-law.

‘My husband isn’t answering,’ Karolina said to the officer overseeing her phone call.

He was slumped over a desk filling out paperwork. He shrugged without looking up. ‘Try someone else.’

‘It’s almost midnight on New Year’s Eve,’ Karolina said. ‘Who am I supposed to call to come pick me up in the middle of the night from the local police station?’

With this, the officer looked up. ‘Pick you up? No, sorry, Mrs. Hartwell. You’ll be staying here tonight.’

‘You can’t be serious!’ Karolina said, nearly certain he was joking.

‘Strict orders from above. All DUIs have to sober up for at least five hours before they can be released. And we only do releases between the hours of seven a.m. and midnight, so I’m afraid you’re out of luck.’

‘Do I look drunk to you?’ Karolina asked him.

The officer glanced up. He looked barely old enough to buy beer, and the blush that spread across his neck didn’t help. ‘Sorry, ma’am. Those are the rules.’

She dialed the only other number she had memorized. Trip, who was their family lawyer and Graham’s best friend, answered on the first ring.

‘Lina? Where did you say you’re calling from?’ he asked groggily. Leave it to Trip to be asleep before midnight.

‘You heard me, Trip. The local drunk tank at the Bethesda County Jail. Sorry to wake you, but I figured you’d understand. I tried Graham, but he’s nowhere to be found. Surprise, surprise.’

Trip and Graham had been roommates at Harvard Law and best men at each other’s weddings and were godparents to each other’s children. She’d always thought of Trip as almost an extension of Graham, an extra set of eyes and ears, an acceptable substitute, a brother figure. Usually they shared a warm, mutual affection. But tonight she didn’t even try to mask her displeasure that she was talking to Trip and not Graham.

‘Can you please get me out of this hellhole?’ she whispered into the phone. ‘They said they won’t let me out of here until morning, but that can’t be possible.’

‘Sit tight. I’ll call a few people and get this sorted out,’ Trip said with reassuring confidence.

‘Hurry, please.’

But either he didn’t hurry or there was nothing he could do, because Karolina didn’t speak to Trip again until he showed up to bail her out at seven the following morning. Without Graham.

Trip read her face immediately. ‘Graham wanted to come, of course. I was the one who advised against it.’

Karolina took a seat in one of the plastic chairs next to Trip. Her entire body ached from lying on a bench in the holding room – not a cell, exactly, more like an outdated boarding gate at an old airport.

‘I’m not an idiot, Trip. I understand pretty clearly that the optics of a sitting senator walking into a county jail to bail out his wife aren’t great. But you can’t blame me for wishing he’d done it anyway,’ Karolina said, trying to hold back tears. ‘Can you tell me what the hell is going on?’

Trip’s cell phone bleated, and he silenced it without looking at the screen. ‘I’m going to be honest with you, Lina. This is a first-rate shit show.’

‘You think I don’t know that? I’m the one who slept in jail last night. In jail. And where is my husband?’

Trip’s brow furrowed. He cleared his throat. ‘Lina, it’s not—’

Karolina held up her hand. ‘Don’t. First I want to know who has Harry. Who’s getting him to school?’

Another throat clear. Karolina almost felt bad for directing her anger with Graham at Trip. Almost. He looked so miserable. ‘Harry stayed the night at Elaine’s house.’

‘He’s still there?’

‘You know Harry called her when they arrested you last night. Naturally, some of the journalists picked up the story from the police scanner, and a few cameras were waiting outside your house when Elaine went to drop Harry off. She just kept driving and took him back to her place. The media has staked out your house, and we didn’t want to put him through that. At least now no one knows where he is.’

Karolina nodded. As much as she disliked her mother-in-law and the idea of her son having to hide out at Elaine’s house, she had to agree it sounded like the best option. ‘Fine. Now, how are we clearing up the rest of this nightmare? This is entrapment! False arrest! We should be talking lawsuit!’

Trip coughed, looked at Karolina, and coughed again.

‘Trip? What’s going on?’

‘It’s just that … Well, it’s complicated.’

‘Complicated? That’s a funny word. I would say confusing, perhaps. I’m certainly confused that I was arrested for drunk driving when I was not driving drunk. And even if I were driving drunk – which I absolutely was not – my husband happens to be a United States senator with more connections than a teenager on Instagram, and I know full well that if he wanted this to disappear, it would have already,’ Karolina hissed.

A garbled announcement came over the loudspeaker, and a female police officer hurried past them and out the front door.

‘Why don’t you take me through it, Lina? Tell me exactly what happened.’

It was only now, many hours into her ordeal, that Karolina felt like she may not be able to control her tears. She’d been stoic through the arrest and braver than even she would have predicted when she realized that no one was coming for her. But in the face of Trip’s familiar kindness, his obvious concern – even though it should have been her husband sitting there – it was all she could do not to weep.

‘Sorry,’ she said, swallowing a sob. ‘I’m just … overwhelmed.’

Trip cleared his throat. ‘Did you and Harry go out at all last night?’

‘Out? Of course not. I mean, only if you count running to the grocery store at about five to stock up on chips and salsa for the boys. He invited four friends over to hang out. I ordered them pizza, and they played Xbox and God knows what else twelve-year-old boys do. FaceTime girls? Each other? I don’t know. I’m not proud of it, but out of spite, I opened one of Graham’s thousand-dollar bottles of cabernet and poured myself half a glass. I knew that was all I was having, but it felt very satisfying to stick the barely drunk bottle into the fridge – he would have a heart attack when he saw it, and truthfully, I was looking forward to it. But that’s all I had. Half a glass.’

‘Okay, and then what?’

‘And then nothing! The boys wolfed down an entire Carvel ice cream cake in like thirty seconds, and they all piled into the Suburban around nine-thirty. Before I got to Billy Post’s house less than a mile away, two cop cars appeared out of nowhere. Full lights and sirens, like a real emergency. I pulled over to let them pass, but then they came up to my window.’

Trip nodded as though Karolina were confirming a script he already knew. ‘What did they say?’

‘They asked if I’d been drinking. When I said of course not, they said I was driving very erratically. Which is ridiculous, because I was actually driving very slowly in our residential neighborhood.’

‘They said they saw empty bottles of champagne rolling around in the back of the Suburban.’ Trip said this quietly, looking down at his hands.

‘Oh, did they? Well, that’s impossible. Because I don’t even like champagne. Neither does Graham. It gives us both headaches—’ She paused. Unless the kids had gotten into it? Karolina scrunched her nose in consideration. Was it possible? Twelve was hardly too young to try sneaking alcohol for the first time. Was she being delusional in thinking Harry would never try a drink? No, she knew her kid. She knew he’d be exactly like every other teenager and experiment with all kinds of things, but she was also positive that he wasn’t there yet. And even if she was completely off-base and the boys had gotten into Graham’s prized wine cellar, there was no way five twelve-year-old boys could even open a bottle of champagne undetected, much less polish off two bottles. She remembered back to the night before. Both Harry and his friends had all seemed completely normal: rowdy, yes, but certainly sober. ‘No. That wasn’t it. I have no idea how the bottles got there.’

Trip placed his palm over the top of her hand, and it felt warm, comforting. ‘I’m so sorry, Lina. This can’t be easy.’

All it took was that small expression of sympathy for the tears to start freely flowing again. Karolina was certain she had dragonlike streams of mascara running down her cheeks, but considering she’d just spent the night in jail, she figured it wasn’t the worst of her appearance problems.

‘But here’s the part that makes absolutely no sense. They brought me back here. Then without giving me a Breathalyzer or anything, they throw me in that room for the night. On what grounds? Empty bottles in my car? How is that even allowed?’

Trip’s phone rang again, and the force with which he pressed ‘decline’ startled her. He cleared his throat. ‘The police said you refused both the Breathalyzer and a follow-up offer of a blood test. Maryland is an implied-consent state, which means that by even having a driver’s license, you consent to be tested. Refusal to participate in all chemical testing immediately results in a DUI.’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I do mostly corporate work, Lina, you know that. Barely any litigation and certainly no criminal. But I did consult with a colleague before coming here, and he took me through the laws.’

‘No, I mean you can’t be serious that they’re saying I refused a Breathalyzer. It was the exact opposite, actually – I asked for one. Begged for one. I knew it would put this entire misunderstanding to rest if I could just …’

‘Lina? You know Graham and I will have the very best people on this. So long as we all stay calm, I know we will work through—’

The rest of his words garbled together as the repercussions of what had happened began to play slowly, full color, in her mind. She could practically see the headlines – SUPERMODEL–TURNED–SENATOR’S WIFE DRINKS WHILE DRIVING KIDDIES – and predict the intense media scrutiny and the humiliation of people believing she would do something like this. And Harry. Mostly Harry. Twelve-year-olds should be embarrassed by their stepmothers because of the jeans they wore, not because they were arrested for driving a car full of kids around drunk.

Then another feeling, one that surprised her with its brute strength: a yearning for her husband that was so visceral, it nearly took her breath away. How had they gotten here? To a place where she’d spent the night in jail and her husband – her lifelong partner – had left her there and then sent his friend to retrieve her in the morning. No, this couldn’t be right. Something was going on, something out of their control. Yes, there had been some distance lately. She’d felt more disconnected from Graham than usual. There was less intimacy. She even suspected he might be cheating on her again. But this was Graham. The man who had made meticulous arrangements to ensure her entire extended family’s financial security. The person who told her at least ten times a day how gorgeous she was. She could remember their wedding like it was yesterday. The vibrant green vineyards had provided a gorgeous backdrop to the unexpected rain, which might have ruined the day for another couple, but not for them. They’d barely noticed, they were so wrapped up in dancing and laughing and each other. She’d sat at their shared table and looked up at her strong, handsome husband as he thanked everyone for celebrating with them. When he’d turned to her and extended his hand, she could see the tears in his eyes, and the toast he gave was so clearly heartfelt and true. And now this.

Trip was still talking. Something about legal precedent. The fatigue was beginning to hit her, and the sadness and the humiliation and the loneliness all at once.

‘I’m exhausted,’ she said, again wiping her eyes. ‘Can you take me to get Harry?’

‘Of course. Let’s get you out of here.’

They drove in silence to her mother-in-law’s house in Arlington. Trip pulled away the moment Karolina reached the front porch.

‘Karolina,’ Elaine said when she opened the door, as though she’d just tasted something bitter.

‘Elaine. Thank you for picking up Harry,’ Karoline forced herself to say as she placed her coat on the hallway bench and followed her mother-in-law, without invitation, to the kitchen.

‘Someone had to. And contact the parents of those other boys.’

‘Yes, well, thank you again. Where’s Harry?’

‘He’s still sleeping,’ her mother-in-law said. ‘It was a traumatic night for him.’

