Page 3 of Mean Moms

“Maybe you’ll see the boys at lunch,” Frost shouted after her.

Frost’s twin sons, Alfred and King, were also in the seventh grade, along with Morgan’s only daughter, Gertrude.

Belle watched as Hildy disappeared into the building, a moody twelve-year-old weight off Belle’s shoulders.

Then she turned back to her friends, lighter.

She saw Miles from afar. He waved at her and blew her a kiss, then headed into school, following King and Alfred like a puppy.

“So…” said Morgan, leaning closer to Belle and Frost. “Have you heard about this new woman? Sofia or something?” Morgan always knew everything first; gossip found her, nourishing her body in place of the food she barely ate.

“A new mom, apparently very… attractive,” continued Morgan, her voice low, her eyes darting around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. Belle wondered how attractive this woman could possibly be. Weren’t they all “very attractive”?

“Her kids are starting in second and fourth; no one has any idea how she got them in. That’s basically impossible,” said Morgan.

A blonde and brunette, arms linked, both in crisp white midi dresses, walked by.

Belle recognized them as third-grade moms and remembered that they both had four children each, that classic New York City rich-family flex (four private school tuitions plus a five-bedroom apartment equals fuck-off money).

Morgan waved as they passed. “Hi, Armena! Hi, Kendra!”

Morgan knew everything and everyone. In between her barre classes and marathon training, Morgan was on every school committee, did copious research about how to live your best life, and made it her job to dole out useful information.

Need to find an after-school art class? Ask Morgan.

Need a weekend nanny? Ask Morgan. Looking for a contractor to combine two apartments?

Ask Morgan! They joked that she should start her own “Ask Morgan” Substack, and that every mom below Twenty-Third Street would subscribe.

“Ohhh, tell us more about this Sofia person,” encouraged Frost, a small smile on her red lips.

“She sounds fab. Maybe she’s, like, a princess or something.

You know Atherton loves a royal. Remember when Princess Anne’s grandkids went here for a year?

Such tiny snobs.” Frost laughed, shaking her glossy red hair, the envy of every Atherton mom.

Frost was the daughter of a prominent art dealer and famous literary agent, and she’d been an It Girl in the early 2000s.

Out of the mob appeared a strikingly pale woman in a black leather skirt, ankle boots, and an oversize black cashmere turtleneck, somehow not melting in the September heat. It was Ava Leo, one of Atherton’s most famous parents.

“Ladies! Hello!” said Ava, running her hand through her sharp bob.

Belle admired Ava’s blunt bangs, cutting a perfectly straight line across her forehead.

Ava had a huge, amorphous job at Pinterest, and she was as out-and-about as they come—in the front row of every fashion show, at galas, fundraisers, even the Oscars, somehow.

Her husband, David Chung, was the chef/owner of the hottest restaurant group in New York, BaoFuku, and they had a combined social following of four million.

Their girls were in kindergarten and fourth grade.

“What’s happening, Ava? All set for the big to-do?” asked Frost.

A few years ago, Frost had thrown a legendary Valentine’s Day bash at her and her husband Tim’s home, a Gramercy town house overlooking the park.

“It’s like a Wes Anderson movie set; it’s just layers upon colors upon symmetry,” Frost had said in a feature about it in Architectural Digest (the story was written by the same journalist who’d profiled Belle, and it was, much to Belle’s frustration, two pages longer than her feature).

Frost had thought it’d be a riot to go full-on theme party, so she’d dubbed the shindig “Love-a-Palooza” and hired a high-end wedding planner to execute.

They’d painted the outside of her house red and paid the company that owns Conversation Hearts to make life-size candy hearts, with cheeky sayings like TAKE MY HUSBAND and KEY PARTY PARTICIPANT , which were placed around her home like sculptures.

And she’d mandated a dress code of “Sexy V-Day Getups.” The Atherton crowd had gone all out.

Belle had paid a Broadway costume designer $20,000 to create a Swarovski crystal bodysuit for her and a three-piece red suit for Jeff.

