“What a relief! I had a feeling they would really like you,” Francine smiled, relaxing.
“The thing is,” I felt myself flushing, “I was wondering if you could…could maybe recommend me to a few more clients? I really enjoy tutoring and have some free time in the afternoons.”
“Ah.” She smiled again, then looked at me curiously. “Are you sure you can take on a few more clients? In addition to your teaching position?”
“Oh, absolutely! I’m really getting the hang of teaching, and tutoring just allows me to continue my passion for teaching,” I affirmed. We both knew I was bullshitting. And from the gleam of the diamond studs that sparkled from each of her ears, it appeared that Francine Gilmore had a few “clients” of her own.
“Well, let’s see,” she said slowly, thumbing through the enormous datebook she had in front of her. Now I really felt as if I were with a Hollywood madam.
“It’s a bit difficult midyear as most families set up their tutors in the fall,” she said slowly.
My heart stopped beating.
“But…”
“Yes?” I asked urgently. I was willing to take on a hundred Jakes and Katies.
“Things change drastically after March conferences.”
“Why is that?” What did parent conferences have to do with tutoring?
“That’s when parents start calling again,” she stated matter-of-factly. “When they get updates on their children, many of them give me a call if they hear anything of concern. And,” she gave me a little wink, “they always call.”
“I’d really really appreciate that,” I gushed.
“It’s my pleasure, dear,” she said kindly. “I’ll be e-mailing you very soon. And just remember, be sure to e-mail me after your conferences so I know which of your students may require a tutor. After all, that’s my job!”
“Hey, neighbor. Guess who I am,” Randi asked devilishly as I opened my apartment door. She made little whizzing sounds and entered with rigid, awkward movements. When she got to the center of the apartment, she raised her right arm in an abrupt, swinging fashion.
“Tweebles!” I screamed, and we both doubled over with laughter.
“The fucking thing gives me nightmares!” she cried, tears streaming down her face. “Every time that awful Dorothy rolls it in I want to punch her and the robot.”
“What about when you see Sue’s face in the screen, how do you keep a straight face?”
“Forget her face, what about when that little freaking neon arm goes up and you have to call on it!”
We were both hysterical now. Through my tears, I looked over at the woman I had been so ominously warned against in September. Who would have thought she would become my best friend and saving grace at Langdon? Because of Randi I was living in a beautiful apartment, wore designer clothes, and had somehow attained the status of beloved English teacher.
“Should we eat out or order in?” I asked finally, getting up from the couch and walking toward my stack of menus I kept in the kitchen. “I could go for some pasta from Patsy’s.”
“Yeah, let’s order. I’m exhausted from my tutoring today. I had four in a row.” Randi sighed, leaning back on the couch and reaching for my remote. “Let’s watch something mind numbing.”
“America’s Next Top Model,” we screamed in unison.
As I thumbed through for the Patsy’s menu, I couldn’t help but feel a little envious again. Four tutoring jobs. Randi probably made a grand that afternoon. My two clients seemed like peanuts.
“I need some more tutoring clients,” I admitted. “I only have two.”
“Just ask Francine,” Randi answered automatically, her face riveted to the TV screen.
“I did, and she said she has nobody right now. But she will after parent conferences. What’s her deal, anyway? What do you want from Patsy’s? I’m calling now.”
“Thin crust margarita. Francine’s deal? I thought you got it?”
I finished ordering and went and stood in front of the TV.
“Hey!” Randi yelled.
“No, I really want to know,” I said seriously. “I have no idea. Remember, I’m still new at all of this.”
“Okay, okay,” Randi grumbled, turning off the TV. “This is how it works. She gives you a couple of clients, until, you know, you get hungry. Like you are now. Then, when you ask for more, you quickly realize that she’s not giving you any more people until you refer some of your own students whose parents think they need tutoring.”
“And this happens at parent conferences next week,” I finished, catching on.
