by Josie Brown
“Nice to meet you.” He drilled her with his best “I’m all yours” gaze for a full ten seconds before scanning the room. “And which of these little angels is yours?”
Bettina sighed mightily. "Unfortunately, Lily—she’s in the Foursies group—had to miss this year’s Onesies inauguration. She still has four more weeks of ballet camp, in St. Petersburg."
"Isn't Florida a long way for a four-year-old to go by herself?" Brady asked.
“Florida? Heavens, no! The real St. Petersburg, in Russia. She's practicing with the grand masters at the Kirov."
Brady’s eyes grew big. "But…isn’t she a little young for that?”
Bettina nodded nonchalantly. "My daughter's talents are unparalleled. But nature thrives on nurture. Besides, it's never too late to train for the Youth America Grand Prix.” She pointed to the buffet. “Enough about my little prodigy. Feel free to stop by the refreshment table, and introduce yourself and your little genius to the other members. If you’ll excuse me, now that everyone seems to be here I’m going to introduce you, and the other new Onesies group, to the rest of the club. Mallory at the front desk has Jade’s corsage. I’m sure she’d be delighted to pin it on you instead. Please tell Jade that we look forward to meeting her at the next meet-up on Wednesday. Her devotion to our little group—and yours—is truly appreciated.”
Booyah! Brady thought. We’re in.
Unless Jade screws it up somehow.
10:31 a.m.
“You know you’re leaking, right?” Chakra Crutch’s tone said it all: Loser.
Ally had pinned her corsage over the largest of the milk stains on her sundress, the one over her right nipple, which was the size and shape of a volleyball.
Unfortunately, the corsage wasn’t large enough to cover the other stains, too.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the woman that it wasn’t a leak at all, but a spill. She bit her tongue. That would surely earn her a lecture about the harm she’d done Zoe in choosing not to breastfeed.
Nope, she didn’t need that now, especially from a woman whose name was a New Age catchphrase. (Chakra? Oh, come on! Really?) Ally was already self-conscious about how she was dressed for the occasion. Her sundress was a casual cotton print, and she had put Zoe in a romper since this was supposed to be a simple meet-and-greet for the new one-year-olds and their parents. So why all the Armani, Gucci, and Ralph Lauren?
And that was just the toddlers. Their moms were decked out in Pucci, Cavalli, and Michael Kors.
Not to mention all those boys in their miniature tuxedoes, like Chakra’s little Quest.
Granted, the mansion’s opulence encouraged such formality. Forget paper plates and plastic spoons. Real silverware and china adorned the buffet table, which was a regular groaning board of delectable finger foods and decadent sweets.
Like the piece of red velvet cupcake she handed Zoe before popping the rest of it in her mouth.
Noting how the little girl squealed, Chakra glared at her, appalled. “Those things are obesity time bombs! With so much fat and sugar in their diets, half the children in this room will have diabetes before they reach their sixteenth birthdays! Not to mention all that red dye is toxic! And you’re nursing, too!” She shook her head in horror.
It also leaves a permanent stain, Ally thought. I guess she’ll hit the roof when she finds out Zoe had wiped the back of Quest’s hemp tux with red icing.
The woman needed to chillax, big time.
Ally took little solace in the realization that she wasn’t the woman’s only target for criticism. Chakra had started off by complaining about the reception room (“It’s certainly not child-proof! All it takes is one two-year-old to slip on these marble floors, and you’ve got a kid who’s a vegetable for the rest of his life…”) before turning a sharp eye on the other mothers. “I find it appalling that those women over there,” she pointed toward the quintet of Twosies mothers who stood by the French Doors leading out to the mansion’s gardens, “won’t allow their children to sleep in the same bed with them. Why wouldn’t they? It was good enough for our ancestors, it should be fine for us, too! Modern Western society sells its soul for the privilege of sleeping on a feather top Serta. No wonder our children grow up hating us.”
