phrased it like that, it didn’t sound quite so horrific.
‘Go on,’ Karolina said.
Emily shrugged. ‘I’ll tell you what I would tell a client. No one cares if you were drunk or not. You need to apologize for having a problem and putting children at risk. You’ll definitely need to do thirty days inpatient somewhere – the optics for that are just unbeatable, especially when we tip the press off ahead of time – but there’s one in Montana that’s downright fabulous. Like an Aman.’
‘Thirty days inpatient? Like rehab? But I don’t have a drinking problem!’
‘That’s totally irrelevant,’ Emily said, glancing at her buzzing phone. ‘There’s a protocol people follow, and this is it: everyone loves to forgive a repentant sinner. Look at Mel Gibson. Reese Witherspoon. John Mayer. Graham’s affair complicates things a tad, but it’s nothing that can’t be dealt with. They’ll forgive you too.’
‘His … affair?’ Karolina whispered.
‘I’m just assuming. Am I wrong?’
Karolina sat quietly for a minute and then said, ‘If he is, it’s with Regan Whitney.’ Karolina could see Miriam’s face register shock before she tried for a more neutral expression. Was she surprised that Graham might be cheating on Karolina or just surprised that it might be with the young, beautiful and polished daughter of former President Whitney? Karolina’s suspicions were based solely on a handful of texts she’d seen that were more suggestive than actually incriminating. That and the fact that he’d lost all interest in sex over the past six months.
‘She’s not nearly as pretty as you,’ Emily said authoritatively. ‘Not even close.’
‘She’s nearly a decade younger than me,’ Karolina said. ‘Does she really even need to be pretty?’
‘No,’ Miriam and Emily agreed simultaneously.
‘Being connected is more appealing to Graham than being pretty,’ Karolina said flatly. ‘Anyway, right now Trip advised us to keep quiet. Supposedly he’s working the phones on my behalf, and he thinks we have a shot at getting the charges dropped.’
The sound of a buzzer broke the silence.
‘That’s the gate,’ Karolina said. Her mind flashed back to the hordes of camera crews and reporters camped outside their Bethesda home. ‘You don’t think the police have let them through, do you?’
Thankfully, the neighbors on either side of the Hartwells’ house had complained about the disruption from the paparazzi, and the Greenwich Police Department had very thoughtfully closed the road to all traffic except those who could prove their residence and their invited guests. It was the only thing saving her sanity.
Miriam jumped up from the couch. ‘Where can you see the gate camera? The kitchen?’
Karolina merely nodded. It was starting to feel like she would never escape this nightmare.
‘It’s just two Girl Scouts!’ Miriam called. ‘Can I buzz them in?’
‘No cookies at a time like this!’ Emily called back. ‘The last thing she needs is an endless stream of empty calories!’
Karolina took a sip of water. ‘I guess not even the cops can say no to Girl Scouts.’
Miriam walked back in and shot Emily a disgusted look. ‘I buzzed them in. You can’t refuse a cookie solicitation, it brings seven years of bad luck.’
‘Oh, well, we sure wouldn’t want that,’ Emily said. ‘I mean, not with how gorgeously everything seems to be going right now.’
This time Karolina burst out laughing. She was crazy and emotional, and her life was spiraling completely out of control, but damn, it felt nice just to laugh. ‘Bring on the Samoas. This girl is ready to eat!’
Vodka and Tampax: A Match Made in Greenwich
EMILY
‘Emily! Half-caf skinny latte for Emily!’ The Starbucks barista had a ring through the cartilage of her left ear and a line of small silver cuffs all the way up her right one. Emily wanted to hug her for merely existing in Greenwich without either a blond bob or a pair of Sorel Joan of Arctic boots.
‘Thanks,’ Emily said, grabbing the cup and beelining back to her corner seat before one of the women trolling for tables snagged her spot.
She sipped her coffee and tore herself away from a photo of Olivia and Rizzo lunching at a brasserie in the East Village, instead scrolling through a list of designers to approach last-minute for Kim Kelly. Kim Kelly, the actress made famous by risqué roles (read: willingness to take her clothes off anytime), was having a dress crisis. Kim was Emily’s first client after Runway and remained, to this day, her craziest. The SAG Awards were less than two weeks away, and according to Kim, the Proenza Schouler Emily had commissioned for her was a ‘total fucking nightmare.’ Nearly ten years of dressing the woman had taught her to expect this behavior at least fifty percent of the time – but she was annoyed by the total about-face. Kim had loved the dress at her first fitting a few weeks earlier, twirling in front of the three-way mirror, giggling to herself. The shoes were Chanel, the jewelry Harry Winston, and the only thing left to source was the perfect beaded clutch – hardly a difficult task. Emily’s phone buzzed with yet another hysterical text from Kim.
Will you look at this? Total fucking nightmare, Kim had written.
Emily squinted at the iPhone picture of Kim looking exactly the same in the dress as she had two weeks earlier: gorgeous. Nightmare? WTF? You look like a Disney princess, only hotter.
I look like a wildebeest. You know it, I know it, and soon everyone who watches E will know it!
Stop! This is Proenza we are talking about it. They don’t do wildebeests.
Well then they fucked up this time b/c I am huge. I can’t wear this. I won’t.
Okay, I hear you, Emily typed, although apparently she said this out loud, because one of the women sitting next to her turned and said, ‘Excuse me?’
Emily looked up. ‘What? Oh, sorry, not you. I’m not hearing you.’
The woman turned back to her friend, only now Emily couldn’t help listening. She sneaked sideways glances as both women pulled out their phones and opened their calendar apps.
‘So, yeah, it would be great to get them together. I can’t believe it took until first grade to get them in the same class! Elodie can do Wednesdays. Does that work?’
‘No, Wednesdays aren’t great. India has fencing. How are Mondays?’
‘Mmm, Mondays are tough. I have to drop my older two at swim, get back to the school to pick Elodie up from violin, and then take all three of them to this healthy-cooking class they’re taking together. What about
