Momzillas by Jill Kargman Read Free Book Online Page B

else always slims down and perks up, but I just go into ice cream and nap mode, and the smell is so horrendous in the city that it should have those cartoon vertical squiggle lines over everything to connote stink, like that smelly kid on Charlie Brown. I’m more of the dark-hair, nontanned ilk, so grody pastels make me look recently exhumed from a grave. I love crispy cold invigorating air and turtlenecks and dark afternoons. The San Francisco weather suited me, even in the rain.
    â€œIt’s just so humid and sticky and I just feel gross and uggles,” I said, shrugging. They looked at me like I was certifiably insane. I sheepishly added, “I guess I’m a sort of fall-winter kinda gal.”
    â€œI can see that,” said Bee, looking me over. “You have that Wednesday Addams thing going on.”

    When we got off the elevator, a sign stood in front of us, reading Little Duke and Duchess Trunk Show, suite 2415. The clothing company was founded by an actual duchess. Well, a New York girl who had married the French Duke of Burgundy. Lucky for him, as Bee explained, the duchess was a multibillionaire whose grandfather had invented velvet ropes. Talk about being born an insider. As we walked into the grand room, I beheld hordes of immaculate mothers selecting stunning clothes for their tots, who were all at home, presumably with uniformed nannies while their moms bought clothes for the following winter. I hadn’t realized I would be the only one with a kid on hand.
    â€œMommy,” said Violet.
    â€œYes, muffin?”
    â€œUppie, uppie!”
    â€œOkay, sweets.”
    I unharnessed Violet from her stroller to let her run amok in the lavish space, which was a huge six-room salon with a sprawling buffet of tea sandwiches, cookies, Perrier poured in crystal tumblers, and coffee in huge silver pots.
    â€œOkay, honey, you can play here, but stay right in this area, okay?”
    â€œâ€™K. Mommy, Mommy?”
    â€œYes, Violet love?”
    â€œRuv youuuu.”
    I almost melted. I knelt down to give her a massive hug. When I looked up, Bee and Maggie were looking on. I assumed they were touched by the tender moment, but when I came over, Bee said, “Hannah, what are you going to do about help?”
    â€œOh, you mean babysitting?”
    â€œYes, are you looking into a nanny?”
    A tall bejeweled South American–looking woman with an alligator Hermès bag was listening. “Oh, do you need a governess?” she interrupted with a shady pan-Euro accent.
    â€œA
governess
?” I asked, almost laughing. “Like the Family Von Trapp?”
    â€œI know one who’s in search of placement. Live-in,” she replied.
    â€œOh, no thanks, I’m not looking,” I said. “But thank you anyway.”
    She drifted off and Bee turned back to me. “Ugh, Flora de Manteva, she’s the worst. She added the ‘de’ to her name. Anyway, forget governesses. You need to get a nanny, how are you doing this all alone? I would
die.
”
    â€œWell, I would love to have some free time, for a few hours, maybe a couple times a week—”
    â€œWell you’ll never find
that
,” said Maggie. “The good people all want guaranteed schedules. You must call Mrs. Brown’s Agency. They have the best people. They all have impeccable references and work for the best families in New York. Mine used to work with the Bronfmans.”
    â€œUh-huh,” I said, feigning enthrallment.
    â€œI have the most wonderful Indian gal. But I’d get a Malaysian. They’re quite fastidious,” said Bee. “I had just the best one as a baby nurse right after I had Weston.”
    â€œI thought Noona was Thai,” said Maggie.
    â€œSame noodle, different sauce,” shrugged Bee. “But go with someone from Asia.”
    I was starting to feel very uncomfortable.
    â€œAnd avoid the Islands,” added Bee. “I had this one woman