“How do you get your hair like that?” Miriam asked, touching her own bun. She’d recently gone to a guy in the city who was renowned for cutting kinky, curly hair—he styled without wetting it and called it “The Diva Cut”—but it had looked fantastic for only thirty-six hours before all signs of diva-ness had exploded back into a frizzy disaster.
“Oh, this? Please. I haven’t washed it in a week. I go through so much dry shampoo, I can’t even tell you. Lucy told me the other night that it smells.”
Miriam laughed. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I found a drawing of me in Matthew’s folder from school. When I asked him to tell me about it, he took great pride in pointing out the three deep lines running horizontally along my forehead and the shading under my eyes. ‘Like when you’re really tired, Mommy,’ I think was what he said.”
Ashley laughed. “Classic.”
“So, who’s going tonight? I brought a bottle of Malbec, but I wasn’t sure what else . . .”
“No, no, that’s perfect! Just a fun group. We’ll do some drinking and a little shopping. You’ll love everyone.”
A little shopping. There it was. Miriam smiled to herself as Ashley weaved through the dark, winding roads. She should have known—she’d heard all about these events in the suburbs: all-female “parties” where the hosts provided wine and nibbles and then, in a feigned-relaxed but actually hyper-aggressive way, tried to sell you whatever product she was now a “stylist” or “consultant” for. Ashley once told Miriam she had bought everything from stackable bangles to workout wear to wrinkle cream at events that were initially presented as book club meetings or Girls’ Nights Out.
When they arrived at their hostess’s home, all the women were gathered in the family room, sipping and chatting in front of a gorgeous fire. Miriam recognized a few from the baby shower and a few more from the kids’ school, but mostly they were strangers: beautiful, confident, coiffed strangers.
“Hey, everyone! Some of you might know her, but for those who don’t, this is Miriam Kagan. She has the cutest twins in kindergarten, Maisie and Matthew, and also Benjamin in second grade. They just moved here from the city.”
Miriam could feel the heat rise from her neck to her cheeks. She desperately wanted to disappear. After over a decade knowing exactly where she fit in city life, she was finding this harder than she would have thought. But all the women smiled kindly at her and gave little waves and then went right back to their conversations. Almost immediately, Ashley vanished, and Miriam found herself standing awkwardly alone in the kitchen. She helped herself to a glass from an open bottle of merlot. Then, unsure what to do next, she popped a small chunk of Parmesan into her mouth and looked around.
The home was spectacular, of course. Vaulted ceilings, a double-high fireplace, enough fur throw blankets and accent pillows to open a boutique. The rug under the live-edge coffee table was made from animal hides, all shades of gray and white and carefully stitched together to create a kind of modern floor quilt that stood out starkly against the trendy gray-washed wood floors. Diptyque candles burned everywhere. Low, sexy music played from invisible speakers. Women with long hair and long legs floated between the rooms, kissing each other’s cheeks and inquiring after each other’s children, workout regimens, and vacation plans.
“You’re Miriam, right?” An elegant woman with a jet-black bob and porcelain skin offered her a smile. “I’m Claire. I’m so glad you could make it tonight.”
“Claire? Oh, this is your home, right? It’s beautiful, I was admiring your taste. I love everything.”
Claire’s smile widened. “Thank you, darling. So, Ashley said you have three little ones, all in elementary school?”
Miriam nodded.
“And you stay home with them?”
Miriam opened her mouth and then closed it again. “Yes, I do. I haven’t always, but it’s been really great having these last few months to—”
“It is, isn’t it?” Claire interrupted. “Hey, maybe you want to join me on the board of Opus? It’s not an enormous financial requirement—although all the money does so much good—and we put on great events. Plus, the funds raised make such a stunning difference in the lives of children who live so nearby yet suffer so much.”
“Hmm, that sounds so interesting,” Miriam murmured. It did—who didn’t want to help children?—but she wasn’t clear on what Claire was suggesting.
“Hello, girls,” Ashley trilled as she approached and refilled her glass. “I’m glad you two have met. Claire, it’s been so great having Miriam as co–room mom with me. I just knew you two would love each other.”
