When Life Gives You Lululemons (32 page)

“I'm so proud of you. Packing yourself up for the whole summer isn't easy,” she said, her voice cracking a bit. “Next summer I promise I'll be there to help.”

They said goodbye, and when the FaceTime disconnected, Karolina exhaled. She missed Harry desperately, but somehow it was easier knowing he'd be out of Graham's clutches too. Plus, getting him safely tucked away at camp was perfect timing for the rollout Emily had planned.

The makeup artist, a surprisingly unattractive, overweight woman with both bad skin and bad makeup, sighed loudly. “Please hold still. Just a bit longer.”

Karolina watched as the woman applied dots of concealer the size of marbles under her eyes and spread them around with a spackle-like tool. She tried not to stress about her too-short hair. “Isn't that, ah, a bit heavy? I mean, I know I must look tired these days, but that seems . . . I don't know . . . excessive.”

The woman said nothing.

Emily swept into the room, bringing with her the smell of cigarette smoke. “Looking good, ladies,” she said without looking.

“Really? Because I have
never
had makeup done like this,” Karolina hissed.

“That's
exactly
the point,” Emily said, hanging a half-dozen outfits on a wheeled garment rack. She held up the skirt suits one by one. Each one was a solid jewel color with a knee-length skirt and zero shape.

“They all look like something my Polish grandmother would wear to Christmas services,” Karolina persisted.

“Yes. Not a single woman in this room will be threatened by you today. And that's what matters.”

“Threatened? I may scare them!” Karolina said, now eyeing the bright rouge the woman was circling into her cheeks.

“That's fine too.”

“Seriously, Emily, this is going too far. I chopped off all my hair, like you said. I'm in full old-lady makeup. Can't I at least wear something decent? A simple dress, even?”

Emily sighed. “I can agree to Lilly Pulitzer. Nothing else, I'm afraid.”

“I cannot wear Lilly Pulitzer!” Karolina said, thinking of a recent photo of Regan and Graham at the golf club where Regan was in head-to-toe Lilly.

“Your call.” Emily shrugged.

“Hold still,” the makeup lady said with obvious irritation.

Karolina raised her eyebrows at Emily, who just laughed. “Seriously, Emily. Are you sure about all this? It seems extreme. And it makes me nervous that Graham figured out that whole thing with the ex–police officer. I just don't know if—”

“Listen!” Emily held up her hand. “Feeling over fact! No one cares what actually happened. No one cares if you're guilty or innocent. No one cares about legality and details. The only thing that matters is how they
feel
about you. How they viscerally react to you when they see you, hear you, meet you. The rest of it, for better or worse, is noise. And the sooner you accept that, the better off we'll be.”

Karolina nodded. Emily said everything with such confidence. She reminded herself that Emily was her best—and possibly only—shot.

“Okay, let's review,” Emily said. “Donna will introduce you right before lunch is served—”

“I smile in an accessible but not sexy way. I talk about how my most important job is to be a great mom, and that's exactly what I'm going to focus on, and how I want to empower other, less privileged moms toward the same goal. How's that?”

Emily was typing something into her phone. “What? Oh, good. That's good.” She looked up. “Remember: these women can sympathize with too much drinking. This is Fairfield County, Connecticut, which must have more functioning alcoholics per square foot than anywhere in the world except maybe Moscow. Don't be ashamed to admit it. But whatever you do, don't mention Graham's name! Not only are we looking to disassociate you from him, but it's too risky with this audience. Plenty of women who pretend they're liberal secretly vote Republican,
but you can't depend on it—a fair number really are bleeding hearts, even when it goes against their own financial interests. But their husbands would murder them if they knew. Basically, everyone lies. It's impossible to tell. So don't even go there, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Otherwise, I think you're ready. I called the local media; the event raises a boatload of money and they have nothing else to do. I have commitments from a few city and two national outlets who would never waste their time with this but are here because I leaked it would be your first public appearance since the arrest. So this is an opportunity to practice. Got it?”

