Read Online Carpool Confidential by Jessica Benson - Free Book Online Page B

sink when I got home. She came every morning and followed me around the apartment talking about her husband, whose hobby was moose hunting. Maria had half a moose in her freezer at all times. The first week she worked for us, in an attempt to stop her from offering me moose pieces, I told her we were vegetarians. Vegetarianism, it turns out, is a really stupid lie to tell someone you’re employing in large part to do the shopping and cooking. Because then, to cover up the lie, I had to go right on doing all the grocery shopping and cooking myself.
    Why Maria was employed by us (me, now, I realized) was a bit of a mystery. Since she lived in mortal fear of Cadbury (a phobia of furry things that sleep most of the day, maybe?), she refused to walk her ever. As the children disliked Maria ( she’s a total freak, Mom ), her usefulness as a babysitter was limited, and since she didn’t actually clean other than making a few beds, her value as a cleaner was limited.
    This morning, she was very busy in the kitchen watching The View . I crept down the hall to the study, where I closed the door, turned on the computer, and sat, shivering, at the desk while I debated what to do first. Call my mother or sister, cry some more, find a PI, call the accountant and figure out how much money I had: these were all on the reasonable option list. Instead, I pulled out my Filofax (that’s how long it had been since I’d worked— my business contact phone numbers were still handwritten) and looked up Charlotte Worth’s work number.
    Charlotte was an old friend from graduate school. We’d worked together at City Woman , and she was now the features editor of NYMetro . If I hadn’t known her back when she’d worn the same pair of Doc Martens every day and believed she had found lasting passion with a guy whose main means of support was power washing graffiti off subway platforms, I’d have been intimidated as hell by her glossy, adult perfection. So between that and the fact I had no idea why I was calling or what to say, I had mixed feelings when she picked up her own phone after two rings. “Charlotte?”
    â€œYes?” It could not have been clearer that she had Something Very Important going at the moment.
    â€œCharlotte, it’s, um, Cassie Martin.”
    Silence. Oh, shit. She’d forgotten me! Even in my most humiliating imaginings it hadn’t been this humiliating.
    â€œCassie-might-as-well-have-disappeared-from-the-face-of-the-earth-Martin?” she said after a long-enough wait to make me seriously sweat. “I don’t believe it.”
    Relief at not having to explain who I was flooded through me. “How are you?”
    â€œGood. Great. What’s doing in the outer boroughs? Do you have sushi yet?”
    This was a joke. Possibly. Or maybe not. Charlotte prided herself on never crossing the bridge.
    â€œSure,” I said. “Blue Ribbon. Charlotte, Brooklyn’s the new Tribeca. We have Miranda and Steve from Sex in the City , although I do understand they’re fictional, Jonathan Safran Foer and Nicole Krauss, they’re real. I think. Jennifer Connelly and Paul Bettany, Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams. They’re all here.”
    As it occurred to me that I had no idea where exactly I was going with this, the door opened and Maria frowned around it. “Why didn’t you tell me you were home?” she demanded, hand on her chest. “You scared me to death.”
    â€œSorry,” I mouthed. “ And we have Williamsburg hipsters,” I told Charlotte. Since I’d started this idiotic line of conversation, I felt compelled to continue digging myself deeper and deeper. I wanted Maria to go away, but she was still standing in the doorway glaring at me. I raised an eyebrow at her.
    â€œThat dog, I think she needs to go out.”
    I covered the receiver. “Could you please take her, just this once?” I pleaded.