“Of course you did. You beautiful little minx. The French have this wonderful saying, ‘Je suis bien dans ma peau.’ It means ‘I feel well in my skin.’ You are just looking so well in your skin! It pleases me!” Stella paused. “I want to hear all about it. And on that subject I need to tell you all about Hugh Albermarle. Did I tell you he was an earl? He was very smitten by you. I see nothing wrong with you exercising all of your options right now.”
Of course. Janey had almost forgotten, in the haze of wine, coq au vin, and the best sex she’d had since college, about emailing with the silver fox.
“Of course. Hugh Albermarle. He emailed me.”
“I know,” Stella said, her eyes twinkling. “And you definitely need to go out with him. He’s a gem. I’m not saying the owner of those wonderful paunchy sweatpants is not a gem as well, but you’ll enjoy spending time with Hugh and, besides, now is the time for you to be spending as much time with as many different men as possible.”
Everything made sense in Stella’s instructive voice.
“So, Hugh will never tell you this himself. He’s so humble, but I’ve known him for years so I can brag for him. He’s one of the most successful M and A bankers in all of New York City. He’s just the nicest guy. I have no idea how his wife of twenty years could leave him. And with two teenagers. She’s off in Europe somewhere. Hugh brought the kids back from boarding school, enrolled them in Spence. He’s practically royalty back in the U.K., but he’d never tell you that either. He’s sweet and wonderful and the two of you are both in a time of transition, which is such a magical time. So I knew you had to connect. You’ll see him?”
Janey nodded as the barista called Stella’s name to pick up their coffees. When she lifted the lid, Janey sniffed the shadowy liquid, not sure what to expect, but it smelled like regular dark roast. She took a tentative sip.
“I emailed him back. We’re going to have dinner. My second date this week.”
Stella threw her head back and laughed.
“That’s because you’ve found your light. You’re not hiding behind your job anymore. You’re learning to love you. You’re coming into your wholeness.” Janey thought about Kim turned Kimberly at reception back at SoarBarre.
Stella leaned into the wooden table and grabbed both of Janey’s hands. “I think you were so painfully unhappy before. You’re healing now.”
Janey didn’t want to talk about her pain. “Tell me more about St. Lucia.”
“It’s going to be the best week of your life. Eight days of fitness, spiritual guidance, ayurvedic cooking in the most beautiful setting in the world. Sara limits the retreat to fifteen women, so it’s very, very exclusive and very hands-on. The utmost in luxury.”
“What’s it cost?”
Stella paused. “Fifteen thousand dollars, all inclusive.”
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“But it’s worth every penny. You know I don’t care about what anyone weighs, but you’ll lose fifteen pounds in that week alone.”
“It’s a lot of money, Stella.”
“I know. But think of it as an investment in your future. In future you.”
For the first time since meeting her, Janey felt uncomfortable around Stella.
Janey sipped at her ten-dollar coffee. “I’ll let you know by the end of the week.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Can you ride a miniature horse?” Ivy gazed skeptically over at the petite Appaloosa tethered to a fence post beneath a heated tent in CJ’s equally undersized backyard. “Is it legal?”
“I don’t think they’re like ponies,” Janey replied, feeling her heart go out to the alarmed small animal who had been rented as a prop for the twins’ fifth birthday party. The women attempted to scavenge something edible from the peanut-, gluten-, and sugar-free party buffet that made Janey long for the old staples of children’s birthday parties like pizza, chicken fingers, and ice cream. “I’m not sure you’re actually supposed to be riding them. They’re just for pictures. But what do I know?”
Miniature horses were just the latest fad in kid birthday party entertainment, following behind the illustrious line of magicians, trapeze artists, Frozen re-enactors, and hypnotists. The horses didn’t come by themselves. They were a part of a mobile petting zoo and menagerie of baby animals, including a lamb, a half-dozen chicks, a tiny goat, two piglets, and some bunnies. Janey had been at every one of the twins’ birthday parties since they were born for the same reason CJ came to each and every B runway show. Janey had no interest in children and CJ had even less in wedding dresses, but showing up was what friends, the real kinds of friends, did. Every year CJ began planning the twins’ birthday party at least six months in advance in an attempt to outdo her across-the-street neighbor, Estelle Landry, whose twin girls also had a March birthday and whose toddler fetes were regularly featured in Page Six.
Most of CJ’s mom friends were nice enough to Janey, but she still had a nagging feeling they thought less of her because she didn’t have kids of her own. The United States was slowly evolving into a place where it was okay for a grown professional woman to say she didn’t want children, that she was happier not producing offspring. But the small talk surrounding the life choices of thirty-something to forty-something women inevitably raised the subject of procreation. For the first couple of birthday parties the mom friends asked her when she and Michael were planning to get pregnant. Then they must have decided something was wrong, that they couldn’t get pregnant, because without prompting they began offering up acupuncturists and IVF specialists and asking her pointed questions about her vaginal mucus. Now that her husband was out of the picture they clearly didn’t know what to say to her. Plenty of them had failed marriages under their belts, some of them had two. But to be divorced, over forty, without kids—that made Janey something different altogether. Who knows, maybe bringing Ivy to this year’s event was the right choice. The mommies could finally think they had her figured out. She was clearly a lesbian. A hot cougar lesbian.
CJ’s imposing figure cut through the crowd, throwing her arms up in surrender.
“The bartender just got here. He’s setting up. But there’s vodka in the freezer and fresh pressed Green juice, Red juice, and Orange juice, all courtesy of the Wandering Juice.” CJ nudged Janey with a wink. “So make yourselves an organic cocktail. It’ll take the edge off.”
“I’ll make the drinks,” Ivy said, rising to reveal her toned midriff in a yellow SoarBarre microtank with bright gold letters. “Everyone here is a potential client,” she’d reminded Janey when her cousin gave the questionable outfit a double-take. “My body is my best advertisement.”
Ivy pulled a bottle of artisanal organic vodka from CJ’s icebox. “So, have you been to one of Sara Strong’s classes again? I’d love to go with you sometime. Can I be your VVIP?”
“Yeah. Next week? It’s great. It’s actually weird how much I like it and how good it makes you feel. While you’re working out you don’t even want to die. And they have this crazy retreat to St. Lucia coming up.” Janey stopped herself from saying any more. It was strange that she felt so protective about The Workout.