“Yes,” Karolina said, although her stomach churned with nerves. Why was it that she could walk a catwalk in front of celebrities or half-naked, but she felt intense anxiety standing before a couple hundred housewives?

“Good. And remember: Miriam is working on getting the Breathalyzer lie debunked. But until she's there, you have to make nice with the audience. Don't admit it, but don't be confrontational and accusatory until we have proof. Okay, finish up here and put the clothes on. I'm going to check on a few things, and I'll be back in a minute.”

Karolina changed into the electric blue skirt suit, the least hideous on offer, and followed Emily down the hall to the banquet room of the Greenwich Golf and Yacht. She wondered if she was doing the right thing.

“Darling!” the blond woman in charge of the luncheon called out when she saw Karolina. “Don't you look . . . different! My, I have to say, I love what you've done with your hair.”

“You do?” Karolina asked, touching it self-consciously.

“Love.”

Karolina shot a glance to Emily, who smiled back at her knowingly.
Of course she loves it
, Emily's smile said.

“Thank you so much for having me today,” Karolina said with as much grace as she could muster. “I helped raise money for
underprivileged children in Bethesda, and it means a lot that you invited me to help out here today.”

“Oh, please. We should be thanking you,” the blond woman said, waving at the crowd, all of whom seemed to be watching from the round luncheon tables. “Your appearance filled the room.”

Karolina suffered through a few more passive-aggressive comments before the woman finally led her to a staging area with a podium.

“Ladies, may I have your attention, please?” the woman said, tapping on the microphone. “Can you hear me?”

There were murmurs and nods.

“Wonderful. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to join us for this very important lunch today. Without your continued support, we would not be able to fund our children's program so generously. Thanks to you, deserving children from less privileged families in our community and the surrounding neighborhoods have access to quality after-school care, summer camps, and nutritious meals on weekends and in the summer, when they aren't able to access their free lunches at school.”

The room clapped politely.

“Now I'm delighted to introduce you to our guest of honor. Ms. Karolina Hartwell was an accomplished fashion model, as you all know, and now she works tirelessly on behalf of underprivileged children. She is a stepmother herself, to a twelve-year-old boy, and the wife”—here she paused and looked to Karolina with a questioning expression, which Karolina pretended she didn't understand—“of the esteemed junior senator from the state of New York, Graham Hartwell. Please join me in welcoming her.”

Karolina inhaled at the sound of Graham's name—Emily would not be happy. The applause was not exactly overwhelming, but Karolina was too nervous to care.

She cleared her throat and leaned toward the microphone. Her accent became more pronounced and her voice shook when she spoke in front of crowds. The women peering up at her were all probably
thinking of Karolina, in a drunken stupor, driving their own children home.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said shakily, and immediately realized it was afternoon. “I'm honored to be invited here today. This is such a wonderful organization, and it does so much to help children. As so many of you surely know, I, um . . .” Karolina's voice cracked and she felt herself flush with embarrassment. “I have struggled myself recently. But I can promise that I'm doing everything within my power to make it right again.”

Karolina saw the women's expressions turn from suspicious to sympathetic instantaneously. She hated the idea of copping to a lie, but she trusted Emily's strategy, and she desperately hoped Miriam would find something to clear her name. She didn't know what it was, exactly—the relief she felt when she realized they didn't all hate her after all, or the embarrassment she felt at having to admit to something humiliating in front of all these people, or maybe the nerves—but the swiftness of her tears surprised her so much that she could barely speak. Her body was wracked with sobs, fat tears falling from her face directly onto the microphone. When she tried to wipe them away, her hands came away streaked in black mascara.

“I'm so sorry,” she managed to choke out just before the blond lady came rushing onstage like a flowery linebacker.

“Mrs. Hartwell, thank you so much for your honesty,” the woman said into the microphone. Then she turned to Karolina and whispered into her ear, “Why don't you head to the ladies' room for a few minutes and I'll take over here? I'll come check on you just as soon as I can.”

