Page 46 of Mean Moms
“I saw you following Morgan. The other day. Near Morgan’s house. I was in that neighborhood running errands, and I saw Morgan walking alone on the other side of the street. I tried to call hello, but she couldn’t hear me. A few seconds later, I saw you walking behind her, all incognito in black. I know you never wear black! What were you doing? Did you have anything to do with the lanternflies? With thePostarticle? Sofia, you have to tell me the truth. Belle and Morgan—”
Before Frost could continue, Gabby and Ava arrived in front of them, connected at the hip as usual, Gabby in a smart pinstripe suit and Ava in a black minidress. Frick and Frack, as Sofia thought of them.
“Frost, so, so, fab,” said Ava, taking out her phone and doing a quick spin around of video. “Here’s the amazing artist herself!” she said, pointing her camera at Frost, who smiled and did a little bow. Ava put the phone back into her teeny tiny bag, which reminded Sofia of one of Lucia’s doll accessories. “I’ll post that tonight,” she said. “People are going to go mad for this. Former It Girl and her It Girl art show, I love it soooo much. Are the boys here to celebrate with you?”
“No, they’re at a lacrosse tournament upstate, which is a shame,” said Frost. “But hopefully this won’t be my last opening!”
“Dude, I have to hand it to you,” said Gabby. “No offense, but I always thought you were, like, beautiful and cool and that’s it. But it turns out you have talent, too. I especially love the Chloë Sevigny portrait. What a babe.” Frost’s face went from flushed to cherry.
“Thanks so much, guys!” said Frost, nearly bursting with excitement. She looked around the room and gave Tim, standing alone near the drinks station, a quick wave. He waved back, and then did a nerdy thumbs-up. When they’d first met, Sofia had sensed a pall over Frost that had since lifted. She didn’t know what had happened with Art, but it seemed Frost was moving on with her life in a healthy way.
Frost then got swept away into the crowd, shaking hands and receiving congratulations. Sofia saw several Atherton moms in a group off to the side, plus some society types whom she recognized to be Frost’s former friends-about-town. Ethel Zeigler was at the other end of the space, showing off Frost’s work to potential collectors.
Belle then walked into the exhibit in a floral dress, her hair clipped back into a long braid. She was followed by Morgan, in a trench coat, its collar popped. Sofia followed Morgan’s and Belle’s laser-beam gazes as they both focused on the same person at the same time: Dr. Broker, who’d somehow slipped in without Sofia noticing. Sofia remembered what it felt like to see Michael and wondered if either Belle or Morgan ached for Dr. Broker the way Sofia had for Michael.
Sofia had to gather her thoughts in light of what Frost had just told her. She walked to the bathroom, into a hallway of stalls separated by wooden slats, each more run-down than the next. She picked the cleanest option and went inside, locking the door. She sat down on the closed toilet with a sigh. Morgan and Belle thoughtSofiawas out to get them? She most certainly was not. These women were the crazy ones! Lying to each other, competitive beyond belief, screwing each other’s husbands, their kids torturing one another. Sofia had never experienced anything like it. It made her miss the mom-drama of Miami, where the fighting revolvedaround whose son was better at soccer and whose husband bought them more diamonds.
The bathroom barriers were thin, and there was a rustling in the stall next to her. Yuck. She really should try to find Frost—she needed to explain why she’d been trailing Morgan. She got up to leave but heard voices. She paused to listen.
“Morgan,” a man hissed. “There’s no one else in here. Open up. Now.”
Sofia pressed close to the splintered wood, noticing a small gap between the slats. She pushed into it and was able to see into the stall. There was Morgan. She unlocked the door and Dr. Broker entered. He went to Morgan without saying anything, pulling down the collar of her coat to reveal her skin, which was covered in light bruises. Dr. Broker then quickly kissed the hollow of Morgan’s throat before placing his hands around Morgan’s neck, pushing his fingers in and squeezing. Sofia had to put her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from shrieking. “Harder,” Morgan croaked. “Harder.” Dr. Broker moaned lightly. He continued to choke Morgan for what felt like an eternity. Sofia couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Morgan finally pinched Dr. Broker’s leg, clearly some kind of sign for him to stop, as he let go of her immediately.
