When Life Gives You Lululemons

by Lauren Weisberger

  “Okay.” Miriam laughed. “Noted.”

  “I’ve met someone. More than met, I guess I should say. I’m in love.

  “He’s a local dad, actually.” Ashley lowered her voice, although they were the only two customers in the entire place. “I can’t believe I never knew him, but I suppose Greenwich is bigger than we think. And our kids aren’t the same age.”

  “That sounds great,” Miriam said genuinely. A divorced dad who lived locally sounded like one of the best possible outcomes from this whole horrible ordeal.

  “And I haven’t even told you the best part.” Ashley leaned in and whispered, “He’s British.”

  “Nice!”

  “He’s gorgeous. And so, so sexy.”

  “Good for you,” Miriam said. “I’m really happy for you.”

  Ashley nodded. “Thanks. I know it’s a little awkward with you and Emily being friends and all, but I think we can all be grown-up about this, right?”

  “Emily? My Emily?”

  Ashley peered at Miriam. “She didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Normally I’m not one to gossip—and Alistair has assured me there’s nothing going on between them—but I did see a naked selfie she sent him on her phone.”

  “Wait—Emily Charlton? Some guy named Alistair? That’s ridiculous. She would never do that,” Miriam said with more confidence than she felt.

  Ashley pulled her own phone from her bag, scrolled, and held up the screen for Miriam to see.

  Miriam narrowed her eyes. “Those are just naked breasts. They could be anyone’s!”

  “Please, Miriam. I have her number in my phone. Just so long as she doesn’t think I stole her man or something. Whatever they had isn’t any of my business—and you know how much I admire her—but, well, I don’t want her thinking there’s still anything between them. Because there’s not.”

  Something about the way Ashley was looking at her made Miriam want to laugh. Suppressing the impulse, she said, “Is that maybe something you’d like me to convey to Emily?”

  Ashley appeared to think about this. “If you want to. So long as you don’t think she’ll be offended.”

  Miriam smiled. “You can never tell with Emily, but I’ll do my best.” Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it. It was a text from Paul.

  Have you had lunch yet?

  Here now w/ Ashley. She has a new man.

  That’s good b/c Eric has three new women.

  Paul!

  Sorry. Anyway made a rez for date night tonight.

  Where we going?

  Miriam was so caught up in her text exchange, she didn’t even notice Ashley stand up. “Sorry, I have to run,” Ashley said. “The hair place just called that they can fit me in. I want to get a blowout before my date. Thanks for listening, Miriam. You’re the best.”

  “Anytime. And I’m happy for you, Ash. You deserve it.” Miriam watched as Ashley walked to her slate gray Range Rover with a bounce in her step. Good for her, she thought.

  This time her phone rang. “Hey, baby,” she answered. “I was just about to text you back.”

  “Time for a quickie?” Paul asked, his voice gruff and sexy.

  “No!” Miriam laughed, although she was delighted he’d asked. They were both trying to make more of an effort at spontaneity. “Ashley just left and I’m headed back upstairs.”

  She was updating him on the new development in the Karolina case when Miriam felt a strong hand clamp down on her shoulder and she jumped. Paul stood just behind her, grinning.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, standing up to kiss him.

  He didn’t say anything. He threw out her empty coffee cup, collected her purse from the back of the chair, and took her by the hand.

  “Where are we going?” Miriam asked, practically giggling like a little girl. “I haven’t even ordered yet.”

  “Shhh. Can’t you keep quiet for a minute, woman? We’re going to check out that insanely expensive throw blanket in your office. Let’s see if it delivers the quality it promised.”

  30

  The Girl Has Balls

  Karolina

  Outside were low, slightly decrepit stone walls, a beautiful flagstone terrace with a fire pit, and climbing ivy on the brick facade. Inside it had a massive farmhouse sink, three wood-burning fireplaces—including one in the master bedroom—and the most exquisite exposed beams in all the common rooms. There was a small but lovely saltwater pool and, best of all, a lavishly finished basement rec room complete with an indoor sports court and a theater room where Harry loved to entertain his new school friends.