“You were right, of course!” Miriam said, perhaps a bit too loudly.
A brief moment of awkwardness followed before Ashley leaned in and stage-whispered to Claire, “You look amazing. I can’t even believe you’re only a month out.”
Miriam pretended not to hear, but Claire looked at her and said, “I got the full mommy job a few weeks ago: boobs, belly, and vagina. It was torturous but definitely worth it.” She gently ran a hand over her concave stomach. “I’ve had so much sodium today and I should be getting my period momentarily, and look: flat as a board.”
Ashley gazed at Claire’s midriff. “I so regret not doing my stomach when I did the boobs. And not to do the vag! I wasn’t thinking. What, just because I had three C-sections didn’t guarantee my entire pelvic floor wouldn’t get demo’d. Tampons fall out when I do jumping jacks.”
“I hear you.” Claire nodded. “Sex was like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. I didn’t care so much, but my God, Eddie could not stop bitching about it. I mean, like, two perfect children aren’t enough, now he wants me tight as a teenager?”
“Of course he does. They all do. And he got what he wanted!”
Claire feigned embarrassment. “He sure did.”
Miriam laughed along with everyone, but inside she felt a stab of panic. Was that why Paul had seemed so uninterested lately? She’d had a vaginal delivery with Ben and then a C-section with the twins. She didn’t outright wet herself when she laughed or sneezed or jumped—wasn’t that enough? Or was she missing something crucial?
Claire glanced at her watch and gasped. “Oh my, nearly eight-thirty.” Then, in a louder voice to the crowd: “Ladies? Join me in the living room?”
The doorbell rang before they could all take a seat. Someone gave a little squeal. Miriam wondered who could be so exciting. Maybe someone famous? She’d heard a rumor that Blake Lively had moved to town, but nobody seemed to know for sure. She’d overheard someone mention that Karolina, the senator’s wife, was hiding out in Greenwich, but thankfully the subject had changed almost immediately.
When a woman appeared at the door, Miriam recognized her as one of the moms from Ben’s second-grade class. She had a little girl, if she remembered, with fiery red hair and what Miriam’s mother would definitely call a “fresh mouth.” Sage. That was the woman’s name. Sage wore a flowy maxi dress topped with a cashmere cardigan and a tangle of delicate gold chains. Her red hair was loosely braided into a crown that framed her face, and her skin was nearly translucent, flawless, and devoid of makeup. She looked like she belonged at Coachella, where she could take a long, sensual drag off someone’s joint, shake off her sweater, and languidly dance the night away with desert bonfires and younger men with pierced tongues. Sage offered a smile to the room of lovely women and, in a surprisingly baritone voice, announced, “Let’s get this party started!”
“Oooh, I can’t wait to see what she brought this time,” Ashley said, pulling Miriam’s arm toward a prime spot on the couch. “I hope you brought your credit card.”
The rolling suitcase Sage tugged behind her seemed rather large for jewelry, but what did Miriam know? She sipped her wine while Sage settled herself.
“First of all, a huge thanks to Claire for hosting tonight’s . . . festivities. Honey, I promise not to get lube on your linen.”
Laughs all around.
“Isn’t sh
e a pediatrician?” Miriam whispered to Ashley, who didn’t take her eyes off Sage’s suitcase.
“Was. Not practicing anymore. The call schedule was hell, apparently.”
Miriam nodded. Sage looked around the room. “Ladies, first I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I am not going to play some asinine icebreaker game. I am not going to push you to buy chocolate body paint. Or anything, for that matter. And I am most definitely not going to pull out some disgusting plastic dildo and tell you why it will change your life.”
A few women laughed, but to her relief many looked as uncomfortable as Miriam felt.
“Think of me as your intimacy concierge for high-end luxury products only.” Sage paused dramatically. “How many of you expect your husband to stay interested?” she asked, looking around.
Some called out, “I couldn’t care less,” but most of the women tentatively raised their hands.
“And how many of you put every effort into making that happen?”
Silence. No hands.
