Page 13 of Mean Moms

“Friends, thank you so much for supporting our dream of creating a sound bath spa in the heart of Tribeca! It’s an amazing honor to have you all here.” Morgan’s voice was strained.

“We wanted to give you all a little preview of our offerings, so I’d love to introduce one of our expert practitioners, who’ll give a quick demonstration.”

A pretty, light-skinned Black woman in beige yoga pants and a matching top stepped to the front of the room.

She was followed by three young women, each hauling a crystal bowl, one small, one medium, and one large.

They set the bowls in front of the practitioner, who kneeled behind them.

She was holding smooth ceramic sticks in each hand, the length and thickness of a tennis racket handle.

“I’m Tilly,” she said, her voice like smooth cream. “Today I will be using crystal singing bowls to help you experience relaxation. Now close your eyes and enjoy the sound bath.”

“What the fuck is a singing bowl?” Gabby cough-laughed into Sofia’s neck.

No one closed their eyes. Tilly hit the middle bowl lightly with her stick, creating an echoey church-bell tone, then proceeded to swirl the stick along the bowl’s perimeter, making a sound like blowing air into a beer bottle.

She did this to each bowl, producing different notes, swaying as she went.

Gabby was creating trouble by singing along—“laaaaa, laaaa, laaa”—and Ava was shaking with swallowed laughter.

In the middle of it all, Frost leaned into Sofia.

“I wonder where Belle is,” she whispered into her ear.

“Something must be wrong for her to miss it. Though she has been kind of bitchy about this whole thing—” Frost gestured around the spa.

“So maybe she was just too jealous to make it.” For a bunch of women who were supposedly best friends, Sofia was struck by how easily they all fell into shit-talking one another.

Sofia’s last real friends were from childhood, her true amigas , girls she’d grown up with in Miami whose parents hung with hers.

She’d lost touch with them when she’d married JP, falling instead into a circle of fake acquaintances, their relationships based on money and looks and the fact that all their children had gone to the same private school, Gulliver.

No one had even said goodbye to her when she’d moved, when she’d sent out a cryptic group text explaining that the kids wouldn’t be back in the fall (true), and that she’d loved getting to know them all (lie).

Andrea had been the only one to reply, with a crying emoji plus a heart emoji.

Then a follow-up: “Michael?” Sofia had never responded.

Tilly finally wrapped. “You may now take a deep breath before opening your eyes.” She said. They all shut their eyes, pretending they’d been obeying her directive the whole time.

“Everyone, arms out!” Sofia heard someone shout. She opened her eyes to see a large man in a black ski mask standing before the group. He had a silver gun, which he was pointing at the horrified crowd. Frost grabbed Sofia’s hand and squeezed it, making frightened eye contact with her.

“Put your arms out, I said!” demanded the man, demonstrating clumsily, the gun briefly hanging upside down as he did.

Art and Morgan were standing in front of Gertrude protectively, and the Thyme it had been all over the New York Post .

And so Sofia was nervous, but not majorly.

She felt a thrill being part of such a dramatic scene.

She’d lived in rough-enough neighborhoods to know that it wouldn’t end in violence unless someone totally fucked up.

The man had just playacted a zombie, for crying out loud.

“I’m going to take your watches and bracelets.

Don’t move,” he said, somewhat shakily. He put the gun in his pocket and, one by one, stopped in front of each of guest, removing her jewelry and putting it into a black sack.

It reminded Sofia of trick-or-treating with the kids, only instead of Skittles and Kit Kats the man was collecting Rolexes, Tiffany, and Van Cleef he had a ski mask on. No, I didn’t look at his hands! I was trying to stay alive!”

“I’m fine, but he stole my Rolex, that asshole.”

“We all almost died. We have children . No, they wouldn’t be better off living with the nanny. Fuck you, Jason, that’s not funny. I’m freaking out here.”

Sofia had a better idea. She navigated the mayhem and walked outside, picking up the abandoned bag from the sidewalk, clutching it to her chest, feeling the comforting weight of all that money.

She was probably holding more than a million dollars’ worth of jewelry.

She fished her Cartier out of the sack before returning to her friends, standing in a semicircle near the reception desk.

“The robber’s loot!” said Gabby happily. “It’s like out of a cartoon or something. Can I get my tennis bracelet back, por favor?” Sofia handed her the bag, glad to be rid of it. It was too tempting given her current situation.

Gabby plucked out her strand of diamonds, and then passed the sack along like a hot potato, each person retrieving her own piece.

“Well, at least it all ended okay,” said Ava. “Should I delete my Instagram story? Is it in poor taste now?”

“Absolutely don’t delete it,” said Frost firmly. “Morgan won’t want this to detract from the party. If anything, post more happy pictures, make the space look great.”

“I think Morgan left,” said Ava. “She must have taken Gertrude home.” The door of the spa opened, and the women saw Art reenter, sent to do damage control, chatting and assuring, until he landed next to them.

Sofia was now certain she’d seen him before the day of Frost’s accident—but where?

He smelled like a mix of stress sweat and Tom Ford cologne.

“Morgan took an Uber home with Gertrude. They’re pretty shaken up but will be fine,” said Art. “Since all the jewelry has been recovered, I’m not even sure if it’s worth us filing a police report.”

“He had a gun!” said Gabby.

“I called NYPD just now, and the officer I spoke with said that lots of times these guys have fake weapons,” said Art.

“Someone recently got robbed outside Carbone—he lost an Audemars Piguet—and it turned out the man who did it was holding up a water gun that he’d painted black.

We don’t know if this guy had a real gun.

Plus, Morgan is concerned about the negative publicity—will people come to the spa if they know that something like this could happen? ”

“Let us know how we can help,” said Frost. The other women all nodded earnestly. “And tell Morgan we’re sorry and we’re thinking of her.”

“Okay, gals, I’ve got other people to chat with,” he said. “Finish your drinks and please, please don’t make this a big story at drop-off tomorrow. Morgan is counting on you to be in her corner.”

Gabby gave him a thumbs-up.

“I need a real drink after that, not a glass of shitty white wine. Who wants to come with me?” said Ava. Gabby raised her hand. So did Frost. Sofia knew she should go—she needed to forge relationships with these women, not just for herself, but also for her kids and their future.

But all she really wanted to do was walk around the city alone.

Perhaps find someone interesting to trail.

It was something she’d been doing to various people—other moms, men she found attractive, women who were particularly stylish—since she’d arrived in New York.

She’d walk about a block behind her target, careful not to get too close: Sofia, with her TV-star good looks, was certainly noticeable.

Then she’d track them until she got tired, sometimes for just a few minutes, and sometimes for longer.

She particularly liked to follow her new friends, which is how she’d come upon Frost and Morgan after the scooter accident.

It made her feel closer to them, in a strange way, to shadow them unknowingly.

Sofia hadn’t realized how much of her time previously had been taken up by spending money.

“Barry’s Bootcamp calls! I have to get up super early for a workout,” Sofia said now. “But next time.”