Tiny Imperfections

by Alli Frank

  * * *

  • • •

  “Check you out!” Roan growls as I smooth down the back of my skirt and give a little shimmy. “Someone’s got it bad for the gays.”

  When I wanna look good, I can look so damn good even Nan will stop and take notice. This morning, she used up her once-a-year compliment admiring my mint-colored blouse that casually ties at the neck with a little peek-a-boo hole that shows some well-moisturized chocolate skin. I’ve paired my top with a knee-length Kelly-green pencil skirt. And, if that weren’t enough, I took the ensemble over the Fairchild fashion edge with my metallic silver ankle booties. BAM! I’m lookin’ fly today and I know it. Take that, middle age! I ain’t ready for you yet.

  Knock. Knock.

  The smell at the door gives it away. “Come in, Aunt Viv.” As promised, she has arrived fifteen minutes before the Golden parent interview to deliver her apple crumb coffee cake.

  “Now remember, Josephine, unless you want me to die earlier than I plan to, you let that good doctor’s daughter in this school. I have never once asked for any favors where your job is concerned, but I’m askin’ now.” Aunt Viv is tearing at the Kleenex she has permanently stuffed up her sleeve. She’s visibly anxious, not her usual calm, authoritative self.

  “Aunt Viv, you know I can only admit her if she’s a right fit for Fairchild. And if her parents are a decent fit, too.”

  “Puh-lease, child, I’ve seen you and three directors of admissions before you accept plenty of children who had no business bein’ here other than their parents could buy somethin’ for the school that it couldn’t buy for itself. I’ve been here a long time. I’ve seen a lot of things, and I know how it goes. If your parents have more money than Mississippi, Georgia, and Louisiana combined you get in. If you look like you shop at the Ferry Building’s farmers market on the weekends, you get in. It’s all the families in the middle who have to play by the rules. Private schools color outside the lines. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. I need that doctor to be happy that his daughter gets to go to a good school, this school. I’m not up for dyin’, Josie, so the least you can do for me is accept that nice family, so I can get on with livin’.”

  Since her heart attack this is the first time Aunt Viv has actually talked about dying. I know I’ve thought about it, I know Etta’s thought about it, but up until this moment it was unclear to me if the idea of dying was anything Aunt Viv spent much time thinking about. She’s not one to delve into emotions and “all that therapy nonsense you younger generations spend too much time talkin’ about.” This turn of events, me doing what needs to be done to take care of Aunt Viv, is uncharted territory. Aunt Viv is the caretaker. Aunt Viv is the lawmaker. And in full disclosure, Aunt Viv is the steady hand that runs our house and reigns over our land, and I’m in no hurry to step into that family role quite yet.

  “Well, Aunt Viv, if I were a betting woman, which I swear to God I’m not”—Aunt Viv detests gambling—“I would bet on the Goldens. I can’t think of a time since I’ve been at Fairchild that we didn’t take two dads.”

  “Now, that’s not true. Remember those large fellows with the thick Russian accents you could barely understand? For a whole year every time I came by your office I had to listen to Roan talk in a Russian accent and ask if I knew how to make piroshkies. Those men had a son and you didn’t take him.”

  “Aunt Viv, they weren’t gay, they were brothers. They just wore too much jewelry. Anyway, we didn’t take their kid because SFPD came to Fairchild looking for information we had on them. Turns out they were part of an underground Russian mob out of Moscow that had been steadily growing in the Bay Area for over a decade.”

  “Okay, so they were brothers, but still you didn’t take them is all I’m sayin’. So, unless you plan on startin’ to do more of the cookin’ and cleanin’ around the house I strongly suggest you find love in your heart for the Golden family.” Ohhh I hate it when Aunt Viv threatens me with going on a cooking strike. Laundry and vacuuming I can handle, dinner not so much. “And don’t touch the coffee cake, it’s not for you.” Aunt Viv throws the shredded Kleenex in my garbage, kisses my forehead, and gives me a good look up and down. “You look nice today, Josephine. Your hair’s all laid and lookin’ pretty.” A compliment from Nan and Aunt Viv in one day, now I know pigs fly and hell could possibly freeze over. If Golden Boy isn’t a foodie, hopefully he’s a designer diva and I can get another fashion compliment for the trifecta win. As I begin to preen just a little, Aunt Viv follows up her compliment with, “Cuz yesterday ya had cookabugs hangin’ from them dreads. Now stand up straight like I bothered to teach you anything.” As orderly as she arrived, Aunt Viv walks out my office door, with perfect posture, I note.

