Totlandia: Summer (14 page)

If they find sex and politics so titillating, they should open their eyes to what’s happening right under their pretty little noses,
Kimberley thought.
With any luck, I’ll be able to bring Bettina Connaught Cross’s reign of terror to an end for us all.

Only three of the lockers held personal items. Kimberley recognized Andy’s gym bag immediately. Unzipping it, she took a moment to sniff his soccer jersey. As tempted as she was to take it, she knew that doing so would defeat the task at hand:

Taking Bettina down.

She hadn’t heard a peep from Andy since the day she saw him drive off after Bettina. Nor had he answered any of her texts imploring him to get in touch with her.

Really, was Bettina such a great lay? Surely his iPhone held the answer.

She found it buried in one of the bag’s deeper pockets. Bingo. It wasn’t locked with a security code.

Quickly she scrolled through his camera roll. Seeing photos of all his conquests since their liaison made her tear up. She was relieved that she didn’t recognize any of the women’s faces. Then again, how could she? He had angled his camera so that the focus was on their bare asses as opposed to their faces, which could be seen further in the background, either in profile, or from the backs of their heads.

Ah yes, Bettina was in there, too.

Staring at her fearless leader’s comely backside, the first thing that came to mind was that Bettina must have been skipping her Pilates class. Otherwise she wouldn’t be sporting quite so much cellulite.

She forwarded the jpeg to her own cell phone.

Five shots later, she found herself staring at her own bum, in living color as it were—bright red.

Her smile in the photo was practically giddy.

She knew she should be ashamed. Still, she couldn’t help but be proud of the fact that her ass looked
so cute and tiny.
All that circuit training had certainly paid off.

She emailed the picture to her cell phone.

Then she deleted everyone’s pictures but hers.

Maybe he’d be livid enough to seek her out and demand retribution, so to speak. Anything that brought them face-to-face was fine by Kimberley. In fact, if he wanted to rebuild his collection, he could start with some new shots of her.

She was still smiling as she went out to join the rest of the mothers readying the usual lunchtime feast for their tots before taking them home for naps.

12:16 p.m.

When Bettina was to think of the incident afterward, she’d note its similarity to the scariest scene in the Hitchcock movie
The Birds,
when one by one the crows landed on the playground climbing gym.

Only instead of winged creatures, the scourge befalling the Pacific Heights Moms & Tots Club was even more ominous:

“Hobos!”

When the PHM&T moms entered the Moscone Center tot lot, Bettina had noticed the trio of homeless holed up in one of the far corner tables, but thought nothing of it.
Too bad last year’s anonymous petition to fence off Pacific Heights and all neighborhoods north of it had found no supporters among the city’s supervisors,
she thought.

Only when one of the Threesies mothers pulled a fruit salad from her Whole Foods bag did it occur to Bettina that the number of indigents in their midst had grown to eight—a veritable army of them.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose as the first shuffled over. Meekly he asked, “Please, lady, can you spare half a sandwich?”

The Threesies moms glanced at each other uneasily.

“Sure, why not,” Lorna’s voice rang out from the next table over.

How dare she?
thought Bettina. But before she could say anything, the mother scooped some into a paper bowl and handed it to the man.

Jillian Frederick handed one of the other indigents a sandwich.

One of the Foursies moms was about to do the same when Bettina demanded, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Everyone froze. All eyes turned to Bettina.

The slight smile on Lorna’s lips stopped her cold.

Watch what you say,
she thought.
Because anything you say or do will be used against you in Ally Thornton’s court of law.

After a long pause, she said through gritted teeth, “Begging is not a trait we want to teach our children, now is it? We all rise to our optimum level—or fall to it.”

The other moms gasped.

“I would think, though, that charity is something we’d all want them to learn,” Lorna countered. “What better example than the one we set for them by sharing our food with those less fortunate?”

Bettina glared at her. “Perhaps when they’re older, and can determine the difference between those who are truly needy and those who are simply shiftless.”

Lorna shook her head in disbelief. “Bettina, look at this poor man. It’s obvious he hasn’t had a real meal in a long time! If he’s not needy, then who is?”

