by Karen Quinn
Michael reached over and slammed Stu’s arm onto the table. “I think you’d be wise to leave right about now.”
Stu’s eyes narrowed to slits. He raised his fist once more.
Michael glared right back at him. “Go ahead, Kermit. Make my day.” He was brilliant, just like a nice Jewish Dirty Harry.
Stu shot me a hostile look. He snatched up the picture of Veronica and stormed out.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked me.
“I’m fine. I can’t believe you threatened him.”
“I know. Someone could have been hurt.”
“No shit, Sherlock! Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
Michael sat down where Stu had been. He handed me my wallet, which must have fallen out of my purse. “What was his problem?”
“Oh, he was frustrated.” I told Michael all about Stu and Patsy and the events that had transpired since they hired me. “There was no point telling him that it wouldn’t matter where he sent his first-choice letter. No one who sees Veronica’s ERB report would consider her. I’ve already sent a first-choice letter on the family’s behalf to a downtown school where I secretly applied her. The fit would be perfect, and anyway, her parents aren’t going to have any other choice.”
“I had no idea your work was so dangerous,” Michael said.
“It’s fraught with risk. Every year, two or three private-school-admissions advisers are assaulted by their clients.”
“Really?”
“Nah. I just wanted to impress you,” I said, kind of flirty-like. Ivy, let it go. He made his feelings clear.
“Well, you’ve succeeded,” he said. Michael smiled sweetly, showing off those movie-star dimples of his. For a moment, I imagined what our baby might look like. Are dimples like that hereditary? They must be. Look at Kirk and Michael Douglas. Then I stopped myself. You have different values, remember? He doesn’t want you. Zip it.
14. Misery Is a Thin Envelope
When the admissions seas changed so abruptly, I was stumped. All the strategizing I’d done on behalf of my clients was for naught. With the admissions world in disarray, I didn’t know how to help them anymore. All I could do was pray. Decision letters were mailed to families in February, on the Friday before the long Presidents’ Day weekend. Private schools take that Monday and Tuesday off, so parents were left to stew in their own juice until Wednesday. The letters arrived on Saturday. As a community service, the mayor made special arrangements with the feds for Friday and Saturday overtime at the post office. He understood that parents turned into puddles of anxiety awaiting word. His children went to private school, too.
This year, every admissions office hired security in the wake of the Cubby tragedy. There would be no more appeals of decisions. You were in, you were out, or you were wait-listed, and if you had anything to say about it, say it by phone, fax, or e-mail.
That Saturday, Faith kindly offered to take my girls along with hers to the Children’s Museum as I awaited my clients’ news.
Good old Ollie called before I had the chance to dial her number. When I picked up, I heard weeping and wailing on the other end. Oh, dear.
“Ollie, is that you? Are you okay?”
“Ivy, these are tears of joy. Thanks be to God, good news! Irving got into Stratmore Prep and St. David’s. They both offered full scholarships, but I’m sayin’ yes to Stratmore Prep.”
“Why Stratmore Prep?”
“That was the only school Mrs. Radmore-Stein wanted, so it must be the best. I’m gonna buy my Irving a blue Stratmore blazer and I’m gonna take him to Sears to get him professionally photographed. Then, I’m gonna send his picture to Mrs. Radmore-Stein in prison along with a Hallmark card and I’m gonna write, ‘Call me when you’re paroled so we can carpool and be class parents together.’ ” Ollie laughed so hard that she started bawling again.
My phone rang immediately after Ollie and I hung up. More retching and blubbering filled my ear. Tears of joy, perhaps?
The caller composed herself, thus revealing her identity—Patsy.
“Ivy, huh-huh-huh,” she cried. “Vero-ro-ro-ronica didn’t get in anywhere. Huh-huh-huh. All we got huh-huh-huh were ten rejection letters huh-huh-huh. I’m crushed. I’m devastated huh-huh-huh-huh.”
“That’s it?” I asked. “That’s all you got?”