Karolina pointedly ignored the woman, and when no offer was forthcoming, she rose to fix herself a cup of coffee. ‘Would you like one?’ she asked Elaine, who merely waved her off.

‘You’ve got a real … situation on your hands, Karolina. It’s none of my business, but if you’re having trouble, you should have sought help. But a DUI? The wife of a senator? Of the future president of the United States? It’s one thing not to think about yourself, but how could you not have considered Graham’s career?’

‘You mean Harry’s safety? I must have heard you wrong.’

Elaine waved her off while making a clucking sound. ‘You know I don’t like to get involved in things between you and Graham, but this time the circumstances—’

‘Mother, please.’

Graham’s voice caused Karolina to jump just enough to spill coffee down the front of her sweater. ‘Graham?’ she asked, although he was standing right there in front of her, looking handsome. Karolina waited for him to run and embrace her, and she extended her arms to receive him. He didn’t move. He stood in that doorway, glancing between his wife and his mother, looking like there was nowhere else on earth he’d less rather be. Everything about him was immaculate, from his custom shirt and pressed chinos to the thick dark hair he had cut every third Friday. Cashmere socks. Professionally clean-shaven. Hermès overnight bag. And the subtlest crinkle of crow’s-feet around his green eyes, just enough to lend him gravitas. He was six feet and two inches of expensively groomed masculine perfection.

‘I didn’t know you were here,’ Karolina heard herself squeak out, self-consciously pulling her arms back in. ‘Trip said you were on an Acela.’

‘I was actually just leaving,’ he said, walking past her into the kitchen. His voice was as cold and impersonal as the stainless fridge doors.

‘Where are you going?’ Karolina asked, shocked by his distance. He was mad at her? Of course he didn’t think she’d driven the children while drinking – he of all people knew she was practically a teetotaler these days. Shouldn’t she be the aggrieved party right about now, what with him leaving her in jail overnight for a crime she didn’t commit?

‘Here, darling, let me get you a cup of coffee,’ Elaine said to Graham, leaping out of her chair with newfound vigor.

‘Elaine, would you mind giving us a minute?’ Karolina asked.

The woman, appearing greatly offended, looked at Graham, who nodded his approval. ‘Thank you, Mother.’

Elaine made a big show of gathering up her coffee and banana; the moment she walked out, Karolina practically ran to Graham. ‘Hey, what’s going on with you?’ she asked. And then, trying very hard to keep her voice light, ‘Not sure if you heard or not, but I spent New Year’s Eve in the slammer.’

He turned sharply to her and shrugged her hands off his arm. ‘Is this some kind of a joke to you? Is that what this is – funny?’

Karolina could feel her mouth open in shock. ‘Funny?’ she sputtered. ‘Of course not. It was horrible, every minute of it. And where have you been? You send Trip? You know I—’

‘All I know is what I heard from the Bethesda Police Department, Karolina. According to Chief Cunningham, you were detained during a routine sobriety checkpoint after failing a roadside test.’

His use of her full name, Karolina, instead of Lina, hit home.

‘Graham, I know what they said, but I also know that—’

He slammed his palm against the countertop. ‘How could you do that? How could you possibly be that stupid?’ His face and neck were a mottled red. ‘And with my son in the car, no less!’

‘Your son?’ Karolina asked. ‘You meant to say our son. He may be my stepson, but you know I’ve never called him or thought of him as anything less than my own.’

Graham tossed his full mug in the sink and held a finger inches from her face. His eyes were slits. ‘You need to wake Harry up right now and get him home safely. Can you manage that? Obviously, by Uber, since you’re not driving anywhere. Those leeches’ – he motioned toward the manicured Bethesda street out front – ‘will find you. I hope it goes without saying that you are not to speak to a single one of them. Not a word. Don’t even make eye contact. Do you understand me?’

Karolina moved closer to him, hoping to see him soften. ‘Why are you acting like this? You know I didn’t drive drunk. You know how private I am. You know I would never, ever do anything to put Harry – or anyone else’s children – at risk.’ Karolina sounded desperate, pleading, but she couldn’t help it. It was one thing for her husband not to pick her up from jail, but it was another for him to be so livid over a crime she obviously didn’t commit.

He had a brand-new hardness in his eyes. ‘I’ll be home tonight. Remember – talk to no one.’ And with that, he left the kitchen.

4
Some of My Best Friends Are Jewish
EMILY

When the elevator doors opened directly into an apartment with floor-to-ceiling views of the Freedom Tower and both the East and Hudson Rivers, Emily tried to arrange her expression into one of nonchalance. She’d been in some impressive homes in her time. The Kardashian spread in Hollywood wasn’t too slouchy. George and Amal’s Lake Como spread didn’t suck. And no one could say that Miranda Priestly’s Fifth Avenue townhouse wasn’t spectacular. But there was something about this $12 million fifty-eighth-floor-penthouse glass magnificence that took her breath away. Since there weren’t many skyscrapers in Tribeca, it felt like they were floating alone in the clouds. There was so much natural light she had to squint, and the starkly modern furnishings and complete openness of the enormous space gave it an otherworldly feel.

‘Thank you so much for coming,’ Helene said, pushing her hair back. For as long as Emily could remember, Helene had worn her hair in the most spectacular Afro – wild, massive, and fabulous – but today it was tamed into a trillion tight, shiny ringlets that framed her entire face.

‘Of course,’ Emily said, setting her overstuffed Goyard tote down on the entryway bench. She’d received six panicked texts from her assistant, Kyle, on the way from the airport. Apparently Helene was having a meltdown. ‘Is he here?’

Helene nodded, ringlets shaking. ‘His trainer is with him. They should be done in a couple minutes. Can I get you anything? Some coffee? A stiff drink? I could sure use one.’

‘How about both together? I won’t say no to that.’

Emily followed her into the blindingly white lacquered kitchen where a uniformed Hispanic woman stood in front of a Starbucks-level espresso machine. ‘Clara, could we each get a flat white with a shot of Baileys, please?’ If Clara thought it even a tiny bit strange that these two professional women were requesting a spiked coffee at three in the afternoon, she gave no indication. The woman expertly prepared their drinks and led them to a white leather couch that looked directly out at the spectacular view.

‘So, I guess we should start with the obvious,’ Emily said, taking a sip. ‘Why did he pick a Nazi outfit to wear to a costume party?’

Helene looked at her hands as if searching for strength. ‘It wasn’t a costume party.’

‘Come again?’

‘What can I say, Emily? He’s a kid. A dumb kid with too much money and too much time and too many people exactly like you and me to cover his ass. It’s not a new story.’

‘No. But it makes everything that much harder.’ Emily glanced at her watch. Not that she had anywhere else to be, but she had flown cross-country with zero notice to help this boy, and it was high time to meet him.

Helene noticed. ‘Here, come with me. I’ll introduce you.’

The women walked down a long white hallway lined with street-art inspired paintings and down a winding staircase. Another hallway, this one covered with graffiti, led to a set of glass French doors. Inside she could see Rizzo in a set of boxing gloves, furiously punching a red bag that hung from the ceiling. A beautiful girl wearing only hot pants and a fuchsia sports bra hopped around yelling at him.

Helene rapped on the door. Both Rizzo and the girl glanced up but didn’t stop punching or jumping.

‘Riz? Can you take a break for a minute? There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.’

Emily should have been staring at his sweaty, shirtless, six-packed chest, but her eyes were immediately drawn to the trainer, whose sports bra featured a cutout all along its band, resulting in two inches of below-the-nipple bare breasts bulging out, threatening to emerge from their flimsy cover at any moment. It was so interesting, Emily thought, to wear a sports bra – which by definition was supposed to contain and support one’s breasts – and then cut away most of the fabric that would actually do either one of those things. She suddenly felt ancient.

‘Hey, great work, Riz,’ the girl said, swatting him on the ass with a towel. Her breasts heaved. Emily noticed she wasn’t alone in staring at them – Rizzo and Helene were captivated too.

‘Thanks, baby. See you tomorrow.’ Rizzo yanked the towel out of her hand and draped it around his neck. All three of them watched as the girl grabbed her duffel and her boxing gloves and walked toward the door.

‘Damn,’ Rizzo breathed as he stared after her.

‘Hey, Rizzo? I’m Emily Charlton. Helene brought me in to help manage the … situation from last night. It’s really nice to meet you.’

His eyes met hers, and for a split second Emily was torn between feeling like the only woman in the world and feeling like a complete pedophile for finding an eighteen-year-old so damn sexy. No one had eyes like that; could that shade of green even be real?

‘Hey, thanks for coming. Very cool of you, but I do think Helene is overreacting a little.’

Rizzo twisted open a bottle of SmartWater and drank the entire thirty-four ounces without taking a breath. Helene gave Emily a look like that said, Why don’t you take this one.

‘I’m sure you didn’t mean anything … nefarious by it, Rizzo, but especially after what happened in Charlottesville last year, the public tends to make a pretty big deal out of anti-Semitism, which is typically how wearing a Nazi costume is interpreted. So we should definitely get out in front of this.’

He waved his hand and started on another bottle. ‘All just for laughs. People get it. My fans get it.’

Emily took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice even. ‘Okay, maybe. But some fans might not. The Jewish ones in particular. Or anyone who was not in favor of the Holocaust, which is probably a lot of people. Certainly your sponsors – Uniqlo, Lexus, SmartWater – won’t be thrilled. And I don’t imagine Sony will be either. So I’ve come up with a plan to extricate you from all this ugliness. One hundred percent clean, a do-over. As long as you listen and play your part well, this will all go away, I promise.’

Rizzo didn’t appear particularly impressed, but he looked at her and waited.

‘I’ll call all my contacts at the usuals: the Post, HuffPo, TMZ, Variety, etcetera, and explain how you thought the swastika was an ancient Buddhist symbol of peace. We’ll play the idiot card. Just a role, but important to play up: you’re young and inexperienced and horrified that you offended anyone. You read about the symbol in a Buddhist text you were studying for a meditation class and really connected with its peaceful message.’

‘Young and inexperienced?’

‘You’re not, of course,’ Emily said. ‘That’s just the part you’re going to play.’ When he didn’t say anything, she continued, ‘You will make yourself available for all respectable interviews, where you’ll be contrite and apologetic. You’ll make a massive donation to the ADL. You’ll pay a very public visit to the Holocaust Museum in D.C., where you’ll meet with Jewish clergy and issue a formal statement stressing that this was all a mistake and a misunderstanding and not at all representative of who you are. You’ll repeat it a thousand times, or however many it takes, with genuine sincerity, until the story shifts gears and you suddenly become a champion of peace and a defender of persecuted peoples everywhere. Trust me, we can get there so long as we all follow the script.’

‘That’s smart,’ Helene said, nodding. ‘Emily’s plan sounds like exactly what we need.’

Rizzo snorted. ‘Really? I think it sounds asinine. I’m supposed to go out there and pretend like I’m some sort of idiot?’