Bettina’s eyes narrowed. “Your misguided attempt at generosity is duly noted.”

“Why would you call it misguided?” Jillian asked.

Enough with these fools,
Bettina fumed. “There are homeless shelters and soup kitchens for this kind of thing. What this—this
man
is doing is outright pandering, which is illegal, by the way! Why, I wouldn’t spare a crumb for any of these bums! That would make me…”

“Kind?” murmured one mother, somewhere in the crowd.

“Considerate?” another stated pointedly.

“Human?” a third mother declared.

The audacity of these so-called friends to question her!

Livid, Bettina scanned the faces of her rank and file. With her head held high, she declared, “No!
Soft.
”

She saw it in their eyes:
No one would ever consider Bettina soft
.

Or, for that matter, kind, considerate, or human.

So that’s Lorna’s little game—to shame me, and everyone else, into kowtowing to her homeless dinner idea.

The realization made Bettina angry—enough so, that she stormed over to the homeless man and shouted, “Out! Scat!
Now!
”

Reluctantly, he took a step back—

And tripped over a tricycle.

As he fell backward, he hit his head on a concrete bench.

One of the other homeless—a woman—screamed at the top of her lungs.

Mothers with crying toddlers and indigents alike scurried away. Only Bettina’s pointed glare kept the Top Moms from joining the mass exodus.

Sally stared down at the unconscious man. “Bettina, shouldn’t you give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation or something?”

Mallory craned her neck. “Better yet, let’s bury him, in the deep end of the sandbox. It’s at least as tall as my Angus. I know, because last week I had to dig him out.”

Just then, an ambulance pulled to the corner, quashing all hope of carrying out Mallory’s scheme.

“It’s too late to bury the bum,” Bettina muttered.

She watched Lorna as she flagged down the med techs. Obviously her sister-in-law had dialed 911. Only the fact that there were too many witnesses around saved her sister-in-law from joining the hobo in a sandy grave.

Tonight, after she paid for the bum’s emergency room bill, she’d send around an email to club members, reassuring them that he was “recovering nicely from a tiny bump on his head, in the hospital’s Connaught Suite of private rooms,” and reminding them that “as our esteemed Professor Pudberry would say, ‘all’s well that ends well.’”

She’d end the note making it clear that signing up for Lorna’s damned homeless meal project was not only mandatory, but appreciated by her and the rest of the Top Moms Committee. “Remember: we should do our utmost to be tolerant of those who are less fortunate than ourselves.”

She looked around for Jade, who had skedaddled with the rest of the cowards. Later tonight she’d call her to see what progress had been made with Ally.

If there had been none, then there was nothing left to do but bide her time until she was slapped with a lawsuit.

The thought made her want to throw up.

I’m a bundle of nerves,
she realized.
I need a release.

She couldn’t wait for Art to get home so that she could take it out on him, one stroke at a time.

Thursday, 11 July

8:14 p.m.

After twelve Tinder dates, Jade had learned to establish some unbreakable rules.

Rule Number One: meet at Campus Bar, on Chestnut. Granted, it was a dive, but it was also within walking distance of her home. That way, if the guy was a pig, she could cut out the back door. On the other hand, if he was worthy of a hookup, the walk of shame would be his to take.

Rule Number Two: show up early enough to get in a couple of martinis before Mr. Right Now arrived. A mild state of inebriation left her open to suggestion, which always pleased Mr. Right Now.

Rule Number Three: get rid of the guy before Reggie came home from his jog.

Over the past few weeks, they’d both done their best to avoid each other. For Reggie, it meant taking long jogs beyond the Marina—through Crissy Field and, on certain days, over the Golden Gate Bridge, perhaps as far as Sausalito and back. His runs usually took place in the evenings, allowing him to catch the last rays of the day, tanning his skin to a golden bronze. The few times their paths crossed in the cottage hallway, she couldn’t help but notice the changes in his body. He’d always been slim, but now he was toned, too.

If she wasn’t entertaining some guy in her room, she’d grab a bottle of vodka to take it up there with her. Each sip helped her forget that Bettina was still hounding her to snuggle up to Ally.

