Page 35 of Mean Moms
Just then, the elevator doors opened unexpectedly. Belle, on instinct, grabbed a miniature blue Jeff Koons balloon dog from the entry table, ready to bash the guy’s head in. But instead of a ski-mask-wearing monster, into Belle’s apartment stepped Sofia, her cashmerecoat belted tightly, her hair freshly blown out. Her large grin turned to concern as she sensed the vibe in the room.
“Sofia!” Belle nearly barked. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I texted you to say I was nearby. I wanted to cheer you up, so I brought you this.” She held out a tray filled with individual ramekins, each covered in tinfoil. “It’s my special Colombian dessert,postre de natas. My mama would make them for me when I was feeling down.” They all just stood there, no one accepting the offering. “Your building door was propped open, and I know your elevator code, remember?” Belle did—she’d given Sofia the code to her elevator a few weeks ago, when she’d had the girls over for wine and cheese.
A sharp squeal came from the kitchen. Sofia, startled, dropped her tray, sending ramekins flying every which way, South American pudding spraying onto the purple felt walls like streaks of white paint.
The women ran to find Ivanna standing at the kitchen island, the dead flowers strewn over the beautiful stone, dozens of large brown insects whirring around her head. “Aahhhhhaaaahhhh,” yelled Ivanna, shooing the bugs away.
“Lanternflies!” gasped Belle. “NO!”
“They must have been in with the flowers,” said Frost. Sofia picked up a roll of paper towels and started batting the flies down, one by one. Hildy grabbed a kitchen towel and helped, whipping it at the spotted creatures. Duke and Sky got in on the game, the two cats pawing at the lanternflies, pinning them with their fluffy paws. Belle watched them all in a daze while Frost comforted Ivanna.
After nearly five minutes of battle, the lanternflies were defeated. All that remained were their squashed carcasses, sullying the clean white imported tile, the cats playing hockey with the corpses.
Hildy disappeared with her phone, likely to call Jeff, and Belle sank down to the table.
Then she burst into tears.
An email to Frost Trevor and Tim Butler
Report from Greg Summerly, Private Detective
I wanted to send a wrap-up of my findings from the October 14 incident. Unfortunately, no huge reveals here, and for that I apologize.
On October 14, at 6:37 p.m., Frost Trevor was struck by a man on an e-scooter while crossing Hudson Street at Christopher Street. The man, in his twenties or thirties, wearing a baseball cap and an N95 mask, did not identify himself at the scene. He approached from the north, directly striking Ms. Trevor. He also fell off his scooter. Then he got up and continued south.
Ms. Trevor was with her friend Morgan Chary, who, after helping Ms. Trevor to her feet, then fainted herself. They were joined by their other friend, Sofia Perez, who they’d earlier had drinks with at the Odeon. Two witnesses initially helped Ms. Trevor after the accident, but I was unable to locate them for questioning. In the process of this investigation, I spoke to Ms. Chary and Ms. Perez, as well as two surrounding store owners, one of which, Good Guys cannabis shop, was able to provide me with security camera footage of the incident.
Unfortunately, the footage was very grainy, and though the accident was visible, any identifying features of the man were blurred. He appeared to strike Ms. Trevor directly, though it’s unclear if it was deliberate. In my professional opinion, it was not. Neither Ms. Trevor nor Ms. Chary nor Ms. Perez could name any concrete identifying features of this man.
On February 1, Ms. Trevor, out at a nightclub, ZZ’s, suspected she saw the same man in the bathroom area. She attempted to make contact with him but was unable to. She and Ms. Perez then left the club and were heckled by an unidentified man who yelled slurs at them. Ms. Perez ran after this man for two blocks but ended up losing him near the entrance to the High Line on Thirtieth Street. She was unable to get a close look at him.
ZZ’s would not provide me security camera footage of that night, but it is my professional opinion that the incidents are not related. Ms. Trevor was admittedly drinking heavily that evening.
To summarize: In my professional opinion, Ms. Trevor was the victim of a common New York City crime: a hit-and-run by an inexperienced, reckless e-scooter driver. E-scooter accidents in New York City have increased 17 percent just this year, and many drivers use them dangerously.
I do not see the link between the incident with the e-scooter and the incident at ZZ’s. The only commonality between the two is Ms. Perez.
Thank you for your business.
Best,
Greg Summerly
Chapter 10Friendsgiving!
Frost Trevor felt okay, given that there may or may not be someone in Manhattan who was out to get her and her friends. Unlike Belle, Frost was holding on to the idea that it was all just a big coincidence. Or a misunderstanding. The private detective they hired had confirmed as much, sending them a succinct email basically saying: you’re being paranoid. So Frost was trying to stay positive. Her marriage, which just months ago seemed to be on life support, had rebounded. She and Tim were talking, they were having sex, they were being open with one another in a way that they hadn’t for years. (Well, open-ish; he could never know about Art.) She needed to focus on her husband and her sons. She’d been an asshole for too long. Frost was trying to be better.
The boys, however, were presenting a slight problem. Frost hadn’t told this to anyone, particularly not Belle, but after school the other day, Frost had overheard Alfred and King, deep in Fortnite comas, talking about the “fake nudes.” She’d sat them both down, basically dragging them by the ears, and forced the story out: a couple weeks after school started, King said he’d turned onhis phone to find a text message from an unknown number. He’d opened it to see a slew of X-rated photos of Hildy Redness, whom he’d known since pre-K. He’d shown Alfred—but that was it!—and Alfred, with his eagle eye, had guessed that the pictures were doctored. “Hildy’s boobs are not, uh, like that,” said Alfred, turning crimson and looking anywhere but his mother.
King told Frost that a similar thing had happened at Dalton—some kid had used AI to make deepfake pictures of girls in his class and had gotten caught and suspended. He’d even heard that the kid might have to go to jail. With that in mind, King said he’d deleted the pictures and the text right away, but that “maybe” a few other boys had heard about it, including Ozzie Cain. Or maybe a few other boys had also received the text. He couldn’t be sure. But both twins swore to God, no fingers crossed, that they didn’t know who’d sent it.
“Does Hildy know?” Frost had asked, her heart sinking. As if Belle needed something else to worry about.
“I don’t think so,” said Alfred. “Bro, whoever did it is really perverted,” he said. King nodded in agreement. “Maybe it was Gertrude Chary,” said King offhandedly. “She’s sus,” he said, wrinkling up his nose. Frost didn’t know what “sus” meant, but she wasn’t concerned about Gertrude. Gertrude was sad, not evil.
“Hildy’s not really our friend, but she’s fine. She just does her own thing,” said Alfred. At twelve, Frost’s sons were men one moment and little boys the next. She’d tabled the chat and told the boys to let her know if they received anything else of the sort. “Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” she’d warned, and they knew her tone meant business. “And I’m not your ‘bro.’” They both laughed. Frost’s hope was that somehow it would never surface—she wasn’t going to tell Belle, and maybe it would all just blow over.
