Mommy Tracked (24 page)

“Was that
your
baby crying?” Fiona asked, looking aggrieved.

“I’m so sorry,” Chloe apologized. “So, so sorry. My son got wet from—” Then, thinking that it might be better not to implicate the star’s sons, Chloe veered off in another direction. “Um, well, anyway, he seems to have calmed down now, so I’ll just put him in his seat and we can continue the interview.”

“I don’t like hearing babies cry,” Fiona said sulkily. “I find it very stressful.”

Me too
, Chloe thought dully. Her ears were still buzzing from William’s screams. Although she would have expected a little more sympathy from Fiona, who was a fellow mom. Chloe wondered how Fiona had coped with her own sons when they were babies. Surely even the progeny of Hollywood film stars cried now and again. Then, remembering Katie, Chloe realized that Fiona had likely rarely, if ever, had to deal with her children when they were upset. There had probably always been someone standing nearby to whom she could pass off the baby.

Chloe gently settled William in his car seat and then returned to her chair. She switched on the tape recorder.

“So. Where were we? Oh, yes, we were talking about Brad Ford. So, um, I’ve read that there was quite a bit of chemistry between the two of you. Would you care to comment on that?” Chloe asked.

She was being delicate in how she broached this particular topic; the actual story that had been floated to the press by a disgruntled member of the crew was that Fiona and Brad had locked themselves up in Fiona’s trailer for hours on end, during which time the sound of ecstatic moaning and squealing could be heard from within. Since Fiona and Brad were both famously married to other people—Fiona to Scott Wilder, a sitcom star, Brad to Jilly Andrews, a former teen pop idol—the stories had been splashed around on the covers of the gossip magazines.

Fiona just smiled serenely. “Yes, Brad and I do have amazing chemistry, which I think really comes across in the film. Of course, there wasn’t a bit of truth to those silly rumors, but that always happens. I guess it’s more exciting to believe that two costars are sleeping together than the truth, which is that they’re just very close, platonic friends, like Brad and me.” She followed an eye roll with her trademark America’s Sweetheart grin. It was an effective combination.

“What’s your next project?” Chloe pressed on.

“I’m about to start work on—” But before Fiona could finish, William, already tired of his car seat, began to mewl unhappily. He wasn’t particularly loud about it—especially considering that for such a small baby, he had an extraordinary capacity for volume—but even so, the smile on Fiona’s face vanished and was replaced by a thunderous scowl. Chloe cringed and lunged toward her baby.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she muttered to Fiona. Chloe moved William’s seat closer to her chair and rocked it back and forth, which lulled William into a dazed stupor. As soon as Chloe stopped rocking, William’s eyes snapped open. Before he could start crying again, Chloe quickly began rocking him again. Fiona stared at her, expressions of distaste and disbelief mingled on her lovely face. Chloe colored. This was not going well.

“Um. So. You were saying? About your next project?” Chloe said.

“What’s that on your shirt?” Fiona asked, pointing at Chloe.

Chloe looked down and saw that her milk—which apparently began flowing in response to William’s cries—had begun leaking. Two large wet circles were bleeding onto the only dry part of her already soggy blue oxford shirt. How could she have forgotten to stick in her breast pads?
How?
When she glanced back up at Fiona Watson, she saw that the actress had turned paper white.

“Is that…is that…
breast milk
?” Fiona whispered.

“Yes, I’m sorry. It happens sometimes when he cries.”

“Eww! That’s disgusting!” Fiona said, with her famous nose wrinkle.

“Well, it’s just breast milk,” Chloe said apologetically, wishing desperately that the conversation could get off the topic of her lactation.

“You have to leave.” Fiona pointed a thin finger at the door.

“What?”

“I can’t have
that
”—Fiona made a vague gesture in the general direction of Chloe’s breasts—“near me.” She looked revolted, as though she might start vomiting at any minute.

“Can we just get through a few more questions?” Chloe asked. She couldn’t leave now. She hadn’t gotten nearly enough material for her story. Maia would never again entrust her with a big story. “I’ll change my shirt if it makes you more comfortable.”

“I can not have someone doing…doing…
that
near me!” Fiona was now so upset, her voice cracked.

“But…but…,” Chloe stuttered. She felt like she’d been struck dumb with mortification. And then, even worse, she let out a small gulp of nervous laughter. It was just so ridiculous—freaking out about
breast milk
. It wasn’t like she had plutonium leaking out of her breasts.