If only Ally would forgive her. She missed Ally terribly.

She missed Jillian and Lorna, too. Sure they were polite when she tried to make small talk at club meet-ups, but the warmth was gone from their voices, and the inviting twinkle from their eyes.

On the other hand, Kimberley was doing her best to be her bestie. If only Kimberley wasn’t always suggesting that the Savitches double-date with her and Brady.

Jade was running out of excuses as to why it would never happen.

In the weeks since she’d moved out of the house, Jade’s and Brady’s paths only crossed when she picked up Oliver for the PHM&T play dates, and when he retrieved their son, later the same afternoon. She knew him well enough to recognize the innate sadness in him. Was this an indication that there was trouble in the paradise he expected from Ally?

She got her answer one morning when she overheard Brady arguing with someone on the phone: something about the purchasing of Ally’s old company, Foot Fetish, and how he never wanted her to know he’d done it.

Or as he put it: “She’ll hate me, regardless. When she gets the offer to run it as part owner, at least she’ll be happy, and that’s all that matters.”

Jade walked out of the house before he knew she was even there. Five minutes later she rang his doorbell—several times, in fact—to let him know she’d finally arrived. As he gathered Oliver and his gear, the conversation played through her mind.

Although he won’t take credit for it, he wants to ensure her happiness,
she thought.

Yes, he was passionate when they were in bed, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember a time in their marriage when Brady cared about her feelings. Instead of respect, she got benign tolerance. And whereas he was always mildly amused by her, she never felt adored by him.

What we had was never like that,
she realized.
My God, he really does love her.

Admitting this to herself, finally, made her sadder than she’d ever been in her life.

I know now that I’ll never have something like this, with him. Don’t I deserve it, too—with someone?

This thought hit her again, now, as she waited in Campus for Tinder Number Thirteen to show up.

If the number of Tinder hearts I’ve collected are any indication, I’m certainly doing my damnedest,
she reasoned as she signaled the bartender for a second martini.

The other Tinders had acted as if they could be her Mr. Right—that is, when she pulled them into her bed with her. But Jade wasn’t so foolish as to mistake their lust for love. Afterward, she’d block them on her account so that she’d never hear from them again.

So much for moving on,
she thought miserably.
But who knows? Maybe Tinder Thirteen will turn out to be Mr. Right for the Rest of My Life.

This hope lingered with her until the last voice she ever wanted to hear murmured in her ear:

“Well, well, well, look who’s here, all by her little lonesome.” Art Cross eased himself onto the empty bar stool she’d been saving for her date.

She slammed her martini glass on the counter. “Move it. That seat’s taken.”

Art craned his neck to scan the room. “Why? Is Brady here somewhere? How lucky is that? I have to talk to him about another cash injection, and the sooner the better.”

If she thought that shoving him would dislodge him from his bar stool, she was wrong. Instead, he grabbed her wrists. “I figured you liked the rough stuff. But really, right here, in public? Tell you what, sashay on into the little girl’s room and I’ll follow. But before you do, make my day and tell me you’re a screamer. I like the thought of scaring the bejesus out of some woman while she’s fixing her lipstick—”

“Look, I said get lost,” she hissed. Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a guy who matched up to the photo of her Tinder date walking over. “Before I call rape.”

“Don’t tease! You know how hard it makes me.” His smirk faded. “Here’s the deal: I just need another half mil, and we’re all home free. But the clock is ticking, Jade—loud and ominously—for both of us, get it? If you don’t, I’ll be forced to tell Bettina that her star student is ranked number fourteen right now on FyreTV.”

Jade winced when he mentioned the premium porn network. “Okay, whatever! I’ll…I’ll see what I can do. Now get out of here!”

It was too late. Mr. Tinder Number Thirteen tapped her on the shoulder. “Are you Angela?”

Art’s snort sprayed his scotch all over the counter. He looked from Jade to Mr. Tinder Number Thirteen and back again. “
Angela?
Hell no, buddy! You’ve hit the jackpot! You’re in the presence of Jade Pennypacker, porn queen extraordinaire—and all that implies.”