Coming Out

by Danielle Steel

  “If I find a girl to bring, I'll tell you.” He had no big romance at the moment. Not since the one sophomore year, and several in high school. But for the past two years, there had been no one special, and still wasn't. He was cautious and discerning. Olympia always said that it was going to take a special girl, with many qualities and considerable depth, to win Charlie. He was the most serious of all her children. It was hard to believe at times that he was related to Chauncey, who was the king of all things superficial.

  He flew back to Dartmouth that night, and the girls went back to Brown in the morning. They didn't start school till Tuesday. Ginny tried her dress on one last time before she left, and stood beaming at herself in the mirror. She loved it. Olympia had to threaten Veronica's life to try hers on, but she wanted to be sure it fit, and needed no alterations before the big night. When they came home in December, there wouldn't be time to alter it before the rehearsal and ball.

  “You both have shoes, right?” Ginny had bought hers in July, perfectly plain white satin pumps, with little pearls on them, just like her dress. They had been lucky to find them. Veronica insisted she had a pair of white satin evening sandals in her closet.

  “You're sure?” Olympia asked again. They both had evening bags, long white kid gloves, and the string of pearls with matching earrings she had bought each of them for their eighteenth birthdays. That was all they needed.

  “I'm sure,” Veronica said, rolling her eyes. “Do you realize how much more worthwhile it would be if we spent the money on people who are starving in Appalachia?”

  “The two are not mutually exclusive. Harry and I give plenty of money to charity, Veronica. He does more pro bono work than anyone I know, and I do my share. You don't need to feel guilty over one dress and a pair of sandals.”

  “I'd rather spend the night working in a homeless shelter.”

  “That's noble of you. You can atone for your sins when we get back from Aspen.” They had a month's vacation, and she was sure that Veronica would be doing just that for most of her vacation. She had volunteered many times in homeless shelters, with literacy projects, and with abused kids at a center she loved in Harlem. No one had ever accused Veronica of lacking social conscience. Ginny was another story. She would spend her month's vacation seeing friends, going to parties, and shopping.

  All Olympia wanted was for her children to love and respect each other, however different they were. And so far her encouragement in that direction had been successful. In spite of their disagreement about the debut ball, the girls were as devoted to each other and to Charlie and Max as the boys were to them.

  Olympia went back to her office the next morning when the girls left. Harry had gone to work early. The school bus had picked Max up, and she had a thousand messages on her desk when she got there. She waded through them and returned all her calls, before a court appearance that afternoon. During her lunch break, she called Chauncey. She had thought Charlie's suggestion was a good one, just to break the ice, and try and get things on an easy footing, which was never simple for her with Chauncey. He had an unfailing ability to irritate her.

  Felicia answered the phone in Newport, and she and Olympia chatted for a few minutes, about nothing in particular, mostly Felicia and Chauncey's children. She was complaining about their school in Newport, and how stupid it was that they had to wear uniforms, instead of the cute little outfits she bought them in Boston and New York. She was nice enough to say though that she was looking forward to the girls' debut at The Arches, and Olympia thanked her and asked for Chauncey. Felicia said he had just come in for lunch, from the stables. It still amazed Olympia that her ex-husband had been content not to work for the past fifteen years, and live off his family fortune. She couldn't imagine a life like that, even if she could afford it. She loved her law practice, and respected Harry for all he had accomplished. In his entire lifetime, Chauncey had achieved nothing. All he did was play polo, and buy horses. In their early days together, he had worked in his fam-ily's bank, but he had given that up quickly. It took too much effort, and was too much trouble. Now he made no pretense about the indolent life he led, and always jokingly said that work was for the masses. He was a snob to his core.