Fiona gasped, and two bright spots of red appeared on her cheeks. “How dare you laugh at me,” she hissed.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” Chloe said immediately. “I’m sorry, it was just a reflex, and—”

But Fiona didn’t let her finish. “Get out!” the actress shrieked. She smacked her hand against the wall with a loud thud. William started at the noise and began to cry, and Chloe could feel her milk-swollen breasts respond again with a warm prickle.

“What’s going on in here?” Faber and Nanette had appeared instantly, standing side by side at the door, wearing identical expressions of concern.

“Get her out of here! Now!” Fiona screeched. Her blue eyes bugged out and her lips were stretched back, toadlike. Suddenly, she didn’t look beautiful at all—in fact, she looked slightly deranged.

“Nanette, call security,” Faber said authoritatively. He stepped forward to take Chloe’s arm. William began to cry even louder.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll go,” Chloe said. Faber’s grip on her arm was so tight, it was starting to hurt.

“Make her take that horrible baby with her too!” Fiona screeched, trying to make herself heard over William’s screams, which was no small feat.

“Like I’d leave him here,” Chloe muttered. Hot, angry tears burned in her eyes as she leaned down and picked up William in his car seat. Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she marched out of the room.

Later that afternoon, after Chloe got William bathed, fed, and tucked into his crib, she poured herself a glass of wine and collapsed on the sofa. She’d never been so tired in her life. Of course, William had slept like an angel the entire way back home, which Chloe supposed was a good thing, but she couldn’t help feeling a tad resentful.

Sure, now he sleeps
, she thought.

Chloe had assumed that after she had William, going back to work wouldn’t be that hard. She already worked from home and had a career that allowed her to keep flexible hours. Chloe had figured that it would just be a matter of being disciplined about sitting down at her computer every afternoon when William drifted off to sleep. Instead, on her first postpartum work assignment, she’d manage to humiliate herself in front of one of Hollywood’s biggest stars and entourage before being escorted out of the Breakers by hotel security. And while Chloe had tried to explain that she hadn’t done anything wrong, that the actress had a bizarre phobia of breast milk, security hadn’t been won over by this argument. If anything, they’d hustled her out that much faster.

And, typical me, I let them, rather than standing up for myself
, Chloe thought bitterly.

Chloe now rested her bare feet on the edge of the coffee table. As she did so, she noticed that the glass top of the table was smudged. In her former, premommy days, Chloe would have leapt up for the Windex, but right now she was just too freaking tired to move. The smudge would have to stay for the time being.

Chloe reached into her pocket and withdrew a tube of lipstick. Her stomach pitched guiltily as she stared down at it. On her way home from the interview, Chloe had stopped at Publix to purchase the wine. While she was in the grocery store, she had—on impulse—pocketed the lipstick. It was a vampy red, a shade she’d never have the nerve to wear, not that she planned to. She would have tossed it in the Goodwill collection box on her way home, but William got fussy at the store and Chloe thought she’d better not stop.

But why had she done it? Why was she stealing again? She’d been doing so well—she hadn’t even had the impulse to shoplift anything since the day she had taken the cherry shoes. And then, out of the blue, the urge had hit her.
Is it stress-related?
she wondered.

Or maybe
, she thought with a dull wave of self-loathing,
I’m just a really terrible person. Other women are able to keep it together, and juggle babies and marriages and husbands, without screwing up their jobs or going on a crime spree. How do they do it? And why can’t I?

Then Chloe remembered Juliet’s offer to give her some pointers on balancing work with motherhood. Chloe had never brought up the subject to Juliet again, but now, she knew, it was time. She needed help.

She finished her glass of wine and picked up the phone and dialed information. A moment later, she was being connected to the law firm of Little & Frost.

“May I speak to Juliet Cole, please? This is Chloe Truman.”

“Hello, Juliet Cole.” Juliet’s voice was clipped. Chloe, realizing too late that she was catching Juliet at a busy time, suddenly wished she hadn’t called.

“Hi, Juliet, it’s Chloe.”

“Hey, Chloe, what’s up?” Juliet asked. She sounded distracted, her voice edged with tension, and Chloe almost lost her nerve. But then she looked at the lipstick, standing on end on the coffee table, and pushed ahead.

“I need some help,” Chloe admitted.

Juliet was quiet while Chloe recounted the aborted interview with Fiona Watson.

“Jesus Christ. She freaked out over a little breast milk?” Juliet said.

“She acted like it was toxic. Like it was poison, instead of milk.”

“So what do you need my help with? I don’t think you have a cause of action against the hotel, unless the guards hurt you when they escorted you out. And even then—”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to sue anyone. That’s not why I called.” Chloe hesitated, but then, feeling emboldened by the wine, she continued. “I need to learn how to handle situations like that. Working and being a mom and being bullied by people. I know you’re busy, and I know this sort of thing probably comes easy to you, and I know it’s a huge imposition, and I’m so sorry for that, but please—I just need a few pointers.”

