with seams down the backs. Her heels were ridiculously high for someone who was on her feet all night. But maybe she wasn’t on her feet all night. Maybe Andre put her on her back at the end of the night, and helped her out of her stockings. I reminded myself that wasn’t my business either. I was finished with Andre. I couldn’t wait to get on the airplane so he would be out of sight. I ticked off the days on Stephanie’s kitchen calendar, and when the last day of school came I think I was happier than all the third graders tumbling out of their classroom. We were free.
Chapter Four
We landed at John Wayne Airport in Orange County in the late afternoon. On the plane I had sat next to a girl wearing a pink T-shirt dress and rainbow flip-flops. She sported huge white sunglasses and a gold toe ring. Looking at her, I already felt like I was on vacation. After we disembarked, we made our way down to baggage claim and found our bags in the hands of a man in a blue-and-gold uniform.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bishop, Mrs. Blick, Max. My name is Michael, I will be your driver to the St. Regis. Allow me to escort you to the car.”
“Wow!” Max ran ahead of us. Michael opened the door of an ivory-colored Bentley.
“Mother, what is this?” I asked, sliding into the cream leather seat and admiring the walnut interior.
“This is how we are going to live from now on.” My mother settled herself into the front passenger seat.
“Let me know if I can adjust the air for you. Would Max like to listen to Radio Disney?” Michael asked as we rolled away from the curb.
“Are these Jelly Bellies for me? Look, Mom, strawberry smoothie in a can! Wow, this is awesome!” Max riffled through the contents of a maple box secured in the middle of the backseat.
“All for you.” I grinned. Michael raised the windows and I watched the Pacific Ocean fly by. I examined my new Tory Burch sandals, orange with giant gold buckles. I wore a Theory sundress in lime green. Orange and green, Stephanie had said on our predeparture Union Square shopping spree, were the spring colors. I felt silly handing over my purchases to the salesgirl at Neiman’s. I hadn’t kept up with spring colors since Max was born. My wardrobe for the last eight years had many designer pieces, but they were designed for the suburban mom. But Stephanie had threatened to use her own credit card and pack my suitcase herself. Now I was glad I had given in. I felt different, not like Amanda the mom, Amanda the betrayed wife. More like the girl on the plane with the white sunglasses and toe ring.
“Unless of course there might be a daiquiri in here for me. It is cocktail hour,” I said to my mother and Michael in the front.
“Side compartment, Mrs. Blick. Or a martini if you like, already stirred, over ice.”
“Martini for me,” my mother chimed in.
I handed my mother her drink and sipped my ridiculously sweet banana daiquiri.
“Wow, look, Mom, a Nintendo DS.” Max found a new treasure.
“Goodness.” My mother laughed. “We’re not even at the hotel yet!”
* * *
We pulled into the St. Regis as I contemplated finishing the jar of gummi bears Max had opened. At this rate I would have to head straight for the spa and hit the elliptical machine. The St. Regis was a giant Tuscan villa with seven floors spilling down to the ocean. We were greeted by an army of bellboys: one to open each car door, one to carry our bags, one to present Max with a yellow sand bucket and spade and shovel.
“Can we go to the beach, right now?” Max asked, waving the spade and shovel in the air like twin swords.
“Let’s check in first,” I said. Any fear I had of Max missing his father was fast dissipating. His eyes were wide and his mouth set in a permanent o . We were treated like royalty; escorted from the Mediterranean lobby with its giant palm trees and mosaic tile to a private elevator that carried us to the Presidential Suite.
“The seventh floor can only
Chapter Four
We landed at John Wayne Airport in Orange County in the late afternoon. On the plane I had sat next to a girl wearing a pink T-shirt dress and rainbow flip-flops. She sported huge white sunglasses and a gold toe ring. Looking at her, I already felt like I was on vacation. After we disembarked, we made our way down to baggage claim and found our bags in the hands of a man in a blue-and-gold uniform.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bishop, Mrs. Blick, Max. My name is Michael, I will be your driver to the St. Regis. Allow me to escort you to the car.”
“Wow!” Max ran ahead of us. Michael opened the door of an ivory-colored Bentley.
“Mother, what is this?” I asked, sliding into the cream leather seat and admiring the walnut interior.
“This is how we are going to live from now on.” My mother settled herself into the front passenger seat.
“Let me know if I can adjust the air for you. Would Max like to listen to Radio Disney?” Michael asked as we rolled away from the curb.
“Are these Jelly Bellies for me? Look, Mom, strawberry smoothie in a can! Wow, this is awesome!” Max riffled through the contents of a maple box secured in the middle of the backseat.
“All for you.” I grinned. Michael raised the windows and I watched the Pacific Ocean fly by. I examined my new Tory Burch sandals, orange with giant gold buckles. I wore a Theory sundress in lime green. Orange and green, Stephanie had said on our predeparture Union Square shopping spree, were the spring colors. I felt silly handing over my purchases to the salesgirl at Neiman’s. I hadn’t kept up with spring colors since Max was born. My wardrobe for the last eight years had many designer pieces, but they were designed for the suburban mom. But Stephanie had threatened to use her own credit card and pack my suitcase herself. Now I was glad I had given in. I felt different, not like Amanda the mom, Amanda the betrayed wife. More like the girl on the plane with the white sunglasses and toe ring.
“Unless of course there might be a daiquiri in here for me. It is cocktail hour,” I said to my mother and Michael in the front.
“Side compartment, Mrs. Blick. Or a martini if you like, already stirred, over ice.”
“Martini for me,” my mother chimed in.
I handed my mother her drink and sipped my ridiculously sweet banana daiquiri.
“Wow, look, Mom, a Nintendo DS.” Max found a new treasure.
“Goodness.” My mother laughed. “We’re not even at the hotel yet!”
* * *
We pulled into the St. Regis as I contemplated finishing the jar of gummi bears Max had opened. At this rate I would have to head straight for the spa and hit the elliptical machine. The St. Regis was a giant Tuscan villa with seven floors spilling down to the ocean. We were greeted by an army of bellboys: one to open each car door, one to carry our bags, one to present Max with a yellow sand bucket and spade and shovel.
“Can we go to the beach, right now?” Max asked, waving the spade and shovel in the air like twin swords.
“Let’s check in first,” I said. Any fear I had of Max missing his father was fast dissipating. His eyes were wide and his mouth set in a permanent o . We were treated like royalty; escorted from the Mediterranean lobby with its giant palm trees and mosaic tile to a private elevator that carried us to the Presidential Suite.
“The seventh floor can only
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