The party was such a smash that it got written up in the New York Times Styles section—“Parents Gone Wild! The New Trend Among Wealthy Breeders: Theme Party Mania.”

Since then, over-the-top theme parties had become an Atherton tradition, with different couples doing the honors.

The small school’s already impressive clout had increased as a result.

Everyone in Manhattan wanted to send their children to Atherton because everyone wanted to go to these events.

Admissions had become even more competitive in recent years, locking out some of the richest and most prominent.

(Which is why when someone said there was a “new mom,” particularly one whose children were starting in a nonentry year, an interesting story was certain to follow.)

Ava and David were next up to host. They were calling the party “A Bouquet of Newly Sharpened Pencils,” after a line from You’ve Got Mail , referring to the magic of New York City in the fall. Guests had been tasked with dressing up like “autumn in New York,” whatever that meant.

“Ugh, we are totally not ready,” said Ava.

“There’s still so much left to plan, and it’s coming up in two weeks.

We have the menu set, at least—David is being obsessive about the food, no surprise.

He’s having the BaoFuku staff re-create iconic NYC dishes—Russ shooters of Manhattan clam chowder from Grand Central Oyster Bar; Dominique Ansel’s Cronut.

I need to figure out the decor, but I think we’ll pull it off in the end. ”

“I can’t wait!” said Belle, who meant it.

She loved the theme parties and particularly loved picking her looks for them.

And she wouldn’t mind the face time with Ava, who could potentially help with PR when The Dress debuted.

Belle had been gearing up to ask Ava if she could post a picture of herself wearing The Dress in her Instagram feed.

She’d sent a sample over to Ava and hadn’t heard back from her yet.

She knew Ava was inundated with these kinds of requests, but Belle was hoping that their Atherton connection would put her at the top of the pile.

“I bet it’s going to be one of the best parties ever,” added Belle, laying it on thick.

She glanced over at Frost, who was looking at her skeptically.

Their conversation was interrupted by Gabby Mahler, Ava’s best friend and one half of Atherton’s fanciest lesbian couple.

Gabby’s family had some sort of real estate fortune and at one point had simultaneously owned the Chrysler Building and the Empire State.

Gabby’s white-blond hair was cropped short, and she was wearing almost comically oversize black frame glasses.

“I trust everyone had a faaaabulous summer? At your faaaaabulous Hamptons homes?” Gabby continued mockingly. Gabby was allowed to be funny because Gabby was a lesbian. The rest of them had to be nice, and to take each other very seriously. Those were the rules.

“I have to run,” said Ava. “I’m meeting with one of the set designers of When Harry Met Sally , to see how we can infuse that vibe into the party.”

“Well, that wasn’t in my top ten things I thought you’d say next, Ava,” said Gabby.

“But impressive! Can’t wait for it. Margo and I are thinking of dressing up like Richard Gere and Winona Ryder, from Autumn in New York .

I’m Richard Gere, with the hair. Margo’s going to be the Winona Ryder character.

” Gabby’s wife, Margo, rarely made appearances at school drop-off or mom get-togethers.

Margo had carried all three of the couple’s sons, Howie, Sully, and Mac, and there was some gossipy debate over whose eggs went with which kid.

“Doesn’t Winona Ryder die in that movie?” asked Frost.

There was a quick moment of awkward silence before Ava air-kissed them all and ran off, a flash of black leather. They were then joined by Clara Cain, whose son, Ozzie, was in Hildy’s grade. Clara was a high-powered lawyer, defending wealthy men who’d been accused of sexual assault.

“Hi, how is everyone?” Clara said with a gummy smile.

She was in a skirt suit and had news anchor hair, overly blown out.

“I’ve been so busy with work; I can barely come up for air.

” Clara constantly spoke about how much she was working, always in a mildly condescending tone, as if saying to the others, And what the hell are you doing with your time?

“Miladies, it’s been a blast seeing you all, but I’m taking off as well,” said Gabby with a quick bow. “Let’s schedule drinks soonest.” She hurried away, likely hastened by Clara glomming on to the group.