That's What Frenemies Are For, page 22
But she was shaking her head. “New family pays me same as you,” she said. “But it isn’t about money.” She stood, with the dignity of a queen debarking a ship. “I will be here regular time tomorrow and I will talk to my friends. Good night, Mrs. Julia.”
I stood also, trying to think of something else to say, some way to pull her back, but she was already gone.
I stared at the front door after it closed, trying to process the fact that Benilda had just left me. Us. James didn’t come back. I knew I should go tell him, but the shock of Benilda’s departure kept me rooted to the spot.
After a moment I went to the sink and poured the rest of the Pellegrino out and put the bottle in the recycling bin. Then I poured myself a glass of wine, all the way to the brim.
CHAPTER 26
Despite drinking half a bottle of wine before collapsing on Paige’s floor next to her bed, under her extra blanket, I was up well before the alarm went off. I showered, dressed, and made coffee.
James shuffled out of the bedroom a little after six. I set his cup of coffee on the table and sat down across from him. “Thank you for being so understanding yesterday,” I began. “What I did—I wouldn’t blame you for being furious with me.”
“It’s okay. Look—leaving it in the nightstand was pretty stupid. But it could have happened to anyone. Remember that time Tim had those blunts in his Dopp kit? And Paige brought them out in the living room when we were watching a movie and we were afraid she’d eaten one?”
I shuddered at the memory. “Listen, I know that the most important thing is that she’s okay. But we have to think about what this means for…” I tried to figure out how to say it; I was afraid Tatum might be angry enough at me for giving the cops Brooke’s name that she’d tell people I kept drugs lying around the house. “If people find out.”
“What, you’re worried about what people will think?” A muscle in James’s jaw jumped. “Fucking Christ’s sake. Do we look like the kind of people who leave that shit lying around? Besides, it wasn’t even yours! Anyone who wants to judge you isn’t worth your time.”
It was so simple for James—in his world, the subtleties of the social hierarchy did not exist. People were your friends—or they weren’t. There were good guys, guys you only kept around to get the job done, and pieces of shit who could go fuck themselves. His repertoire only included live-and-let-live and full-scale assault, with very little in between.
“Okay, I guess maybe you’re right.” There really wasn’t any point in trying to explain it to him.
I spent the morning doting on Paige and going through the closets and under the sinks, throwing out every old prescription, moving every bottle of toxic chemicals and cleaners to the high shelf of the linen closet. Grace had sent me a brief message saying she was glad Paige was all right, but when I texted her to call me when she had a minute, I didn’t hear back. Benilda kept her distance, doing laundry and straightening the kids’ rooms. It was awkward—I felt like we had nothing left to say to each other.
Late in the morning, after I’d taken a second bag of household cleaners to the trash chute, Tatum texted me.
Hope your happy Julia??????????????
I told Brooke you told the cops it was her drugs she’s so upset do you have any idea how much trouble she could be in?!?!?!?
I texted back in a blind rage—was I really supposed to feel sorry for Brooke after what she’d done to my family?
Paige could have DIED. It looked like CANDY. Forgive me for caring about my own child!!
Her response came just as fast. I saw Grace at class she says Paige is totally fine
That stung—Grace had time to go to spin and chat after class but couldn’t bother to call me back?
Yes but that doesn’t change the fact this wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for Brooke and before you decide to tell everyone why Paige was in the hospital remember I can always call the cops back and tell them I was confused and the molly was yours not hers
This was a bluff, because Stewart had told James that the cops wouldn’t care who gave me the pill, that they wouldn’t even have bothered to put Brooke’s name in their report.
After a long pause, Tatum finally responded.
We need to talk
Fred’s noon Saturday
* * *
—
I spent the rest of the day cleaning up my mess while Paige dozed in a nest of blankets in front of the television, and Benilda dusted the baseboards on her hands and knees. I called Zarine Parekh and, reaching one of her assistants, explained that Paige had been hospitalized due to a reaction to medication, and that while she was expected to make a full recovery, James and I had spent several hours fearing for her life and had completely forgotten the meeting. I didn’t even finish my story before the assistant was falling all over herself reassuring me that she understood completely. Zarine herself called me back within ten minutes, and told me that the entire staff was holding Paige in their thoughts. Then she added in a somewhat embarrassed tone that while the other parents had insisted on holding the meeting without me and James, upon review she didn’t think the boys’ behavior merited more than monitoring after all, and that I didn’t need to reschedule.
A bouquet of sweetheart roses arrived for Paige while I was making dinner. The card read, WISHING YOU A SPEEDY RECOVERY, FROM ALL YOUR FRIENDS AT GRAYLON ACADEMY. James said he wished he’d been the first person to send his daughter flowers and put the roses on Paige’s desk, where she could see them from her bed. Already she was much better, complaining she was bored.
Grace and Lindsay weren’t at drop-off on Friday morning, and Hollis Graves told me that a bunch of women were spending the day on a house tour in Brooklyn benefiting the Brownsville Community Foundation and featuring the work of half a dozen up-and-coming interior designers.