“Exactly. So, pretty much you will find that you will get tutoring clients from her in the exact ratio of how many Langdon families you refer to her. She calls the other learning specialists at the other private schools with the referrals and they hook them up with their teachers. They, in turn, give her names and numbers of families at their schools who need help.”
“So, what’s in it for her?”
“She keeps the best ones for herself,” Randi answered. “Duh.”
“And she doesn’t have to teach. She just sits there…and networks,” I thought out loud in amazement. “Classic.”
“You got it. So make sure when you have your parent conferences that you push for the tutoring thing,” Randi advised. “Only you don’t suggest it. If the parents ask if you think their child could use more help, just nod. Then e-mail Francine. It’s easy.”
“So, it’s all about working the parent conferences.”
“Exactly!” Randi beamed triumphantly.
“So, how did you get Benjamin Kensington?” I asked bravely.
I saw a shadow cross her face for a split second, but admirably Randi answered honestly.
“Blumenfeld set it up. Benjamin was failing out of school and Langdon didn’t want to lose the Kensington donations. He told his parents he flat-out refused to work with anyone except me. So the school made an exception.”
“Just like that?” I asked in amazement.
“Just like that. But hey, you don’t have to wait till after parent conferences for a new client. I can give you one of mine.”
“Um, yeah, I would love it!” I enthused. “But…how come? You don’t want this kid?” I couldn’t believe how generous Randi was being.
“Her name’s Jennifer Parker. She’s actually great—she’s an eighth-grader at Spence. The family’s ridiculously wealthy and you can charge $300 an hour.” Randi was now warming up to this idea, and sat up straighter. “I just have too many clients right now, so I’d be happy to refer the family to you. They’ll do whatever I say.”
“Randi, this is way too generous! Why are you giving me such a lucrative client, though?” I was still a little suspicious. Randi usually guarded her client list like a mother hen.
“She’s just more your type,” Randi answered evasively. “I’ll have Dottie Parker call you tomorrow. Enough tutoring talk. I’m turning Tyra back on.”
Parent conferences started at 7:00 in the morning, and parents buzzed in and out all day from the Langdon beehive. I was expected to sit in my class all day as parents flew in and out in twenty-minute increments. Nobody seemed to care that teachers were expected to talk nonstop for hours. Even worse were the divorced parents who refused to sit in a room together. These special cases received forty minutes as I was expected to relay the information twice.
“Here’s your list of appointments,” Alicia Rollins said brightly as I stood in the office with the rest of the faculty, awaiting our lists.
I was scheduled straight through the day till 8:00 in the evening, with one thirty-minute break at 1:00 for lunch.
“What if I have to go to the bathroom?” I asked, horrified.
“You can go at lunch,” she replied, laughing. “My goodness, Anna, you sound like one of your students! Just hold it!”
I walked out of the office, clutching my list with a growing sense of dread. The thought of meeting all these parents alone and unprotected left me
feeling exposed and vulnerable. How the hell was I supposed to talk nonstop for the entire day? And what was I supposed to talk about? I walked past Randi’s room and saw her talking animatedly to a chicly dressed couple. The father looked like Pierce Brosnan in his sleek, pinstriped business suit, and the mother could have easily passed for Kelly Ripa. All three of them were leaning toward each other and laughing. Randi appeared to be having the time of her life.
“Keep them light and vague,” Harold Warner had ordered. “Offer no specifics. Give them nothing.”
I had rolled my eyes. What the fuck was the point of these conferences if everyone sat in a room and bullshitted about the students? Passing Dorothy Steeple’s room, I was surprised to see the same scenario of a gorgeous couple facing the teacher, only the three of them looked miserable. Dorothy’s expression was steely and the mother looked like she was going to cry. I quickly vowed to keep mine light and frothy like Randi’s.