Emily could feel Helene trying just as hard as she was not to exchange any glances.

‘I mean, this is all such bullshit. Total overkill.’

‘Do you have another suggestion?’ Emily asked, her voice as neutral as she could manage. He really was as huge a fucking idiot as she’d imagined he would be.

‘Yeah, dude, I’ll post an explanation – that I was just having fun on New Year’s and never wanted to piss anyone off. I mean, I don’t have anything against Jews. My agent is Jewish. My accountant is Jewish. Hell, all of my lawyers are Jewish. My fans know I’m not a hater.’

‘Rizzo, I can’t express strongly enough that the best response is definitely not “some of my best friends are Jewish,”’ Emily said. ‘I really don’t think you can get away with Snapchatting a “my bad” and expect it all to go away. Because it won’t.’

‘If I post it to Linger, that’s exactly what will happen.’

Emily had no idea what Linger was, but she wasn’t about to admit it. ‘Rizzo, this is what I do. Affleck after the nanny. Bieber after the wanker pictures. Kevin Spacey after the fourteen-year-old. DUIs. Drunken rants at cops. Political rants at Oscars. Shoplifting. More sex tapes than I could ever count. I can help you.’

‘Cool,’ he said. ‘I’ll think about it and get back to you.’ And before Emily could mask her shock, he strolled out of the gym and closed the door behind him.

Emily looked to Helene, who shrugged. ‘He’s just like that,’ she said. ‘He knows you’re right.’

‘Really? I didn’t get that impression. And this isn’t something that can wait. I’ve already seen the pictures on Radar Online. Has he?’

‘I know, I totally agree with you. Let me talk to him after he cools down, and I’ll call you. You’ll be local?’

Emily nodded, although she hadn’t given one moment’s thought as to where she was headed next. She’d come directly from JFK with her suitcase, figuring she’d be working out of Rizzo’s apartment for the rest of the day and night, at which point she’d check in to a hotel. But now? With no confirmed jobs?

Helene walked her to the foyer, and the maid appeared with Emily’s rolling suitcase. ‘Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’ll call you within the hour, okay?’

But Emily’s phone rang before the elevator reached the lobby. ‘That was fast.’

‘I’m really sorry, Emily, but I wanted to tell you right away. He wants to … go in a different direction.’

‘A different direction? What, is he planning to join the KKK? Because even I would have a hard time smoothing that one over.’

Helene didn’t laugh. ‘I told him you were the absolute best, but he wants to go with Olivia Belle. Apparently she called him this morning and he liked what she had to say. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. We’ll of course cover your flight and time, just invoice me.’

‘Are you serious?’ Emily asked, not able to help herself.

‘I think he’s making a mistake, and I told him as much. But if he listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this situation.’

‘No, I get it,’ Emily said, even though she didn’t. She mumbled something about talking later and hung up as soon as she could. Thankfully, the lobby furniture was both welcoming and empty, because she sank into an armchair without even looking.

Olivia Belle? If that was even her real name. Was he fucking kidding? She was a child. Granted, one with an Instagram following of more than two million people, compared to Emily’s twenty thousand. But still. Instagram didn’t fix crises. Followers didn’t manage mega-celebrities. Tweeting was not a sufficient solution to a catastrophe. Right?

Still, this was the third big job she’d lost to that bitch. Olivia Belle was twenty-six and gorgeous and popping up at every worthwhile party and event on both coasts. She was loud. And all over every social-media platform. And moving in on Emily’s clients as if she owned the industry.

Emily started dialing Kyle before she remembered it was New Year’s Day. She could call Miles, she supposed, but he was probably working out or hanging with friends. Instead she pushed ‘Miriam’ on her favorites list and laughed, as she always did, when a picture of her friend grinning in the dorkiest way popped up on her screen.

‘Hi!’ Miriam said. Kids were yelling in the background. ‘Isn’t it early for you to be awake. What, like noon?’

‘I’m in New York, actually. I hate that you left the city. Why didn’t you think about me for one second when you made this asinine decision to be a suburban housewife?’

‘Aw, sweetie. I miss you too!’

‘I’m serious. I’m here, what? Like twice a month? And you just left.’

Miriam laughed. ‘I’m thirty minutes away, Em. There are trains that come here like every five seconds. How long are you staying? I’ll come meet you tomorrow as soon as the kids are back in school.’

‘I don’t know. I just got fired by Rizzo Benz. Or not ever even hired, I’m not sure which. Olivia Belle is ruining my life.’

‘She’s a child. She doesn’t have anything on you. And Rizzo Benz is an idiot for thinking she does.’

‘Three jobs now. And that’s not even counting the other two I lost to her last year. Whatever,’ Emily said, glaring back at the doorman, who shot her a look for cursing or talking too loudly or using the lobby like her personal office or all of the above.

‘How many times has Miranda called you now?’

‘I cannot go back to Runway!’ Emily blurted.

‘Director of special events sure sounds huge to me.’

‘I know, but I’d feel ridiculous going back. New York, sure. But to give up my autonomy? I decide where and when and how I work, for whom, and how much. It feels like the wrong move to give that up and go back where I started.’

‘I hear you. But it’s Miranda Priestly. Think of the wardrobe budget. The parties … It’s the job a million girls would die for …’

‘You did not just say that.’

‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.’

Emily heard a loud crash in the background, followed by crying. ‘Which monster is that? I’ll let you go.’

‘Matthew! How many times do I have to tell you that you may not touch the fireplace poker? It’s not a toy!’ And then to Emily in a whisper, ‘Sorry. He can be such an asshole.’

Emily smiled. Anyone who could call her adorable five-year-old an asshole was someone she wanted to be friends with.

‘Em? If you really have nothing to do, why don’t you come here? We have a guest suite with your name on it. Totally sequestered, up on the third floor, with no children anywhere nearby. Stay a night. Or as long as you like. I’ll text you the train information.’

‘The train?’ Emily spat, as though Miriam had just suggested she walk from Tribeca to Greenwich.

‘Everyone takes it, love. It’s not just for unstylish people.’

Emily harrumphed. ‘Fine. I’ll come. I can’t bear to get on a plane right away. And of course I’d like to see those rug rats of yours. But only one night,’ she said, and clicked her phone off before she could change her mind. Then she swiped it open once more and punched her location into the Uber app. Emily Charlton might be a washed-up, middle-aged Luddite, but she most definitely did not take the train.

5
Just Give Up. I Have.
MIRIAM

As the door quietly closed behind her, Miriam surveyed the tangle of toys in the garage that, in New York, her children hadn’t even known existed – bikes, sleds, skis, Rollerblades, scooters, even an old-fashioned wooden wagon – and smiled. They were so lucky to live in a place like this, and even six months in, she didn’t take it for granted.

The mudroom, as usual, looked like a hurricane had hit, with overflowing cubbies of puffers and mittens, raincoats and hats and snow boots and scarves and umbrellas, and the kitchen after breakfast always looked like a starving rabid raccoon had nosed its way into every single cabinet and drawer.

‘Hey,’ Miriam heard from the couch before she could see the source of the voice.

‘Em?’ she asked, although she knew full well that was the only person who would be watching talk shows in the family room on a Tuesday morning. Emily had been with them for three days now, poring over gossip sites and newspaper articles about Rizzo Benz and Olivia Belle, so far as Miriam could tell. She was showing no signs of leaving. ‘Thanks for cleaning up – you shouldn’t have.’

‘What?’ Emily turned and glanced at the kitchen. Miriam could see she was in a ratty T-shirt that read BUT FIRST, COFFEE, and a borrowed pair of Miriam’s flannel pajama pants that looked like they were three sizes too big. An open laptop sat on the couch beside her. ‘Oh, I wasn’t getting near that disaster. Please. Don’t you have someone to handle that?’

Miriam rolled her eyes and stuck a pod in the machine. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘Are you coming from actually working out?’ Emily asked. ‘Or are Lululemons considered getting dressed around here?’

‘Both, actually. I went to a nine o’clock SoulCycle class.’

‘Wow, I’m impressed. The Miriam Kagan I know is not the Soul kind of girl.’

‘Yeah, well, I try to go a couple days a week. Not like the other moms. The instructor asked today who was “doubling,” and half the class raised their hands. Three of them were tripling.’

‘Three hours of your day and a hundred and twenty bucks – aggressive. Even for Greenwich,’ Emily said. ‘At least in Santa Monica, they don’t admit to it.’

Miriam dumped in a splash of half-and-half and grabbed a croissant from the plastic bucket of assorted Trader Joe’s breakfast pastries.

‘You can’t outrun a bad diet, you know,’ Emily called.

Miriam gave Emily the finger and shoved the croissant in her mouth.

‘A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.’

‘These hips can handle one croissant, trust me.’ Miriam grabbed a love handle with one hand while balancing her coffee cup with the other. The croissant hung out of her mouth as she carefully lowered herself into the chair opposite Emily, trying to ignore the sensation of her stomach fat rolling over the waistband of her yoga pants. The high-waisted waistband. With extra compression. ‘What are you working on?’

‘Trying to get my career back. I’m being Snapchatted to irrelevance. When did we get so old?’

‘We’re thirty-six. It’s hardly ancient.’

‘Look around. You have three kids. And a professionally decorated house.’ Emily surveyed the family room. ‘It’s lovely, but whoever did this clearly hates color. It’s like fifty shades of gray without the S and M.’

Miriam nodded. ‘Exactly how I like it. So, what’s going on? I hardly think it’s fair to say that your career is in the toilet just because Rizzo Benz went with Olivia Belle. Or are we still not allowed to talk about it?’

‘It’s not just Rizzo.’ Emily sighed. ‘Maybe I’m losing my touch.’

‘Your touch? You went from being the top stylist in Hollywood to managing top celebrities in crisis. But if you don’t like it, do something else. You clearly can.’ Miriam polished off the last of her croissant. ‘What does Miles think?’

Emily shrugged. ‘He thinks like you. I’m overreacting. I’m great. But he’s not even around these days. He’s about to go to Hong Kong for three months.’

‘Go with him,’ Miriam said.

‘I’m not going to Hong Kong.’

‘It’s a great city.’

‘Maybe I’m depressed. Look what I’m wearing,’ Emily said.

‘Looks fine to me. Move in here and you can live in your pajamas all day. Just give up. I have.’

‘Yeah, you have,’ Emily said. ‘I never thought I’d see Ms. Editor of The Harvard Law Review doing school drop-off followed by SoulCycle class.’

‘That’s harsh. But fair, I guess. You should hear my mother. She’s literally embarrassed of me.’

‘Your mother won a Pulitzer when she was twenty-eight and ignored you until you were in college.’

‘Last week Matthew told us, “When I grow up, I want to be an inventor just like Daddy.” And then Maisie, without missing a beat, says, “Well, when I grow up, I want to go to the gym like Mommy.”’

