Page 41 of Mean Moms

“Jeff, I love you,” Belle said now. She hadn’t even meant to say it aloud.

She was seized with worry that her non-affair would somehow come out.

Her friends had seen them together! Jeff and his penguin head looked over at her, confused.

“I forgot to tell you—that new detective emailed me that he found something interesting. He’s going to call to discuss tomorrow,” Jeff said.

The elevator doors opened into the party.

Sofia and the Atherton PA had outdone themselves, turning Sofia’s loft into an upside-down wonderland, filled with objects that were either way too big (wineglasses the size of water jugs) or too small (miniature chairs, which guests were using as purse-holders).

The main area was flanked in what looked to be large picture frames, nearly the height of the ceiling, and there were life-size taxidermic animals; a seven-foot-tall bear holding a whiskey, a hawk, dangling from the ceiling, its skinny bird neck covered in Mardi Gras beads.

The cumulative effect of the place was disorienting, like you’d unwittingly taken shrooms. Belle and Jeff walked away from each other, Belle on a mission to find Morgan, to make sure everything was going the way it was supposed to go.

But first she saw Frost, standing alone near the bar, in a fishnet dress, a freaky-looking raven hat on her head. She looked stunning, as always.

“Uh-oh,” said Frost, smiling at Belle like it was the old days. “We’re near a bar—do I need to duck? Are you going to pour another martini on me? Never mind, I see you don’t have any arms to throw a drink with.”

Belle snorted. “That was a onetime thing, you know that,” she said, relieved to inject some levity into the situation. “Speaking of, can you help me sip a vodka? I don’t have any hands.”

Frost flagged the bartender, who was wearing a gladiator costume, his chiseled abs exposed by an armor crop top, and then held the full cup of alcohol gingerly to Belle’s lips. She slurped it like a baby. “Hits the spot,” said Belle, feeling the familiar closeness with her friend returning.

“I really do love your new hair, even if you didn’t technically choose to go short. It’s so cool,” said Frost.

Ava and Gabby waltzed over, each wearing a large orange ball around her body, stretching from neck to their knees, with tentacle-like structures protruding out.

The getups were covered in black polka dots.

They seemed delighted with themselves, twirling to show off, crashing into everything as they did, a happier couple than most of the spouses in attendance.

“Do you know what we are?” asked Ava, the line of her bangs even sharper than normal, as if someone had taken a ruler to them. Belle and Frost shook their heads no.

“We are a Yayoi Kusama painting come to life!” said Gabby. “She’s a famous ninety-five-year-old Japanese artist. And she made these costumes for us. Can you believe it?” Knowing how much money Gabby spent on the theme parties, Belle could.

“I love this red thing,” continued Gabby, caressing Belle’s dress. “It’s like you’re a sexy sausage.” Ava laughed. Belle wanted them to scram.

That’s when Belle saw Dr. Broker passing by, in jeans and a white T-shirt that said DALí .

“Hey, Dr. Broker, come here!” called Gabby, pulling him over by the arm.

He looked uncomfortable to be there, not making eye contact with the women, sipping his drink instead of chatting.

He was usually so smooth. Belle wondered if she was making him antsy.

She felt like an idiot in her armless dress.

“Dr. Broker, my good man,” said Gabby. “First question: How are we doing with the Atherton Fund?”

“Oh, we’re doing great,” said Dr. Broker, coughing a little.

Belle noticed he looked pale, with dark rings around his eyes that hadn’t been there previously.

“Nearly every family has given something, and we expect more to trickle in before midnight. I can’t wait to see how much we raise tonight!

” He coughed again. Maybe he was just sick.

It was that time of year, certainly, and he was around germ-infested children all day.

“Second question,” said Gabby. Belle wanted her to shut up and leave him alone.

“Did you get any more info about the mentally ill man who was hanging near school? Anything from the police? Some of the moms said he was being paid to stay in the area,” said Gabby.

“No, nothing,” said Dr. Broker. “Well, actually, they did tell me that he was released on bail and is now in a mental health facility at Weill Cornell.”

“On bail?” said Ava. “But how could he afford that? And who’s paying for him to be at Weill Cornell? That’s where my doctors are!”

“I have no idea,” said Dr. Broker. He was being a little short with them, which was odd, given Gabby’s status as an important donor.