“We got one letter of acceptance by mistake, to a school we didn’t apl-pl-ply to.”
“Tell me the name of the school, Patsy.”
“The Log Cabin School in Greenwich Village. Huh-huh.”
“Patsy, Veronica did get into that school. I was worried she wouldn’t get in anywhere after what happened with her ERB, so I mailed in a couple of last-minute applications to schools that didn’t require the test. I took her there myself for interviews, and they liked her. The truth is, this would be a better school for her than any of the Baby Ivys you applied to. It’s not as high-status. It’s small and nurturing and I think that’s what Veronica needs. Don’t you?” I said all this practically in one breath.
“Ivy, I don’t believe it huh-huh. You did that for Veronica?”
Yes, well I am a good person.
“Yes, I did,” I answered. “Are you okay about it?”
“I’m grateful,” she said. “Thank you. Thank you. Would you take me to the school next week and show it to me?”
“It would be my pleasure,” I said, relieved. “Do you want to tell Stu about it, or should I?” You. You. You. You. You.
“Would you, Ivy? I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Sure, Patsy, I’ll do it.” Oooh, yeah, I relished the thought of telling Stu the big news of Veronica’s one acceptance at a third-tier downtown school.
“Ivy, you’re a genius. A genius,” Wendy Weiner said. “Winnie got into Nightingale, Balmoral, and Spence. Three out of ten. That’s outstanding.”
Whew. I had been worried that Winnie was revealing her true colors at every school visit. But obviously she wasn’t. After Winnie spilled the beans at Harvard Day, Wendy promised her a new puppy if she’d just stick to the lie. Bribery is a powerful tool in a parent’s arsenal. “Well, that’s wonderful, Wendy. I’m thrilled. Do you know which one you’re choosing?”
“Hell, no,” she said. “Archie wants to go back and visit the finalists, and then the two of us are going to sit down and decide which school would be best for Winnie. You know, he took his job as Winnie’s father seriously. He has his own ideas about what’s right for her, so I want to hear him out.”
“That’s nice of you, Wendy. I know Archie cares about Winnie.”
“Oh, he cares, all right. Did he tell you that we’re seeing each other now?”
“What? No.”
“Well we are, Ivy. I found my soul mate in Archie. He completes me. And I have you to thank.”
Words failed me. Our cockamamie plan to get Winnie into private school led to a love connection? Even with those God-awful whiny pipes of hers, Wendy had found a man. A man with a beautiful voice, no less. A voice so pleasant, people paid to hear him sing. I guess Archie did complete her.
For the next few hours, I couldn’t reach any of my other clients. Did they not understand how racked with anxiety I’d be over this? Had they no consideration for my feelings after all I’d done for them? I was especially concerned about Maria Kutcher. She was such a little mobster, I mean monster, I couldn’t imagine any school taking her without having been threatened or bribed, which had unfortunately been out of the question this season. Finally, I reached Omar on his cell.
“Omar, it’s Ivy,” I said. Nervous sweat was pouring out at this point.
“Hi, Ivy, what’s happening?” I heard no anger in his voice. That was good.
I tried to sound nonchalant. “You know, gosh, it just hit me that admissions letters came out today and I was wondering what happened with Maria’s applications. Where did she get in?” Please, God, let her have gotten in somewhere.
“You’re gonna laugh, Ivy. And I’ll tell you this,
and only you, because I know you’ll appreciate it. When I found out that none of my trustee friends could help Maria, I got a little nervous. Then I remembered you telling me that siblings get priority over other applicants. So I married Sassy. She called Balmoral and told them that Maria was Bea’s stepsister and they treated her like a sibling. So now my little Maria’s going to Balmoral. Ain’t she a pistol?”
“Wait. Let me get this straight. You married Sassy so Maria could get into The Balmoral School under their sibling-priority policy?”
“You got it, honey.”
“But you love her, right?”
“I love fucking her,” he said. “Don’t worry, I know she’s your friend. She’s a nice broad. I’ll treat her good.”
“You do that, Omar. You treat her real good.” We hung up.