“Can anyone remember the last time she wore a proper negligee to bed?”
“If by ‘negligee’ you mean an old T-shirt from college and a pair of my husband’s boxers, then I would have to say last night,” a woman called out.
Everyone laughed. Miriam quickly took another big sip of wine, worried that she’d laughed a little too hard.
“And dare I ask when was the last time anyone in this room gave a blow job?”
“To my husband?” Ashley screeched.
That elicited laughs from the entire group.
Sage shook her head as though the women had greatly disappointed her. “I guess I don’t even have to ask about anal. But I will say, you’re really missing out on a hot spot of female pleasure.”
The lone pregnant woman in the group said, “My husband just can’t get enough, especially with this.” She rubbed her enormous belly and grinned. “Who doesn’t love some good pregnancy hemorrhoids? Or the fact that I talk about how constipated I am over dinner?”
Suddenly things didn’t seem so dire between her and Paul.
Sage held up her hands in mock defeat. “You, Leesa, are the only one with an excuse. But the rest of you—if you’re not going to put in the time and effort to keep your husbands satisfied, they’re going to look for it somewhere else.”
“Promise?” asked a petite woman in jeans and a leather jacket.
The women laughed and a few even clapped, but Sage ignored them and began pulling tubes and jars and bottles from her bag. They were beautifully packaged, like the kind of products at Barneys makeup counters. “Here we have our bath-and-body product line. Bath salts, aromatherapy diffusers, scented massage oils, and hydrating moisturizers. Everything is paraben-free and made exclusively in the U.S. using formulas developed by world-class cosmetic dermatologists. Nothing here will give you a yeast infection or cause your skin to break out, but they’re specially formulated to appeal to men.”
Miriam examined a delicate glass bottle when it was passed to her. The small block print on the front read SENSUAL MASSAGE OIL, and when she twisted off the top to smell it, she wanted to douse herself in it. Yes. She would happily buy some massage oil and offer Paul a shoulder rub. How long had it been since she’d done that? She accepted a refilled wineglass from Ashley and sank back into the couch.
Sage kept pulling out brightly colored objects in every imaginable shape and size. Like the bath products, these were all packaged beautifully in sleek, minimalist boxes with little indication as to their contents. “Please, feel free to open and touch all of them.”
Miriam examined a box that could have been mistaken for something you’d buy at the Apple store. It featured a picture of what looked like a lavender-colored egg and boasted the ability to vibrate in response to pressure. There were ten preset vibration patterns, or you could program it to remember up to six of your own personal patterns. When she opened it, she could see it charged on a sleek white base and came with a white silk carrying case. It felt as smooth as a river stone, just softer and a bit flexible.
“That one there— Sorry, I don’t know your name,” Sage called out.
Miriam was too engrossed in examining the purple egg to realize that Sage was pointing at her.
“Miriam. Miriam Kagan,” Ashley called out.
Miriam snapped her head up and saw the entire room looking back at her as she cupped the vibrator. The heat that started in her chest and moved straight to her face felt nearly overwhelming.
“The one Miriam Kagan has is a bestseller. Miriam, will you hold that up, please?”
Miriam lifted it six inches in the air.
“That little gem is a triumph of design,” Sage declared as though talking about a new Gehry building. “It’s more responsive than your Porsche, and trust me, it will make you much happier. It’s perfect for partner play, given the fact that it’s not some crude imitation of your husband’s private parts. The medical-grade silicone is nonporous, making it easy to clean, and it’s completely waterproof for fun in the shower or a nice hot bath. Miriam, what do you think?”
“Think?” Miriam squeaked. Why was she acting like such a prude? It was a vibrator, for Christ’s sake, not a set of leather whips, and yet all she wanted to do was crawl under the couch.
“It’s very . . . nice?”
Everyone laughed. Sage smiled beatifically.
“It’s yours,” Sage said. “A gift from me. Make sure you put it to good use!”
The room broke into applause. Miriam managed an embarrassed thank-you before she dropped the vibrator, complete with its charger and packaging, into her purse like a dirty secret.