Emily laughed. ‘Ouch.’

‘Yeah, I know. Like, “Sweetie, Mommy has a JD/MBA from Harvard. She made partner at the most prestigious firm in the city at thirty-four. Up until a lousy six months ago, Mommy worked eighty hours a week helping multinational companies and was the breadwinner for this family.”’

‘Did you say that?’

Miriam snorted. ‘She’s five. And the goal is not to become my mother, right? I said something inane about whether she grows up to become a mommy or a musician or an architect or a firefighter, all that matters is that she’s happy.’

‘And you believe that?’ Emily asked, eyebrows raised.

‘Yes! I do now. I’ve been operating at a hundred percent since I was her age? I blinked, and my kids went from newborns to school-aged real human beings with their own thoughts and feelings, and I missed most of it because I was always at work. Now that Paul’s sold his start-up everything’s upside down, like we hit the lottery. How do I explain that having the chance to take a breather midlife and evaluate everything is rarer than a double rainbow?’

‘Tell me you didn’t say all that.’ Emily brushed hair out of her eye.

‘I didn’t say all that. I asked if she wanted a bag of cheddar bunnies, and she broke down hysterically crying because she only likes the cookie ones. But seriously, Em, how lucky am I right now? I have choices. Not a lot of people can say that. You can too.’

‘It’s been, what? Six months out of the city? Another six and you’ll want to step directly in front of one of those Range Rovers out there.’

‘Maybe. But for now it’s okay. Besides, I’m doing some freelance stuff on the side. Local projects, to keep my edge.’

‘Like?’

Miriam could see that Emily’s attention was already starting to drift back to the TV. On the screen, Hoda and Kathie Lee were drinking rosé.

‘Like nanny tax law. Prenups. Estate planning. That kind of thing.’

‘Sounds scintillating.’

‘Don’t be a bitch.’

‘That’s exactly what you said to me during the summer we met when you thought I was making fun of that nitwit. What was her name? Rosalie?’

Miriam laughed, remembering how everyone else at camp was scared of Emily, who wore lipstick despite the no makeup rule, slept in boxer shorts she claimed belonged to her older boyfriend, and said ‘fuck’ with abandon. Miriam had never met someone who would flat-out refuse to play lacrosse for ‘personal reasons,’ or insist on wearing stilettos to the weekly dances on the basketball court with the boys’ camp, or convince the CITs to sneak her cigarettes. The first week they met, Miriam thought Emily was mocking a bunkmate’s weight, and Miriam told her in front of everyone to stop being a bitch. By visiting day, they were introducing each other to their parents as best friends, and by summer’s end, they clung to each other when it came time to say goodbye.

‘How do you remember that? I was convinced you were calling her fat,’ Miriam said.

‘She may have been a little bit of a chunker, but I was walking like an elephant because I was imitating that buffoon who worked in the office – what was his name? Something rapey.’

‘Chester.’

‘Yes, Chester! Have you ever looked him up? We should Google him. I bet he has more pedophilia arrests than we can count. I’m just sure of it.’

‘He was the grossest man ever,’ Miriam said. ‘He leered at all the girls whenever they went in to pick up mail or drop off postcards.’

Miriam’s phone rang. ‘It’s her. Finally!’ she said, and snatched her phone from the table. ‘There you are!’ Miriam said before Karolina could say a word. ‘How are you? Where are you? I’ve been leaving messages for you stalker-style for three days!’

‘You saw the papers,’ Karolina said, her slight Eastern European accent sounding more pronounced.

‘Of course I saw the papers! The whole universe saw the papers! But I didn’t believe them for a second. Where are you? I must have left a thousand messages.’

‘I’m in Greenwich.’

‘What?’

‘To “collect myself.”’

‘Oh my God. I’m coming over.’ Miriam glanced at the wall clock. ‘I need to shower, but I can be there within the hour.’

At this, Emily looked up. ‘Who is it?’ she mouthed.

‘You don’t have to rush over. I’m sure I’ll be here for a while,’ Karolina said, her voice breaking. ‘I just miss Harry.’

‘Oh, honey, I’m on my way. Same address?’

Karolina sobbed. ‘Yes, the hideous house with the gold-enameled mailbox.’

Miriam pictured the McMansion … splashed across the cover of the Post that morning with the headline WHERE WILL HIGH-FLYING MRS. HARTWELL LAND THIS TIME?

‘Okay, I’ll see you soon. Can I bring anything?’

‘Maybe some pills? What do people take these days? You wouldn’t know it from the news, but I’m out of the loop. Valium? No, that’s old-school. Percocet? I feel like now is an excellent time to develop a prescription-pill problem. I’m a drunk, apparently. No one will be surprised.’

‘Sit tight, I’ll be right there.’

‘What? A mommy friend calling to commiserate about her maid stealing the silverware?’ Emily asked, typing furiously on her laptop.

‘Karolina Hartwell calling to say that she’s here in Greenwich.’

Miriam was halfway to the stairs when Emily called, ‘I’m coming with you!’

‘No, it’s not a good time. She sounds really upset. I don’t think she would want a stranger showing up at her house.’

‘I’m not a stranger! I met her a hundred times when I was at Runway. She must have been on the cover, what, five times while I worked there? She was in and out of the office every three seconds. I can help her!’

‘I don’t know …’

‘Trust me, it’ll be good to have me around. You go shower. I’ll change and pack a few necessities. Between the two of us, we can cheer her up.’

Miriam nodded. As usual, she felt powerless to stand in the way when Emily made her mind up. ‘Meet me in the car in twenty. And please, no booze until we hear what’s really going on with her.’

Miriam was halfway up the stairs but could hear Emily in the refrigerator. ‘Moët is hardly booze!’ Emily called after her. Miriam smiled to herself and thought how much she loved that crazy bitch.

6
Just a Cottage in the Country
KAROLINA

As it neared eleven, Karolina peered out the window near the door that faced the grand circular driveway, working her hair into twisty knots. When they’d bought the Greenwich house a couple years into their marriage, Graham had insisted they add the automated wrought-iron gate to the driveway for security purposes. She remembered feeling like it was a prison but hadn’t wanted to start another fight. ‘It’s the smart move,’ Graham had said. ‘It’s what people do.’ He’d sounded both supremely confident and totally vague.

Karolina had had a hard time understanding Graham’s obsession with the house in the country. They were living in a lovely apartment in a full-service building on Sixty-Third and Park, close to the midtown law office where he was working backbreaking hours as a new associate. Who needed Greenwich? They did, Graham swore. Acres of manicured lawn and great restaurants and fabulous shopping and only a stone’s throw from Manhattan. They could have a garden and a pool and enough space to host all their friends over snowy winter weekends or long vacations in the summer. She remained steadfastly unconvinced until he had played his trump card: Harry would have a place to roam and explore without fear of getting hit by a taxi or kidnapped in plain daylight. Was she really going to say no to that? The boy was two when they got married and still wouldn’t walk barefoot on grass. Harry was motherless – Graham’s first wife had died tragically of a rare type of stomach cancer when he was an infant – so how could Karolina possibly be the one to deny him this opportunity? Wasn’t it time that Harry had a swing set?

Those were some of the sweetest times of their marriage. She was still swept off her feet by Graham’s charm and social connections, his private clubs and the ease with which he navigated his world. He was a twenty-first-century JFK Junior, dashing and handsome and wealthy. She knew he could have chosen anyone, but he’d chosen Karolina. As successful a model as she’d been through the years, deep down she was still just a poor girl from Wrocław. Beautiful, yes. But also sheltered by a protective mother and surrounded by friends and family who had lacked education. How could she not fall for a man who swept her into private clubs where Rockefellers and Carnegies dined? It was a glimpse into an entirely different world than modeling afforded her. It was storied.

In those early years they threw lavish parties and extravagant dinners and booze-heavy cocktail hours. They laughed all the time and liked watching the same shows. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when things began to shift, but Karolina thought it had a lot to do with searching for the perfect Greenwich house.

It didn’t take long for Graham’s wish list to balloon in both size and grandeur: the quest for a modest four-bedroom home on a cul-de-sac quickly became an intense hunt for a minimum of seven bedrooms, two acres, a pool, and a tennis court. And although at the time Graham drank exclusively beer or whiskey, it was suddenly imperative that they have a humidity-controlled wine cellar with a tasting room. Newest. Biggest. Fanciest. Karolina should have listened to those warning bells. But she didn’t.

On the fourth visit, a spectacular October weekend at peak foliage, Graham fell in love with a house that was designed by a famous architect. It was ultra-modern, with jutting angles and miles of glass: 35 Honeysuckle Lane sounded like it fit the bill, but it looked like it belonged in a movie featuring a sociopath. It was perhaps the least child-friendly home she’d ever seen, but she couldn’t argue with Harry’s obvious glee as he sprinted across beautiful backyard and giggled uncontrollably as the oversize fish in the koi pond leaped up as he tossed them bits of his bagel. They’d closed fifteen days later, a record, according to the blue-haired realtor. Karolina had the good sense to require that the house be in both their names. The money was entirely hers, earned from nearly a decade of modeling while Graham was still living off the interest from the trust fund he couldn’t touch until he was forty. He tried to argue it would be better for ‘tax purposes’ to list only his name on the deed, but she had insisted. If only she had known how many weeks and months the house would sit empty and unloved save for a quick trip out to pay the caretakers and groundskeeper and make sure it was still standing. The last time they’d stayed there as a family was before Graham had won the Senate race four years earlier and they’d all relocated to Bethesda, and that was only for the night.

Karolina checked the picture window facing the lawn once again. She’d been in Greenwich a few days, not enough time to get lonely, but there she was, desperately waiting for Miriam. Usually an elderly couple lived in the house as a kind of caretaker-and-housekeeper team, but Karolina had asked if they’d like to take some vacation time, and they’d been all too happy to go visit their daughter. She didn’t feel like making polite conversation. Or, honestly, showering. And the solitude had been healing. It was a relief to look out on one’s front lawn and see only empty stretches of space after the paparazzi crush in Bethesda.

A text came in from Harry.

what do i wear to a school dance????

She smiled and typed back. Your navy Brooks Brothers suit with your white dress shirt.

Tie????

Yes. Winter Party! Your first dance!

He replied with a ‘Y.’

Is Daddy going? He knows that parents are invited, right?

This time the three dots popped up, disappeared, returned. Then: No, he’s dropping me off. Your sure about the tie???

Karolina felt her throat tighten. Wasn’t it obvious? This boy needed her. To advise on outfits, yes, but also to accompany him on his first time being a guest at Sidwell’s Winter Party. Who was going to help him choose shoes or cheer for him beside the dance floor when he competed in Coke & Pepsi, or chat with all of his friends and their parents? She knew that Harry was growing up, that soon he would start to negotiate these things on his own, but good God – the boy was only twelve! And twelve-year-olds needed their mothers.

