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"Yeah, I think so. Hey, are you guys going to the polo match?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Of course," Lindsay said. "You?"
"Charlie and I are sort of going together," she confessed with a smug smile.
"So what's up? You guys back together?"
"Not really," Eliza said. "Not yet, anyway." But he did ask her
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to be his date at the polo match, and she had told him she would meet him there. She was also supposed to be working at the event, taking care of the kids. But that was fine since Charlie was actually playing on one of the teams and wouldn't be in the tents much. He hadn't exactly said anything about getting back together, but she was hoping that was all about to change at the polo match. Thank God she had bought that hot little wrap dress. Charlie wouldn't be able to resist.
"Anyway, ladies, this was hella fun. But I got to go." A little of the California talk that was so big in Buffalo right now snuck in as she threw down a twenty on the table.
Lindsay waved it away. "I have my dad's Visa. Why do you have to leave so early? I thought we were going to go shopping after brunch."
"Nah, I told my aunt I'd go to some art exhibit in Water Mill with her today," Eliza lied. In fact, she was due to pick up Mara, Jacqui, and the kids at Fifi Laroo, where Anna had booked the kids for massage treatments.
As she drove down the street, her friends' words rang in her head. "Au pair is just another word for mistress on the payroll!" "He's dating THE MAID?"
God help her if they ever found out the truth about her.
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orina conna's got nothing on these girls
Madame Suzette was a former prima ballerina. She had danced for Balanchine and Baryshnikov, and was once the star of the American Ballet Theater. She'd been linked with many rich and famous men, and earned the adulation of the cultured elite. It was one of the reasons why her studio was one of the most sought-after in the Hamptons.
On a bright Saturday morning, a group of little girls in black leotards and pink tights and ballet slippers stood in order of height against the mirror.
"Plie, plie, grand plie, plie," Madame ordered briskly, walking up and down the barre. "Pointe tendu," she directed, inspecting the girls' outstretched toes.
"Szzt! Madeeezun!" Madame called. "Arretez! Toes point out! Like theez!" Madame stretched her foot to show Madison how her toe was arched out in a sharp point. Madison fumbled and tried to imitate it. Madame sighed.
"Allez! From the top! Plie, plie, grand plie . .
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During the course of the lesson, Madame returned to Madison's place several times to correct her posture, her arm movements, her awkward rond de jambes.
"Toes in, ankles out! What do you not understand?" Madame asked, as she forced Madison's feet into fourth position. Several girls snickered. Madison's cheeks burned.
"Isn't that your sister?" someone asked Zoe.
After the grueling hour, the studio assistant set out milk and cookies as treats for the students, and Madame handed out performance grades on embossed note cards.
"Madison, you must amiliorer. Improve. This is an art. A practice. You are not cut out for ballet. Perhaps you should take the jazz dance." Madison lowered her head and reached for a cookie.
Madame clucked her tongue. "No cookies for you. You have not the ballet shape."
When Mara, Eliza and Jacqui came to pick up the girls, they found Madison crying softly and Zoe trying to hold back tears. "What happened?" Mara asked, immediately coming around to give Madison a hug.
Madison shook her head.
A few of the other students walked out of the studio to meet their parents and nannies. "Madeeezon! No cookies! You no have ballet shape!" one pretty little girl jeered. The other girls laughed.
"Excuse me?" Eliza snapped. "That's not a very nice thing to