“I would have gone,” she added, “but I had a commitment I just couldn’t get out of.”
So I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been invited.
I was trying to politely extricate myself when I noticed a group of women clustered around Gigi McLayne. Gigi’s eyes were swollen from crying, and Elizabeth Kim was holding her arm as if to keep her standing while Poppy squeezed her hand.
“What’s up with Gigi?” I asked Hollis.
“You didn’t hear? Her mom passed yesterday. She had a stroke, I guess it came completely out of the blue.”
“Oh my God, that’s terrible,” I said.
“I know. It happened in a yoga class at River Rock Ranch. They won’t be able to fly the body back until Monday.”
I’d met Gigi’s mom at a few events—she was another member of the old guard, a woman who’d spent her entire life on the Upper East Side, leaving only long enough to attend Radcliffe and come back with a fiancé from Harvard. My heart went out to Gigi; I had a feeling our mothers would have had a lot in common.
“I think Poppy’s setting up a Meal Train,” Hollis said. “And she’s looking for someone to take the dogs for the next few days, until after the memorial. Preferably a quiet home with no children.”
Gigi had two poorly trained Yorkshire terriers that she sometimes brought to drop-off, where they chased pigeons and got their leashes tangled and barked nonstop.
“Can’t they just board them?”
“I guess they’re worried about traumatizing them more than they already are. Dogs can sense grief, you know—there’s scientific proof. Poppy said Daisy started chewing her paws the moment Gigi got the phone call.”
“Uh-huh. Wow, too bad Henry’s so active, or I’d offer to take them.”
“You’re so generous, Julia,” Hollis said, touching my arm. “It’s times like this when you find out who you can really count on, you know?”
“Oh, do I ever,” I said grimly, as we watched Gigi’s little group begin their solemn procession to Toast of the Town for cappuccinos.
* * *
—
I told James I had plans to see a show at the Guggenheim with a friend on Saturday, and he told me to have fun and that he would take good care of Paige while I was gone. I arrived at the restaurant on the ninth floor of Barneys precisely at noon and saw Tatum before she saw me. She was already seated at a prime table by the window, a glass of wine in front of her.
She’d dressed for the occasion. She was wearing the ivory leather bomber over a white silk tank, jeans, and a pair of camel suede boots. Her only jewelry was a pair of four-stone diamond studs that looked a lot like the Tiffany Victoria line.
“That looks refreshing,” I said, indicating the bottle of Moulin Touchais Chenin Blanc sweating in a bed of ice next to the table.
“I assumed you’d have a glass or two,” Tatum said coolly.
It was an excellent choice, which made me wonder with a wave of something like jealousy who’d been coaching her. A waiter rushed to bring me a menu and pour me a glass.
“The salads are very good here.” There was something about her tone, a brittleness that only increased my wariness.
“You’ve been here before?”
Tatum narrowed her eyes. “Yes, twice, in fact.”
I didn’t believe her—left to her own devices, Tatum’s taste ran to places that only tourists went. But I ordered my usual lobster salad, and after the server left, I folded my hands and waited.
“Well, I guess you should be proud of yourself,” Tatum said. “Brooke and I broke up, thanks to you.”
“Me! How exactly am I responsible for your love life?”
“You threw her under the bus. I tried to defend you, God knows why. That didn’t go over well.”
“If she broke up with you, that wasn’t the only reason,” I said, but with those two, who knew? “I’m not going to apologize for protecting my child.”
“First of all, I didn’t say that she broke up with me, only that we broke up. You always do that—you’re constantly trying to pin blame on people, do you even realize that?” She was angrier than I’d ever seen her. “And I don’t need an apology. I’m here to tell you that you’re not calling the cops. And you’re definitely not giving them my name.”
“Oh?”
“I get that you think what happened to Paige is Brooke’s fault. Even though nobody made you come to the club that night—and you could have thrown that pill out anytime. But the point is you’re not thinking about the bigger picture.”
“Which is…?”
“You know something, Julia, ever since I met you, you’ve treated me like I crawled out of a gutter somewhere and you’re doing me this huge favor by letting me babysit your kids and inviting me to some boring weekend in the Hamptons and then telling me who I can and can’t talk to, like I’m some—some little kid who can’t even go to the bathroom by herself. Oh, and by the way, thanks so much for loaning me your old stuff that you were going to get rid of. None of it even fit. Were you trying to make me look ridiculous?”
“I was trying to help you,” I retorted. “That first time we had coffee, all you could talk about was how badly you wanted my life.”
“Get over it, Julia.” I’d never heard this tone before. Gone was any trace of her bubbly charm, her fresh-faced enthusiasm. Sitting here in Fred’s with a wineglass in her hand, she looked like any other smug rich girl with a trust fund and an attitude. “The only reason you ever had coffee with me was because you wanted to use me. You thought if you could take credit for my success at Flame, somehow it would make you more popular, but here’s a news flash, Julia—no one cares! In a few months, none of your friends will even remember that the fundraiser was your idea. And the other teachers think you’re a freak, the way you’re always hanging around the studio, shoving people out of the way just so you can ride on that stupid podium bike.” She set down her glass and leaned slightly closer so that I could see the points of her pearly little canine teeth. “No. One. Cares.”
