Page 29 of Mean Moms

“Okay, Belle, I’m ready for you!” said Frost. “First person to guess what these are from gets a cookie from Grandaisy.” Frost held up a paper bag from the Tribeca bakery.

Frost had laid out three fully composed outfits.

One: a pink tank top, a tutu, and sky-high sandals.

Two: the famous Dior newspaper dress. And three: an ethereal floral midi dress with pink stilettos.

“It’s Sex and the City !” said Hildy, excited to have won the game. Frost ceremonially handed her the cookie.

“Yes, they’re for our Friendsgiving costumes. Belle—I mean Carrie—take your pick,” said Frost, gesturing to the clothing as if she were Vanna White.

“Where did you get these?” said Belle, gravitating toward the tutu, which she stroked gingerly.

“You know my friend Mike Bruno, who owns First Dibs? They have a whole pile of clothing that’s associated with Sex and the City— either originals from the set or versions from around the same time.

The tutu isn’t the exact one from the show, but SJP did wear it in an ad campaign.

Mike told me they’re going to list it for close to two hundred fifty thousand dollars. ”

“What?!” Belle was shocked. She spent a lot on clothing, but not $250,000 a lot.

“So don’t fuck it up.” Frost laughed. “Here’s a tip: drink white wine, not red.”

Belle picked up the tutu and held it over her body.

Frost started humming the Sex and the City theme song, and Hildy looked impressed, coming over to Belle and running her hand over the springy fabric.

Belle felt cheered. Frost always made things better.

Perhaps there was a way to salvage Pippins Cottage Home.

This would all be cleared up, and they’d move on with their lives.

“I have options for all of us. Plus, we have to figure out the guys. Jeff will be thrilled to be Big, I’m sure,” said Frost.

“Hahaha, Dad as Mr. Big,” said Hildy, laughing. “That doesn’t work! Shouldn’t Art be Mr. Big? He’s the fuckboi of the bunch,” she said. “All my friends say he stares at their moms for a bit too long…”

Frost turned back to the couch, gathering up the rejects to return.

“Oh, Hildy, hush,” said Belle. “That’s our friend’s husband, and it’s not a nice thing to say about him.”

“Whatever, Mom, it’s true,” said Hildy, shrugging.

The buzzer then rang.

“Ivanna, can you get that?” Belle called out. It was probably an Amazon delivery. Ivanna didn’t respond. The buzzer went off again.

“Ivanna?” Belle shouted. Maybe she was in the bathroom.

Belle walked out of the library to the foyer, peering into the video footage of the camera downstairs.

She didn’t see anyone standing there. Must have been a dropped-off package.

But then she heard the elevator rumbling up to their floor.

She toggled to the elevator camera and saw a man in a baseball cap, holding a small Amazon box.

She couldn’t remember what she’d ordered.

The trade-off that Belle and Jeff made to live in their fabulous Tribeca loft building was that the security wasn’t ideal.

They had a state-of-the-art lock system, including a coded elevator, but no actual doorman.

Belle wasn’t sure how this guy could have gotten in.

Belle plastered a smile on her face, holding out her hands for a quick retrieval.

As the doors opened, she registered that the man had replaced his cap with a ski mask, obscuring his face entirely.

Panic flooded Belle’s body. Was she about to be attacked?

Where was Hildy? But the man didn’t lunge or come into the apartment.

Instead, he ripped the tape off the box and pulled out a bouquet of flowers, handing it to Belle as the doors closed back on him.

Belle, suspecting the worst, looked closely at what she was holding.

The flowers were dead. Crumpled brown roses, lifeless pink tulips, shriveled white peonies.

A rotten stench wafted up to her nose. She went over to the video monitor and watched as the stranger exited the building, his ski mask now traded back for his baseball hat.

Frost and Hildy arrived in the foyer.

“Mom, what is that?” said Hildy, sensing something was terribly wrong.

“Belle, who gave those to you?” said Frost.

Belle shook her head, confused. “A man in a ski mask,” she said. “But I saw him on the security camera, wearing a baseball hat.”

“What!” Frost exclaimed. Belle noticed that a small white note card was sticking out of the lower part of the bouquet.

“Here, I’ll read it,” said Frost, pulling it out.

“It says, ‘Dear Belle, Congrats on the successful launch of Pippins Cottage Home! We knew you could do it. Wishing you all the best, a friend.’ A friend? How strange,” said Frost. Ivanna had entered the room and Belle handed the flowers to her.

“Just throw them out,” she said softly, not wanting to upset Hildy.

Ivanna headed into the kitchen, small pieces of leaves breaking off the bouquet and falling to the floor, leaving a trail of decay.

“Must have been a mistake at the florist,” Belle said, trying to laugh it off for Hildy.

“I’m calling Dad,” said Hildy, unconvinced.

“No, no, don’t call him yet,” said Belle. “You’ll worry him. I’ll speak to him later.”

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 cashmere coat 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