“Well, first of all, you don’t put up with shit like that. I don’t care if the woman is a big star, you shouldn’t let anyone treat you like that,” Juliet said.

“But how?”

“You have to be more assertive. Stop saying everything as though it’s a question. Stop apologizing for taking up space.”

“Do I do that?”

“Constantly.”

“Oh, sorry—oops! I did it again, didn’t I? Sorry,” Chloe said. She shook her head and clapped a hand against her forehead. “I can’t seem to stop.”

“And that’s just the beginning. Look, I’ll tell you what—are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Chloe said.

“Let’s meet at the Dolphin Street Café. I’ll give you some tips, and we’ll figure out how to get back at that Fiona chick.”

“Really?” Chloe asked. She felt such a rush of relief that her voice cracked.

“Yes, really. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Juliet said.

And despite everything that had happened that day, when Chloe hung up the phone, she felt better than she had in a long time. Or at least she did right up until her gaze fell on the lipstick again, and a fresh wave of shame rolled over her.

thirteen

Grace

S
he’d lost eleven
pounds!

Grace hugged her arms around herself and did a little jig of happiness right there on the scale. Thank God for her Miracle Diet Tea! It really worked! Which made it all worthwhile: the headaches, the dizziness and, yes, okay, the occasional feeling that her heart was racing so fast it was going to explode. Really. She could handle a headache and the occasional discomfort if it meant that she might finally be thin.

“Mom.” Molly was standing at the bathroom door. She looked at her mother curiously. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just weighing myself.”

“Oh, let me,” Molly said.

Grace stepped off the scale, and Molly stepped on.

“Fifty-two pounds,” Grace announced.

Molly frowned. “That seems like an awful lot.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re the perfect weight.”

But Molly smoothed her hands down over her bottom—a gesture, Grace recognized with a twinge of discomfort, that she herself often made, when checking to see if her ass fat was disappearing—and announced, “I’m fat.”

Grace stared at her oldest daughter. “You are
not
fat.”

“I have a big butt,” Molly insisted. “And my stomach sticks out.”

“It does not!” Grace protested. Molly was only five. Surely, she was too young to be worrying about this.

“Mm-hmm. Hannah is too. She’s even fatter than me. I was just telling her that. That’s why you and Dad always call her Chugs.”

Grace gaped at her daughter.

“Hannah is not fat! And Daddy and I call her Chugs as a
nickname
, as an
endearment
. The same way we call you Monkey. We don’t think you really look like a monkey; it’s just because you were always getting into everything when you were a baby and first starting to crawl,” Grace explained. She sat down on the edge of the tub and took her daughter by the shoulders. “Molly. Sweetheart. You are not fat. You’re perfect just as you are. So is Hannah.”

“But Hannah’s stomach sticks out even more than mine.”

“That’s because she’s a little girl. All little girls have tummies that stick out.”

“Not Emma and Izzy. They’re skinny.”

Just like their mother
, Grace thought. Juliet was an ectomorph, and her twin daughters clearly took after her.

Molly seemed to be reading her thoughts. “When I grow up, will I have a big butt like you? I hope not. But I wouldn’t mind having big boobs, although maybe not as big as yours.”

“You think my butt looks big?” Grace asked anxiously. She stood up and faced away from the bathroom mirror, craning her neck around to get a look at her bottom. “You think I look fat?”

“A little,” Molly said with the cruel honesty of a five-year-old. “But don’t worry. Mommies should be fat. It makes them better at cuddling. I bet Emma and Izzy’s mom isn’t any good at cuddling.”

And then Molly skipped out of the bathroom, while Grace continued to peer at her reflection, shifting from side to side to see just how enormous her ass really was.

“Have you slept with him yet?” Juliet asked Anna.

Anna shook her head. “No.”

“Why not?” Grace asked.

“For one thing, I don’t remember
how
to have sex,” Anna said.

“Me neither,” Chloe said gloomily.

Juliet, Anna, Chloe, and Grace were at the fountain park on Ocean View Drive, sitting at a picnic table shaded by a hardwood arbor. They sipped the iced coffee Anna had picked up for everyone at Dunkin’ Donuts and watched their children streak around through the large jets of water shooting out of the ground. Molly—who, as eldest, considered herself in charge of the others—was trying to boss around Charlie and Hannah, who mostly just ignored her. The twins were setting beach balls on the water jets when they got low and then screeching with laughter when the water suddenly shot back up, rocketing the balls into the air. The two babies, William and Natalie, napped in their infant car seats on the shaded ground by the table.