I sat for a moment, floored, wondering which would be worse—being married to Omar or being evil Maria’s stepmother. Sassy had finally gotten hers. Although she didn’t know it yet, she’d met her match in Omar and Maria. The universe works in such perfect ways. I marveled at the Zen of it all. Of course, I did genuinely hope he would never bump her off.
Toward suppertime, I reached Tiny and Willow. They’d taken Jack Henry bike-riding all day. Biking? Today?
“Ivy, I hope you’re not too disappointed, but no one took him,” Tiny said. “He didn’t even get wait-listed anywhere.”
“What!” I was stunned. “His scores were so good. He’s smart. He’s talented. You two are great. I don’t believe it.”
“We were surprised, too. But I guess the Triple Crown of diversity was more minority than any one school could handle,” she surmised. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Ivy. We’ve dealt with this kind of thing our whole lives.”
“Gosh, I’m sorry, Tiny. I never imagined this would happen.” It was so unfair. Maria, the little brat, gets accepted just for being Bea’s stepsister, and sweet, intelligent Jack Henry gets in nowhere.
“We’re okay about it,” Tiny said. “Disappointed, but there are far worse things in life than not getting into private school, don’t you agree?”
“Oh yes, there are for sure.”
“The thing is,” Tiny said, “after meeting Isaiah, we were starting to think it might not be fair to send Jack Henry to a school with mostly white kids. We don’t want him to lose his black identity. We decided to put this decision in the hands of fate. If he’d gotten into a great private school, we probably would have sent him. But if not, then we believe it wasn’t meant to be.”
“What’ll you do now?”
“Well, we were thinking of trying to get a variance and sending Jack Henry to a public school in a more diverse neighborhood,” Tiny explained. “That way, he’ll fit in, at least racially. And it’s illegal for public schools to discriminate against kids in wheelchairs. Anyway, someone told us about an excellent charter program called School of the Basics. We’re going there tomorrow to see if there’s room.”
“Tiny, the bad news is that registration was three weeks ago and they’re officially full. The good news is that I helped the school land a big donation last Christmas. The principal owes me one. I’ll call in the favor and get Jack Henry a space.”
“Ivy, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Don’t bother. School of the Basics will be lucky to have you.”
“Well, thank you anyway. And I’m looking forward to seeing you next week. You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Tiny had asked me to audition for the part of Marvin in her new magic wheelchair series. It was a long shot, but hey, a woman plays Bart Simpson and she gets $125,000 an episode, so I figured why not try? I’d take the job for way less than that.
I hung up with Tiny and smiled. I don’t even pretend to understand the ways of the universe. But things do have a way of working out.
Right after I put the phone down, Greg called. Finally.
“Ivy, Moses got into Shalom Day. We are so grateful to you for everything you did. We never could have done it without you.”
“Oh, now, go on,” I said, hoping he would continue gushing, as I really deserved it in his case.
“But you know, he also got into Harvard Day, Dalton, and Riverdale,” Greg continued. “The thing is, and I know you’re gonna think we’re crazy, but now Dee Dee and I are leaning toward Harvard Day. Would it be terrible if we backed out of our first-choice letter?”
“What? I thought you both wanted Shalom Day!”
“Well, we did. But after Moses got into Harvard Day, we realized he’d have a better chance for the Ivy Leagues if he went there. I guess we changed our minds. But I feel like we have a moral obligation to send him to Shalom Day because we told them they were our first choice. And we don’t want to do anything unethical. What do you think? Would they forgive us if we changed our minds?”
“Rabbi Jacobson is a forgiving woman. She won’t like it, but she’ll accept it. Call her personally and tell her you’ve had a change of heart. I’m sure this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”
“Thanks, Ivy, your advice is always so helpful. I’ll call the rabbi right away.”
We hung up. I must have sat there for five minutes with my jaw hanging open. Holy fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
“Stu, it’s Ivy. Have you talked to Patsy yet?” I knew the answer to that question but wanted to ease gently into this conversation.
