Page 32 of Mean Moms
“I know you all don’t like me as much as I like you,” said Clara, mournfully, trapping them there.
“It’s so nice you have each other. I feel like I’m always working, and never get to do any of the fun mom stuff, the pickups, the class picnics, the PA meetings.
” Out of nowhere, Clara started to cry. No one knew what to do.
Morgan eventually went over to Clara and patted her back stiffly.
“And to think,” said Clara in between sniffles, “Frost and Belle can still be best friends, even though Frost’s sons were sending around naked pictures of Belle’s daughter!
” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Frost peeked at Belle to see if she’d heard what Clara had said.
Oh, she’d heard. Her cheek color mirrored the pink of her leotard.
“ What did you say, Clara? Frost’s boys had pictures of Hildy? ” Belle’s voice was high, too high, that girly lilt in overdrive.
“I thought you knew?” said Clara, realizing what she’d done. Or maybe it had been on purpose. “The pictures were fake, so at least there’s that. Ozzie told me the whole story.”
Belle turned to Frost, her nostrils flaring with anger. Carrie Bradshaw on fire.
“FROST!” Belle was nearly screaming over the music at this point.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Frost looked down at the ground.
She didn’t have a great defense and didn’t want to get into it here.
She and Belle could have coffee tomorrow to discuss.
It was all a misunderstanding. But Belle didn’t relent.
“Listen, you… you… you,” Belle said loudly. People in their immediate vicinity started to look over, keenly aware that something was happening . Belle Redness was having a tantrum. How juicy was that?
“Belle, please, let’s talk about this later,” said Frost quietly. In the eight years she’d known her, Frost had never seen Belle lose her temper in public. A few feet away, Frost saw a group of women dressed as the Spice Girls pointing at them and guffawing.
“I’m sure we can figure out what happened, like grown-ups and friends,” said Sofia, trying to make peace.
Belle then did something that Frost would never have expected her to do, not in a million years.
She lunged at Frost as if they were playground enemies, the jerky movement causing Belle to dribble some of her espresso martini down the front of her tank top.
Belle then registered, with horror, what she’d done.
“Tell your First Dibs friend I just cost him two hundred fifty thousand dollars!” she shouted.
In a rage, Belle flung the rest of the martini directly at Frost’s face, a complete liquid shock, the alcohol dripping down Frost’s cheeks into the neck of her gray suit.
“ Dios mio ,” said Sofia with a start. Frost tried to wipe the drink off with her hands. Her eyes, watering with tears, felt like they were burning.
Frost heard someone say loudly, “Holy shit, Belle Redness just threw a drink at Frost Trevor.” And then the scuffling of high heels and loafers toward their area, everyone trying to get a good look at her, wanting to be the one who could retell the story with accuracy and fun details.
(“Frost’s suit was soaked!” “I thought Belle was going to murder her!” “Aren’t those women best friends?
I guess not…” “Belle Redness, lice queen, ruining another Atherton party!”)
Belle, who had the look of someone who’d shocked herself, stomped away, running up the stairs alone. Clara, that troublemaker, took off for the front of the apartment. Gabby and Ava scurried to the bar.
“Listen, we all make mistakes. I’m sure you two will be great in no time.
You’re amazing friends!” said Morgan limply.
“Belle has just been having a rough time of it lately.” Frost knew that was true, but she also knew she’d messed up.
She’d been messing up so much lately. “Maybe because that son of hers is such a little beast,” said Morgan under her breath, almost to herself.
Belle’s son? A beast? Miles Redness was a sweetheart.
Frost caught Sofia’s eye; she must have heard her, too.
Then came a loud banging sound, which turned out to be Clara, hitting her espresso glass with a spoon on the other side of the room.
The music finally, mercifully, turned off.
With difficulty, Clara stepped up on a milk crate, which had been set down next to the bar.
The lights dimmed and a small spotlight was pointed toward Clara.
In the glare, it turned out the Kate Winslet dress was nearly see-through, giving her guests a clear view of Clara’s high-waisted Spanx.
“Everyone please quiet down!” Clara ordered. No one did. “Everyone! Please!” A waiter handed her a microphone.
“A toast,” she screeched into the mic, causing the entire party to cover their ears in pain.
