The Pretty One A Novel About Sisters - By Lucinda Rosenfeld Page 0,3

Olympia had had any say in the matter, Dawn’s crowning superlative would have been “Most Annoying Person in All of Westchester County.”

“All I know is that Brad Gadzak was hot for you,” Dawn had continued. “And he was the hottest guy in high school.”

“Brad Gadzak. Wow. I haven’t thought about him in years. Do you know what happened to him?” asked Olympia, flinching on all fronts.

“Last I heard, he was an Outward Bound instructor in Alaska with a harem of Inuit supermodels. Anyway, that’s it!” She withdrew the catheter.

“Great!” Olympia had said, while fighting the urge to flee to the frozen north herself.

“Does Dawn still work here?” she now asked the receptionist, her back pressed to the supply closet door.

Within seconds, Dawn came on the line, and said, “Hello?”

“It’s Pia… Hellinger!” she said, trying to sound upbeat.

“Hey, Baby Mama,” said Dawn. “How the heck are you?”

“We’re all great. How are you and your brood?”

“Haven’t pulled an Andrea Yates yet.”

“Well, that’s good.” Olympia laughed lightly as she ran through the accumulated tabloid stories in her head and tried to recall to which one Andrea Yates owed her notoriety. Was she the woman who drove off a bridge with her kids? Or was that Susan Something? “So listen,” she began again in a faux-casual voice. “I’m sure you don’t remember this, but I used six-one-oh-three.”

“Ah, the ever-popular six-one-oh-three.” Dawn sighed, alarming Olympia. Exactly how many of his “motivated, thoughtful” progeny were toddling around Brownstone Brooklyn and the Upper West Side?

“Right, him,” said Olympia. “Anyway, this is kind of embarrassing, but I’ve sort of been obsessing about the guy. And I was wondering if there was anything you could tell me about him that isn’t on the profile, even if it’s just a first name.” She held her breath.

“Listen, sweets: nothing would make me happier than dishing dirt,” said Dawn. “But I can’t. Bank policy.”

“I totally understand,” said Olympia, already wishing she’d never asked.

Before she hung up, Dawn made Olympia promise to stop by “the bank” some time with Lola to say hello.

Olympia would rather have run naked through Times Square.

Exiting the supply room, she was further distressed to find Viveka standing there, hands on her nonexistent hips. Had she overheard Olympia’s conversation? “We promote the fine art of Austria here,” was all she said before stomping away in her gladiators.

“Too bad you can’t see it,” Olympia muttered to herself on her way back to her desk.

And then, two weeks later, the Inevitable Day arrived. It happened to be January 1. Olympia was getting herself and Lola ready for the Hellinger family’s annual New Year’s Day brunch. (Olympia looked forward to and dreaded the event in equal parts. She fitted Lola’s arms into her favorite pink polyester-velour jumper dress with the rubberized heart decal. Lola’s closet was filled with beautiful European fashions by Jacadi, Catimini, and Bon Nuit, most of them purchased secondhand on eBay. But the child’s most cherished dresses were from Target and the Disney store. Olympia was wearing skintight dark-wash cigarette jeans, a black wool turtleneck, gray suede booties, a short fake-fur jacket, and oversized square sunglasses. Which is to say that she still cared about keeping up appearances in front of her two sisters—namely, the appearance that she led such a busy and sophisticated existence that she lacked both the time and energy to care what they thought of her, even though, in truth, she obsessed about them constantly. “Mommy, who’s my daddy?” Lola asked.

“You don’t have a daddy, cookie,” Olympia replied in the most lighthearted voice she could summon.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because not everyone has a mommy and a daddy. Some kids have just a mommy. A few have just a daddy… There, you’re all zipped!” How could she lie? If she made up someone, Olympia had decided, Lola would just ask to meet him. In preparation for this moment, Olympia had bought her daughter picture books about “modern families.” But the child seemed completely uninterested. Apart from Madeline, her favorite titles were Olivia and The Story of Babar, both of which featured mommies and daddies, all of the four-legged variety, but still.

“And a few kids just have gymnastics teachers,” Lola said.

Olympia had no clue what her daughter was talking about. But not wanting to disappoint any more of her expectations, she said, “That’s right. A few just have gymnastics teachers.” Then she lifted up Lola’s dress and yanked her bunching turtleneck down over her Tiana underpants. Tiana was Lola’s favorite Disney Princess, a fact that Olympia advertised