Ally shrugged. “Maybe they’d prefer not to have their kids in the room while they make love.”
“Sex?” The woman’s smile curdled into a grimace. “Who has time for sex after children?”
Ally was the wrong person to answer that. The break-up three years ago with her last boyfriend had planted the seed for her journey to single parenting. She’d been ready to commit herself to a full-time relationship, whereas he wasn’t. If not a man, then why not the child she’d always wanted?
While she never regretted her decision, sometimes she wondered if, between work and tending to Zoe, she’d ever have sex again.
“How about you and your husband—Barry, isn’t it? Do you co-sleep?”
Chakra’s question had taken Ally completely off guard. “Barry and me? Heavens, no, we don’t sleep together! I mean, with Zoe.”
“Oh.” That one word reeked of Chakra’s disdain. Finally, she picked up a mushroom cap, sniffed it, and put it back. “Processed. Figures.” She fingered the broad strap of Ally’s sundress. “The way you’re leaking, I’d stay away from these mushrooms—and these synthetic fabrics. Just another reason to go organic.”
Ally pursed her lips to keep from responding with something she’d regret later.
Apparently another mother standing nearby was thinking the same thing because she rolled her eyes and whispered, “Don’t mind her. I nursed up until a month ago. You wouldn’t believe how many shirts I ruined. But hey, anything to keep them healthy, right?”
The woman nodded toward the cute little boy she was holding. He looked to be around Zoe’s age and size, and was dressed in an adorable little tracksuit with the Olympic crest.
No tuxedo, thank goodness, Ally thought. Well, at least one of these moms is normal. “I’m Ally Thornton. And this is my daughter, Zoe. She’ll be fifteen months on Thursday.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Lorna Connaught. And this is Dante.” The woman turned slightly, so Ally could get a better look at her son. But just then he turned his head again, so what she faced instead was his head of dark curls.
“A handsome little guy, isn’t he?” Ally gently stroked the back of his head. “Did you say Connaught, as in the club’s founder?”
Lorna shrugged. “Yes, but don’t hold that against me.”
Ally was so surprised by that comment she laughed out loud. But before she could ask what Lorna had meant, Bettina Connaught Cross tapped a fork to her crystal water goblet three times. All the chatter ceased.
“Ladies…and gentleman, if I may have your attention! I’d like to introduce our new Onesies group—both its legacy moms,” Bettina paused and took a deep breath for emphasis, “and those who are currently contingent members, whose mettle will be tested with all the new and wonderful challenges they’ll face this year.”
Those wearing white corsages—Ally, Brady, Chakra, and Kelly—opened their eyes wide in confusion.
Only Lorna’s smile stayed benign. In no way did it betray what she was thinking:
Hit me with your best shot.
10:53 a.m.
Thank goodness the mansion’s entryway had a ramp, which allowed Jillian to wheel Amelia and Addison’s stroller right into the reception hall. Carrying both girls from the only parking spot she’d found, some eight blocks down the street, would have been horrendous, and it would have made her later than she already was.
The very pregnant woman who handed over her nametag put her finger to her lips. “You’re just in time. Bettina is making the introductions now.” As Jillian pinned on her corsage, the woman eyed the stroller longingly. “Lucky you! A Bugaboo Donkey Duo! Talk about the Mercedes of strollers.”
Jillian nodded. “I’ve been very pleased with it. Especially with these two
.” She nodded down at the girls who were sleeping despite the ruckus of gossiping moms and chattering toddlers and preschoolers. Having expended all their energy in tearing up Tom Lutz’s office, they were finally worn out.
The woman patted her belly. “Mine will be boys. But they’ll have to make do with the one I bought for their older sisters. Four kids means a lot of hand-me-downs and sharing. That’s a great thing, I guess.”
She pointed to two girls—one four, one five—who were holding hands in front of the buffet table, staring up longingly at the cupcake tower.
Jillian nodded empathetically. Things were about to get tight in the Frederick household, too.