  Karolina stretched out on her brand-new club chair, an oversize and overstuffed monstrosity from Restoration Hardware that gave her an almost inordinate amount of happiness. Everything from its plush velvet fabric to its ability to recline made her smile. It was three times the size of what she needed, but no matter: it was perfect. She felt that way about the whole new house, actually. It was still mostly unfurnished; when she’d listed the old house, she’d been eager to sell everything that Graham had chosen. But even empty, this house had a warmer and more inviting feel than she could have hoped. With an accepted offer for the old house, Karolina had pounced on a brand-new listing after spying it online. It was in the so-called Back Country part of Greenwich, which felt more rural and private, and it maintained a lovely French-country feel.

  Karolina could hear the thump-thump of the basketball as Harry and two other kids shot hoops downstairs, and she smiled. It would be hard to improve on this Saturday, she thought, spreading open the New York Times for what might have been the tenth time that morning. The final chapter of Operation Karolina had come to a boldly beautiful end that day with the publication of ten simple words on the front page, right below the fold: NEW INFORMATION EMERGES IN THE CASE OF SENATOR HARTWELL’S WIFE. The story detailed how Officer Lewis, no longer with the Bethesda Police Department, had confirmed Karolina Hartwell’s claims that she not only “requested but actually begged” for police to administer a Breathalyzer test. Questions remained about why such a test was not administered, per protocol, and both the Department of Internal Affairs and the Bethesda DA’s office were investigating. Officer Lewis went on to say that Karolina “appeared distraught, as one might expect after being arrested in front of one’s child, but in no way appeared intoxicated or otherwise impaired. It occurred to me then—and probably to others, although we did not discuss it—that it was highly unusual for her to be kept overnight with no corroborating evidence.”

  Karolina picked up her phone to text Miriam yet another thank-you, but it rang before she could dial and displayed an unfamiliar 202 area code. Figuring it was someone from the media, and today was a day she would gladly make a statement, she answered it.

  “Karolina Zuraw,” she said confidently, pleased to have officially switched back to her maiden name.

  “Karolina? This is Regan. Regan Whitney.” The voice on the other end was higher-pitched than Karolina would have expected. And anxious-sounding.

  “Hello, Regan,” Karolina said magnanimously, proud of how she’d managed to disguise her shock.

  “Graham asked if I could call you to discuss Christmas. He thinks it would be a good idea for us to get to know each other—to establish a working relationship—so we can make decisions that are best for Harry.”

  “My lawyer, Miriam Kagan, already reached out with a schedule of visits, and Trip agreed—I’m surprised Graham didn’t tell you,” Karolina said, trying to suppress a smile. She kept waiting to feel the predictable pangs of jealousy or at least awkwardness, but they never came. In their place was a confident calm and a newfound sureness that she could handle whatever Graham and Regan might throw at her.

  “Yes, well, we were very much hoping that Harry could join us at Elaine’s for her traditional Christmas Eve dinner. And of course, if you don’t mind, to stay for Christmas morning to open his gifts. We could have the driver take him back to you in
Greenwich so you could have him for the evening meal?”

  “I believe that works with the schedule, Regan. Perhaps you can ask Graham for a copy?” Karolina said.

  There was a moment of silence. “I guess our wires crossed,” Regan said. “But thank you.” Her relief was palpable even through the phone.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” Regan said.

  “There’s something else you should know,” Karolina said. The words were right there at the tip of her tongue. She knew she shouldn’t get involved—no one would think she was being anything but vindictive—but Karolina couldn’t help herself. She had been Regan. And if someone out there—anyone—could have saved her all those years of heartbreak, she would have wanted to know. “Regan?”

  “Yes?”

  “I know this is going to be very hard to hear. Graham had a vasectomy over five years ago. He never told me. He let me believe that I couldn’t get pregnant because we had fertility problems. He let me undergo surgery knowing it would never work. It’s certainly none of my business, but if you do want kids of your own one day, you might want to consider what I’m telling you.”