“You’re not supposed to have sex,” Grace told Chloe. “In fact, it’s our obligation as your sisters-in-arms to tell you the truth about postpartum sex: Don’t do it.”

Chloe laughed.

“I’m serious,” Grace continued. She began ticking off the reasons on her fingers. “One, you’re exhausted; two, you’re sore; and three, you’re leaking milk. You shouldn’t even think about it until William is three months old. And even then I don’t advise it. Better to put it off indefinitely.”

“My doctor said six weeks,” Chloe said.

“Well, he lied. Trust me. No one but another mother is going to tell you the truth about these things. Forget sex, and, oh, you’re probably going to hate your husband for a while,” Grace continued.

“What?” Chloe looked startled. “I don’t hate James.”

“Sure, you do,” Grace said cheerfully.

“No, I don’t.”

“All new mothers hate their partners in the short term. How can you not? You’re lucky to get in a shower, and they’re off every morning, wearing real clothes and going out to nice lunches. The bastards,” Grace added.

“I didn’t hate Patrick,” Juliet said.

“Yes, well, you were the one with the nice clothes and lunches out. He was the one stuck home with a screaming baby—make that two screaming babies. He probably hated you.”

“I hated Brad.” Anna shrugged. “Hell, who could blame me? And as for sex, I had five stitches with Charlie.” At this, they all shuddered. “Even if Brad and I hadn’t split up, I wouldn’t have wanted him anywhere near that.”

They all looked at Juliet.

“Jesus Christ. You know I hate talking about personal crap. And I’m certainly not going to tell you about my sex life,” she said, exasperated.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Grace said, nudging Juliet under the table with one sandaled foot. “You don’t have to share your feelings, heaven forbid. Just tell us if your sex drive went down.”

Juliet rolled her eyes. “Well, no,” she conceded. “It really didn’t. But I didn’t breast-feed. And I did have a C-section, after all, so there weren’t any stitches to worry about. At least, not at any access points.”

The other women laughed at this.

“Three months? Really?” Chloe said, her brow puckering. “I don’t know if James can make it that long. I was on pelvic rest for the last three months of my pregnancy. It’s been a long time.”

“Tell him to suck it up and be a man,” Grace advised her. “Besides, that’s what the shower’s there for.”

“Nice,” Juliet commented.

“But you have no excuse,” Grace said, turning on Anna. “So why haven’t you slept with Noah yet?”

“We haven’t really had the opportunity. We’ve gone out to dinner a few times, but I’ve always had to go home to Charlie afterward.” Anna shrugged again. “Noah came over to our house to watch movies one night, but I felt weird doing anything there, with Charlie in the next room. I swear, it’s like being in high school again, what with the out-of-control hormones and zero privacy,” Anna continued.

“You could leave Charlie with your mom overnight and stay at a hotel,” Grace suggested.

“Actually, tonight—” Anna began, but then she blushed and stopped.

“What?” Grace asked. “Oh! You mean…tonight is the big night?”

Anna nodded, and flushed an even darker red. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Excellent,” Grace said with relish. “Take notes. I’m living vicariously through you, and I want all of the details.”

Anna looked at Grace, her eyebrows arched.

“My no-personal-details rule is looking better and better, isn’t it?” Juliet said.

“Yes, it is,” Anna said.

“Give us something. Are you going to a hotel?” Grace asked.

“No. I’m staying over at Noah’s house,” Anna said. “And to be honest, I’m nervous. I wasn’t even sure I’d remember how to use my diaphragm, so I practiced putting it in and taking it out last night.”

“Why don’t you just use a condom? You can practice the Kiss and Roll technique we learned at the MCT meeting,” Juliet suggested.

“That might be a little much for the first time, don’t you think?” Anna said. “I always thought it was better to save the inventive stuff for when things were getting routine.”

“That’s true. You don’t want to set the bar too high,” Juliet said.

Suddenly there was a loud shriek, different from the background noise of shouts and squeals as the children darted in and out of the fountains. It was a cry of unhappiness, of pain, the sort of cry that caused every parent in the park to immediately look up sharply, eyes searching to account for their own child.

“Mom! Mom! Hannah fell!” It was Molly, running toward her mother. Grace looked for Hannah—who had fallen on the water-slicked ground and was now sobbing and clutching at her elbow—and quickly stood up. Too quickly. Suddenly, a horrifying dizziness washed over Grace, and her vision blurred and dissolved into tiny specks of light. She grabbed the edge of the picnic table to steady herself, and even then, she wasn’t sure that she’d keep her balance. Her legs felt wobbly, and she wondered distantly if she was about to fall.