Finally the doorbell rang, sounding like a Buddhist monk hitting a giant gong. Karolina yanked the front door open and found Miriam smiling, looking very suburban in jeans and Uggs and a massive puffer coat, holding her arms outstretched. It was strange to see Miriam in something besides a suit. The women embraced, and as Karolina inhaled the vanilla-scented moisturizer Miriam been wearing for twenty years, she thought how wonderful it was to be with someone who didn’t hate her. Miriam motioned toward the Highlander, where Karolina saw a woman in the passenger seat smoking a cigarette and screaming into her cell phone. Karolina raised her eyebrows.

‘Sorry. It’s Emily Charlton. She’s staying with me now for … I don’t know how long. She’s an old camp friend. Anyway, she overheard me on the phone with you and insisted she come too. She says she knows you from Runway? I feel terrible bringing her by unannounced, which is why I told her to wait in the car while I—’

Karolina held her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes, and squinted. ‘Emily?’ she said. ‘Hey! Come on in. And bring those cigarettes!’ She turned to Miriam. ‘I totally remember her from Runway. Miranda Priestly’s senior assistant. She was such a bitch!’

‘Oh, I know it. Emily has told me all the stories …’

‘No, I meant Emily! She was a first-rate ball-buster and funny as hell. I could use funny right now.’

Both women watched as Emily jammed her finger into the phone screen to end the call and opened the door in a cloud of smoke. ‘Am I cleared to enter? Did I pass?’ she called as she walked toward the house.

Karolina and Emily exchanged double-cheek kisses. ‘It’s so good to see you! How long has it been? Years,’ Karolina said as she escorted them to a sitting room. She pointed a remote toward the fireplace and flames leapt to life. ‘Here, sit. I made some tea, I’ll bring it in.’

When she returned holding an enamel tray with a glass teapot and three glass mugs, both women were assessing the room. ‘Welcoming, isn’t it?’ Karolina asked, acutely aware of how it looked to outsiders: the couches low and stiff and uninviting; the surfaces devoid of books or knickknacks; the walls bare except for a few fine-art black and whites.

‘I fucking love it,’ Emily breathed, looking around. ‘It’s like no one lives here.’

‘No one does live here,’ Karolina said. ‘Although I guess I might soon.’

Miriam’s face crumpled. ‘I’m so sorry about everything that’s happening.’

‘Yeah, quite the drama,’ Emily said. ‘That headline this morning: “Most Hated Celeb: Rizzo Benz or Karolina Hartwell?” My God. I haven’t seen the press this excited since Harvey Weinstein.’

Karolina opened her mouth to talk, but she felt the now-familiar knot in her throat. ‘It’s been … hard. And confusing. I just didn’t expect it to be so vicious in Washington. Reporters … are …’

‘Staking out the house, I imagine?’ Emily asked.

‘Oh my God. They’re everywhere. I’ve never seen anything like this. Not when they thought I was having an affair with George Clooney pre-Amal. Not even when Graham was elected to the Senate. They were three deep at our home in Bethesda.’ She motioned to the front door. ‘Thank God for that hideous fence Graham had installed here.’

‘How is Harry?’ Miriam asked, sipping her tea.

Karolina shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Graham insisted we take an Uber from my mother-in-law’s house, and literally, a mob of people descended on us as soon as we pulled in. And you know what the first question was? “Are you drunk right now, Mrs. Hartwell?”’

‘They’re animals,’ Emily said knowingly.

‘Thank God we could pull directly into the garage, because I don’t know what would have happened if we had to walk through it. They literally mobbed the car. Harry was crying.’

‘Where was Graham?’

Karolina took a deep breath. ‘He couldn’t risk being seen with me.’

She told Miriam and Emily how she had tried Beth, her best mommy friend. The phone had rung and rung until finally going to voicemail, which wasn’t particularly strange: no one answered the phone these days. Karolina had felt self-conscious even calling. But when her first text had gone unanswered, and then two more, she’d started to feel a little queasy. That wasn’t like Beth, who joked that her phone was practically welded to her palm. Nearly two hours later, Karolina finally received a reply text: Cole may no longer play with Harry. Please don’t contact either of us again.

Karolina had gasped as though she’d been punched. For nearly a full minute, she’d struggled to catch her breath, wondering if she was having a heart attack. When her breathing had finally slowed to something resembling a normal rate, she’d fired off a group text to the mothers of the boys from the night before: Hi all. I’ll call each of you individually, but I just wanted to let you know that I was NOT drunk and last night was a huge misunderstanding. Your children were never in danger. Love, K.

The responses came back fast and furious:

We trusted you with our son!

How can you even look at yourself after what you did?

And the worst one of all, although it was the only message that didn’t include any angry exclamations:

Please, please, please: get some help. I’ve been there too. You can’t do this without the professionals and you’re deluding yourself if you think you can.

These four simply worded text messages had broken Karolina in a way that being pushed into the back of a squad car, feeling the rage of her husband, and spending an entire night in a country jail had not. Her phone slipped from her hands, and she succumbed to the sobs. These were her friends. Not the catty frenemies she’d made in her twenties. Not the New York society women who were alternately intimidated by her appearance and put off by her lack of pedigree. The group of women she’d met after they had moved to Bethesda had been easy from the start. Some of them worked, some of them didn’t; there was a big variety of education levels and backgrounds and income; most of all, they were all trying to raise their kids as well as they could manage and have some laughs along the way. No one cared that she used to be a famous model. No one cared that her husband was a senator. And certainly no one cared that she wasn’t Harry’s biological mother. They got together for birthdays and took the kids trick-or-treating and carpooled to softball practice. Their husbands shared beers during weekend barbecues. Their kids all mostly got along and treated one another’s houses as their own. It was easy. It was natural. And it was over. She felt ill.

Miriam’s hand on her arm brought Karolina back to the charmless living room where she sat with two women who didn’t despise her. ‘How long are you staying?’

Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Graham says it’s better with me here in Greenwich, so that Harry doesn’t have all the stress of the media attention, but I don’t know.’

‘When was the last time you spoke to Graham?’ Emily asked.

‘Last night. I’m so confused. Do you know I actually asked Harry about that night?’

‘What about it?’ Miriam asked.

Karolina dabbed her eye with a tissue. ‘I couldn’t help myself. I asked if he remembered what I had to drink. He said he saw me having one glass of wine – I called it “mommy juice,” which he found totally humiliating in front of his friends. He even remembered I poured it for myself right after I gave the boys their Sprite, and he was worried that Graham would be upset because I’d opened a new bottle. What he could not answer was why there were two empty champagne bottles floating around the back of the Suburban when the police pulled me over.’

‘You don’t think it’s possible he and his friends got into it?’ Miriam asked. ‘I’m sure he’s a good kid, but he is twelve, and he wouldn’t be the first.’

‘Those boys weren’t drinking champagne. None of us were. And I begged for a Breathalyzer once the boys were out of the car, but the police are saying I refused. It’s a nightmare.’

With this, Emily slapped her hands in her lap. ‘I can’t stay quiet another second. Why are we all freaking out right now? DUIs are totally recoverable! If you just get in front of this, you can make it go away.’

‘Go away?’ Karolina asked. ‘Have you turned on a television or opened a newspaper in the last three days?’

‘Yes, I get it. The former face of L’Oréal and current wife of New York senator Graham Hartwell gets busted for driving drunk. Big fucking deal! You didn’t kill anyone. That would be way harder. The kid factor complicates things a little, I admit, but let’s keep the focus on what’s important: no one got hurt; no one died; no one even crashed. This is all a lot of hysteria for nothing.’

Karolina saw Miriam give Emily a look telling her to shut up. She remembered enough about Emily to know that was unlikely. And besides, when Emily phrased it like that, it didn’t sound quite so horrific.

‘Go on,’ Karolina said.

Emily shrugged. ‘I’ll tell you what I would tell a client. No one cares if you were drunk or not. You need to apologize for having a problem and putting children at risk. You’ll definitely need to do thirty days inpatient somewhere – the optics for that are just unbeatable, especially when we tip the press off ahead of time – but there’s one in Montana that’s downright fabulous. Like an Aman.’

‘Thirty days inpatient? Like rehab? But I don’t have a drinking problem!’

‘That’s totally irrelevant,’ Emily said, glancing at her buzzing phone. ‘There’s a protocol people follow, and this is it: everyone loves to forgive a repentant sinner. Look at Mel Gibson. Reese Witherspoon. John Mayer. Graham’s affair complicates things a tad, but it’s nothing that can’t be dealt with. They’ll forgive you too.’

‘His … affair?’ Karolina whispered.

‘I’m just assuming. Am I wrong?’

Karolina sat quietly for a minute and then said, ‘If he is, it’s with Regan Whitney.’ Karolina could see Miriam’s face register shock before she tried for a more neutral expression. Was she surprised that Graham might be cheating on Karolina or just surprised that it might be with the young, beautiful and polished daughter of former President Whitney? Karolina’s suspicions were based solely on a handful of texts she’d seen that were more suggestive than actually incriminating. That and the fact that he’d lost all interest in sex over the past six months.

‘She’s not nearly as pretty as you,’ Emily said authoritatively. ‘Not even close.’

‘She’s nearly a decade younger than me,’ Karolina said. ‘Does she really even need to be pretty?’

‘No,’ Miriam and Emily agreed simultaneously.

‘Being connected is more appealing to Graham than being pretty,’ Karolina said flatly. ‘Anyway, right now Trip advised us to keep quiet. Supposedly he’s working the phones on my behalf, and he thinks we have a shot at getting the charges dropped.’

The sound of a buzzer broke the silence.

‘That’s the gate,’ Karolina said. Her mind flashed back to the hordes of camera crews and reporters camped outside their Bethesda home. ‘You don’t think the police have let them through, do you?’

Thankfully, the neighbors on either side of the Hartwells’ house had complained about the disruption from the paparazzi, and the Greenwich Police Department had very thoughtfully closed the road to all traffic except those who could prove their residence and their invited guests. It was the only thing saving her sanity.

Miriam jumped up from the couch. ‘Where can you see the gate camera? The kitchen?’

Karolina merely nodded. It was starting to feel like she would never escape this nightmare.

‘It’s just two Girl Scouts!’ Miriam called. ‘Can I buzz them in?’

‘No cookies at a time like this!’ Emily called back. ‘The last thing she needs is an endless stream of empty calories!’

Karolina took a sip of water. ‘I guess not even the cops can say no to Girl Scouts.’

Miriam walked back in and shot Emily a disgusted look. ‘I buzzed them in. You can’t refuse a cookie solicitation, it brings seven years of bad luck.’

‘Oh, well, we sure wouldn’t want that,’ Emily said. ‘I mean, not with how gorgeously everything seems to be going right now.’

