The Botox Diaries by Janice Kaplan, Lynn Schnurnberger Read Free Book Online Page B

ideas.”
    “I think we should start the meeting,” Pamela says, in a slightlyhigh-pitched voice. “We’re here to talk about charitable work, so let’s get to it.”
    “Absolutely,” says Amanda while the rest of us try to banish the image of a sweaty Alden and Ulrike going at it under the gaze of the trompe l’oeil cherubs. “Well then, you’ve all met Jess, who works with the Arts Council for Kids,” she says affably. “Alden and I …” she pauses for effect, then repeats, “Alden and I always make a contribution, but this year, I thought—writing a check isn’t enough. What really matters is getting involved. And that’s why we’re here. To form a committee that can do something to help this wonderful charity.”
    I’m glad to hear why Amanda thinks they’re all here. I was worried that I was the post–Pilates class entertainment for a group of rich, bored women who weren’t quite rich enough to be on the boards of the New York City Ballet or the Metropolitan Museum of Art. But these women aren’t the social-climbing piranhas I’d feared.
    I launch into my spiel about what we do and how many inner-city children we reach. How we provide free dance, drama, music and art classes to kids who can’t afford them. I tell them about a boy named Rodrigo who came to our music classes every day after school for years to escape an alcoholic mother and who just got a scholarship to Juilliard. They all nod. They’re on my side.
    “So how can we help?” asks Pamela.
    I’m ready. I suggest an auction benefit they could run. An afternoon luncheon-cum-fashion show where we split the proceeds with the designers. If they want to put some sweat into the endeavor, I say, reaching for a joke, five-K runs seem to be in vogue.
    “I’ve got a much better idea,” says Rebecca, the one supportive voice in the imagined au pair scandal. I’m prepared for it to be loopy … and it is.
    “Why don’t we put on a show!” she says.
    “Just like Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland?” I quip. They look at me blankly. If I want to keep working, I’ve got to stop referring to things that happened before my clients were born.
    Rebecca forges ahead. “What I mean is, why don’t we take all the kids in your program and put on an opera—like
Rigoletto
or something—and that way we can combine music and drama and art. And we could do it at Lincoln Center. Off-season, of course.”
    Allison, who hasn’t said much yet, is suddenly excited. “I love it! And our kids—the older ones of course—could be in it, too!” Quickly realizing she doesn’t want to sound self-serving, she adds, “They don’t have to have the starring roles. We could get a couple of professionals.… If you think we need them.”
    How do I explain that Placido Domingo isn’t taking on any more gigs and that the logistics of their kids, the Arts Council kids and a performance of any kind—let alone an opera at Lincoln Center—is just not going to happen in this lifetime? I hate to be a wet blanket, but I think I better rein in their plans.
    “A performance is a great idea,” I say cheerily. “But maybe we should do something small and intimate. We have a lovely stage at the Council Center.”
    “No!”
Allison roars. Five heads snap around to her direction. “We have to dream big. Isn’t that what your organization is all about? Lincoln Center.
Rigoletto
. All our kids together, rich and poor. If we think it can happen we can
make
it happen.”
    How many therapy sessions has this woman had? Luckily, having said her piece, Allison retreats to her former docility, and the others quickly agree to ditch
Rigoletto
on the grounds that not all of the kids speak Italian. However, as bad luck would have it, one of their husbands plays tennis with the chairman of the board of City Center, and she’s sure there’s some small stage she can secure for the event. Great. The ideas keep brimming forth. They know which designer should make the costumes,