  I check my e-mail in the five minutes I have before the Goldens show up.

  FROM: Yu Yan (Helen) Wu

  DATE: November 14, 2018

  SUBJECT: Liu family of Shanghai

  TO: Josephine Bordelon

  Hello, Josephine,

  Lovely to make your acquaintance. I am Helen Wu, senior partner at Admit International, Hong Kong office, and I am the educational consultant for the Liu family of Shanghai. The Liu family will be moving to San Francisco in two months’ time, though the head of the household, Wang Wei Liu, will be spending most of his time at his multinational company based in China. The Liu family purchased the Greek consulate two blocks from Fairchild and they have spent three years refurbishing the building to create an acceptable home for a family of such international renown.

  Now that the house is complete, the Lius need to find a reputable school for their children. One boy. One girl. Twins. The children will be entering the American equivalent of grade nine.

  A colleague of mine in Singapore shared with the Liu family that Fairchild Country Day School is an academically rigorous and highly regarded school with students eventually matriculating into Ivy League universities. This pleases Mr. Liu greatly and he would like me to share with you that his children have been raised with impeccable manners, can sit and focus for extended periods of time, are fluent in the Queen’s English, and will be studying hard to ensure acceptance into Harvard University.

  Since Harvard is the number one university choice for his children, Mr. Liu would like you to send to me, and I will forward to him, your statistics on Fairchild graduates attending Ivy League universities for the past twenty years. Mr. Liu is well informed that Stanford is an internationally recognized university, but he prefers a school with a longer-standing history of excellence and tradition.

  Please inform me, within the next forty-eight hours, as to the correct immediate application steps for the Liu family.

  Thank you for your attention to this important matter.

  Yu Yan (Helen) Wu

  EDUCATION CONSULTANT

  ADMIT INTERNATIONAL, HONG KONG

  Every year during tours parents ask me what are the biggest trends I am seeing in private school admissions. I don’t tell them the truth. It would be too deflating and, frankly, possibly make me sound a bit racist. But here it is. Mad-rich Asians who are gunning for an Ivy League college education so they can return home to Shanghai, Beijing, or Shenzhen and build multibillion-dollar companies in the wild, wild East that is currently the economic climate in China. The Chinese are moving to the West Coast in droves, gobbling up the best real estate with cash, and flooding private schools with the equivalent of professional students. The wealth of the parents and the drive of the children are astounding. I get at least one or two e-mails from a Chinese education consultant a week. A few years ago, I thought these e-mails were a scam, but after a three-year trend of more than twenty families applying to Fairchild a year from China, this is no scam, this trend is the real deal. I search my sent box for a similar reply I wrote a few weeks ago to another consultant from Shenzhen—copy, paste, and send. I know in less than twelve hours I will receive a perfectly manicured application f
rom Helen Wu on behalf of the Liu family.

  Roan blows into my office in a flurry.

  “They’re here! How do I look? Would you cheat on your husband with me if you were Golden Boy? Or maybe Golden Boy has a gay Golden brother?” Roan has temporarily gone insane thinking he’s at the club with his friends and not talking to his boss. I love it.

  “Slow down there, Grinder Greg. You’re at work. Pull yourself together. And more important, pretend you have some sense in that head and don’t embarrass me.” I stand up to straighten my blouse and adjust a few locks so you can see a hint of my glittering chandelier earrings. There’s little better than being showered with clothing compliments from a couple of queens. “Bring Mama some gold!” I strut over to pose by the couch, feeling my stock rise.