  He sounded out of breath when he came on the line. He had run up from the stables, and was surprised when Felicia told him Olympia was calling. Unless something dire was happening, she never called him. Whatever plans or information she needed to share, she sent by e-mail.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, sounding worried. She would have had the same reaction if he called. Chatty calls were unheard of between them. Neither of them was interested in social contact with each other. He couldn't understand the choices she'd made, to go to law school, and marry a Jew. And she had even less respect for how he chose to lead his life, and with whom. She thought Felicia was a moron. But like it or not, she and Chauncey shared three children, which forced them to have some contact with each other, if only on state occasions, like the girls' debut. Later on there would be weddings, shared grandchildren, and christenings. To Olympia, it was not a cheering prospect. Nor to him. He had developed a profound dislike for her over the years, and couldn't imagine why he had married her, either.

  “No. Everything's fine. I didn't mean to worry you. I just wanted to touch base before the big night. I can't believe it's almost here. Where will you be staying?”

  “At Felicia's brother's apartment. He's in Europe.” Olympia had heard years before that it was a palatial penthouse on Fifth Avenue, with a breathtaking view of the park, and a glass dome over a hot tub on the terrace. He was a perennial bachelor and only slightly older than Felicia. He was best known for dating Hollywood starlets, and European princesses. The girls had been impressed by his Ferrari when they last saw him.

  “That should be nice,” Olympia said benignly. “Will you be here for long?” She wondered if she should invite them to the house for drinks, but cringed at the prospect, and she knew Harry would, too. The two men grudgingly acknowledged each other. Harry was polite to him, but Chauncey was barely civil. He ignored him.

  “Just the weekend. Is Veronica behaving?” Chauncey asked with interest.

  “Seems like it. She finally lined up an escort. Some boy called Jeff Adams. She swears he's respectable. I hope she's right.”

  “If he's not, or looks like hell, the committee will kick him out at the rehearsal. Any idea who his parents are?” He didn't ask if Jeff's parents were in the Social Register, but Olympia knew he'd like to.

  “None. All she said is that his sister came out last year,” which meant that he would pass muster for Chauncey. That was all it took. The criteria were simple for him.

  “Ask her what his father's name is. I can look them up in the Social Register, maybe I know them.” For once, it might be reassuring. The Social Register ran Chauncey's life, the way some people's were ruled by the Bible. It was his Bible. Olympia didn't even own one, although years before her family had been in it. They had dropped her when she married Harry and disappeared off the fancy social scene forever. She had pretty much done that when she left Chauncey. They had kept her name in for a couple of years after that, as a courtesy, and then her name was withdrawn when she remarried. Chauncey had considered that a major tragedy. Olympia thought it was funny.

  “I don't think I want to ruffle Veronica's feathers any more than they already are. I'm just grateful she's agreed to do it.”

  “I should hope so,” he said, sounding as though they had averted a major tragedy, or a near drowning. He couldn't even imagine having a daughter who didn't make her debut. It would have been a disaster in his life. “They have dresses, I assume,” he said, trying to maintain the banter she was keeping up. He was stunned that she had called him, for apparently no important reason, and he thought it suspicious, but if truly benign, then it was very nice of her. Usually, when they had contact, it was over some dispute, and she was feisty with him.

  “They'll both look beautiful,” Olympia assu
red him. “The dresses are lovely.”

  “I'm not surprised,” he said charitably. “You have a good eye.” Better than Felicia, he knew. Olympia had impeccable taste. Felicia's was a little fluffy, though he would never have said that to either wife. “Is your husband coming?” He had no idea why he had asked her that, it seemed obvious that he would, and Chauncey was surprised when she hesitated.

  “No, actually. He isn't. He has some family event he has to go to,” and then she remembered that Frieda would be there, and decided to be honest with him. “Actually, that's not true. He thinks the whole idea is politically incorrect, and excludes people of other races and colors, so he's not coming.”

  “That's too bad for you,” he said, sounding sympathetic for once. “Felicia and I will look out for you.” It was the nicest he had been in years, and Olympia was glad that she had followed Charlie's suggestion. It warmed things up a bit and broke the ice before the inevitable stresses and tensions of the big night. The girls would be nervous wrecks, and she suspected she would be, too, getting them ready, getting them there, and making sure that all was right. Not to mention an escort for Veronica whom she'd never met, and her attitude about the event. Olympia realized it was still possible, right up to the last second, for Veronica to back out. She just hoped she wouldn't, and had already told Harry several times not to stir her up, or encourage her to do anything foolish. He had promised he wouldn't.

