by Karen Quinn
“Stu, Veronica’s four. Why don’t you wait to see what interests her?”
“She’ll be interested in whatever I decide.”
Okay. I give up. “I think you should go for speed skating. Having an Olympic gold medal will set her apart from the average student-council presidents and theater geeks,” I said. Plus, it might be good for her weight problem, which of course I did not say.
“It’s just too bad we didn’t have any international accomplishments like that to write about in her kindergarten essays,” he lamented.
“Yeah, too bad, Stu. But most kids under four don’t achieve worldwide celebrity, so it’s not like she’s behind the eight-ball or anything. Will that be it?” I asked sweetly.
“Did Patsy tell you I was promoted?”
“No, she forgot to mention it. Congratulations.”
“It was in my life plan last year. And it happened. That’s the beauty of these things. State your intention and let nature take its course. Next year, Steven Lord is going to personally draft me to fill a plum position in his organization,” Stu predicted. “That’s my number-one goal. Just watch and wait. I’ll make it happen.”
“I’m sure you will. Now, is that it?” I asked politely.
“Yes, but I may call you back later if I have more questions.”
“You do that, Stu,” I said, as I hung up and unplugged the phone.
12. Behind Closed Doors
After the holidays, there was a flurry of interviews to complete. By some cosmic coincidence, all my clients were interviewing at Harvard Day on January 12. Well, maybe it was because I’d submitted all their applications on the same day. As usual, everyone called me afterward with a full report:
“So you won’t be needing financial aid?” Tipper asked Archie.
“No, that won’t be necessary. I can afford the tuition,” Archie explained.
“That’s wonderful,” Tipper said. “Archie, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Of course,” Archie answered.
“How did WaShaunté lose her mother?”
Archie began to speak and then put his head in his hands and sobbed. “I’m sorry, but it’s still such a raw wound.”
Tipper handed him a Kleenex.
“She was on her way to Kenya to volunteer with the World Hunger Organization. It was always important to Hola to be part of the solution, not the problem. Anyway, she was on a small plane with six other volunteers that went down in a remote section of the African jungle. They only had one candy bar and a box of apple juice between them. After ten days of waiting and hoping to be rescued, there was no sign of help. On the eleventh day, they knew that someone would have to die and be eaten so the rest of the group could live. They were preparing to draw straws when Hola, selfless as always, volunteered to be the one. A fellow passenger handed her a pistol and she made the ultimate sacrifice. Just as they finished eating her torso, a rescue party arrived and everyone but my beloved Hola was saved. Do you want to know what the real irony was?”
“What?”
“Hola is an African name that means ‘savior.’ ”
Tipper shuddered. “That gave me the chills. You know, I saw a movie on the Lifetime Channel that was just like that about two weeks ago.”
“Did you now?” Archie said. “Did you happen to notice the message they flashed at the beginning of the show, ‘inspired by actual events’?”
“Noooo,” Tipper gasped, her hands covering her mouth.
“Yesssss,” Archie confirmed, nodding his head up and down.
Against my advice, Lilith brought Ransom’s weekday-afternoon nanny to their interview. She wanted her there in case they were asked questions about Ransom that neither she nor Johnny could answer. Ignoring all my instructions, Lilith wore her dark glasses during the interview. She carried Mrs. Butterworth in her $14,000 Birkin bag, which had been specially modified with airholes. Further ignoring my counsel, Johnny opted for an Armani running suit instead of a conservative Brooks Brothers look. I don’t know why they even hired me.
“What do you and Ransom like to do together as a family?” Tipper asked.
“Can I answer that, dear?” Lilith asked Johnny.
“Of course, darling,” Johnny answered.
“Often I have to work weekends, and Ransom always begs to join me. I’m chairman of American Standard Papers, as you know, the largest newspaper and publishing conglomerate in the world. I usually have speeches to prepare, and Ransom likes to watch me work. If I’m holding a Saturday conference call, Ransom will make silly faces to see if he can get me to laugh while I’m talking on the phone. It’s really very cute,” she said, recalling her son’s antics.
