Mrs. Perfect by Jane Porter Page B

stop to chat.
    “Fine. So far.”
    “We’ll be working together on the second-grade class auction project,” I say, pulling my purse strap higher on my shoulder.
    “That’s right. As head room moms, we have to coordinate that ghastly class project. I hate that thing, I do.” Her freckled nose creases. “It’s the worst job for someone who isn’t creative. I glue and staple fabric instead of sew.”
    “We’ll figure it out together. Don’t worry.”
    Kate shakes her head in admiration. “You’re so good with all of that. I don’t know how you do it. Chair the auction and help out in the classroom.”
    I shake my head right back. “It’s because I have no life outside of the girls and school.”
    “Well, thank God for that. If we didn’t have you, I swear, the school would fall apart.”
    Kate is exaggerating. She’s even more important to the school than I am. Her husband, Bill, is second in command at Microsoft, and she’s pretty, not in that fake plastic surgery way, but in a healthy natural strawberry blond way that makes you think of skiing, golf, and quick getaways to Kauai. She’s nice, too, something you wouldn’t expect when your husband earns several hundred thousand a year, with annual bonuses of up to a million dollars.
    A million-dollar bonus. Not bad for a year’s work. And if it weren’t for her massive diamond ring—five carats, I think—and her Medina waterfront house, you wouldn’t know she’s rich. It’s not as if she drives a yellow Hummer like some of the mothers I know. Her car is a discreet navy Mercedes, a classic model with the original tan leather interior.
    Kate, as you can imagine, is every teacher’s dream room mom. Can you imagine not wanting Microsoft’s number two wife as your room mom? Can you imagine the technology benefits? The
software
?
    We chat a little more, and then we both glance at our watches at the same time. “Better go,” Kate exclaims. “I’ve got a women’s lunch over at the club. These things always sound fun until I actually have to go.”
    “I know what you mean.” We kiss good-bye, and we’re off.
    I stop in at Kit’s Cottage, a cute little place filled with adorable things that I find nearly irresistible. I love all the beach house items—the glass jars filled with gorgeous seashells and tied with aqua ribbon, the quaint painted signs pointing to the beach, the ornate oversize picture frames made from sand dollars.
    I buy a bracelet as a gift for my sister and then some cute frames for the girls’ rooms and a little painted sign to put in my potting shed. As the sales clerk rings up my purchases, I dash back and grab a few scented candles and a pretty potted topiary.
    “That’s it,” I say, slightly breathless and feeling rather triumphant as I pull out my checkbook. “I better get out of here before I’m late to meet my friend.”
    Unfortunately, parking isn’t easy on Main Street in Old Bellevue. I circle the block twice before finally locating a spot at a lot near the downtown park.
    I walk quickly to 520 Bar & Grill and find that Patti’s already there. She’s secured us a table outside on the patio beneath a shady tree. “How’s your day?” she asks as I slip into a chair opposite hers.
    “Good. I bumped into Kate at the mall.”
    “How is she?”
    “Good. How’s your day?”
    “Insane. Bellevue Schools Foundation meeting. Hearing and vision screening meeting at school. An hour in the classroom afterwards. Sometimes I feel like I never left school.”
    “Oh, I know. Today’s easy for me, but tomorrow’s going to be a nightmare. PTA board meeting, reading with the second graders, Pilates, errands, lunchroom duty. I dread it already.”
    “You need to stop with the lunchroom duty. I gave it up years ago and haven’t regretted it once.”
    “But no one else volunteers.”
    “Because it’s a miserable job.” Patti’s iced tea arrives, and I signal to the waitress that I want one, too. “You’re too good