  The silence was shockingly complete. Not a rustle nor a ping or a breath. “Regan? Did you hear me?” Karolina asked.

  “I heard you,” Regan said quietly. “Please excuse me, because I am going to hang up now.”

  And then a click.

  “Mom! Hey, Mom!” Harry called as he raced into the living room, practically hyperventilating from excitement.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Karolina said, her heart still doing a little tumble each time she caught a glimpse of him. She folded the newspaper and tucked it under a couch pillow.

  “Mom, will you take me and Andy and Ethan to the movie theater on Prospect? A bunch of guys from school texted and said they’re meeting to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

  “Isn’t that a scary movie? And what about lunch?”

  “Mom!” Harry said, exasperated. “I’m thirteen. Please.” Andy and Ethan appeared behind him, furiously nodding.

  “Are your mothers okay with this?” Karolina asked, trying not to smile at the fact that Harry had turned thirteen two days earlier.

  Again they nodded.

  She sighed. So much for a quiet day at home. But it would be a good excuse to run some house errands while the boys were at the movie. “When do we leave?” she asked.

  By the time Karolina got back to the house that afternoon, it was nearly dark outside. She’d dropped Harry at Ethan’s for dinner and had stayed for a cup of coffee with Ethan’s mother, a surprisingly normal woman who bustled around her kitchen, stirring pots of pasta and trying to convince Karolina to join them for dinner. But it was a relief to get home and unwind, to slowly unpack her shopping bags of faux-fur throw pillows and bed linens and two brand-new sets of guest towels. She’d bought the most beautiful porcelain Buddha to place on the mantel in her bedroom, and a lovely textured rattan bowl to fill with fruit on the kitchen island. This is what nesting must feel like, she thought. Maybe someday she’d like some help, Emily continued to suggest. But for now it felt right to do it all herself. Karolina was so caught up in removing price tags and examining her purchases and placing her items that she didn’t even notice the half-dozen missed calls on her silenced phone. When the doorbell rang, she assumed it was Harry, getting dropped back at home.

  “Hey,” she said, swinging open the front door. But it was Emily who stood on the porch, looking semi-hysterical and, well, large. Working for Miranda in the autumn off-season had allowed her a bit more “leisure” time, but the baby was due soon.

  “Em! Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Here, come in.”

  “I’m not so fucking huge that I can’t walk by myself,” Emily hissed, pushing her way past Karolina and refusing her hand for help. Emily glanced around. “Is the kid here?”

  “No, he’s at a—”

  “Why haven’t you been answering your phone? My God, it’s like the Dark Ages around here! How am I supposed to reach you? By carrier pigeon? No, instead I have to drag my gigantic fat ass into the car and drive here in person from New York City.”

  “What’s going on? Is Harry okay?” Karolina asked, the panic starting to creep in.

  “I don’t know one damn thing about Harry. What I do know is that the entire world is talking about your ex-husband.”

  Karolina looked hard at Emily. She’d heard pregnant women sometimes lost their minds. Got forgetful, absentminded. She would be gentle. “Yes, they are. That article in the Times this morning was great, wasn’t it?” she said, to show that she knew and she’d read it a hundred times.

  “That’s old news, you moron. Here, turn this on,” Emily said, thrusting the remote to Karolina and collapsing into the overstuffed club chair. “Christ, this thing is huge.”

  “What channel?” Karolina asked, but she didn’t have to wait for an answer. It was on every channel.

  “If you’re just tuning in, we have some breaking news. Multiple sources confirm that Senator Graham Hartwell, junior senator from the state of New York, was responsible for the death of a four-year-old child nearly three decades ago. Cause of death is said to be vehicular manslaughter, although sources do say that Senator Hartwell—a high school student at the time of the accident—was not under the influence. Why this story has never been revealed is part of CNN’s exclusive investigation. Now we are going to Poppy Harlow, who is in Bethesda with the latest. Poppy?”

  “Oh my God. This isn’t happening,” Karolina said, walking closer to the television. “Oh my God. That’s my house. Emily! You swore you wouldn’t say anything!”

