I Heart Hawaii. Lindsey Kelk
glasses of sparkling water before resuming her original position.
Gulp.
‘You didn’t?’
‘We didn’t,’ Perry confirmed. ‘We’re very discreet. And as the head of the membership committee, I personally select women for the group who are a good fit for our community.’
And I had been selected? Me? Teenage Angela who never got picked for dodgeball was very excited but adult Angela was more than a little wary.
‘Let’s get to know each other a little better,’ she suggested. ‘You work at Besson Media?’
‘I do,’ I confirmed, sitting on my shaking hands. ‘Well, I just started but I was at Spencer Media before that.’
‘And you’re a writer.’
Perry’s smooth face barely moved as she spoke.
I nodded, crossing my legs at the ankles to hide the chipped nail polish on my big toe. This was not a chipped pedicure kind of a gang, I could tell.
‘We have a lot of contacts in the media,’ she said. ‘And a few of our members are in publishing.’
‘Oh, I’d love to write a book one day, it’s always been my dream,’ I told her, a happy smile on my face as I rambled on. ‘I used to write children’s books, ghost-write actually. I would write the books that went with kids’ films and TV shows. You might have read some of them actually, they were dreadful obviously, but don’t hold that against me.’
This is not the time for verbal diarrhoea, I whispered to myself. Cut it out, Angela.
‘What is it you do?’ I asked, very aware of the sweat patches under my arms.
‘Hedge fund manager at YellowCrest,’ Perry said as though telling me she ran the corner shop. No wonder The M.O.B. had a five-million-dollar brownstone as their clubhouse. Erin’s husband worked at YellowCrest and Erin’s husband made literally millions of dollars a year.
‘Or at least, I used to. I gave it up after Mortimer came along.’
‘Mortimer?’ I squeaked. Please let it be the name of her dog, please let it be the name of her dog, please let it be the name of her dog.
‘My son,’ she replied with a smooth smile. ‘He’s my second, he’s almost eighteen months now, and Titus, his big brother, will be three next month. Two sons under three, oof, what a challenge. There’s simply no way to manage a full-time job and two children, although I was heartbroken to leave.’
‘Right, must be tough,’ I said, trying to work out just what exactly Perry had done to her face. Her forehead was perfectly smooth, her cheeks very slightly overinflated and there wasn’t a single visible pore on her skin. While I very much supported people doing whatever the hell they wanted to their own faces, something about Perry’s work just looked off. She looked ageless and not in a good way. I’d have placed her anywhere between thirty-five and fifty, there was just no way to tell.
‘We’re so excited you’re interested in joining us,’ Perry said, glancing over at the other women who promptly left their positions and came to join us on the sofas, her smooth face void of any visible signs of said excitement. ‘We do some magnificent work here and we’re always on the lookout for quality members. Between the support we give each other and community outreach, if you’re accepted into The M.O.B., I think you’ll find being part of our group quite rewarding. Although I should mention membership is select – not everyone who is invited to meet with us ends up making the cut.’
‘And I’m always excited to make new friends,’ I lied, so pleased to know they might still reject me even though I hadn’t asked to join in the first place. ‘So what’s the deal? Coffee mornings, jumble sales, playdates, that kind of thing?’
‘I don’t know what a jumble sale is but I am quite sure the answer is no,’ she replied, brushing her silky brown hair over her shoulder. ‘We’re an exclusive network of elite women, come together to lift each other higher. I will admit we are somewhat selective about the women who join our collective but that’s to preserve the quality of our experience. We strive to stimulate our intellect and grow our spirit in all that we do.’
Oh god, it was a cult.
‘Right, one question,’ I said, slapping my thighs and making everyone jump. ‘Where do the kids come in?’
‘Kids?’ Perry looked confused.
‘Yes, your kids,’ I said. ‘Where are they while you’re, you know, stimulating your intellect?’
‘This isn’t a mommy and me class,’ she replied as the other four women laughed. ‘The B.O.B.s aren’t always here.’
‘B.O.B.s,’ I repeated slowly.
‘Babies of Brooklyn,’ Perry clarified.
‘That’s what I thought,’ I said, leaning back against the sofa. ‘Just wanted to make sure.’
‘The goal is to create an empowering network for our children from an early age,’ she said, flicking an invisible speck of dust from her trouser leg. ‘I’ve worked with a social psychologist and several corporate counselling experts who agree it’s essential for children to begin forging the right kinds of bonds right from birth. They are the next generation of leaders, after all.’
‘Do you not worry that’s a lot of pressure to put on a baby?’ I asked gently, a vision of Alice being sworn into the White House passing through my mind.
Perry stared right back at me.
‘No,’ she said.
I waited for the rest of the sentence for a moment before realizing that was it.
‘Oh, OK.’ I looked down at my flip-flops and wondered how fast I could run in them. This was clearly not the group for me.
‘The networking isn’t just for Alice,’ Perry said, leaning forward and gripping my knee with her coffee-coloured nails. ‘We want to raise these children in an environment of powerful women. A tribe is only as strong as its weakest member.’
‘Christ almighty,’ I whispered.
‘I’m sure we all have a busy day ahead of us so let’s get things moving,’ Perry said, sitting back and clapping her hands. ‘I’m going to ask you a few questions and then we’ll play a little game.’
Please let it be Hungry Hungry Hippos.
‘In how many classes is Alice currently enrolled?’ Danielle, a striking woman with tightly curled black hair, asked from the sofa beside Perry.
‘Classes?’ I stared back blankly.
‘Music class, baby yoga, dance, swim, is she learning any languages?’ Nia replied. Nia was a tall willowy blonde who looked as though she should be playing Reese Witherspoon’s best friend in at least seventeen movies.
‘Maybe art class?’ suggested Joan, the gorgeous black woman sitting on my left with poker-straight hair that fell all the way to her waist. My hair was in a bun, secured by a scrunchie. I was a monster.
‘Or sign language? Or ballet? Mind and body sensory stimulation?’
‘She’s not even one yet,’ I replied, making a mental note to find out what the hell mind and body sensory stimulation was and avoid it at all costs. ‘She isn’t in any classes.’
Joan sucked the air in through her teeth as though about to give me a quote for a new carburettor.
‘What’s her hashtag?’ Perry asked, tapping away on an iPad that had appeared from nowhere.
‘Hashtag?’
‘For social media,’ she clarified. ‘My boys are “hashtag MorTitus”, for example.’
Oh dear god, those poor children. As if their real names