“Atherton parents, welcome to Friendsgiving,” said Clara proudly.
Occasionally, Frost regretted inventing this bloody theme party tradition.
It hadn’t been her aim when she’d hosted that Valentine’s Day party those years ago; she’d just been bored and thought it’d be fun.
Fun used to be Frost’s thing, though perhaps not so much anymore, she thought ruefully, the espresso martini still wet on her collar.
“I love that you all took the theme so seriously and came dressed to the nines for the occasion. I see the cast of Seinfeld over there, and I know there are a few Taylor Swift squads floating around. And I love the Sex and the City crews, plus I saw a Magic Johnson and a Larry Bird, and also the Spice Girls!” A few lone “yeahs!” emerged from the crowd as their costumes were mentioned.
“It’s so lovely that we’ve formed such close bonds as parents of children at the same wonderful school.
I think I even saw Dr. Bro ker walking around!
Dr. Broker, can you say hello?” People eagerly looked for their headmaster, but he didn’t seem to be in the room.
Clara gave it a few seconds and then shrugged unhappily.
“My hope for this party, and really the whole purpose of the theme, is that we expand beyond our own friend groups and meet some new people. I know from my personal experience as a working mother”—Frost heard a couple low groans at that—“that it’s difficult to foster new Atherton relationships, particularly between men and women. So right now, let’s solve that.”
“Where is she going with this?” Sofia said softly into Frost’s ear. Frost was happy that at least one of her friends wasn’t pissed at her. She wondered where Belle had gone.
“I have here a box filled with every male attendee’s name on a piece of paper,” said Clara, gesturing to a large wooden cube on a table next to her, decorated with the word TIPS .
“I need all the women to line up, grab a name, and then find that person and have a meaningful conversation with him. That’s an order!
” she finished. No one moved. “I’m not kidding, folks,” Clara continued, sounding embarrassed.
“Do I have to speak like I’m in court here?
Please line up. Now.” Frost heard grumbles before the moms started making their way to the box.
Frost grabbed a slip of paper: Bud Cunningham.
Ugh. Frost didn’t want to have a conversation with Bud Cunningham. She wanted to go home and dry off.
She looked around for her friends; she needed to find Belle. She needed to explain the whole story. Clara still had the mic and was instructing the partygoers that the bar wouldn’t reopen until they’d paired off and chatted for at least six minutes.
Frost searched halfheartedly for Bud. She passed Tim, who made a face at her, mouthing, “What happened??” She gave him a peace sign, their signal for “we’ll discuss it later.
” She then spotted Trina Cunningham, wearing pink overalls and a pink cap.
Her hair was plaited into two braids. Trina ambled over to Frost, her braids swinging.
“Trina, I pulled Bud,” said Frost. “Do you know where he is?” Trina shrugged.
“No idea. Last I saw him he was upstairs, drinking with the guys. He’s wearing red overalls, a rainbow shirt, and a red hat.
He’s My Buddy and I’m Kid Sister—the dolls that were supposed to be your best friends?
” Frost nodded. These theme parties gave people license to be fucking weird.
“What happened with you and Belle?” Trina asked, a gleam of good gossip in her eye.
Frost took off for the second floor instead of answering, in search of a grown man in a doll’s outfit.
She saw that couples were pairing off and wondered if this party game, in some instances, might lead to more than friendship.
She thought back to the Zoo-ly Fourth party, walking down to the beach with Art, the ketamine coursing through her body.
How different she felt tonight, only one martini in, and a husband whom she felt recommitted to.
Where the hell was Bud Cunningham, anyway?
She scanned the top floor for someone in overalls.
There was a Kramer speaking to Posh Spice.
There was a guy dressed as Snoopy talking to a member of Taylor Swift’s squad, Karlie Kloss.
Oh, wait, no, that was the real Karlie Kloss.
Frost forgot that she and Josh Kushner had a kid in kindergarten.
She waved at Karlie, who waved back. They knew each other from around town. But still no Bud.
The area was set up to look like the Friends apartment, and the drinks station was within a suburban-size kitchen, which the Cains had painted blue for the party.
Frost felt a tug, and she looked up to see Art standing in front of her, so close that she could smell his musky scent.
She glanced around for Morgan but saw no one from their close circle of friends in their vicinity.