Amanda waited with bated breath for Pippa and Sadie to return home from their first day of school. She was not worried about Sadie, who was totally agreeable, but about Pippa, who was not. She put the odds of her walking through the door happy at about four percent. Amanda’s dad saw her pacing and consoled her, “It’s OK, Mandy. You did the right thing. We did OK on our own, didn’t we?”
It was meant to make her feel better, but it did the opposite. She never wanted her kids to be children of divorce like she was. It was one of the reasons she had stuck it out for so long with Carson. Her initial impetus for running east was to let them take some time off for mental health and to pull them out of the spotlight, but her lawyer decimated that idea before they even got their luggage at the airport. She called Amanda straight away, in response to the email Amanda had sent her from the plane. She didn’t even say hello.
“Amanda! What, are you crazy? You’re not allowed to run off to New York with your kids. Your domicile is in California. Carson could say you kidnapped them! Come back and file a motion for relocation!”
The luggage on the carousel seemed to be going in one direction, and Amanda’s head in the other. She had not slept one minute on that plane. No way was she turning around and going back. She hung up and called her husband at the hotel where he was hiding. She knew from years of experience that she was well within his window of remorse—that short time after an altercation during which she would have the upper hand. She imagined this particular window to be akin to the observation deck atop the Empire State Building, given the circumstances.
“Carson. I thought, considering the paparazzi swarming outside of our house, it was smart to take the kids to my dad’s for a bit. I’m sure you agree it’s what’s best for them.”
It was very early in LA, and between that and the fact that she wasn’t screaming at him, she found him to be quite docile. He almost sounded beaten. She knew better than to think it would last.
“What about school?” he asked.
She thought on her feet. “I’ll sign them up in Hudson Valley for a few weeks.”
“You can do that?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“OK, just until this blows over.”
The fact that he thought this was something to blow over enraged Amanda. But she kept her eye on the prize, strategically adding, “Can you email me a note for the school? Something like, I give permission for my children Sadie and Pippa Cole to enroll in the Hudson Valley school system?”
“Of course, I’ll do it when we hang up.”
“Perfect, thank you,” she said, ending the call before things could go south.
Kidnapping, my ass, she’d thought. It may have been the most civil conversation they ever had. The front door swung open. The girls were home.
It was Pippa who entered the kitchen first, doing her very best to suppress a smile. She lost the battle: a huge grin covered her face.
“There are auditions for the Shakespeare troupe after school tomorrow. They’re putting on Measure for Measure. Will we be here long enough?”
Amanda could not believe what she was hearing. Since birth, it was quite obvious that Pippa was a natural actress. They would marvel about how she could turn it on and off in an instant. She was the poster child for Drama Queen in a way that was instinctive, yet totally in her control. But anytime Amanda suggested she take an acting class or audition for something at school, Pippa had shut her down. Amanda was never sure if it was just typical daughter-mother defiance or a child not wanting to be in the family business, but Pippa would never even consider it. Amanda knew she should just answer the question, but that motherly need to know won out.
“Sure, we can be. But, I’m curious, why the change of heart about acting?” She wanted to grab the words back as soon as they left her lips, a reaction she was experiencing more and more now that Pippa was a teenager.
“I don’t know. It seemed so different from at home.” She looked at her grandpa to explain. “Back home everyone wants to be an actress. And even at school, if I tried out for something, I would be trying out as the big producer Carson Cole’s daughter. Here I’ll just be the new girl.”
She looked back at her mom. “It’s cool.” She placed a piece of paper on the table. “Here’s the permission slip and parent volunteer stuff. You can volunteer if you want. I don’t mind.”
Wow, Amanda thought, on so many levels.
Pippa grabbed a few cookies from the table, freshly baked by Eliza.
“I’m gonna go read the script.”
“Do you want me to come up and run lines with you for the audition?” Amanda asked, hopefully.
“Please, no,” Pippa replied with her usual disgust.
And she’s back, Amanda thought.
Her easy child, Sadie, piped in with a mouth full of cookie. “Mommy, did you make these? They are so delicious, thank you.”
Amanda just smiled, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to give up the admiration in her daughter’s eyes.
“You want some milk?”
“Yes, please.”
They sat together at the same kitchen table where Amanda had sat at Sadie’s age, telling tales of her day to her own mother and, later, to her father. He had tried his best to get home early enough to be both a mom and a dad to Amanda. She remembered the pain that she felt when her parents first separated. She looked for it in Sadie. So far, she only saw a spirited resilience.