She followed the woman into the reception hall and immediately recognized the speaker, having seen her pictures so many times in the Nob Hill Gazette: Bettina Connaught Cross.
“One of the joys I have as founder, is the opportunity to introduce the very few—the ‘chosen,’ as I call them—into our little family.” Bettina’s gaze swept through the room. “When I call out your names, please wave and tell us just one fun little bon mot about yourself. I’ll start with our legacies!”
There were six families whose Onesies already had siblings in the club: Bella Adams with her son, Liam; Hillary Trumbull and her daughter, Ava; Marcia Broderick and her daughter, Ella; Janine Ledbetter and her son, Jackson; Doreen Landau and her son, Ethan; and Gwen Markham and her son, Nathan. Each woman blushed with pride as she tried to sum up, in a sentence or two, something about herself that she hoped would make her seem nice or kind or interesting to the others.
Everyone wants to fit in, Jillian thought. Just like me.
She had wandered closer to two moms who also wore white rose corsages. Ironically, the only man in the room was standing next to them. He, too, wore a white rose.
The final legacy to speak, Marcia, tossed her long, dark mane before giving a nonchalant shrug. “Ella is already showing a prodigious sense of style. She helped me pick out this ensemble!” She twirled around so the other moms could oooh and ahhhh at the pairing of her 10 Bar striped jacket and white Philip Lim slim trousers with a Helmut Lang sheer top and Miu Miu platform pumps.
“Ah! Barney’s,” Lorna murmured.
“As in, the purple dinosaur?” Brady said it just loud enough for Jillian, Ally, and Lorna to hear. When Ally tried to hide her laugh in a cough, Lorna slapped her on the back.
The commotion was not lost on Bettina, who honed in on the four of them. And her frosty tone was not lost on them. “I see our newbies are excited about meeting all of us. Lorna, why don’t we start with you?”
“Me?” She paused. “Yes! Well, I’m Lorna Connaught…and…” Her voice faltered from embarrassment. She hadn’t expected to be the center of attention so soon, and had been listening closely to the other mothers’ introductions. She refused to sound as needy as Bella, or as desperate as Hillary, and certainly not as smug as Marcia. But now that Bettina had all eyes focused on her, the words she’d so carefully chosen flew out of her head. “…and this is my son, Dante. I think he’s perfect, so I guess I’m not much different from anyone else here.”
“Except for the fact that you’re related to Bettina,” Mallory muttered.
Yes, everyone in the room heard her. The memories of their own hard-fought entries into PHM&T were probably what weighted down their previously airy smiles into knowing frowns.
In the white-hot glare of their stares, Lorna’s cheeks flared from pink to red. But before she could retort, Bettina purred, “One couldn’t ask for a sweeter sister-in-law. Rest assured, as was the case with each and every one of you, Lorna’s eventual inclusion here will be secured only by her meritorious deeds on the club’s behalf.”
Confusion darkened the eyes of those sporting white corsages. Eventual inclusion? What the hell did that mean?
Lorna couldn’t believe her ears. Favoritism? She might as well hang a placard around my neck that said, ‘Pariah! Don’t talk to this woman, or I’ll snub you, too!’
“Which brings me to a change implemented this year by the Pacific Heights Moms & Tots Club application committee.” She paused. “It’s no secret that every year we are inundated with applications. While reading through them, we keep the club’s mission in mind: to choose families who we feel are worthy of our children’s precious time.” She let the words sink in before continuing. “But considering there are only ten family slots each year, it is quite an endeavor to choose families we know will honor that mission. This year we have six legacy families.” Bettina honored them with a half bow. “Your previous efforts on behalf of the club are why your places have already been secured. However, we also have six new families who will be competing—that’s right, I said competing—for the four final slots.”
She paused for the inevitable gasp that echoed through the room and the dismayed looks from those wearing white corsages.