  “Whoa, hold on there for a minute. First of all, I didn’t swear to anything. I have always supported this sordid little story coming out, and I haven’t made any apologies for it. But you made it quite clear that you didn’t want it out there for Harry’s sake, so against my better judgment, I respected yours.”

  “So what are you saying? That this wasn’t you?”

  “Correct. As much as it pains me to say it, this wasn’t me.”

  “I can’t even . . .” Karolina’s voice trailed off as it hit her. Of course. If the little girl’s family hadn’t uttered a word in thirty years, and neither had Elaine or Trip or Karolina, then there was only one other person it could be.

  “Can’t even what?” Emily said, looking newly interested.

  “Maybe we should be friends with her?” Karolina said, a smile starting to spread.

  “Who? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I told her this morning about Graham’s vasectomy—don’t ask, I didn’t mean to, it just sort of came out—and then this. It can’t be a coincidence.”

  “Regan!” Emily laughed. “No, I wouldn’t think so. Wow. I’m impressed. The girl has balls.”

  “Right? Look at this,” Karolina said, waving toward the throngs of reporters. “There must be a hundred of them. More than even the day I got arrested. I am so glad Harry isn’t there right now.”

  “I think it’s safe to say that Graham and Regan’s fairy-tale wedding is likely on hold. Forever. Not to mention his presidential aspirations.” Emily pressed all five fingers together and kissed the tips. “Buh-bye.”

  As if on cue, the front door of Karolina’s former Bethesda house opened, and a hush fell over the crowd on TV. Out walked Trip and Graham in nearly identical navy suits and blue-and-white-striped ties. Had they coordinated that? Karolina couldn’t take her eyes off the screen. What could Trip possibly say to defend Graham now? Would he pretend he never knew? Claim it was all a big misunderstanding?

  Trip and Graham approached a podium, and Graham pulled a note card from his pocket. He began to read: “Ladies and gentlemen. I ask that you please give my family and me privacy at this sensitive time. We will try to answer all your questions in due course. Thank you for your understanding.”

  Literal shouting commenced immediately. “Senator, is
it true that you are responsible for the murder of a girl named Molly Wells?”

  “Can you confirm that your family paid the Wells family in exchange for their cooperation?”

  “Did Harvard University know of your crime when you were accepted? Did anyone else in the Senate?”

  “Has your future father-in-law, President Whitney, offered his support?”

  “Do you expect the Senate to commence impeachment proceedings in light of this new information?”

  “What would you like to say to your constituents now? To the American people?”

  On and on it went, while Graham looked increasingly uncomfortable. Trip stepped in and said, “No further comments,” and shooed Graham away.

  Karolina’s doorbell rang. She and Emily exchanged a look, convinced it was the press looking for a comment, but both their phones vibrated with a text message at the same time. Open up, it’s me, wrote Miriam.

  Karolina pulled open the front door and was relieved to see only Miriam and no cameras. “Come in,” she said, ushering her friend in. “Why are you so dressed up?”

  “Who’s dressed up?” Emily called from the living room. “Can you people please come in here for this conversation? I’m a beached whale. Don’t make me get up!”

  Karolina gave Miriam a look and they both smiled. “By ‘beached whale’ she means she’s put on thirty pounds,” Miriam said, following Karolina.

  “I heard that!” Emily shrieked. “And I haven’t gained anywhere near thirty pounds, so fuck off!”

  Miriam gave Emily a cheerful wave. “I can’t stay,” she said, pointing toward the television. “But I had to be here for all this. I think it’s fair to say this entire nightmare is over.”

  Miriam was right—it was over. Finally and completely over. There would be too many questions from too many reporters and too many cameras pointed in her direction, but this time they wouldn’t concern her. Harry was safely under her roof again. The New York Times had announced she wasn’t guilty of drunk driving. And now, even though Karolina wouldn’t necessarily have done it herself, Graham was discredited. His career, over. There was satisfaction there, and happiness, but most of all she felt a deep and calming sense of relief.