Everyone’s attention shifted to a vibrator shaped exactly like a tube of lipstick, complete with a YSL logo on the side, and Miriam slipped out of the room and into the kitchen, where she grabbed the biggest hunk of Parmesan off the cheese tray and jammed it into her mouth. She’d gone for her second massive piece when Ashley appeared in front of her.
“How fun is this?” she said, laughing, refilling her wineglass for the third time. Miriam didn’t want to act like anyone’s mother, but Ashley was her ride home. “It’s so good. We all need to keep it fresh in the bedroom.”
“My bedroom is stale,” Miriam blurted out, then was promptly mortified.
“Oh, honey, I’m sure that’s not true. Things always slow down with young kids. But then they pick up again.” Ashley helped herself to the smallest baby carrot on the tray and dipped a millimeter of it into the hummus. “How often do you and Paul do it?”
“Not often.”
“What, like, once a week? Once every week and a half?”
Good God, Miriam thought. Ashley sounded as bad as Emily, only this woman had three children of her own.
“Something like that,” Miriam lied. “How often do you guys?”
Ashley laughed. “Not as often as Eric would like to, that’s for sure. He climbs all over me, and I probably give in three, maybe four times a week.” Miriam must have looked shell-shocked because Ashley rushed to add, “If I say yes in the middle of the night, I’m allowed to just lie there.”
Miriam forced a laugh. “Totally,” she said, although she didn’t think that Paul had ever woken her in the middle of the night for sex.
“I’m glad Paul and Eric are hanging out tonight,” Ashley said. “It’s so crazy hard to make couple friends where you both like both people, you know?”
“Not tonight,” Miriam said, although now she wasn’t sure. “Paul is home babysitting. Scratch that—he’s parenting. I hate when people say the dad is ‘babysitting’ his own children.”
Ashley pulled out her phone and showed Miriam a text from Paul that read, Guys are coming over to play some poker. Invited Paul, like you said. He’s in.
Miriam grabbed her phone. Where r u?
Three dots appeared and then . . . Poker night at Eric’s house. The Miller girl from across the street came over to sit w/ kids. Everyone asleep. You having fun?
&
nbsp; Yes, she wrote, and tried not to be annoyed that Paul had arranged a babysitter and gone to a friend’s house without so much as a text.
Another minuscule carrot dipped into another millimeter of hummus. Ashley shook her head as she chewed. “They say they’re playing poker, but it’s total bullshit. They are ogling our new au pair.”
“You have a new au pair?”
“Boobs up to here and an ass to die for. We all went to one of those disgusting indoor water parks last weekend, and I thought Eric would have a full-on heart attack when he saw her. She was wearing one of those Brazilian-cut bikini bottoms that’s not quite a thong but almost? And what was I in? A rash guard. And water socks. Can you picture it?”
“No,” Miriam said, wondering what this au pair must look like if she made Ashley—size two, perfect figure, gorgeous blond hair, and Botoxed within an inch of her life—feel less than.
“She’s our third one, and the last two were perfection: awkward, chubby, one even had bad acne. It didn’t stop her from having sex in Tyler’s room with a guy she brought home from the city, which is why we had to fire her. Ugh, I’m still trying to get that visual out of my head.”
“She did not!” Miriam said, not bothering to hide her delight.
“Yes, but when you need to rematch in the middle of the year, who’s going to be left? Only the hot ones. No moms want them. The ugly girls go like hotcakes, and by August, only supermodels are left. Claire had one last year that was a legit clone of Scarlett Johansson, only prettier.”
“My God.”
“What are you going to do? Take care of your own children? God forbid.” Ashley laughed, and it was obvious that she understood exactly how she sounded but didn’t care.
Claire appeared in the kitchen. “I certainly didn’t leave my job on Wall Street to be a stay-at-home mom without a full-time nanny!” she said, and winked. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Hear, hear!” Ashley raised her wineglass and, without waiting for anyone else to toast, dumped it down her throat. Miriam made a mental note to call an Uber.
When Life Gives You Lululemons Page 11