“You still don’t get it.” I held the stem of my own glass so tightly I thought it might break. “Do you really think I care what the other teachers think? Or Paz? They don’t matter—I’m surprised you haven’t learned that by now. Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought you were. Listen, you’re not fooling everyone. Lindsay told me I should hide the good silver when you’re around.”
Tatum raised one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “Lindsay just called me to get on my personal training waiting list. I told her I’d do my best to squeeze her in sooner, as a favor to a friend.”
That one took the wind out of me. To cover, I took a sip of my wine. The waiter came and set our salads in front of us, and Tatum dismissed him with a nod.
“We could go around and around like this all day,” Tatum said. “But the bottom line is, out of gratitude for the kindness you showed me, you can still be one of my VIP riders. Just like Grace and Coco and the others. You can have your turn riding up and I’ll tag you in my posts. As far as anyone knows, we’ll still be friends.”
“And in exchange?”
“I’d think that would be obvious. You’ll treat me like the friend I supposedly am. Invite me to the right events, introduce me to the right people—and don’t ever patronize me again.”
I was surprised she knew the word. “And I guess you want me to forget all about our big night out, especially the part where you left that girl passed out in the bathroom.”
“Obviously. And stay away from Brooke. Don’t talk to her, don’t talk about her.”
That one caught me off guard. Could it be that Tatum truly had feelings for Brooke? “Breakup’s been hard on you, is that it?”
“I’m in a new relationship now—I don’t need the drama.”
“I see.” I didn’t believe her…but knowing her weakness might come in handy at some point. “Listen—since we’ve cleared things up between us, I need a favor.”
“Oh?” Her expression didn’t change, that hint of calculation always there in her eyes.
“Lindsay’s birthday is coming up. I want to do something different this year, and since apparently she and Grace are completely obsessed with you, I was thinking you could do a private session for the three of us next Friday night.” I was counting on Tatum’s narcissism to prevent her from recognizing how desperate I was to hold on to my friends. “I’ll pay you, of course, and I’ll talk to Ken about renting the studio. Nothing over the top, just a few decorations, an easy session with her favorite music—I’ll send you a playlist—and cake and champagne after, then we’d go out for drinks or a late dinner. You can join us, if you want.”
“Sure,” Tatum said. “Lindsay and Grace are both so sweet, I’d love to help.”
“Excellent.”
“The only problem is that Ken doesn’t rent studio space for parties, only for charity events and fundraisers. Don’t worry, though, I can give you the code for the service entrance door—we can get in that way after hours and stay as long as you want. And they still haven’t fixed the security camera in the hall, so no one will ever know.”
“Are you sure?” I would have much preferred to play this straight. “I don’t want to risk it if there’s any chance of getting in trouble.”
“No chance at all,” Tatum said confidently. “Trust me.”
CHAPTER 27
When I got home, I called Grace.
“Julia!” she said in a rush. “Sorry, I meant to call, but things have been crazy around here. Did you hear about Gigi’s mom?”
“I did,” I said. “So tragic. How was the house tour?”
“Good,” she said, after a beat. “How is Paige feeling?”
I suspected that if I hadn’t called Grace I wouldn’t have heard from her all weekend, but I let it go. “Much better, thanks. We’re just taking it easy this weekend, but she’ll be back at school Monday.”
“What on earth did she take, anyway?”
Luckily I was prepared for this, having done some online research and come up with a cover story. All Paige knew was that a pill had made her sick; she barely even remembered going to the hospital. I felt terrible about lying to her—but I would feel even worse if people started whispering behind her back. “It turns out that she has a penicillin allergy, of all things.”
“You’re kidding! How did she go so long without being diagnosed?”
“You know Paige—she’s hardly ever sick, she never got ear infections the way Henry does. I told the doctor she’d never had a reaction before, but then I remembered that both times she’s taken amoxicillin, she complained about being dizzy and itching. But she can be so dramatic, I just assumed it was from the strep.”
“But why was it so much worse this time? I mean what even happened?”
“It was terrifying,” I said; at least I didn’t have to lie about that. “Her tongue and throat swelled up so much that she was having trouble breathing, and I got hysterical and that scared her and made everything worse, and I ended up calling 911.”
“Oh my God, Julia!”
“I know. She went to the hospital in an ambulance, with me sitting there sobbing the whole way next to her.” I faked a sheepish laugh. “I definitely overreacted, but you see your child struggling to breathe, and…anyway they gave her an antihistamine and she was better in a few hours. And luckily there are other antibiotics that she can take.”
“You have got to call the school and get that in her records,” Grace said.
I hadn’t thought of that. “I’m already on it,” I lied, wondering how I could avoid reporting it to the school nurse. In theory all the kids’ medical information was confidential, but like everything else, it tended to leak out. I knew which kids had EpiPens, who took ADHD medication, whose nut allergies were genuinely serious. “But they say she’ll probably grow out of it anyway, as long as we avoid penicillin for a few years. It shouldn’t ever happen again.”
