Page 19 of Mean Moms
“I’m good!” said Frost brightly, signaling the waiter to come over to get her a drink.
“Have you spoken to Belle? How’s she doing?” said Sofia.
Belle had recently turned into a bit of a recluse. She’d never quite recovered from the lice email debacle, and had started avoiding school functions, for fear of seeing any of the moms she’d named in the now infamous note. She’d also been working overtime to ready The Dress for its big launch this month. Morgan, too, had been busy with Thyme & Time, which had recovered quickly from the robbery and was now going gangbusters, the most popular soundbath spa in all of Manhattan. At least Frost had Sofia to fill the friend void.
“I think she’s pretty on edge,” said Frost. “She’s convinced someone leaked her email on purpose, though I have no clue who’d do that. How would they have gotten access to Nurse Weiss’s account?”
Sofia shrugged, and Frost changed the subject.
“Have you figured out what you’re wearing to Friendsgiving?” she said.
The next theme party was at Clara and Neil Cain’s Financial District apartment, a five-bedroom duplex in a high-rise on Pearl Street, with wraparound skyline views. Clara had landed on Friendsgiving as a theme, though Thanksgiving was long past, celebrating “the bonds of Atherton’s chosen community.” All the moms were complaining about it on various chat threads—what the hell do you wear to a party about friendship?
“No costume ideas yet,” said Sofia a little glumly. “It’s kind of depressing to have to figure it out all on my own, without a partner.”
The waiter appeared and Frost ordered a dirty martini. She wanted to cheer Sofia up. She was feeling good, maybe even great, and she wanted that feeling for Sofia, too.
“I got a very exciting phone call on the way here. An art dealer wants to look at my work.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Sofia. “I’m sure you’re an amazing artist—I can’t wait to see your collages.”
“I want to celebrate. How do you feel about going a little wild tonight?” said Frost.
Sofia’s eyes sparkled, their golden rings catching in the restaurant’s low lights.
“I’ll text Maria that I’m going to be late,” Sofia said with a smile. “Moms’ night out!Vamos!”
“I’ll text Morgan and Belle to see if they’d like to join,” said Frost.
By 2:00 a.m., Frost and Sofia were dancing in a packed room at ZZ’s, a private club owned by the Carbone guys that cost $50,000 to join and $10,000 a year after that. Neither woman was a member, but Frost was old friends with Mario Carbone’s wife, so they had an easy in. A DJ was playing Madonna, and Frost was singing along to “Like a Prayer” at the top of her lungs, bumping up against Sofia, who’d shed her blazer long ago and was writhing in a damp white tank.
The place was packed with wealthy, let-loose revelers, and Frost and Sofia were both many drinks in. Frost, jumping up enthusiastically, hadn’t felt this alive in years.
“Woohoo!” Sofia shouted throatily. A remix of Cher’s “Believe” blasted over the speakers, and Sofia abruptly stopped dancing, a funny look on her face. For a moment, Frost thought Sofia might cry. Instead, Sofia turned to the attractive guy next to her and pulled him off the dance floor, motioning for Frost to join them. He, in turn, grabbed his friend, and the foursome stumbled into a banquette in the adjoining cocktail bar. There was a strong smell of cigar and cigarette smoke, and Frost inhaled greedily, transported to an earlier, happier time in her life.
Sofia grabbed Frost’s hand under the table, smiling, seemingly back to her usual self, whatever passing cloud having lifted. The man Sofia had recruited, who looked to Frost like a young Paul Newman, was staring at Sofia in awe. The guy next to Frost, nearly as handsome in his own right, had already planted his hand firmly on Frost’s upper thigh. She had Tim. She had Art. But this was something else. This wasexciting.
“I’m Nick and this is Ryan,” said Paul Newman, “and who are you two?”
“I’m Bluey and this is Bingo,” said Sofia, without missing a beat. The guys, who appeared confused, obviously didn’t get the mom joke.
“What brings you to ZZ’s?”
“We’re out having fun,” said Sofia. “Just two hot divorcées on the town.” Sofia said it so naturally, Frost almost believed it herself. She felt the hand on her thigh snake up and didn’t do anything to stop it. Sofia took Nick’s head in her hands and kissed him, deeply, to Frost’s surprise and amusement.
“You’re beautiful,” Ryan said directly into Frost’s ear. She flooded with warmth.
“How old are you?” she whispered to him. His face was so smooth it reminded her of her sons’.
“Twenty-seven,” he said, his fingers lightly massaging her leg. She didn’t want him to stop. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two,” said Frost. The lie came easily. She felt thirty-two right then, if not younger.
“And you were married?” he said. “What happened?”
“My husband felt like a failure, and he took it out on me,” she said. It felt freeing to finally say it aloud, if only to a stranger.
“That sucks,” said Ryan. He gently kissed her neck and she let him. She looked over at Sofia and Nick and saw they were making out like teenagers, Sofia’s hands running through his sandy hair.
