Momzillas Read Online Free Page B

every week to discuss child development. He’s the one who told me about Mozart on the headphones. He really gives some great insights and will definitely give Violet a jump ahead when it comes to nursery school interviews this fall.”
    â€œOh…that’s so nice. Um, yeah sure,” I said looking across the park at a group of friendly-seeming nannies who were all laughing hysterically while bouncing their little charges on their knees.
    â€œThat over there?” said Bee, following my glance to their group of benches. “That’s Little Trinidad. The nanny hangout. The mothers usually sit on this side.”
    â€œOh,” I said quietly, not quite knowing what to make of this. “They look like they’re having fun.”
    â€œOh, oh,” said Maggie suddenly. “Six o’clock, look who’s coming.”
    Bee turned around. “Yup, somebody cue the
Jaws
music.”
    I turned to see a petite woman decked out with seven different visible logos. It was like the alphabet had exploded onto her five-foot-two frame, which was covered with a sea of LV’s, H’s, double C’s, and D&G’s.
    â€œHiiiiiii, gals!” she said, her huge Gucci frames covering her tiny head. “So six weeks and counting to the speed dial! I am freaking out! Lester’s guys at the office are trying to write a code this summer that will break through the phone lines! I am praying!” As she clasped her ring-covered hands in exaggerated prayer to the heavens above, the glint of her bling almost blinded me. “If we don’t get into Carnegie, oh my gawd, I’ll just die.
Die!
”
    â€œThey say if you don’t get your kid into Carnegie Nursery School, well, there goes Princeton,” smiled Bee tauntingly.
    Huh? What speed dial?
    â€œKeep your fingers crossed for me and little Stella Scarlett, ’k?” she said, leaving in a blaze of gold, gems, and zippers.
    â€œWhoa,” I said, amusedly watching her head to the swings in stilettos. “Who is that?”
    â€œGagsville,” said Bee.
    â€œThe worst,” added Maggie.
    â€œTessa Finch-Saunders. She is such a spoiled brat. I heard she just bought her husband a Jasper Johns oil for his thirty-fifth birthday,” whispered Bee conspiratorially. “He’s in private equity. Loaded. She runs around throwing her money everywhere, so tacky. Very nouveau.”
    I nodded. I was intrigued by her, but more than that, I wanted to know what she was talking about with this Carnegie place. “So, um, what’s this nursery school?”
    â€œCarnegie. The best. On Ninetieth Street. It’s a feeder to all the best kindergartens,” said Bee. “Everyone goes there, I mean, the class lists could be a page torn out of
Forbes
!”
    â€œUh-huh…” I felt my palms begin to sweat. “And what was that, like, speed-dial thing?”
    â€œThey have thousands of interested families. Literally thousands,” explained Bee. “But there are only forty spaces. So they only print five hundred applications and they open the phone lines at eight A.M. the day after Labor Day for requests and you just have to just hope you get one. You have to get all your family to help you dial.”
    â€œOh. Does West go there?”
    â€œYes,” said Bee, proudly. “And Maggie’s son, Ford. It’s the best in the city. Someone donated a million smacks to get their kid in! It’s harder to get into than Yale Law, but once you’re in, you can write your ticket. But the first hurdle is getting though the phone line to get an application.”
    â€œGosh, I didn’t realize I needed to win a radio contest to be able to even apply,” I said, shaken.
    â€œYeah, it’s kind of nuts. I’m glad that’s all behind me, since siblings are almost always let in,” sighed Maggie. “I don’t envy you beginning the process. It