“Oh, I thought you didn’t like that, dear?” Johnny asked.
“Oh, no, I do, darling. I think it’s adorable,” Lilith corrected him, giving him the hairy eyeball.
“It says in your nursery-school report that your secretary always attended Ransom’s parent-teacher conferences. If Ransom attended Harvard Day, we’d have to insist that at least one parent be present. Would that be a problem?” Tipper asked.
“No, not at all,” Lilith said. “Those conferences seemed like such a waste of time in nursery school. I mean, what was there to say? He excels at Play-Doh? He’s good on the jungle gym? Give me a break. But now that he’s going to real school, of course we plan to be there.”
“Is Ransom good on the jungle gym?” Tipper inquired.
“You know, I’m not sure.” Lilith looked at Johnny, who appeared stumped, too. Marvys jumped in with the answer. “He’s a little gymnast. Can’t keep him off the monkey bars when we go to the park.”
Johnny tried to change the subject. “Oh, honey, let’s let Marvys tell Tipper that hysterical story she told us,” he begged.
“Honey, I can tell that story as well as Marvys. You see, Tipper—I can call you Tipper, can’t I? I was taking the corporate jet to one of my printing plants in Cincinnati. Anyway, remember that U.S. Airways plane that crashed on takeoff last week? Ransom must have heard about it on the news because he ran to Marvys in tears, just crying his little eyes out, saying, ‘Marvys, a plane just crashed. I’m afraid Mommy was on the plane that crashed.’ We all got such a chuckle out of that, as if I’d ever fly commercial.”
“Mr. Butcher, I mean Kutcher, I’m sorry, can you tell me how Mafia, I mean Maria handles frustration?” Tipper asked, flummoxed.
“Tipper, I can’t lie to you,” Omar said, using his Marlon-Brando-as-the-Godfather voice to spook her. “Ever since her mother died, may she rest in peace, Maria’s had a hard time when things don’t go her way. Sometimes she screams, other times she refuses to speak to me. Once she got so mad that she dropped a whole set of china off the balcony. I tell ya. Sheeee’s a pistol.”
“My gosh, that’s terrible,” Tipper said. “How would a child even get an idea like that?”
“Her mother, may she rest in peace, used to do all those things when she was frustrated,” Omar explained. “Anyway, by the time she comes here, none of that will be a problem. She just started play therapy with a top child psychiatrist.”
Tipper made notes in the file. “That’s wonderful, Mr. Kutcher. Do you have any questions for me, sir?”
“Yes, I do. I’ve been wondering—do many of your graduates go to college?”
“Yes, just about every one.”
“Ah, excellent, excellent,” Omar stated. “Tipper,” he continued, “I notice that you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
“Oh, I’m not married, Mr. Kutcher.”
“Tipper, you’re single, I’m single. Let me take you to dinner tonight,” he said romantically. “I’d love to take you to David Burke & Donatella. They make the best lobster in New York City.”
Tipper hesitated. It had been years since a man had hit on her. For one brief and shining moment, she basked in the glory of the proposition. Then she remembered who was asking. “Oh, Mr. Kutcher, that’s nice of you. But we’re not allowed to date parents of
applicants. It would be a conflict of interest,” she said politely.
“Of course,” Omar said. “Is there no way I can twist your arm?”
“No, Mr. Kutcher, you . . . you . . . just can’t.”
“Then how about we go out after Maria gets into Harvard Day?” he asked.
“That sounds . . . delightful.” Tipper swallowed hard while trying to act natural. “I’d love to go out for mobster, I mean lobster, with you.”
“So, you two are sisters?” Tipper asked Willow and Tiny.
“Oh, no, didn’t you read our essay? We’re lesbian partners,” Tiny explained.
“Right,” Tipper said. “I remember your essay. I was so moved by it. “If Jack Henry were to come here, you’d definitely want to meet Max Kanter and Howard Honiblum. They’re our gay family,” Tipper explained.
“Are those the only gay parents in the school?” Willow asked.
“Right now, yes, but don’t let that discourage you,” Tipper said. “We’re super gay-friendly at Harvard Day, and we want more families of that persuasion.”