Morgan then bent over, catching her breath, while Dr. Broker grabbed a wad of toilet paper to clean himself off. Then he looked in the mirror, fixing his hair. Sofia took that moment to step out of her stall, racing to the end of the hallway, tucking herself into a corner, unseen by anyone exiting the bathroom area.
Dr. Broker strolled by, licking his lips. Soon after, Morgan followed, glancing left and right, pulling her coat back up higher on her neck. Sofia took the opportunity to saunter over, purposely bumping into Morgan from behind.
“Hola,” said Sofia casually. Morgan turned around to see who it was, annoyed.
“Hi, hi, you look amazing,” said Morgan, semicordially.
“Did you see that Dr. Broker is here? He’s such a lovely man. So gentle and caring,” Sofia said, emphasizing the word “gentle.” Morgan narrowed her eyes. If Morgan was out to possibly screw over Sofia, Sofia wouldn’t take it lying down. She might not be wealthy anymore, but she was scrappier than any of these soft, privileged women. And she had ammo.
“No, I haven’t yet,” said Morgan. Sofia blinked a few times, gearing up for her next move.
“I forgot to mention, I saw you after Belle’s press event,” said Sofia. Morgan sucked in her cheeks but didn’t say anything.
“You were meeting with some guy near City Hall. I was going to come say hi, but you seemed to be having a very intense conversation.”
At that, the lights in the venue went out, sheathing them in complete darkness, confused murmurs rising from the partygoers. Sofia felt her way to a wall, leaning against it for stability, wondering what on earth was about to go down.
“It’s okay, probably just an outage,” someone half yelled over the noise. Someone else had opened the door, letting in the damp, spring-y air, but basically no light. Sofia could see a few people streaming out of the exhibit, but she felt bad ditching Frost like that; she must be in a total panic. Sofia felt the whoosh of someone running past, their sneakers padding on the floor. Then a strange, chemical smell hit her nose. She stood very still, trying to get her eyes to adjust. A few tense minutes passed, in which Sofia could only hear concerned murmuring, someone sneezing, a phone ringing, someone fumbling in a bag, trying to pick it up. Then the lightswent back on. She could hear grunts of relief before noticing flyers stuck to the walls, on and among the artwork, not unlike those papers plastered to the pedestrian signal poles around the city. But instead of political statements and missing dogs, this one was an image of a naked woman kneeling on a bed, touching herself, her red hair wild, her eyes half closed in ecstasy. Frost. It was Frost. The wordCHEATERwas emblazoned over the picture in black blocky letters.
Frost was in the middle of the room, spinning in a circle as she surveyed the damage. Tim was close to a wall, inspecting the pictures of his wife. Sofia saw Dr. Broker and Morgan slouching out of the exhibit, one after another. Then out of the melee arose a violent howl, not unlike something out of a horror film. It was so loud, so impossibly high-pitched, that Sofia momentarily covered her ears with her hands.
“My hair!” the person yelled. “My haaaairrrrrr!”
There was Belle, standing in the corner, holding something in both of her hands like it was a sacrifice to the gods. On first glance, Sofia thought it might be a snake—might as well be, the world was basically ending. But as she walked toward Belle, thinking only of how she could help her friend, she realized that it wasn’t a reptile at all. It was a braid. It was Belle’s braid. And someone had cut it off. “You!” roared Belle accusingly, staring at Sofia, who’d frozen in place.
Terrified, Sofia turned around and fled into the rainy New York City night, the downpour drenching her as she walked down Tenth Avenue toward home. She thought of Michael, and of Carlos and Lucia, and of how she got into this mess in the first place. The picture of Frost, naked, posing for a man who was clearly not her husband, stuck in Sofia’s mind. Belle, violated, holding her precious hair in her own two hands. For the first time since moving toNew York, Sofia was deeply, miserably homesick. She pulled out her phone and texted Frost.
Mi amor, I am so sorry about your beautiful artwork and about everything. I have so much news to share with you, if you’d like to know the truth. Tu amiga, Sofia.Sofia saw the three dots wiggling, so she knew Frost had read her message. But then she didn’t respond.
Sofia, newly licensed luxury travel adviser, kept walking, too drained and soaked to find anyone to follow.
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