Page 18 of Mean Moms

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the blackness. She could see the skeletons above and the witches on the walls, but not who she was with.

“Hello?” said Belle softly. She felt very vulnerable and upset, and her too-small Jason Wu dress was beginning to suffocate her.

“Mrs. Redness,” said a deep voice, which she instantly recognized to be Dr. Broker’s. He took her hand again and led her to the corner of the space, hidden from view, even if the door were to open.

All of Belle’s anxiety instantly melted into electricity. She didn’t know why Dr. Broker had chosen to bring her here, but being in a dim room with him lit something up inside her.

“Um, Dr. Broker, I’m glad I ran into you,” Belle stammered, trying to sound normal.

“There are two things I’d like to discuss.

First, I heard something about nude photos that I don’t think is true.

Second, it seems that an email I sent only to Nurse Weiss was blasted to the entire school, and I need to know how that happened.

A head has to roll, Dr. Broker. Not yours… ” She was rambling now, unable to stop.

Before she could process what was happening, Dr. Broker had pushed her against the wall, pressing into her with what she could feel, even through his jeans, to be a large erection.

He ran his hand over her Bulgari ruby necklace, and then his lips were briefly on hers, tasting of mint and rum.

Nothing like this had ever happened to Belle Redness, a daddy’s girl and rule follower.

For a second, she felt like she might give in.

He was so attractive, and his body was so…

warm. But as Dr. Broker began to lift up Belle’s Jason Wu dress, an image came into Belle’s mind, the same memory she’d had earlier that evening, one of her younger self, sitting across from Jeff at a bar, laughing at something he’d said, their fingers entwined.

She quickly ducked out of Dr. Broker’s embrace.

“You know, I don’t have lice anymore,” she said awkwardly, wiping her mouth, wishing she hadn’t let him kiss her in the first place. In the low light, she could see he was frowning.

Belle took the opportunity to dart out of the room, the wax witch looking on with a sneaky smile. Then she took an Uber home alone, reliving it all in her head.

A note from the host, Ava Leo

Hi, all,

Thank you so much for attending A Bouquet of Newly Sharpened Pencils!

David and I were so thrilled you could make it—we had a wonderful time celebrating the start of the Atherton school year, and we hope you did, too.

Below, a quick list of what was left in our apartment.

Please claim them by early next week; after that, items without owners will be donated to the Atherton Parents Against Persons Experiencing Homelessness committee for neighborhood distribution. See everyone at drop-off on Monday!

All our best,

The Leo-Chungs

A pair of plastic antlers

Three vapes, wasabi flavor

One diamond drop earring

A black Celine trench (Ava is planning to keep this for herself, if no one claims it ? )

Six humanlike bones

A dime bag of weed (David will happily keep this one ? )

Three iPhones

One Google Pixel phone (loser)

A Chanel clutch with three condoms inside ( ? )

Various hair extensions—purple, orange, and gold

Did someone leave a hamster here?? Hazie seems to have adopted one, and we don’t know how it got in the house.

Ava Leo was seriously exhausted. She didn’t know why she’d volunteered to throw a theme party in the first place.

On top of her job, on top of her travel schedule, on top of everything else.

It had been David’s idea, part of his constant need to show off.

That’s what Ava got for marrying a chef, she supposed.

But it just hadn’t been the right time. And they didn’t have the money to do it. And now they had less. Way less.

David’s restaurants were failing. The BaoFuku group, which consisted of five spots around the city, ranging from Michelin-starred fine dining to a hip fried chicken joint in Red Hook, was hanging on by a thread (a noodle?).

It had been a long, stressful road, starting with the pandemic shutdowns.

They’d rebounded nicely after that, but the restaurant industry was notoriously mercurial, and David had never been a great businessperson.

They’d overspent and overstaffed and that, combined with the fact that David’s signature style of experimental fusion was on the outs, meant they were on the verge of shutting down.