“They’re all brilliant, they’re all brilliant, they’re all brilliant,” I muttered silently to myself as I entered the execution room. It was to be my mantra for the entire day. Unless, of course, the parents thought their child needed a tutor. Then I would most passionately and vehemently agree.
Lynn Briggman and her husband Andrew were my first conference. I got up from the table nervously and extended my hand.
“Oh, Anna, kisses, kisses! We’re all friends here!” Lynn objected, dismissing my hand and giving me a kiss on both cheeks. I looked over at her husband and was happy to find that he looked just as awkward as I felt.
“Kisses it is,” he shrugged, leaning over and giving me a quick peck on one cheek.
“Look at her hair, Andrew! Isn’t it gorgeous! I had her go to John!” Lynn continued, grabbing a handful of my hair and holding it up to show her husband.
“Lynn, let’s not completely molest the teacher,” he joked, relaxing a bit. “So, Ms. Taggert, give us the damage. What has our devil been up to?”
“Oh, Max is one of my most enthusiastic students,” I began. “He is such a delight. An absolute pleasure.”
“Can you move in with us? That’s not the kid we know,” Lynn exclaimed, and she and her husband both started laughing again. So this was the game. I had to sit and compliment the children while the parents made little jokes about their child to appear modest and grateful.
“How’s he with the ladies?” Andrew Briggman asked suddenly.
Excuse me?
“I’m sorry?” I asked, completely caught off guard.
“I mean, does he have a girlfriend? Is he a ladies’ man?” Gone was the awkward and shy father who had entered the room. “I was quite a ladies’ man at his age.”
“Oh, Andrew!” Lynn began giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Oh, the girls love Max,” I assured. “He’s so charming.” Just yesterday Max had warned the class that he was about to lay a silent but deadly and had blessed the entire class with the most vile and lingering smell I had ever experienced in my life.
“The little stinker! He never tells us anything!” Andrew cried, looking enormously pleased. Little stinker indeed.
“Now, Anna, I have to ask you something,” Lynn said, her face becoming deadly serious. “Max spends an inordinate amount of time at the computer doing his homework each night. I worry about that.”
“Are you sure he’s not just IM’ing?” I laughed, feeling comfortable for the first time.
Neither Briggman laughed back. Oops.
“Our son is one of the most honest human beings I have ever met,” Andrew replied, his face darkening. “If he says he’s doing his homework, I believe him. And I agree with my wife, two hours a night seems quite excessive for a seventh-grader.”
I would have bet my apartment that Max was either IM’ing or playing video games, but clearly this was not something either Briggman parent was willing to consider. Just when I thought there was no way out of this one, Lynn Briggman showed me an escape route.
“Do you think he needs another tutor? Someone to help him, you know, plan his time better? Get a bit more organized? He has one, but she only comes twice a week. Maybe he needs someone on a daily basis.”
“Well…um…,” I couldn’t help but falter. Was she really handing this to me on a tutoring silver platter? I forced myself to recover and take advantage of the opportunity. “It couldn’t hurt. I’ll let Ms. Gilmore know, and she’ll get in touch with you,” I replied immediately. Yes! Yes! Yes!
“Oh, that would be wonderful, Anna,” Lynn gushed. “Not all the teachers at Langdon are as understanding as you and Ms. Abrahams. Thank God you give him manageable work.”
I smiled back sweetly, but victory was short-lived. Lara Kensington was at the door with a grimace on her face. She was looking furiously at her watch.
“Um, I think our time is up,” I said, although neither Briggman was showing any sign of moving.
“What about friends? Who is Max hanging out with these days?” Andrew asked. Lara knocked loudly on the glass panes of the door and pointed to the watch.
“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Briggman, I really have to try and keep on schedule,” I stated firmly. “Mrs. Kensington is at the door and her conference time already started.”
“Lara is so selfish,” Lynn muttered spitefully, then immediately appeared to lighten up and gave me an enormous and exaggerated hug. I was quite sure it was for Lara’s benefit. Just as I was pulling away, she entered the room.