“That’s good to hear,” Tiny said. “Jack Henry is different enough with his disability. We don’t want kids teasing him because he has two mothers.”
“Speaking of his disability, do you expect he’ll be in a wheelchair for his whole life, or is this something he’ll grow out of soon?” Tipper asked, smiling.
“Chances are, he’ll always need a wheelchair,” Tiny explained.
“Will you be providing some kind of companion to assist him throughout the day?”
“We weren’t planning to. He’s self-sufficient,” Tiny said.
“Well, isn’t that wonderful.” Tipper noted it in the file.
“I see here that he’s black, too,” Tipper said. “We’re always on the lookout for minority candidates who have the right stuff. Besides working admissions, I head up the diversity council,” Tipper bragged. “Will you be applying for a scholarship?”
“No,” Tiny said. “We can handle the tuition.”
“I notice in his school report that Jack Henry draws pictures of . . . fiery car crashes. Does he still do that?”
“No, he gave it up,” Tiny answered.
“Excellent,” Tipper said.
“Now, he’s doing a series based on the Hindenburg,” Tiny added.
“Oh my, how grown-up. Do you have any questions for me?” Tipper asked.
“Yes, I do,” Willow said. “How many children of color would be in his grade?”
“Well, that depends on how many qualified applicants we receive. But our goal is to have at least one child of color in each of our four kindergarten classes. Of course, that could be any color—black, Indian, Chinese, Hispanic. Sometimes I wonder if we should split them up like that. Maybe it would be better to put all the minorities together in one class, so they wouldn’t feel alone. I don’t know, what do you think?”
“I would think a child would feel pretty isolated being the only minority in his class,” Willow said. “Let me ask you this. How many other disabled children attend Harvard Day?”
“Well, actually, I’m not sure. Do you mean children in wheelchairs?” Willow and Tiny nodded.
“Do you mean now or historically?” Tipper asked.
“I guess both,” Willow said.
“That would be . . . none. We’ve never had one. Anything else?” Tipper asked, smiling.
Willow and Tiny shook their heads.
“I’m intrigued by your hair,” Tipper added. “It’s so pink.”
“Do any of your other parents have hair this color?” Tiny asked.
“No, our parents tend to be more conservative,” Tipper said. “But don’t worry, we’re very open-minded and accepting of people’s differences.”
“Super,” Willow said.
“So, Mr. Needleman, it says in Veronica’s ERB report that the tester believes she was coached. Do you have a response to that?” Tipper asked.
“We enrolled her in a general enrichment class after nursery school. When she said she had done the games before, we believe she was referring to activities from that program,” Stu explained.
“The tester specifically mentioned in the report that Veronica asked to call Ivy for help. That wouldn’t be Ivy Ames, school-admissions adviser?” Tipper asked.
“Never heard of her,” Stu said.
“May I say something?” Patsy asked. Stu shot her a dirty look.
“Of course,” Tipper said.
“We made a big mistake, Tipper. We did have her coached. Ivy told us not to do it, but we were so stressed-out about the process that we did it anyway. We were wrong. Please don’t hold it against our daughter. She’s a wonderful little girl and I’d hate to see her penalized because of our stupidity,” Patsy said.
“Honey,” Stu said to Patsy, “we coached Veronica on Ivy’s advice. She insisted we do it, remember?”
“Stu, you are so full of shit.” Patsy looked at Tipper. “It was Stu’s idea and it was a bad one. Please forgive us, Tipper.”
“Patsy, calm yourself,” Stu said to his wife. “Tipper, Patsy’s been under a lot of pressure lately and it’s caused her to become confused. She’s under a doctor’s care now and is heavily medicated. Pay no attention to what she says,” Stu said calmly.
Patsy stood up. “Stu, the only pressure I’ve been under lately is the pressure of living with you. You’re a bully, a liar, a boor, and a cur. I want you out of the house by the end of the day today,” she screamed at him. Politely, she turned to Tipper and smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” And Patsy walked out of her Harvard Day interview.
“Will there be anything else?” Tipper asked Stu.
