Getting Vivi into bed by nine took some finagling, but I persevered. Getting my mother into bed by nine took no effort at all, as she was exhausted from traveling. I vacillated about whether to include her in our scheme. But she was too close with Caroline—and too likely to forget that she wasn’t supposed to say anything. I couldn’t take the chance.
Hummus held my hand while Sandra poured wine, and Gary and Emily wrangled cables and successfully plugged in the TV, hooked the laptop to it, and streamed the three words we were not allowed to say in our house. Emerson and Sloane silently came and sat on the couch. It was as if we were at a very dark, very macabre wake, fearing every minute that the deceased was going to jump out of the coffin.
It felt like time was standing still. The nausea started about halfway through. On-screen, James was at a party with Edie and the rest of the “ladies.” Edie, classy girl that she was, got into a fight with a friend about the person who did their spray tans and threw a glass of wine in her face.
James, evidently, wasn’t a big fan of this move. “Have you lost your mind?” he hissed, eerily calm.
“Did you hear what she said to me?” Edie screamed. “Why are you not on my side on this?”
And then the moment happened. “Caroline would never, ever act like this. Ever.”
Edie screwed up her face. “Caroline who?”
“My wife!”
Edie put her hands on her hips. “Are you serious with this right now?”
“I’m totally serious. I am going home to beg my wife’s forgiveness, and I don’t ever want to hear from you again.”
“James, wait!”
He put his hand to his forehead. “What is wrong with me? She’s the love of my life.”
“Me?” Edie asked.
“No!” He practically spit. “Caroline!”
He turned, and she called after him, “But James! We’re soul mates!”
The camera pointed toward James as he walked out of the penthouse, down onto the street below, and as his back became very small, it panned to a shot of Edie sobbing on the shoulder of some blond girl with too-long extensions. And then the previews for next week started.
I didn’t know what to say. It’s highly unnerving to see your son-in-law on television with someone who is not your daughter. And I was more certain than ever that if Caroline ever saw James on that show, she would not consider getting back together with him, despite what he had said. It was so tasteless, so tacky. It was, in short, the opposite of everything Caroline stood for. And I started to wonder if watching it at all was a huge mistake.
Gary was already hauling everything to the car when Emerson finally had the forethought to say, “Quick! To the main house!”
Hummus grabbed the baby monitor off of the end table, and we all made a run for it.
“So what do we think?” I asked the faces sitting around my living room. “Are we Team James or not?”
“Come on, Mom,” Sloane said. “You’ve never been Team James.”
Sandra put her fingers to her lips. “You know, as someone who divorced her husband because he cheated, I wonder all the time if my life would have been better if I had stayed. My kids would have been together. There wouldn’t have been issues over holidays and baptisms, birthday parties and family dinners. If I could rewind, I think I might have given him another chance.”
I looked at Hummus. “What?” she said. “He writes my checks. I’m not allowed to comment.” She paused. “But Caroline is better than most anyone I know at living her truth. She won’t let public opinion affect her either way.”
“No,” Emerson said. “She won’t. But she will let our opinion affect her. It’s fine to be Switzerland sometimes, but I think this is when we take a stand.”
The back door opened, and everyone panicked. I laughed uncomfortably. “Oh, Emerson. Please tell us that story about the director who wanted you to play a pig in the commercial.”
She looked at me like Really?
It was the best I could do under intense pressure. We all laughed uncomfortably as Caroline walked through the door.
“Hi,” she said, looking around. “Did you have a party without me?”
“Of course not,” I said. “Sandra, Emily, and Gary popped by for a glass of wine.”
“Actually,” Emily said, picking up her purse, “we need to be leaving now.”
“That’s my cue,” Sandra said.
Hummus picked up the monitor. “I’ll go peek in on sweet baby.”
“So . . .” Sloane ventured.
Caroline sat down and crossed her legs, her beautiful shoes, tied in a bow at the front of her ankle, making them look longer and even more slender. “It was fine,” she said. “It made me less nauseated than I thought, and I do believe that he’s sorry . . .”
There was a trailing off in her voice and an uptick that made me know she wasn’t finished.
“But?” I said.
“But I don’t know if I can do it.” She sighed. “It’s not only that he cheated. He told me he didn’t love me anymore. I’m not sure I can get past that.” Caroline looked down at those impeccable shoes. “I’d have to live with him. I’d have to look at the man I pledged my heart and my life to and know that he slept with someone else and, far worse, that he believed he was in love with her and not with me. I’d have to know that I am the laughingstock of New York City, that every time I walk down the street, everyone is saying what a loser I am. Do you know how that feels?”
“That’s awful,” Emerson said. “It’s so awful. Maybe you could move somewhere else?”
“No,” Caroline said, “New York is my home. It always has been. I belong there.”
I heard a now-familiar squeak, and my mother wheeled into the room. “Well,” she said, “maybe you should ask all of them if you’ll still be the laughingstock of New York City. They watched the show tonight.” Then she scooted back to her bedroom.
Emerson, Sloane, and I looked from one to the other, stunned. Talk about throwing the grenade and running.
Caroline closed her eyes and took a deep breath. I braced myself for what would come next, but she simply said, “And?”
“And he announced on TV that Edie Fitzgerald was a total moron and you were the love of his life,” Emerson said.
Sloane nodded. “Yeah. So if you’re worried about the show, maybe you shouldn’t be.”
Caroline nodded and stood up. “OK. Good night.”
That couldn’t be it. Not possible.
She turned and said, “I’ll film a YouTube video to let you all know what I decide.”
“That would be kind of funny, actually,” Emerson said. “She could do her own miniseries on YouTube in response to Ladies Who Lunch.” She gasped. “I could play her!”