“Of course I haven’t talked with Patsy. Thanks to you, she left me, remember? We talk through our lawyers now.”
“Right, right. Gosh, sorry about that,” I muttered. “I have great news for you. Veronica got into The Log Cabin School.”
“The what?”
“The Log Cabin School. It’s a warm and nurturing program downtown.”
“We didn’t apply there. Where else did she get in?”
“The thing is, Veronica didn’t get in anywhere else, Stu.”
“And how is that possible?” Stu said in a voice so falsely sweet that it scared me more than his usual shrieks of rage.
“It was her ERB write-up. Remember, they said she was coached.”
“Right, your brilliant idea. Ivy, thanks to you, my wife left me and my daughter’s going to some two-bit gay play school in Greenwich Village. You’ll pay for this, missy.”
Ugh, why does he have to call me “missy”? “Look, Stu, I know you had your heart set on a Baby Ivy. And I’m sorry Veronica didn’t get into one. But you know what? That’s not where she belongs. Veronica’s a sensitive child who needs to be educated in an accepting and nurturing place. A school that’s social or competitive would be the worst possible fit for her. Log Cabin is perfect for your daughter. I did you a favor by getting her in there. And one more thing, pal. I am not responsible for your wife leaving. Patsy left you because she was sick of being married to an asshole. I suggest you look inside yourself to discover why your marriage failed and not blame me.”
“Are you quite finished, Ivy?” Stu said, obviously trying to control himself.
“Yes, well, I am.”
“Good. Now may I make a suggestion for you?” he said.
“Sure.”
“I suggest you hire yourself a bodyguard,” Stu said and he slammed down the phone yet again.
15. Oops, We Did It Again
The next morning, I knocked on Philip’s door. The girls were in school. I was at loose ends now that admissions were over. “What’s up?” he asked.
I told him all the news. How I’d confessed to Rabbi Jacobson and she accepted Moses. How, after all that, Dee Dee and Greg had decided on Harvard Day. How Omar had married Sassy just to get Maria into Balmoral. How three schools had accepted Winnie, but no one had taken Jack Henry. How the rest of my clients had fared in the end, mostly better than expected. Philip wanted to know everything.
“So you must be relieved that it’s over,” he said.
“I am. And you’ll be happy to know that I’m moving on to a new career,” I told him.
“You ar
e?” he said. “Doing what?”
“I’m exploring a few things. Tiny Herrera arranged for me to audition to be the voice of the lead character in her new animated series. She thinks I’d be perfect.”
“Hmm. You do sound a little like Betty Boop.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No, I love the way you talk. It’s sexy,” he said.
“Really?”
Philip smiled. “Oh, yeah. If I call you late at night, will you talk cartoony to me?”
“You are making fun of me.”
Philip came and sat next to me. “Ivy, I love everything about you, especially that cute voice of yours. I love your hot body, your pretty face, your sexy eyes, your wit . . .”
I cupped my hand over his mouth. “You can stop! I was yours at ‘hot body.’ ”
Philip smiled at me. “Do you think we can try again?”
“You want us to be more than friends?”
“I want us to be lovers.”
“I would like that,” I said, reaching over to kiss him. Mmmm, that felt delicious. Philip and I hadn’t locked lips since that night last October when we fought over Buck’s bribe. I hadn’t realized how much I still wanted him until now.
“Why don’t we go to the bedroom?” Philip suggested.
“I’ll race you,” I answered.
16. Friends
Philip was seeing his editor that afternoon. I was ravenous after our carnal workout, so I went to Kratt’s for lunch. Michael was at a table of casually dressed professional types, having a lively conversation. Why bother him? I ate my egg salad on rye and was about to go when he came over. “Were you leaving without saying hello?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to interrupt you. You seemed so involved.”
“That’s my reporters’ lunch. They’re from the Wall Street Journal, the Times, Newsweek, and the Observer. I get a table of ’em every Tuesday. It’s always interesting, and they invite me to join the conversation.”