  “Terrible play on words.” Roan smirks and exits my office. My stock plummets. I thought it was pretty good.

  “Josie, nice to see you again.” Daniel walks in first, clearly excited to get the interview started. “Please pardon Ty, he rushed here from the hospital and didn’t have time to change out of his scrubs. He told me about the coincidence of being your aunt’s doctor. I hope she’s doing well, or at least getting better.”

  “Thank you for asking. She is back at school and close to being 100 percent her old self. And no need to apologize for your husband, there are no admission points given for best dressed.” Daniel and Ty smile at me. I allow for a pause after the easy opening that I lobbed them for a compliment on my outfit. Not a peep. Really? Nothing? No comment on how utterly fabulous I look? How can they be gay and have nothing to say, not even on the shoes? I’ve been spoiled by Roan, who notices everything about me. The good and the bad.

  “I see Aunt Viv delivered on her promise. I haven’t eaten since five a.m. Hope it’s okay if I dive right in.” Not waiting for an invitation to help himself, Golden Boy grabs a napkin and the two biggest pieces of coffee cake. He devours the first piece in two bites, a trickle of cinnamon crumbs decorating my carpet. How does he eat like that and look like this? I glance away for a moment to give him privacy to wipe his mouth.

  “Please have a seat. I’d love to hear how you two met and a little about your family and what the three of you like to do together.” I launch into my standard opening interview question, but with the added twist of wanting to know how these two guys who seem so very, very different got together.

  “We meft throu my sistar,” Ty shares, spreading powdered sugar shrapnel everywhere as piece number two disappears. I could have waited to hear that boring version of their love story until after he finished chewing. I notice Daniel is dying a slow death in the chair next to him.

  “You’ll have to excuse my sleep-deprived husband. He’s been on call for the past two days. What he means to say is that his sister, Caroline, introduced us. Caroline works for Salesforce, and they were at an early Dreamforce event together. I think it was 2010. Stevie Wonder and Will.i.am played. They were amazing. Do you know who Will.i.am is?”

  I let the question hang in the air, allowing Daniel time to realize how ridiculous it is. I want so badly to say, “Why, no, I don’t,” but instead I choose to behave. Crimson rises from his shirt collar and discolors his face.

  “Please continue with the story . . .” I say when I think I have tortured him long enough with silence.

  “Ty had spent the past ten years in medical school and in fellowships and hadn’t had much time socializing in the real world. Caroline brought him along to try to sharpen his dulled social skills. I saw them across the room staring at me just as I was staring at them; both Caroline and Ty are strikingly good-looking. When Caroline finally caught me glancing their way she marched right over and asked me outright if I was single. And then she burst out in a laugh so loud you would have thought it impossible coming from such a petite human being. Ty dared her to come over and meet me out of the blue. I think he owed her twenty dollars after that. Can you believe meeting me was worth only twenty dollars?”

  “To be fair, in 2010 twenty dollars was a lot of money for a poor doctor a few years out of medical school drowning in student debt,” Ty defends himself, reaching for one more chunk of coffee cake. Daniel slaps his forearm before he can fondle a third piece.

  “Since Dream Force 2010 the three of us have been pretty inseparable.” Daniel pats Ty’s leg a little too aggressively.

  “Three meaning you, Ty, and Gracie?” I ask quizzically. The math doesn’t add up for me, Gracie is only four and a half.

  “No me, Ty, and Caroline.”

  “And why is it you would like Gracie to attend Fairchild Country Day?” I decide the relationship topic has been exhausted and it’s time to return to the script and learn more about Gracie and their hopes for her as a potential Fairchild student.

  “Caroline’s the one who wants it,” they both say at the same time.

  A-ha. A real twist in the Golden family history has presented itself. “Wow, so your sister has quite a big influence when it comes to Gracie’s education?” I ask, fishing for the real story. My guess is that the sister is the biological mom who donated her eggs. Or maybe she didn’t donate her eggs maybe she cooked Gracie for nine months herself. So then she must be Daniel’s daughter for sure. It certainly wouldn’t be Ty’s kid, right? Would that be incest or just really, really messed up?