“Maybe he had a rich aunt or something. Anyway, ladies, I must make the rounds. I hope you enjoy the party and that, when the auction arrives, you give, give, give.” Dr. Broker gave them a charming smile, and Belle felt bile rise in her throat. Then he walked off.

“I love your Salvador Dalí T-shirt!” Ava shouted after him. “Very clever!”

“Guys, I have to find Morgan,” said Belle. “Has anyone seen her?”

“Yes, just look for the large white crustacean,” said Gabby. “You can’t miss her.”

Belle took off into the sea of parents, each costume she encountered more disturbing than the next.

There were nightmarish animals, weird household objects (someone had dressed up as a toilet brush), monstrous fantasy creatures.

She was having a hard time walking in her dress and kept crashing into people and the sides of furniture.

She finally saw Morgan in the corner of the room and jumped over to her.

She couldn’t see Morgan’s face inside the big shellfish but could sense from the way she was standing that she was stressed.

“Morgan! What happened? Did you do it? If not, I don’t think we should,” said Belle, the words tumbling out.

“It’s too late,” said Morgan. Her voice sounded far away, like she was speaking to Belle through water, which was fitting, given she was dressed as a clam.

Someone tapped a microphone, and the women turned to see Sofia standing on a platform underneath the frame in the middle of her living room, pretty as a picture in her flowy printed dress and veil. “What time is it?” Belle couldn’t access her phone, which was hanging on a chain around her neck.

“Five past ten,” said Morgan. “Time for the auction. Here we go…” Frost sidled up to them, eager to watch the show.

“Hello! Hola! ” said Sofia. She sounded nervous and parched, like she needed a sip of water. “Welcome to my Surrealist Ball!” Everyone clapped. “Before I introduce our auctioneer, Art Chary, I wanted to make an announcement of my own.”

Art always acted as the auctioneer at the Atherton fundraisers; the PA had found that people loved to give money when the handsome, funny, persuasive founder of Welly was at the mic. What was this announcement Sofia was talking about? Sofia cleared her throat loudly. Everyone looked on, waiting.

“First, I wanted to take this opportunity to say thank you for coming to my home. You’ve all been so welcoming to me, as a new mother to the school, and I appreciate that.

I especially want to single out Belle Redness, Morgan Chary, and Frost Trevor for their support and kindness.

” Belle felt her face burn. The entire room turned to look at them.

“Secondly, I know that many of the other mothers here are entrepreneurs, so what better place to announce my next career move!” There was a smattering of applause. Sofia went on, and Belle died a little inside for her.

“I’m joining a company called Omni Travel group as a luxury travel adviser, specializing in Florida and the Caribbean. So please contact me about planning your next unforgettable family trip!”

“A travel agent? She’s becoming a travel agent? I thought she was loaded,” someone nearby Belle remarked. “Doesn’t she live… here?”

“You can plan my next trip—and you can come!” yelled Bud Cunningham, who was donning a horned helmet. Trina slapped him on the arm to shut up.

Belle felt like such an idiot. That’s what Sofia had been trying to tell them. She did need her own money, but she wasn’t going to blackmail them. She was going to ask them to become her clients.

“And please, please, please try my special postre de natas —it’s a pudding recipe from Colombia that has been in my family for years. I’ve made enough for everyone to have a taste. Gracias! ” Belle gave Morgan a look.

“You guys,” said Frost now, as Sofia, red-faced, stepped off the podium and Art stepped up. “We are such assholes. Maybe Rodrick is really dangerous—we have to warn Sofia.”

“Hey, folks, are you ready to give a LOT of money to Atherton?” said Art, his voice booming though the apartment. “To your sons and daughters? To THE BEST SCHOOL IN MANHATTAN?” Everyone yelped for that one.

They’d been given descriptions of the auction items beforehand—the PA went to great lengths to secure donations, and parents one-upped each other with generous contributions.

People gave winter stays in their Aspen ski homes, weeklong trips to Grecian villas, a private dinner at Le Bernardin, cooked by Eric Ripert himself (his daughter attended Atherton), a rival private dinner at BaoFuku, cooked by David Chung, and the showstopper, a soccer scrimmage in Central Park with none other than David Beckham (Brooklyn Beckham had spent a year at Atherton).

Art ticked through each one, couples chatting to each other about what items to bid on, groups forming alliances for items like a sunset dinner cruise ride for twenty in the Hamptons, and a Saturday night rent-out of Torrisi.