Karolina nodded and tried to hold her head high as she walked off the podium, but at the very last moment her heel caught the bottom step and she pitched forward. She regained her balance before she fell, but not before the entire room could see her matronly skirt tear from the slit in the back.

“I'm sorry,” she said again, louder this time since she didn't have a mic, and fled toward the back doors. She could feel the stares of two
hundred women strike into her like a laser. Thankfully the bathroom was directly outside the banquet hall and was empty when she ran in. She felt like she might throw up. Had she ever made a bigger fool of herself? For a day that was supposed to be her practice for the real thing, she had screwed it up beyond description.

Karolina forced herself to look at her reflection in the mirror as she splashed cold water on her face. To say it was a horror show was an epic understatement. Her eyes were bloodshot. Black mascara streaked down both cheeks. Her new haircut was stuck to her face from the tears and her nervous perspiration. The ridiculous round circles of blush had run into sad-clown streams.

When Emily rushed in, Karolina braced herself.

“I just, I—” And before Karolina could say another word, she dissolved into tears again.

“You bitch,” Emily said with a slow smile.

Karolina looked up. “What?”

“That was fucking brilliant, Lina! Brilliant.”

Emily was doing an actual jig in front of the sinks. “That was so well played, I don't even know what to say!” she crowed. “I mean, a tear or two—fine. But actual hysterical sobbing? That was masterful. I bow down to you.” And she did just that.

“I didn't do it on purpose,” Karolina tried to say, but it came out more like a whisper. “I just . . . lost control.”

“Yeah, I'd say so! In the best way possible at the best possible time. You're a goddess.” Emily seemed to notice Karolina trying to clean herself up and rushed over. “No, no. Don't fix it all. You look like something the cat dragged in, and that's exactly how we're going to keep it.”

“You can't possibly think I'm going back out there,” Karolina said, backing away from Emily as though she were a rabid raccoon.

“Of course you are. Come on, I'll go with you,” Emily said, and clamped her hand firmly around Karolina's forearm, walking her toward the door.

“No way. I made a complete idiot of myself! And didn't you say
New York and national media are here too?” Karolina covered her face with her free hand as they exited into the hallway. “I want to die.”

“Oh, please, stop with the dramatics. I literally couldn't have scripted it better. I'm the one who should be ashamed that I didn't think of tears first. Now you have to march back in there, take your seat, nibble your lunch, and answer all their questions as they approach you to offer their sympathy. I wasn't going to go here yet, but I think in light of the day's developments, now would be an excellent time to let slip that Graham isn't letting you see Harry. And how it's breaking your heart.”

Karolina had to run in her heels to keep up with Emily's pace. “But that's not really true,” she said. “He's not forbidding me from seeing him. I've gone to swim meets and had solo dinners with him. He's going to stay with me for the weekend after he gets home from camp.”

“Details,” Emily said, waving her hand. “I have one word, Karolina. Vasectomy. Let me do my work.”

As Emily predicted, she was practically swarmed when she returned to her table. Women crowded around her, vying for space.

“You poor thing. My mother drank too much too. Now my husband does. I can completely relate.”

“Oh my, I'm going through a divorce right now also. It's so hideous, isn't it?”

“I got a DUI when I was in college. Thank God I didn't have children yet, but I would die if my mom friends knew about it.”

Karolina nodded and tried to enjoy the sympathy. After all, she deserved it.

One gaunt woman with a traumatized expression grabbed Karolina's arm and whispered, “Whatever you do, don't give him an inch with the custody agreement. They all know that's the only thing you care about anyway.”

Emily stepped in before she could answer. “That's very good advice,” she said, apropos of nothing. “I hope you don't mind if I steal her away? Her ex-husband is trying to keep her from seeing their son, and we need to make sure she keeps her energy up for that important battle.”