“Grace?” Anna’s voice—sharp, nervous—echoed near her.

“Are you okay?” This time it was Chloe, sounding anxious.

Grace blinked, and her vision came back, although it was blurred at the edges.

“I’ll get Hannah,” Juliet said, swinging her long legs over the built-in bench and striding off toward the fountains, where the little girl was still sitting and crying.

“Sit down, right here.” It was Anna again, now standing next to Grace—
How had she moved so quickly?
Grace wondered—taking her hand and guiding her down onto the bench. “Lean over and put your head between your knees.”

“What does that do?” Chloe asked.

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with someone who’s about to pass out? Actually, now I’m not so sure. Grace, honey, maybe you should sit back up,” Anna said.

“Do you feel sick?” Chloe asked.

“No. Well, a little, I guess. Just give me a minute. Hannah?” Grace’s voice sounded weak and far away to her own ears. And for a minute she thought she might be sick; her mouth tasted unpleasantly metallic.

“She’s fine. Juliet has her, and she’s smiling now. In fact, there she goes; she’s running off to play with the other girls. The crisis has passed,” Anna said.

Grace opened her eyes. Even with her sunglasses on, the sun seemed unbearably bright. She squinted until her eyes focused and she could ascertain that her two older daughters were indeed fine. Hannah and Molly had gone back to running around the jets of water, laughing and shrieking as they played. She looked for Nat, who was still dozing contentedly in her car seat.

Juliet joined the others and fixed Grace with a penetrating look. “What was that all about?”

“I’m fine. I just felt light-headed for a minute,” Grace said blearily.

“You don’t look fine,” Juliet said.

“You said you’ve been having a lot of headaches lately too,” Anna said, frowning.

“Just a few,” Grace said.

“I think you should see a doctor about this. You shouldn’t let it go,” Anna said.

“I bet it’s that diet you’re on,” Juliet said. “You’ve hardly been eating anything lately.”

“I know! Have you noticed how much weight I’ve lost?” Grace asked proudly. “Eleven pounds in a month! I can almost get into my skinny jeans, and I haven’t worn those since 1994, right after I had mono.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy,” Chloe said, frowning. “I thought you were only supposed to lose one pound a week.”

“It’s
not
healthy,” Juliet said.

“Grace, why don’t I drive you and the girls home?” Anna suggested. “You can pick up your minivan later when you’re feeling better.”

“They won’t all fit in your wagon. Some of you will have to go with me,” Juliet said.

“It’s okay. Really, I’m fine. And I can drive,” Grace protested.

“I know. Do it for my sake, so I don’t worry,” Anna suggested.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Chloe chimed in. “What if you get dizzy again while you’re driving?”

“Well…I really think you guys are making too big a deal out of this,” Grace said, hesitating. The truth was, she had been feeling dizzy a lot lately. More than she’d told anyone, even Louis.
Especially
Louis.

“Forget it, Grace. There’s not a chance in hell we’re letting you drive yourself home,” Juliet said.

“Bossy pants,” Grace said, borrowing her daughters’ favorite insult.

“Bossy I can live with. You plowing your minivan into oncoming traffic with your three children strapped in the back, I can’t,” Juliet said with a shrug.

The image caused Grace’s mouth to go dry with fear. “You really don’t mind dropping us off?”

“Not at all,” Anna assured her. “Here, give me your keys. I’ll go move the girls’ car seats over. Who’s going with me, and who’s going with Juliet?”

Later that afternoon, while Hannah and Natalie were napping, and Molly was in her room playing, and Louis was outside mowing the grass, Grace made herself a cup of Miracle Diet Tea and sat down at the kitchen table to work on the upcoming fund-raiser MCT was holding for the Starfish House.

Plans for the charity luncheon were coming along. Saks had agreed to host the group and was even putting on a fashion show and offering free makeovers. They’d put Grace in touch with a caterer who had worked events for Saks before, and she’d picked a menu of seared beef tenderloin on a bed of greens for the main course and gourmet chocolate cupcakes for dessert. Jana Mallin and Val Metcalf were working on getting local businesses to make contributions in return for ad space in the program. If they sold fifty tickets, at one hundred dollars apiece, they’d make a profit of—Grace punched numbers into her calculator—at least $3,750 to go toward the new furniture for the common room at the Starfish House.

Excellent
, she thought with satisfaction.
And we’ll make even more than that if we can drum up interest with the local businesses. I’ll have to send an e-mail to Jana to see if she’s had any luck.