“What we’ll be asking from you isn’t anything you wouldn’t want to do anyway for us, your new, dear friends. Of course, attendance is key. So is your participation in our special events, such as our Halloween parade, our after-Thanksgiving potluck and recipe cookbook, our holiday parties, our mom-and-tot field trips, and our parent’s-nights-out. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”
She waited for the awed nods, as the new members realized that the club wasn’t just a social diversion, but a way of life.
“Then, there are our charity fundraisers—like today’s! Don’t be shy about adding your name and donation amount as soon as possible, so others can applaud you.” She pointed to the large white board on the far side of the room. “Today’s donations benefit the pediatric clinic at Pacific’s Dugoni School of Dentistry. In fact, each and every one of you will be assigned hosting duties at these wonderful events. Trust me, it will be fun as well as challenging.”
Her smile promised the world on a platter—after days of grueling work.
“Unfortunately, three months from now—November 2nd, to be exact—then two months later, after New Year’s Day, a probationer will get word that they lacked the necessary…oh, how shall I put it? Verve? Drive? Savoir faire? The women in this room are proof that you’ll need all of that and more to join our ranks.”
Our ranks. Upon hearing that, those wearing white corsages wilted in unison.
“Four families will certainly have something to celebrate! But, sadly, there are six families to choose from.” She sighed at their dilemma. “I’ll leave you with this classic quote: ‘May the odds be always in your favor.’” She raised her arms, as if embracing the white corsages. “Now, on with our introductions…”
11:08 a.m.
That is so like Bettina, Lorna thought. Pitting parents against each other, as if it were some elaborate social experiment! She knows what it means to each of us to be here. And now we’ve got to go through the indignation of some sort of parenting death match? I should walk out, right now…
And let Bettina accomplish her goal of chasing me away?
No. Never, Lorna swore to herself. Bettina is right about one thing: Dante and I are here on our own merits. For whatever reason, the committee wants us here—even if Bettina doesn’t. Apparently, Bettina’s opinion isn’t the only one that counts.
***
Maybe Barry is right, Ally thought. Why do I have to prove myself to these women when I’ve already proven myself to Wall Street?
She looked down at her daughter, who was laughing and giggling and playing on the floor with Jillian Fredrick’s twin girls.
But I’m doing this for her, she thought. No, really I’m doing it for us. I’ve run a company with two thousand employees. I’ve wooed investors, and I hold my own with a boardroom filled with sharks waiting to cut my throat. How hard can it be to impress these women? It’ll be a cakewalk. A run in my pantyhose. A bad hair day.
Hopefully, one that won’t last five years…
***
Fuck. Oh, fuck, Brady thought. Why didn’t Madame Ovary warn me about this bullshit competition?
He walked up to the charity whiteboard. With a flourish, he wrote his name along with Jade’s, and the amount of five thousand dollars. Altogether, the donations already posted didn’t equal his alone.
He waited until the awed gasps and applause died down. Then, in the humblest tone he could muster, he said, “If Jade were here, I’m sure she would insist we double that. I know I speak for both of us when I say thanks for including her and our little Oliver in this wonderful community.”
His wink, directed at Bettina, took her by surprise. Self-consciously, she smiled, then unconsciously, she pushed her hair behind her right ear.
Madame Ovary also saw this. Only she wasn’t smiling.
***
Oh my God, Jillian thought. We’re supposed to leave a donation? I have no money! But I’ve got to fake it, for the girls’ sake.
She made her way to the white board but hesitated before writing in a figure. After Brady’s grand gesture, anything else would seem puny. Whatever happened to the saying, “It’s the thought that counts”?
She only had a twenty on her. Her credit card surly wouldn’t work, and she was afraid to write a check in case it bounced.
Still, she wrote down $100. She’d scrounge it up somehow.
“He’s making us all look bad, isn’t he?”
Jillian turned around when she heard the voice of the pregnant mom with the two preschool daughters. She tried to smile back at her, but all she could do was nod.
And pray she could sneak out the back with Amelia and Addison before someone cornered her for her donation check.