“Did I mention I work for Steven Lord?”
“So, Ollie, I see you’ll be applying for financial aid,” Tipper mentioned.
“Yes, well, I can’t afford tuition, so a scholarship would be good,” Ollie said.
“And you work for the Radmore-Stein family?”
“Yes.”
“You know, Ollie, if Irving comes here, he’ll be playing with children who come from the world’s best families. All first-tier homes. Would you be comfortable with that?” Tipper asked in a politely condescending way. God forbid Ollie should find herself lost and confused in first-tierdom.
“Of course. Irving gets along with everyone. He’s a good boy.”
“Does Irving ever play with the Radmore-Steins’ son?”
“They used to play, but not again,” Ollie explained. “Once that boy wanted to check the air-conditioning vent above his room. He make Irving go first and Irving got stuck. The fire department had was to come get him out. Of course, I had was to pay to fix all the damage the fire-men made to the wall,” Ollie told Tipper.
“You had to pay to fix the damage,” Tipper said.
“Right. I had was to pay three weeks salary. One next time, the boy and Irving played hide-and-seek with his three little Ratfinklestein cousins from Niagara Falls. Irving hid in the clothes dryer, but Ransom and his cousins went off to play something else. He had to wait an hour for them before he give up. He had was so upset when he seen they’d gone to the park and left him. After that, I stopped bringing Irving to the boy’s apartment. I didn’t think they was right for each other.”
“Were. You mean you didn’t think they were right for each other,” Tipper said.
“Right, they wasn’t right for each other at all.”
“I think you made a wise decision,” Tipper said, going back to the Radmore-Stein file and making a few notes.
“Ollie, your son’s scores on his ERB test are very impressive.”
“Well, he’s bright. I know something good gonna become of that boy. I’m proud of him.”
“You should be. He tested beautifully, and his school report is one of the best I’ve ever seen. Your essay was heartwarming, too.”
“Does that mean you’ll take him?” Ollie asked.
“Well, he’s just the kind of student we love having her
e, Ollie.”
“Greg McCall?” Tipper asked.
“Tipper Bucket?” Greg asked back.
“No, Tipper ‘Bouquet.’ It’s ‘Bouquet’ now. I went back to my ancestral pronunciation. I can’t believe it’s really you,” Tipper squealed, practically tinkling in her Lane Bryant granny panties. “When I saw the name, I wondered. But last I heard, you were living in Chicago.”
“We moved back after college. Do I get a hug?” Greg said.
As they embraced, Dee Dee looked on, confused. “How do you two know each other?” she asked.
“We worked together at Camp Flaming Arrow in the Catskills,” Greg explained. “We were the counselor leaders for the Kickapoo tribe. Whenever they held ceremonies on their sacred grounds, Tipper and I would hide in the bushes and make sure they didn’t burn down the woods. That was a great summer. Wasn’t it?”
“It was. I just can’t believe Moses is your son,” Tipper said. “I saw his application and read your essay, but I didn’t put two and two together. He sounds like a wonderful boy.”
“Thanks, we think so,” Greg answered.
“And Dee Dee, it’s nice to meet you. Is this the Dee Dee from school you used to talk about all the time?” Tipper asked.
“The very one,” Greg said proudly. Dee Dee was beaming.
“Dee Dee, you were his favorite topic. Greg was always ‘Dee Dee this’ and ‘Dee Dee that.’ I feel like I know you.”
“I’m so happy to see you again, Tipper. I can’t believe I ran into you,” Greg said.
“I can’t, either. We must get together for drinks and dinner one night. Greg and Dee Dee, you are exactly the kind of family we love accepting at Harvard Day. I hope you’ll give us serious consideration,” Tipper said, recalling just how rich and philanthropic Greg’s father was.
13. Nose-Pickers of Park Avenue
As their parents met with Tipper, the children were introduced to Mrs. Olson and Mr. Taymore, the teachers who would be interviewing them in small groups. Unlike most schools, Harvard Day reported back to parents, letting them know how their children had fared. Based on their feedback, I was able to put together what transpired. . . .