  “Anything I can do for you before you come?” Olympia asked generously. “I have a good hairdresser, if Felicia needs one. If she'd like, I can make an appointment for her.”

  “I think she has one, but thanks. Take care of yourself, Olympia, don't let the girls drive you nuts. We'll see you there.”

  A moment later they hung up and she sat staring at the phone. She was so distracted she didn't see Margaret walk in with a stack of briefs in her arms.

  “You look like you've just seen a boa constrictor sitting on your desk. Everything all right?”

  “I think so. More like a boa constrictor in sheep's clothing. Charlie suggested I call his father before the ball. I just did. I can't believe how nice he was.” Olympia looked genuinely startled. He was being much nicer about the ball than Harry. But then again, this was Chauncey's kind of event, and surely not Harry's.

  “Old boa constrictors die hard,” Margaret said with a grin.

  “I guess so. He hasn't been that pleasant in fifteen years. I guess he's pleased that the girls are coming out. It's a big deal to him.”

  “It is a big deal. It should be fun for them. Maybe even for you, too. I'm looking forward to it. I've never been to a coming-out ball before. I even bought a new dress.”

  “Me too.” Olympia smiled, grateful for her friend's support. It was more than she could say for Harry. It was a shame he felt he had to make such an issue of it. The only one it hurt was her.

  “Has Harry backed down yet?” Margaret asked cautiously, setting the briefs down on Olympia's desk. She wanted her opinion on them.

  “No. I don't think he will. We all worked on him about it. I've finally given up. At least for once Chauncey isn't being a horse's ass. Although God knows how he'll be that night.” He tended to drink a lot, although less than when he'd been married to her, according to friends. In his youth, he had been drunk for most of their marriage. In the early days, it made him charming and amorous. Later, he turned surly and nasty. It was impossible to predict how he'd behave with four martinis and a bottle of wine in him on the night of the ball, or worse yet, once he got into the brandy. But for the moment at least, he was being civil, and it was Felicia's problem now to control him once he got drunk. No longer hers, thank God. Felicia drank a lot, too. They had that in common. Olympia had never been much of a drinker, nor was Harry.

  “Don't worry, Ollie. I'll be there to hold your hand,” Margaret reassured her.

  “I'll need it,” Olympia said, as she pulled the briefs toward her, across her desk, and Margaret sat down to review them with her. Olympia wasn't sure why, but in spite of her pleasant exchange with Chauncey, she had the feeling that the night of her daughters' debut at The Arches was going to be even more challenging than she feared. Especially without Harry for support.

  Chapter 5

  The weekend before the coming-out ball, Olympia woke up with a raging fever. She'd been feeling funny for two days. She had a scratchy throat, a stom achache, a stuffy nose, and by Saturday night, she felt like death. Her fever was 102. She was slightly better on Sunday, but the stomachache was worse. She was practically in tears when she came downstairs on Sunday morning. Harry was making breakfast for Max, and she noticed that her son's face was bright red. She took Max's temperature right after breakfast. His was 103, and he said his tummy itched. When she looked, she saw that he had a nasty rash. It was coming up in tiny blisters, and when she took out her trusty copy of Dr. Spock, which she had kept since Charlie was born, what Max had perfectly matched the description of chicken pox, as she suspected.

  “Shit!” she said, as she closed the book. This was not the week for either of them to be sick. She had to have all her wits about her, she had a mountain of new cases in the office, and Margaret had taken the week off. And she hated leaving Max with a sitter when he was sick, if she was even going to be well enough to go to work herself. She called the pediatrician, who told her to soak Max in the tub with a powder he recommended, use lots of calamine, and keep him in bed. There was nothing else they could do. Luckily, her own fever abated on Sunday night. She still felt terrible, but at least hers was only the flu, or a bad cold, and hopefully would be gone in a few days. Charlie was due home on Tuesday night, and could help her with Max. The girls were coming home on Wednesday afternoon. Ginny called her late Sunday night. She sounded awful. She said she had bronchitis, she sounded like she was dying of consumption as she coughed into the phone.