David was in denial, talking up his next great menu ideas, calling in all his celebrity friends for photo ops at the flagship.

But the books didn’t lie, and Ava wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

It would be a huge fucking life disaster if it happened.

And every day, they edged closer to the brink.

Ava also had her own job to worry about.

Pinterest was great to her, sure. They’d hired her to be a face, and she worked her butt off doing it.

But even tech companies were tightening their belts right now, and Ava was worried that at some point, a higher-up would look at her salary and do a double take, interrogating it in a way that no one seemed to have done when they’d hired her out of Hearst five years ago.

(“You’re paying who how much to do what ? ” Yadda, yadda.) Then what?

Maybe that’s why she’d been so bitchy lately, Ava thought regretfully, walking through her trashed apartment the day after the party.

The cleaning crews were waiting to get paid before they arrived, and Ava couldn’t bring herself to do it.

She’d have to tidy up herself; there was no way she was spending another $2,000 on this stupid event.

When they’d looked at the final bill for everything this morning, over $75,000, it was like a punch to the gut.

David had been so upset with himself that he’d left to go work the line at one of the restaurants, something he did when he wanted to calm down, his own form of meditation.

So that meant Ava had to deal with the mess, which felt like a metaphor for her entire life.

David was always at a restaurant, working 24/7, leaving Ava to manage her own career, plus the girls’ lives.

What would happen if they went broke? They had some savings, but not enough to keep living the way they lived.

First, Ava would have to take the girls out of Atherton.

(She’d already called the school about potential financial aid and was waiting to hear back about it.) They’d have to sell the apartment, which would help, although they did have a huge mortgage on it.

She wished she had any family money, but neither she nor David had inherited anything from their parents aside from tough love and enviable work ethics.

All of Ava’s friends seemed to come from endless trust funds.

She supposed that was the only way to “make it” in New York anymore, starting with a huge leg up.

Take Gabby, whose family owned like half of the buildings in Manhattan.

Ava had the thought to call Gabby right now.

Gabby could at least make Ava laugh with an inappropriate joke or two.

But Gabby was going through her own shit.

No one knew this yet, but Gabby and Margo were about to file for divorce.

Margo had made her final Atherton appearance last night at Ava’s party; Gabby had begged her to, to keep face, as Gabby wanted to manage the messaging of their separation herself.

Margo was leaving Gabby, but not for another woman.

For a man. A man! Margo, as Pride as Pride could be, who’d proposed to Gabby at an Indigo Girls concert, had, out of nowhere, told Gabby that she’d been living a lie.

That she was bisexual, and that she’d fallen in love with a guy.

More specifically, she’d fallen in love with their veterinarian, Dr. Cuddles, and he and Margo were going to start a life together, along with Gabby and Margo’s two Westies, Gus and Van Sant.

When Gabby told Ava, she was weeping, inconsolable, confused, angry, scared for what it meant for her family and kids.

Ava had attempted to make her feel better—“At least you’re rich?

I’m about to be living on the street with the homeless dude who attacked Belle, targeted by the ‘Atherton committee for killing vagrants,’ or whatever those bitches are calling it.

” But it hadn’t worked. Gabby had kept crying while Ava sat there in silence, supporting her by just allowing her to let it out.

Grown-up life could be hard and disappointing, even if your dad owned the Empire State Building, Ava supposed.

As Ava worked, sweeping, vacuuming, picking up pieces of jewelry that her wealthy friends had casually left behind, she thought about the little treat she’d give herself for living under such stress.

Her daughters were spending the day with Ava’s mom in Queens, and so after this Ava would go to the Sephora in Union Square.

There, she’d peruse and test and smell and inspect until she found something she liked.

Maybe a new blush? Maybe a perfume? She needed some new dry shampoo—perhaps one would catch her eye.

Then she’d slip it in her Chanel purse and walk right out the doors, enjoying the rush of the illicit act.

That would make her feel better. That would make her feel in control.