“We are starting two minutes late, Anna, so we’re staying two minutes longer,” Lara warned, then turned to the Briggmans with an enormous smile on her face. “Lynn and Andrew, how naughty of you to eat up my time! Robert and I must have you over for drinks!”
I watched the women air kiss while the men shook hands and clapped each other on the back like they were fraternity brothers. One minute later I was replaying the same scenario, only I was facing Benjamin’s parents.
“We’re starting three minutes later,” Lara reminded me again. “Every minute I spend with Benjamin’s teachers is precious. Don’t you agree, Robert?”
“Absolutely,” Robert Kensington agreed, then gave me a wicked grin that made him look exactly like his son. “And can I just say that you are even prettier than he mentioned. No wonder he loves your class so much!”
Right at that moment I felt a warm hand on my knee. Horrified, I quickly crossed my legs and pushed my chair back. Robert Kensington gave me a knowing wink.
The day stretched endlessly ahead.
26
My e-mail exchange with Francine Gilmore played out like a perfectly orchestrated drug deal, only instead of a dark alley, it transpired via e-mail. Names and phone numbers were shared, and in under a week I had eight new clients. Counting Jake and Katie, I now had ten private students all of whom wanted a minimum of two sessions a week with the option of Sunday, which I realized was clearly The Day of Homework. With so many clients and times to remember I had copied Francine and purchased a simple paper datebook from Staples. I looked at my Monday afternoon schedule with delight:
3:30–5:00
Katie Carleton
5:30–7:00
Jake Herring
7:30–9:00
Keith Morgan
9:30–11:00
Whitney Braxton
Keith Morgan and Whitney Braxton were both juniors at Horace Mann, and their parents were in search of tutors who would be willing to work late in the evenings and even into the night if required. Both sets of parents had impressed the importance of Keith’s and Whitney’s receiving no less than an A-on any assignment. All in a day’s work for Super Tutor.
If having ten clients was good, then having eleven was even better. That’s what I told myself when I received a call from Bettina LaVera. Mrs. LaVera had phoned me earlier in the week, claiming that her daughter had procured my cell number from one of her classmates. Pre–Laura Brandeis, I might have wondered how my number was floating around the classrooms of the Upper East Side. A growing addictio
n to the checks I was earning, however, caused me to hold my tongue and simply schedule the prerequisite interview for the next day.
The LaVeras lived in an old, prewar building around the corner from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Standing across the street, I noticed that the doors were a thick gold and looked like they belonged in the entrance of a vault. Two gloved doormen stood side by side with expressions that could have rivaled the Windsor guards. Strangely nervous as I approached the building, I took a deep breath before announcing myself to both men.
“I’m here to see Bettina LaVera,” I declared in my most confident voice. “I’m Anna Taggert.”
One doorman continued to stare straight ahead as if he had never heard me, but the other one nodded slightly and pointed to a large door a few feet away from the building’s entrance.
“The service entrance is through there.”
Service entrance? I blinked in confusion and quickly glanced down to recheck my outfit. Jil Sander suit. Jimmy Choo heels. Certainly not nanny material. What the hell was this doorman trying to imply? And was that a sneer I just detected?
“Unless your doors aren’t working, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I said firmly, looking him straight in the eye. “I have an appointment with Bettina LaVera.”
“Mrs. LaVera told us that she was expecting a…tutor for her daughter,” he said silkily. “All staff goes through the service entrance.” He was now making no attempt to hide his broadening smile.
I wanted to kill this asshole! Who the hell did he think he was? No way I was going to enter this building like some nanny or cleaning lady. I wasn’t…staff! Not when my outfit probably cost more than his monthly salary. I crossed my arms and glared back defiantly.
“Please call Bettina,” I challenged, purposefully using her first name. “I would like this to be her decision.”
“You’re not the tutor?” His arms were now crossed as well.
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