This time Karolina burst out laughing. She was crazy and emotional, and her life was spiraling completely out of control, but damn, it felt nice just to laugh. ‘Bring on the Samoas. This girl is ready to eat!’

7
Vodka and Tampax: A Match Made in Greenwich
EMILY

‘Emily! Half-caf skinny latte for Emily!’ The Starbucks barista had a ring through the cartilage of her left ear and a line of small silver cuffs all the way up her right one. Emily wanted to hug her for merely existing in Greenwich without either a blond bob or a pair of Sorel Joan of Arctic boots.

‘Thanks,’ Emily said, grabbing the cup and beelining back to her corner seat before one of the women trolling for tables snagged her spot.

She sipped her coffee and tore herself away from a photo of Olivia and Rizzo lunching at a brasserie in the East Village, instead scrolling through a list of designers to approach last-minute for Kim Kelly. Kim Kelly, the actress made famous by risqué roles (read: willingness to take her clothes off anytime), was having a dress crisis. Kim was Emily’s first client after Runway and remained, to this day, her craziest. The SAG Awards were less than two weeks away, and according to Kim, the Proenza Schouler Emily had commissioned for her was a ‘total fucking nightmare.’ Nearly ten years of dressing the woman had taught her to expect this behavior at least fifty percent of the time – but she was annoyed by the total about-face. Kim had loved the dress at her first fitting a few weeks earlier, twirling in front of the three-way mirror, giggling to herself. The shoes were Chanel, the jewelry Harry Winston, and the only thing left to source was the perfect beaded clutch – hardly a difficult task. Emily’s phone buzzed with yet another hysterical text from Kim.

Will you look at this? Total fucking nightmare, Kim had written.

Emily squinted at the iPhone picture of Kim looking exactly the same in the dress as she had two weeks earlier: gorgeous. Nightmare? WTF? You look like a Disney princess, only hotter.

I look like a wildebeest. You know it, I know it, and soon everyone who watches E will know it!

Stop! This is Proenza we are talking about it. They don’t do wildebeests.

Well then they fucked up this time b/c I am huge. I can’t wear this. I won’t.

Okay, I hear you, Emily typed, although apparently she said this out loud, because one of the women sitting next to her turned and said, ‘Excuse me?’

Emily looked up. ‘What? Oh, sorry, not you. I’m not hearing you.’

The woman turned back to her friend, only now Emily couldn’t help listening. She sneaked sideways glances as both women pulled out their phones and opened their calendar apps.

‘So, yeah, it would be great to get them together. I can’t believe it took until first grade to get them in the same class! Elodie can do Wednesdays. Does that work?’

‘No, Wednesdays aren’t great. India has fencing. How are Mondays?’

‘Mmm, Mondays are tough. I have to drop my older two at swim, get back to the school to pick Elodie up from violin, and then take all three of them to this healthy-cooking class they’re taking together. What about next week?’

The woman shook her head. ‘We’re in Deer Valley next week. I know, I know, I shouldn’t be pulling them all out of school right after Christmas break, but Silas is insistent. I was, like, “But, honey, we’re going to Vail over Presidents’ Week. Can’t we go somewhere warm?”’

Her friend nodded. ‘I hear you. Patrick is the exact same way. I had to fight tooth and nail for Turks in February. The only place he wanted to go was Tahoe. I was, like, “Enough Tahoe! You are not eighteen anymore. It can’t just be all about your boarding! The kids need to swim outside at some point this winter.”’

The ping of an incoming email was the only thing that dragged Emily back to reality. She clicked open the email from Kim Kelly and began to read.

Camilla,

I tried again, exactly like you said, and I CANNOT work with her anymore. I love Emily, you know that. She’s done great things for me over the last decade, but she’s lost her edge. I don’t know how anyone with eyes could think I look good in this total fucking nightmare of a dress. And now she says I have to find something RTW because there’s not enough time?????? RTW to the SAG Awards, are you fucking kidding me? I’ve been hearing great things about Olivia Belle. Can you get in touch with her and see what her availability is for the next 24 hours? And please write to Emily and let her down easy. I like her, I really do, but it’s time for me to move on. Fire her nicely, please. Xx KK

Without even realizing it, Emily was blinking at the screen and then rubbing her eyes. Camilla was Kim Kelly’s manager, and it couldn’t be more obvious what had just happened. It took only a split second to decide whether she should wait for Camilla’s email or write directly to Kim.

Kim,

While it’s obvious you didn’t have the nerve to fire me yourself, I don’t happen to suffer from the same condition. So I will gladly tell you straight to your face that the problem isn’t the dress or the designer or me. It’s you. Namely, your raging eating disorder that allows you to think that at 104 pounds and a size two, you look like a wildebeest. I hope you get help before it’s too late. I’m sure Olivia Belle will be the *perfect* fit for you.

Sincerely,

Emily Charlton

She punched ‘send’ without rereading it. Good riddance, she thought. But then the deflation. The dread. Another client lost to Olivia Belle. Another humiliating and high-profile firing. Another step closer to having to shutter her business altogether. She fired off a quick, slightly panicked email to Miles, giving him the update, but she had no idea what time it was in Hong Kong.

Next to her, the women had given up on trying to schedule a playdate. They had somehow segued into an uninhibited conversation about vodka-soaked tampons.

‘I mean, I’ve, like, read that the college girls all love it. But I can’t bring myself to actually do it,’ the mom of Elodie said. She had on workout wear, head to toe: running shoes, yoga pants, a performance fleece, and a reflective headband, topped off with a down vest.

Her friend wore a variation of the exact same outfit, only she had swapped out the headband for a knit hat with a massive fur ball on top. This woman – India’s mommy – leaned in and said, ‘Oh, it’s amazing. OBs definitely work best because of the no applicator. All of the buzz, none of the calories!’

‘Wow,’ the headband mom said reverently. ‘That sounds amazing. Have you ever tried tequila? I’m not a huge vodka fan.’

‘But that’s the best part!’ crowed the fur ball. ‘It doesn’t matter what you use – you can’t even taste it! And I haven’t noticed that any one type is easier on my vag than any other, so … as long as it’s not flavored, I think you can use whatever you have laying around.’

‘I’m trying it. This weekend. Wait – does that mean you would pass a Breathalyzer? Like, if no alcohol goes into your actual mouth, you should be fine, right?’

Emily was about to respond – they were raging idiots to think that alcohol absorbed through their vaginas instead of their stomachs didn’t have the same effect on their blood alcohol level – but she stopped herself. After ten days in Greenwich, Emily had seen the same faces over and over again. Telling people off in her favorite Starbucks was probably not the best way to go.

She glanced around. It was as though someone released a man-repelling chemical weapon at seven a.m. each weekday and didn’t turn off the spigot for a full twelve hours. The only men able to survive it were the ones older than eighty or too rich to even pretend to work anymore, but they didn’t spend their time in Starbucks. It was women as far as the eye could see. Women in their thirties, pushing strollers and chasing toddlers; in their forties, eking out every second before school let out at three; in their fifties, meeting for a cappuccino and a chat; in their sixties, accompanying their daughters and grandchildren. Nannies. Babysitters. The odd twenty-something who taught a local yoga or spin class. But not one damn man. Emily noticed how different it looked from L.A., where everyone was freelance and flexible and sort of working and sort of not. She missed L.A., but it was not missing her back. Olivia Belle had probably signed half the city by now.

Her phone rang and flashed MILES.

‘Em? Hey, sweetie.’

‘Hi. I’m so glad it’s you and not the bitch who just fired me.’

‘You got fired? Who fired you?’

Emily laughed. ‘Kim Kelly. In an email that wasn’t even intended for me.’

‘Kim Kelly’s a cunt.’

‘I appreciate the sentiment, honey, I really do. But can you not use that word?’

‘What, “cunt”? Since when does that bother you? You’ve been in Greenwich too long.’

‘Probably.’

‘Have you always hated “cunt”? How could I possibly not have known that about you? I mean, my God, we—’

‘Stop saying “CUNT”!’ Emily all but shouted into her phone, causing Elodie and India’s mommies to turn and stare. ‘What are you looking at?’ she asked them.

‘Me?’ Miles asked.

‘No, not you.’ Emily raised her voice and said into the phone, ‘I prefer “cooch.” As in, next time you want to get drunk, you should consider sticking vodka-soaked tampons up your cooch. That’s what all the cool moms are doing.’

This time the women, dumbfounded, exchanged a look.

‘What? Vodka-soaked tampons? What are you talking about?’ Miles said.

‘Nothing, never mind.’ Emily took a gulp of her now-cold latte. ‘So where are you now?’

‘Just got back from dinner to the hotel, which is insane. I can’t wait for you to see it.’

‘Yeah, me neither. The pictures look incredible.’

‘I’ll be back in L.A. a week from this Friday. You’ll be home by then, right?’

‘Of course. Unemployed, washed up, and humiliated. But home.’

‘Oh, come on, Em. Who even cares that Kim Kelly fired you? She’s a shit actress, anyway.’

‘She’s won three Oscars and two Globes. She was one of my best clients.’

‘She’s a hack. And getting older and fatter by the second. You, my love, are the queen of the crazies. I know it, and so does everyone else.’

Clearly he was trying to make her feel better, but it only made Emily desperate to hang up. ‘Miles? I’ve got to run. Miriam’s expecting me home soon.’

‘Okay. I miss you, honey. Remember, Kim Kelly is a bad car accident, and you’re lucky you escaped that one. I’ll see you in a couple more weeks, and I’ll take you out to cheer you up. Just remember – you’re a rock star.’

‘A rock star. Right. Check.’ She couldn’t remember feeling this down on herself, possibly ever, but then again, she’d never been fired by three big clients right in a row. She managed an ‘I love you’ before hanging up.

Then, as Emily went to close her laptop, another email came in. Camilla’s subject line said: Please read immediately.

The official firing email. Well, that had taken all of three minutes. ‘Fuck you,’ she said as she jabbed the ‘delete’ button without even opening it. Two women who had taken the table of the other moms – and who were also clad in head-to-toe Lululemon – turned to stare at her, mouths agape.

‘Mind your own fucking business,’ Emily snapped. ‘And just so you know, getting drunk through your cooch instead of your mouth will result in an identical DUI, which will inevitably force you to sell your house and change your name and move straight across the country, since no mommy around here will ever speak to you again. Even though they all do it too. Just a friendly FYI.’

Emily grabbed her computer bag and slung it over her shoulder. ‘Have a great day!’ she sang as she left, flashing just the quickest middle finger as she walked past their table. Making new friends was overrated. Especially in the suburbs.