  “She has a strong influence over everything when it comes to Gracie,” Ty blurts out but gives me no more information. “You have no idea.” Daniel sneaks Ty a sly evil eye, not happy with the direction the interview is going. It’s clear they have no interest in taking this part of the conversation further.

  “Oh, I know about strong-willed aunts, remember I have Aunt Viv.”

  “Yeah, well, Aunt Viv and my sister, Caroline, could go toe to toe, trust me. They are well matched.” Ty leans in to high-five me. A first in a parent interview. Daniel can’t help but nod in agreement reaching for Ty’s hand, embarrassed by his husband’s high-five attempt.

  I like the dads. While I find their honesty refreshing, I can tell by the beads of sweat at Daniel’s hairline he is sure Ty has blown it for them. I fake check my watch and tell the Goldens that I have a lunch I have to get to but that I have enjoyed our time spent together enormously. Daniel looks relieved when I put my arm around his shoulders and walk with him to the door. I leave Golden Boy to follow behind us. I want to assuage any doubt Daniel may have about their parental performance by giving him a little extra physical assurance, which is a big deal for me because, as an overall rule, I don’t touch people I don’t really know. Call it a germ thing, call it an energy suck thing, all I know is: If I touched every parent who came into my office on edge, or left my office having completely nosedived off a ledge during an interview, I would be a walking petri dish.

  “I really appreciate your time today, Josie. We hope to see you again soon,” Daniel says, the color having returned to his cheeks.

  “Yep, what he said,” Ty mumbles, breezing by me having snagged two more pieces of Aunt Viv’s coffee cake when Daniel wasn’t looking. I can’t help but think if that guy made it into Cornell not once, but twice for undergrad and medical school, Etta for sure has a solid chance. Overall, that was thirty minutes well spent. By the end I think Daniel turned a corner and again feels good about Gracie’s kindergarten prospects. Similarly, I am feeling better and better about Etta’s chances of nailing the college game given my time with Ty.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Nan. What are you doing here?” I ask, in shock that Nan has actually left her oak-paneled fortress and shown up for an admissions committee meeting. Every year I invite her to join Roan, myself, and the seven teachers (two kindergarten, two third, two sixth, and one ninth) who meet five times during the admission season to run the children’s visit dates and to work through the selection process after Roan and I have taken an initial pass through the five-hundred-plus applications. Extendin
g the olive branch is more a gesture than a true invitation; plus, she never shows up. It’s a little director of admissions, head of school game of cat and mouse we play. Until today.

  “It has come to my attention that you may not be taking my requests for the incoming class seriously. You know, as head of school, I do have the ultimate say as to who attends this institution I have built.” I bite down hard on my lip to avoid pointing out to Nan that she has only been at Fairchild for six of its 150-year tradition. “I’m not convinced you have shared with the committee the families I want to see at Fairchild. In talking with the committee before you arrived six minutes late for YOUR meeting, they do not seem aware of the list of families that I gave you to make sure are accepted for the incoming kindergarten class. I have grave concerns with your job performance as it pertains to information gathering and dissemination.” Roan is behind Nan silently yelling, NOT ME! NOT ME!

  “As well, I had Elsamyassistant check into your admissions database and I have to say the system you have set up to rank, track, and comment on each applying child is, to be frank, novice at best, and I daresay, tragically simple. I’ve seen more sophisticated systems at the Tiny Trees preschool down the street.”

  “I think our system works pretty well. Look at all the great families we have enrolled right now,” Elizabeth one of the third-grade teachers chimes in, trying to interrupt my public humiliation that Nan is enjoying a little too much.

  “Well, yes, Josie has probably convinced you that her system works well, but I am here to tell you I have seen more erudite systems at our rival schools. I believe Josie is really holding back progress at Fairchild and I have to say I’m terribly concerned, thus why I’m here.” For a second time Roan is silently screaming at me, WHAT DOES ERUDITE MEAN?!?!?! I give him a subtle shrug. I have a bigger problem on my hands than a limited vocabulary.