Page 36 of Mean Moms
An Exhibit Opening!
Sofia Perez was not a criminal mastermind.
She was just a mother who’d been forced to move from her home, from her state, with all the uncertainly that comes with a messy divorce.
She was trying to forge a life for herself, a life in which she didn’t have to depend on her vindictive ex, JP, or worry about him trying to take her children away.
And, so, yes, she’d become close to the women at Atherton for a reason other than companionship (though she did enjoy that part, particularly with Frost).
But no, it wasn’t so that she could steal their money, or somehow blackmail them into giving it to her (though she did have information which could help with that, too).
She needed the mean moms on her side because she needed customers.
Because… Sofia Perez was about to become a travel agent!
After a quick online course, she’d joined a company called Omni Travel group as a luxury travel adviser, specializing in Florida and the Caribbean.
It wasn’t a salaried job—she’d earn commission.
For that reason, she’d done everything in her power to break into the Atherton world.
She knew rich women well enough to know that once one of the moms hired her, the rest would follow, not wanting to be left out, or to be seen as doing the wrong thing.
She could book trips for all of them. It was a perfect plan.
Sofia should have been feeling optimistic.
But instead, she was fully freaked out. Because Sofia had seen something she knew she shouldn’t have: Morgan Chary meeting with Sofia’s driver, Rodrick, in City Hall Park, the night of Belle’s pop-up party.
The same guy who drove Sofia’s children to school in the morning, the one whom JP paid to keep an eye on the family.
Were Morgan and JP in cahoots somehow? What did Morgan want from Rodrick?
He’d always been a bit of a jerk, but Sofia had chalked that up to his loyalty to JP.
Since then, Sofia had been following Morgan around every chance she got, trying to figure out how everything—or nothing—was related. She’d trailed Morgan to Whole Foods on Houston, to restaurants in Tribeca, to Thyme a $2 million one-bedroom bargain).
Lower down she’d found an article about the building on Curbed, a New York City real estate website.
The story was focused on the sale of one specific apartment, but buried in the text Sofia found an illuminating aside—“The building is also home to artists and musicians, as well as an apartment owned by the prestigious Atherton Academy, which is used as the residence (and quite a perk!) for its headmaster.”
An Atherton apartment! So Morgan had been visiting Dr. Broker. Rodrick, Dr. Broker… Morgan was up to something fishy, and Sofia was determined to figure out what.
“You will encounter evil.” The psychic’s words followed Sofia as she arrived at Frost’s art exhibit opening.
It was on the far West Side, on Twenty-Seventh Street and Tenth Avenue, the location of the old Bungalow 8.
Sofia had taken the C train up from Tribeca, as she couldn’t afford an Uber and there was no way in hell she was asking Rodrick, of all people, to take her anywhere.
Sofia entered the low, squat brown building.
It looked nearly derelict, but Sofia knew that was all part of the show.
IT GIRLS, BY FROST TREVOR read a small sign welcoming Sofia in.
She opened the heavy door, keen to get out of the drizzle, to see the old club converted into a chic exhibition space.
Frost’s collages hung in zigzags along the exposed brick walls, the faces illuminated by track lighting, giving each an otherworldly appearance.
Sofia had arrived early for moral support, and there was already a smattering of attendees inside, sipping champagne and admiring the collection.
Sofia spied Frost in the center of the small group, in a stunning teal silk jumpsuit, her red hair spraying out in wild waves. Her eyes were lined in black; her lipstick like blood. Sofia had never seen her look as beautiful as she did at that moment.
Sofia grabbed a champagne from a nearby tray and walked through the exhibit, stopping in front of each collage and studying her friend’s work.
Young women, most of whom Sofia didn’t recognize, posing in old, blown-up photographs that Frost had decorated with seemingly random objects.
A dirty shoe glued on. Some paint streaks here and there.
Pictures from a fashion magazine sewn into the scenes.
Sofia didn’t understand any of it, but she murmured appreciatively anyway.
A couple whom Sofia didn’t recognize walked past, the man with an oversize monocle hanging from a chain attached to his suit, the woman makeup-less other than sparkly bright blue lipstick.
“This feels very now,” said the woman to the man. “We’re past MeToo, beyond the gender wars, in the second Trump administration, flying by the fifth—sixth?—wave of feminism. She’s commenting here on all of it.” The man nodded solemnly.
“The portraits draw me in, but then the objects repel me. It’s that push and pull that she’s captured brilliantly.
” He spoke in a loud whisper that Sofia understood was meant to be heard.
The duo floated past, and Sofia spied Frost momentarily alone, looking overwhelmed.
Sofia hurried over to her, heels clacking on the stone floor, embracing Frost in a warm hug.
Frost smelled like Blush by Marc Jacobs, her signature scent.
“This is so wonderful, Frost, really,” said Sofia. “You are so talented! I can’t believe it. A true artist.” Frost beamed before pulling away abruptly.
“I have to speak to you about something.” Frost’s voice was urgent. “It’s important. Morgan and Belle think you’ve been up to something. That you’re behind what’s been happening at Atherton. You can’t tell them I told you.”
“Me? I haven’t done anything at all!” said Sofia, flabbergasted.
“Sofia, I… I saw you,” said Frost, eyes downcast. Sofia’s heart fluttered but she tried to keep her composure.
“Saw me doing what?” she said.
“I saw you following Morgan. The other day. Near Morgan’s house.
I was in that neighborhood running errands, and I saw Morgan walking alone on the other side of the street.
I tried to call hello, but she couldn’t hear me.
A few seconds later, I saw you walking behind her, all incognito in black.
I know you never wear black! What were you doing?
Did you have anything to do with the lanternflies?
With the Post article? Sofia, you have to tell me the truth. Belle and Morgan—”
Before Frost could continue, Gabby and Ava arrived in front of them, connected at the hip as usual, Gabby in a smart pinstripe suit and Ava in a black minidress. Frick and Frack, as Sofia thought of them.
“Frost, so, so, fab,” said Ava, taking out her phone and doing a quick spin around of video.
“Here’s the amazing artist herself!” she said, pointing her camera at Frost, who smiled and did a little bow.
Ava put the phone back into her teeny tiny bag, which reminded Sofia of one of Lucia’s doll accessories.
“I’ll post that tonight,” she said. “People are going to go mad for this. Former It Girl and her It Girl art show, I love it soooo much. Are the boys here to celebrate with you?”
“No, they’re at a lacrosse tournament upstate, which is a shame,” said Frost. “But hopefully this won’t be my last opening!”
“Dude, I have to hand it to you,” said Gabby. “No offense, but I always thought you were, like, beautiful and cool and that’s it. But it turns out you have talent, too. I especially love the Chloe Sevigny portrait. What a babe.” Frost’s face went from flushed to cherry.
“Thanks so much, guys!” said Frost, nearly bursting with excitement.
She looked around the room and gave Tim, standing alone near the drinks station, a quick wave.
He waved back, and then did a nerdy thumbs-up.
When they’d first met, Sofia had sensed a pall over Frost that had since lifted.
She didn’t know what had happened with Art, but it seemed Frost was moving on with her life in a healthy way.
Frost then got swept away into the crowd, shaking hands and receiving congratulations.
Sofia saw several Atherton moms in a group off to the side, plus some society types whom she recognized to be Frost’s former friends-about-town.
Ethel Zeigler was at the other end of the space, showing off Frost’s work to potential collectors.