8
Happy to Sip and Not to See
MIRIAM

Miriam tiptoed back into her still-dark bedroom and slipped under the covers. It felt so supremely indulgent to crawl back in bed. Like when she and Paul had first met and would sleep until eleven on the weekends, venture out in their sweats to pick up coffee and bagels, and then head straight back to bed with their favorite sections of The New York Times. Now Wednesdays at eight-fifteen were the new weekend: Paul worked from his home office that day and made it a point not to start until ten, since most other days he was up and out early. She snuggled up with him, pressed her body against his, and inhaled. Something about his neck in the morning always smelled delicious.

He smiled without opening his eyes and murmured, ‘What did you do with our children?’

‘All three off to school. It’s just you and me. And Emily, but she doesn’t count. What do you think about that?’ She reached her hand under the covers and into the waistband of his boxers, but he turned away.

‘I’ve got to get up. An earlier-than-usual call today.’ He gave her a dry peck on the lips, headed into the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. A moment later, she heard the shower turn on.

Miriam kicked off the covers and sighed. She’d had the idea to strip off her stretched-out leggings and yogurt-splattered T-shirt before waking him and had even slipped into what qualified as lingerie after three kids and seven years of marriage: a sleeveless cotton nightshirt and no underwear. What more could the man want?

She followed him into the bathroom and appraised him as he stepped out onto the bath mat after his usual quick rinse. There was no denying it, he was still handsome: broad-shouldered and small-waisted, annoyingly so. His close-cropped hair was starting to turn salt and pepper, but that just made him look more distinguished. And he still had the body of a runner – lean, ropy, and tight – despite the fact that Miriam ran more than he did these days, which really wasn’t saying much.

‘What are you up to today?’ Paul asked as he tied his towel around his waist and swiped on some deodorant.

Paul had never shown anything but complete support for her decisions. Whether she was working eighty hours a week at Skadden or enjoying her new, more leisurely life, he was completely behind her. He didn’t mean it now in a snarky way, he was just expressing interest in her day. Still, she felt a little stupid telling him that she was planning to attend a sip ’n’ see at eleven.

‘That sounds nice,’ he said through a mouthful of toothpaste.

‘I mean, who does that? A formal baby viewing at eleven a.m. on a Wednesday? Does no one have anywhere else to be?’

He spat and rinsed. ‘Go and enjoy yourself. You deserve it.’ Another unsexy peck, this one on the cheek. ‘I’ve got to jump on this call. I’ll see you at the school at three. And have fun at the party!’

‘Thanks,’ she muttered, but he was already gone.

A scan through her own closet revealed a lot of leftover work clothes and plenty of workout clothes, but not much else. She pulled out a pair of black pants, boot-cut and professional, with a white silk blouse, kitten-heeled patent-leather shoes, and her late grandmother’s gold-leaf necklace. Miriam glanced in the mirror and nodded with approval. Totally inoffensive. Blending in. Perfect for anything from a conference room to a Hadassah luncheon. But when she walked into the kitchen, Emily turned around from her perch in front of the cabinet-mounted TV, coffee mug in hand, and said, ‘Really? You look like a cater-waiter.’

‘Thanks. You always know just what to say.’ Miriam stuck a mug in the coffee machine and hit ‘start.’ ‘Where are you going?’ she asked Emily, taking in her leather leggings, chunky cardigan tied off at the waist, and four-inch booties.

‘With you,’ Emily said.

‘Like hell you are.’ Miriam splashed some leftover milk from one of the kid’s cereal bowls into her coffee and took a sip. ‘Seriously, where?’

‘I can’t sit here anymore. Please.’

‘I’m hardly tying you to the bed each day. You’re free to go any time. I’ve even offered you a ride to the airport.’

‘I know, I know. Miles isn’t home to visit for another couple weeks, and you know I hate being alone. Plus, I can’t face everyone after this whole thing with Kim Kelly. Don’t make me leave. I even kind of sort of like it here. In a weird, fucked-up way.’

‘I’m not making you leave! But there is no way you’re coming with me to a sip ’n’ see. You weren’t invited. You don’t even like babies.’

‘I’m sure there’ll plenty of wine, so I’ll be fine. Please? I won’t embarrass you.’ Emily motioned again to Miriam’s outfit with a look of pure disgust. ‘Although I hardly think I’ll be the problem.’

Miriam couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You are such a bitch. Fine. I’ll say you’re my pathetic, childless, out-of-town friend who’s going through a really hard time right now. But promise me you’ll keep your mouth closed. It’d be nice to meet some new people without you scaring them all off.’

Emily headed to the mudroom. ‘Come on, we don’t want to be late.’

The drive to the sip ’n’ see took them through Greenwich’s downtown, which upon first glance resembled a charming version of a pedestrian-friendly, all-American Any Town – until you noticed the storefronts: Tiffany, rag & bone, Baccarat, Alice and Olivia, Joie, Vince, Theory. One of the only mom-and-pop stores sold and serviced fur coats. Range Rovers and Audi SUVs occupied at least fifty percent of the metered spots.

But soon they were past it and weaving through the more rural part of town, on the outskirts closer to Bedford, to a pretty street that snaked through the woods. Miriam turned onto a road with a very small and subtle ‘private’ sign and followed it up and over a steep hill, then down into a more densely wooded area until the woods cleared to reveal a gorgeous, sprawling estate. A handsome valet who looked more like he belonged on a surfboard than in a uniform materialized at the driver’s side and took Miriam’s keys.

‘Now we’re talking!’ Emily said, staring. ‘Who did you say this was for?’

‘One of the moms in Maisie’s class. Just had her fourth baby. I don’t really know her, but my co-room mom, Ashley, is organizing it, and she invited me.’

‘I’m no expert, but I thought you didn’t get a shower after baby number one.’

‘It’s not a shower. It’s a viewing. Plus, this is Greenwich, where we embrace all excuses to drink during the day.’

A heavyset woman in black pants and a pressed white shirt opened the front door as they approached. Emily took one look at the maid’s uniform, turned to Miriam, and raised her eyebrows.

They were escorted through a sprawling kitchen and into the most spectacular greenhouse, a massive room with a glass ceiling and all-glass walls that overlooked acres of snow-covered backyard. Exotic cacti and tropical plants in hand-painted planters; succulents of all shapes and sizes; orchids and birds-of-paradise in bright bursts of color. Among all this natural beauty, sixty or so of the most meticulously put-together women Miriam had ever seen lounged on upholstered chaises, perched on sofa backs, stood in groups of three and four, and sipped mimosas and Bloody Marys, each looking like her own version of perfection with a glossy blowout and an outfit just like Emily’s. More attractive waiters floated around refilling drinks and offering fruit skewers and Greek-yogurt mini-parfaits and other assorted carb-free goodies. The decorations were shades of pink, but nothing else was baby-themed: not a diaper or a baby bottle in sight.

‘I feel like we just stepped into an episode of Housewives,’ Emily hissed. ‘Only without all the screaming. And with much better taste.’

Before Miriam could respond, her co-room mom, Ashley, bounded over, an absolute vision of perkiness: perky blond bob, perky boobs, perky smile. Veneered teeth. Pretty in a girl-next-door way and just stylish enough not to be intimidating in a short dress with ankle booties and a cropped leather jacket. Her diamonds were gorgeous without being ostentatious, her tan was just right, and her perfume was detectable but not overwhelming. She seemed so happy.

‘Miriam! I’m so glad you could make it!’ Then, turning to Emily but without a hint of disapproval, she said, ‘Hi there, I’m Ashley. I don’t think we’ve met.’

Miriam started to explain why she’d brought an uninvited friend, but Emily turned on her own beaming smile. ‘Ashley! Miriam has told me so much about you. She said you’re showing her the ropes with … everything. I’m Emily Charlton. I’m visiting from L.A., and Miriam took pity on me sitting at home alone and invited me along. I hope you don’t mind?’

Ashley appeared thunderstruck. ‘Wait. You’re Emily Charlton? Not the Emily Charlton?’

Miriam tried not to laugh as she watched Emily’s face transform from fake happiness to genuine joy. ‘Do we know each other?’ she asked with faux humility.

‘No, no! I mean, of course you don’t know me,’ Ashley said, looking flustered for the first time Miriam had ever seen. ‘But I’m very into fashion – not that you can tell by this old thing – and, well, I have totally followed your career from your Runway days. I think it’s just incredible what you’ve done for Kim Kelly. She was a hot mess before she met you!’

Miriam noticed Emily’s jaw tighten at Kim’s name. This could very easily take a turn for the worse. Quickly, before Emily could say anything appalling, Miriam grabbed her by the arm. ‘Ashley, we’ll be right back. I want to introduce her to the guest of honor.’ She yanked Emily to the other side of the room and shot her a warning look. ‘Best behavior,’ she said in a low voice.

‘Yes, Mom,’ Emily said. ‘But you can’t keep me from my adoring fans forever.’

The sound of a utensil clinking against crystal interrupted them. ‘Ladies! It’s that time!’ Ashley called out, beaming.

Everyone held aloft a drink and clinked. Miriam heard a woman behind her say quietly to another, ‘She spun for a girl with number three, and when that didn’t work, she had in vitro with this one. Why are we all acting like this is some sort of big surprise?’

‘Let’s have Christina open her gifts,’ Ashley announced. ‘Chris, which would you like to start with?’

Everyone turned to the gift table, which was surprisingly sparse. Miriam counted exactly three gifts, one of which she knew to be her own.

Christina ripped the card off the first box, which was wrapped in the most beautiful floral paper and tied with a bunch of live peonies. She read the card and, after announcing it was from her mother-in-law, opened the package to reveal a sterling silver rattle, baby spoon, and sippy cup.

‘And they’re engraved with Rose’s name,’ a thin woman in a Chanel skirt suit announced from her seat.

Christina blew her a kiss and then opened the second gift. ‘Oh, Marta, you shouldn’t have!’ she squealed, holding up a generic hooded-towel-and-washcloth set trimmed in itchy-looking pink lace. She motioned for the uniformed maid who had greeted the guests at the front door to enter the room, and the woman shyly approached. ‘I love it. Thank you so much!’ The housekeeper bent down for an awkward hug and then scurried away. Christina handed it off to Ashley. It was not monogrammed. It was not woven from Egyptian cotton. It did not orginate in a French boutique. Even Miriam knew the chances that the towel or washcloth would ever so much as graze an inch of that baby’s skin were nil.

‘Here you go,’ Ashley chirped, handing over the last wrapped box: Miriam’s.

Christina quickly unwrapped it and revealed the contents to the crowd. Two pink onesies with zippers – Miriam had loved the zippers instead of snaps with her own babies – a coordinating newborn hat, and a pair of furry pink booties. ‘Oh, how precious. I love it! Miriam, thank you – that was so sweet.’

Christina seemed to appreciate and admire the outfit, and Miriam felt a wave of relief that she had chosen well. But where were everyone else’s gifts? Why was it only Miriam, the mother-in-law, and the maid?