“Can I go watch TV?” she blurted, little pieces of cookie spraying from her mouth. They both laughed.
“Of course. Go on, honey.” Sadie hugged her before she ran off, two more cookies in hand. Amanda picked up the volunteer form and glanced at it.
“I’m going to Eliza’s!” she shouted out to her dad, as she had a zillion times before.
Across the street, Eliza was sitting at her desk, trolling her site and eating her “breakfast.” Activity on the bulletin board had been growing in leaps and bounds since Eliza’s fictional post had stirred things up. In comparison, the Valley Girls posts seemed disingenuous. Eliza spent a lot of her not-so-precious time lately comparing the two, and although she knew she wasn’t completely objective, she enjoyed scrolling through her own site much more. Valley Girls seemed to be made up of lots of new mothers asking rookie questions of other new mothers. The greatest example being:
My son just fell and is bleeding profusely. What should I do?
Their responses were even more comedic, as if they believed that nearly every problem could be cured by squirting a little breast milk on it or rubbing on some coconut oil. And some of the anonymous posts felt more like posturing than sincerely engaging with the community:
My husband wants to try breastfeeding. Should I let him?
In contrast, the anonymous posts on the Hudson Valley Ladies’ Bulletin Board, which proved to be the key to catapulting the conversation out of the Dark Ages, were smart and often made her laugh out loud.
Does anyone else feel like they have sexual chemistry with Bart, the guy behind the deli counter at the Stop & Shop?
General consensus: Yes!
Favorite comment: “I love when he says, ‘I have your pound of meat right here.’”
Do I have to go with my husband for my bitchy mother-in-law’s birthday visit every year? He always says “This could be her last!”
General consensus: Mixed.
Favorite comment: “It depends. Are you her health proxy?”
Even some of the regular posts seemed more brazen:
Looking for ways to spice up my sex life. Any suggestions?
Favorite comment: “C-O-C-O-N-U-T.”
Followed by an ambiguous: If you know, you know.
According to the whopping 163 comments that followed, no one knew. Finally, the commenter returned to explain that she moves her hips in the direction of the letters during sex and it drives her husband crazy.
There were also posts that reminded her of the reason she started the bulletin board to begin with—to harness the collective power of the women in her community. Last month they organized a meal train for the family of a woman recovering from heart surgery. And today a post about a missing dog named Truffles Goldstein was getting a lot of attention.
Eliza was knee-deep in the dog post when Amanda interrupted her. She had barged into Eliza’s house, knocking with one hand while letting herself in with her spare key with the other. She yelled from the foyer, “Eliza! Where are you? Are you alone?”
“I’m upstairs with my lover—a breakfast burrito.”
Amanda took the stairs two at a time. Being in her childhood home, and Eliza’s, was infusing her with a long-lost and deeply satisfying sense of nostalgia. Quite a miracle really, since she was in the middle of the biggest crisis of her adult life. She found her friend at the computer, her mouth full of tortilla, eggs, and avocado.
“Eliza, it’s four o’clock.”
“Well, I just got out of bed.”
“That’s not good—even though your FOGO is as much of a comfort to me as that burrito is to you.”
Eliza laughed. “Why, because I’m always here when you need me?”
“Exactly. The cookies were a big hit, by the way. They won’t be happy coming home to store-bought anymore.”
“Well, not to worry. I send batches up to school for the twins and their friends weekly. I am happy to add in more for your girls.”
Amanda held up the volunteer form for Pippa’s play.
“Good. Should I sign up for snack volunteer?”
“That would be me volunteering, no? Find something that you enjoy. This may be the perfect distraction for you.”
Eliza grabbed the sheet and skimmed it. Amanda already had and was cautiously excited about the last bolded request.
“Look here.” She pointed to it for Eliza to read.
“You know it’s Pippa who will be in the play, not you, right?”
“Yes, I’m very happy for her. Read the last part.”
She complied, reading it out loud for effect: “As many of you know, my usual AD is out on maternity leave. We are looking for a parent with theater experience for the assistant director position. Any takers?”
Amanda did her best soft-shoe, followed by jazz hands. “Ta-da!”
Eliza laughed. “It sounds perfect, Mandy. Now let’s just hope Pippa gets a part.”
That was not a worry for Amanda. She responded confidently, “Pippa will get the lead!”