  “Stay in bed tomorrow,” her mother warned her. For the moment, she sounded too sick to fly home.

  “I can't, I have finals,” Ginny said, and promptly burst into tears.

  “Can you ask them to give you makeup exams?” Olympia suggested. “You sound too sick to go out.”

  “Makeups are on Friday. If I do that, I won't be home till Friday night.” She sobbed miserably. She felt awful, and didn't want to miss the ball that weekend.

  “You may not have any other choice than to take makeup exams.”

  “What if I have a red nose?”

  “That's the least of it. Go to the infirmary tomorrow, and see if they'll put you on antibiotics so you don't wind up with an infection and get really sick. That should help.” She had gotten them both meningitis shots before they went off to school in September, so at least she knew it wasn't anything worse than a bad cold or at worst bronchitis, and antibiotics would keep it from turning into pneumonia. Ginny sounded just terrible. So far, Veronica hadn't caught it, but sharing a tiny room with her sister, it wasn't going to surprise Olympia if she got sick, too. “Max has chicken pox,” her mother said mournfully. “Thank God all of you have had it. That's all we'd need. The poor kid feels awful, too. We're a mess,” Olympia said ruefully. It was turning into a hell of a week, with invalids everywhere.

  On Monday, she felt better, Max felt worse, and Ginny called to say they had given her antibiotics, so Olympia was hopeful she'd feel better by the end of the week. She'd gone to take her exams and burst into tears when she called her mother, and said she was sure that she had failed. She managed to squeeze in the information that her hot new romance, Steve, was being a jerk, but he said he was still coming to the ball. It sounded like a mixed blessing to her mother, but she didn't have time to ask for the details. The sitter had just come for Max, and sick or not, she had to go to work.

  Olympia sat at her desk blowing her nose all day. The stomachache was better, her nose was running, she had a headache, and she had ordered containers of chicken soup from a nearby deli throughout the day. She called the sitter every hour, who told her that Max was all right
, but by the end of the day, he was covered with spots. Clearly, it was going to be a challenging week.

  It had started to snow that morning, and by afternoon, there were five inches of snow blanketing the city. It said on the radio that the schools would be closed the next day. They were expecting ten more inches during the night, and declared it a blizzard by five o'clock. Olympia thought briefly about calling her mother-in-law to ask her if she needed anything. She didn't want her to go out and fall on the ice as the temperature dropped that night. She dialed her number, there was no answer, and Olympia didn't get out of the office herself till after six that night. She nearly froze to death looking for a cab, and by the time she got home she was soaking wet, and chilled to the bone. Max was propped up in bed, watching videos, and covered in calamine lotion.

  “Hi, sweetheart, how's it going?”

  “Itchy,” he said, looking unhappy. His fever had gone up again, but at least Olympia's hadn't. She had had a miserable, stressful day in the office. And Harry had left a message at the house that he had an emergency at work, and wouldn't be home till at least nine. She couldn't wait for Charlie to come home the next day, and at least give her a hand in cheering up Max, who looked sick, feverish, and bored. Charlie was terrific with him, and Olympia was feeling overwhelmed. It didn't help that Harry was out when she felt sick herself.

  She made chicken soup for herself and Max, put a frozen pizza in the microwave for him, and blew her nose about four hundred times. She had just tucked him in for the night, turned off his light, and walked into her bedroom, longing for a hot bath, when the phone rang. It was still snowing heavily outside. It was Frieda, who apologized for calling her. She knew Max had chicken pox, and inquired how he was.

  “Poor kid, he looks awful. He's covered with calamine. I didn't think that many spots could fit on one child. He even has them inside his ears, nose, and mouth.”