all was. If only these girls knew Mara was an au pair, they would never talk about her like this. She wouldn’t even register on their radar. As she examined the picture, Eliza also felt a rush of pride. Mara did look awesome, and it was all because of her . . . and Jacqui, of course, but Eliza liked taking most of the credit.
“I dunno, guys. I mean, I think she’s a little high waisted, don’t you think? Her legs are, like, up to her chin!” Eliza said. As if that could be in any conceivable way a bad thing.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Lindsay agreed all too eagerly.
Soon the three are dissecting all of Mara’s “flaws.” Her eyes were too big. Her nose was way too small. Her smile, too wide. She was practically Quasimodo when they were through with the virtual dissection.
“And I don’t think she’s Tobin’s cousin. I heard she’s working for the Perrys,” Eliza said, whispering the scandalous news. “She’s practically the help!”
“Oooh . . .” Lindsay and Taylor were breathless with excitement. This was called hitting pay dirt.
“I heard it from Sugar and Poppy, and they would know,” Eliza said. Sure, she was selling Mara out—but she also wanted to know what her friends thought of the whole deal.
“Ryan Perry’s dating—the maid?” Taylor asked, wide-eyed.
“No, she’s, like, the au pair or something,” Eliza explained, backtracking.
“Au pair!” Lindsay snorted. “Is that what they’re calling them now? Isn’t that just a euphemism for foreign sex slave?”
Eliza wanted to tell them that only one of them was foreign and that most of their duties were 100 percent real and dealt with four children under the age of twelve, but she bit her tongue.
“Ryan’s dating the housekeeper! That’s hilarious!” Taylor cackled loudly.
“So he’s, like, slumming,” Lindsay said smugly. “We should inform the Post! Tell Page Six we have a bigger scoop!”
Eliza had a difficult time keeping the smile plastered to her face.
After the girls were done, they threw down the newspaper. “So, like, what’s up with boarding school? Are you staying there next year, too?” Lindsay asked.
“Yeah, I think so. Hey, are you guys going to the polo match?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Of course,” Lindsay said. “You?”
“Charlie and I are sort of going together,” she confessed with a smug smile.
“So what’s up? You guys back together?”
“Not really,” Eliza said. “Not yet, anyway.” But he did ask her to be his date at the polo match, and she had told him she would meet him there. She was also supposed to be working at the event, taking care of the kids. But that was fine since Charlie was actually playing on one of the teams and wouldn’t be in the tents much. He hadn’t exactly said anything about getting back together, but she was hoping that was all about to change at the polo match. Thank God she had bought that hot little wrap dress. Charlie wouldn’t be able to resist.
“Anyway, ladies, this was hella fun. But I got to go.” A little of the California talk that was so big in Buffalo right now snuck in as she threw down a twenty on the table.
Lindsay waved it away. “I have my dad’s Visa. Why do you have to leave so early? I thought we were going to go shopping after brunch.”
“Nah, I told my aunt I’d go to some art exhibit in Water Mill with her today,” Eliza lied. In fact, she was due to pick up Mara, Jacqui, and the kids at Fifi Laroo, where Anna had booked the kids for massage treatments.
As she drove down the street, her friends’ words rang in her head. “Au pair is just another word for mistress on the payroll!” “He’s dating THE MAID?”
God help her if they ever found out the truth about her.
prima donnas got nothing on these girls
MADAME SUZETTE WAS A FORMER PRIMA BALLERINA. She had danced for Balanchine and Baryshnikov, and was once the star of the American Ballet Theater. She’d been linked with many rich and famous men, and earned the adulation of the cultured elite. It was one of the reasons why her studio was one of the most sought-after in the Hamptons.
On a bright Saturday morning, a group of little girls in black leotards and pink tights and ballet slippers stood in order of height against the mirror.
“Plié, plié, grand plié, plié,” Madame ordered briskly, walking up and down the barre. “Pointe tendu,” she directed, inspecting the girls’ outstretched toes.
“Szzt! Madeeezun!” Madame called. “Arretez! Toes