A hush fell over the room. Christina looked eager, anticipatory.

‘Okay, ladies! The moment you’ve all been waiting for. It’s time for the group present!’ Ashley called as though she were the head cheerleader at a football game.

Only then did Miriam notice a gigantic pink sheet thrown over something large in the corner. A baby swing, she figured. Probably one of those new high-tech ones that you could control with your phone through an app and have it link to Spotify. Who knew these days? It could come with a camera or an aromatherapy diffuser, for all she knew.

‘So, this is from the rest of us,’ Ashley sang. ‘Because we know it’s only two weeks until you can work out again, and with four kiddos it might not be so easy to get to the studio, so … Ta-dah!’ And with a great flourish, Ashley yanked off the blanket to reveal a brand-new Peloton spin bike. Perched on a side table next to it, collected in a gigantic wire-mesh basket, were an extra set of clippable pedals, wireless headphones, sleek white spin shoes, a YETI water bottle, and a pile of Lululemon workout clothes so massive that it looked as though someone had purchased the store’s entire size-four stock.

‘Oh my God, it’s exactly what I was hoping for!’ Christina squealed with obvious delight. ‘Thank you! Each and every one of you! You are all just so amazing!’

The entire room clapped and cheered and lined up to receive their grateful hug.

‘Where’s the baby?’ Emily hissed. A little too loudly, Miriam thought. ‘Even in L.A. – which I previously thought was the most fucked-up place ever – women bring actual babies to a viewing party!’

Miriam was scanning the room when she felt her phone vibrate. Worried that it was one of the kid’s schools, she pulled it out. A meeting reminder. She’d set it when she first started working at Skadden so she never forgot the weekly lunch meeting, where the partners would take turns presenting their case updates to everyone else. Twelve-thirty on the dot, every Wednesday. She had hated that meeting, absolutely dreaded it, but for some reason, she had never deleted the automatic reminder. Now she looked around the beautiful room at all the beautiful plants and the stylish women, nibbling gourmet treats and sipping morning cocktails, and she felt a pang of yearning for that drab conference room with its droning partners and dry turkey club sandwiches. Only for a split second. But still.

Emily raised her champagne glass. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine sipping and not seeing, but good God.’

They were interrupted by Ashley, who was cradling an armful of the most sumptuous-looking cashmere blankets in a very tender way.

‘Oh! Is that baby Rose?’ Miriam cried, moving closer for a peek just as Emily stepped away.

Ashley looked confused. ‘What? Oh, this?’ She tossed the pile on the couch, and both women gasped. Ashley stared at Miriam and Emily as if they were crazy. ‘Those are gifts.’

‘Got it,’ Miriam said.

‘Listen, do you two have a minute? It would be so great if you could help me hand out the favors. We had white S’well water bottles personalized with “Rose,” and we had them wrapped with a bottle of Whispering Angel for each guest. Get it? Rose and Rosé? They’re so cute.’

‘Got to keep our sip going,’ Emily said, raising her eyebrows in Miriam’s direction.

Miriam shot Emily a warning look and turned to Ashley. ‘Of course. We would love to help.’

9
My Romantic Relationship
KAROLINA

Karolina was sick of playing the good girl. What the hell had Trip done other than remind her that she had no rights? She was still in limbo and without any substantive information. How long was she expected to hide away in Greenwich, playing nicely, as instructed, in hopes of seeing Harry?

She could not get out of bed. Her comforter was made from eiderdown, but it seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. As did her legs, which felt barely strong enough to take her the ten feet to the bathroom. She hadn’t showered in two full days and nights; there was stubble in unacceptable places and a furry feeling to her tongue. She knew this was depression. She’d had a bout with it during her endless struggle to conceive, but this felt ten times worse.

Since even holding the remote was too exhausting, Karolina couldn’t turn off CNN, where it was obviously a slow-news day because they were looping coverage on the new health care bill Graham was spearheading. So-called experts on both side of the bill kept appearing and disappearing from Anderson Cooper’s table, arguing whether the bill would singlehandedly save or disastrously ruin the United States for all eternity. She had watched it four times over now. No one said anything new or interesting. She would so much rather be watching Ellen or Bravo or nothing at all, but the remote was lost somewhere in the impossibly heavy comforter, and it would take too much energy to find it. Exhausted, Karolina stared at the hideous modern light fixture Graham had chosen when they bought the house. The sleek automated blinds made the room feel about as warm as a hospital ward. One day, if she could ever find the motivation, she would rip them out and everything else too.

Karolina didn’t even realize she had fallen asleep until she awoke to the sound of Graham’s voice.

‘Graham?’ she nearly shouted, bolting upright faster than she’d thought possible.

He didn’t answer. Karolina looked around the room, but all was just as she had left it. And then she saw him: alone at Anderson Cooper’s table, the rest of the talking heads cleared out so the man himself could have the full stage.

‘I hear what you’re saying, Anderson, I do,’ Graham said, nodding gravely. ‘And that’s a concern for me as well – and all Americans. But now is the time for us to put our hesitation and fear aside and do what we all know is right.’

Karolina collapsed back against her pillows and exhaled. When had he gotten that suit? She bought all of his clothes, and she was certain she’d never seen that one before. Even more irritatingly, it looked great on him.

The show went to commercial break, and Karolina made a serious attempt to find the remote – no one should have to endure the sight and sound of her estranged husband on television while trying to wallow in self-pity. It had been nearly three weeks since she’d seen him, but it felt like three years.

‘If you’re just joining us, I’m here with Senator Graham Hartwell, the junior Democratic senator from the state of New York and the sponsor of the Hartwell–Connolly Bill. Senator, thanks for joining me.’

‘Always a pleasure, Anderson.’ Graham offered an easy smile. He was completely comfortable on live national TV. Hell, he was completely comfortable everywhere.

‘So, before the break we were discussing the impact the Hartwell–Connolly Bill will have on a specific population. How will your bill offer protection when Republicans want mental health and addiction provisions removed from standard coverage?’

Graham appeared to consider. ‘Well, you know, Anderson, I think Americans are more concerned about mental health and addiction than those of us in Washington would like to think. Take my own personal situation, for example. As you may have heard, my wife got in some serious trouble earlier this month.’

The camera zoomed in on Anderson’s face, which registered shock and then unbridled joy, in that order. Had the senator just willingly brought up his famous wife’s very notorious DUI? Had he actually uttered the words ‘as you may have heard’ to address the single most covered topic in the United States so far in the month of January? Was there a political pundit or journalist or comedian or talk show host or news anchor or gossip columnist who hadn’t commented on Karolina’s run-in with the law? Jimmy Fallon had dedicated an entire opening monologue to it.

Anderson collected himself – it wasn’t easy to surprise the Silver Fox, and if the circumstances had been different, Karolina would have admired Graham for it. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, his voice reflecting the gravitas of the situation. ‘I’m sure it hasn’t been easy.’

‘Most certainly not. My wife is very ill. It’s taken me a long time to understand that alcoholism is an illness, but I do now. That said, she has had every opportunity to get help – certainly many more chances than the average American ever has, I recognize that – but still she continues on with this risky behavior. I’ve tried to help her for many years. If it were just me …’ Graham allowed his voice to trail off, and the average viewer couldn’t be blamed for thinking he was actually choked up.

It had felt difficult to move before, as if she were swimming in a resistance pool, but now Karolina’s entire body felt paralyzed, and her brain had ceased processing certain words. Illness? Alcoholism? Risky behavior?

‘I’m … sorry?’ Anderson said, newly flustered. Had there ever in his entire career been a guest – a United States Senator, no less – who had so willingly broached the subject of his deliciously salacious personal life?

‘But it’s not only about me. I have to consider my son. I would be remiss as a father if I allowed my romantic relationship to further put my child at risk.’

A howl escaped from Karolina’s lips. Had she just made that noise? Had Graham just called their ten-year marriage his romantic relationship? And referred to Harry as his son and not theirs?

Anderson cleared his throat. He looked edgy, like a hunting lion about to strike. ‘Are you saying that your marriage—’

Graham clenched his hands together and stared solemnly at his lap. ‘You make all sorts of exceptions for the people you love. But I no longer see a path forward for us.’

‘I see,’ Anderson said, although he clearly did not.

‘Does anyone remember you were talking about the fucking Hartwell–Connolly Bill?’ Karolina screamed.

It was as though Anderson heard her through the TV. He said, ‘I have to take a quick break, Senator. I hope you’ll stay with me to discuss this – and everything else – in further detail?’

Graham nodded. ‘Of course, Anderson. I’d be happy to.’

Her phone rang immediately. It was her former agent, Rebecca, the woman who had mentored her through all her top years of modeling. Karolina knew Rebecca always kept CNN running in the background of her office, had done so for years, and clearly she was watching the Graham interview. As Karolina was debating whether or not to answer, it went to voicemail. A call from her aunt quickly followed. After sending that one and the next two directly to voicemail, Karolina switched off her phone. She yanked back the covers to climb back in bed and almost sat directly on an apple-sized spot of bright red blood. One glance down at her stained-through underwear confirmed it. How had she not even realized?

Sighing heavily, Karolina stripped in the bathroom, threw her soiled clothes into a sink full of cold water, and climbed into the shower. Although it required superhuman amounts of strength, she grudgingly scrubbed and shaved all the parts that needed attention and wrapped herself in a massive Frette bath sheet. It wasn’t until she went to pull on a pair of fresh underwear and clean flannel PJ pants that she discovered she was fresh out of tampons.

‘Christ,’ she muttered, stuffing a wad of toilet paper in her underwear the way she used to do in middle school when she found herself without supplies.

It wasn’t even five in the afternoon, but she was entirely alone: the caretaker couple had already called twice to ask if she needed them to return, but Karolina had insisted that she was fine by herself. A local woman came a couple mornings a week to clean, but she didn’t come on Fridays. With no choice but to actually leave her house, Karolina padded to the kitchen. Unable to resist, she swiped open her email on her iPad and scrolled through the new messages. She didn’t make it past the first one, a note from her aunt that contained only two items: an attached photo with a long chain of question marks preceding it. The quality was grainy, since her aunt had taken a picture of the picture using her phone and then emailed it – surely on the lowest resolution – to Karolina, but it didn’t take long to make out the players. Seated at Capitol Prime in D.C., known as the power lunch place for politicos, were Trip, Graham, and Joseph, Graham’s chief of staff. The interesting addition was the striking woman seated to Graham’s left. Regan. The Ice Queen. The camera caught her only in profile, but she was gazing at Graham while tossing her head back slightly and laughing. Graham was cutting his food and grinning a smile much wider than his grilled salmon probably warranted. All four wore business suits. To the normal onlooker, it appeared to be exactly like it was: a business lunch among colleagues. Your average Joe would not look at that photo and immediately think, Those two are fucking,

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.