“That’s too bad. Some kids from The Public School are going there next year. You’d love them. You’d really fit into their group,” Max said encouragingly.
“My father specifically wants to send me to a school where I don’t fit in. That seems to be his goal,” Julian complained.
“So where do you think you’re gonna end up?” Max asked.
“A boarding school for manly men,” Julian answered, raising a fist and flexing his biceps.
“And how ’bout you, Marissa?” Max asked.
“I’m hoping to go to one of the public science high schools. I think I did really well on the entrance exam, and I’ve always gotten nearly perfect scores on every standardized test I’ve ever taken, so I think I’ll have my pick,” Marissa answered with the precision her mother had trained her to use. “What about you?”
“The High School for the Musically Gifted. Lots of The Public School kids will be going there, too. They have an excellent orchestral program, great voice training, and are also strong on musical composition, which is what I’m really interested in. Plus you do all the usual mandatory academic stuff. It seems pretty good. For a public school, that is,” he added in deference to the Dragers, who, he knew from Zoe, were partial to private school.
“You have no idea how lucky you are that your parents support the idea of your following your passion,” Julian said with a downcast look.
“They’re both musicians, so they’re thrilled that I’m interested in studying music,” Max responded, and then turned to Michael and said, “Zoe has a wonderful voice.”
“Thank you. We think so, too. All of you were fantastic at the Holiday Festival. It would be so great if the group could perform together again. Are there any plans for that?”
“Not that I know of,” Zoe said with regret. “Have you guys heard anything?”
“Now that Ms. Nash is the acting head, she probably won’t have time to do the choral program. We’ll be back to singing ‘My Favorite Things’ with old Mrs. Barker,” Marissa complained.
“Old Mrs. Barker has whiskers like kittens. She’ll never have me, but I know she’s smitten . . . ,” Julian began singing a parody, and the other kids cracked up as Helen and Michael cleared the table.
“What do you think of Max?” Helen asked quietly when they were alone in the kitchen.
“Nice kid,” he answered distractedly.
“That’s all? Nice kid?” She was disappointed in his lack of imagination.
“What? Don’t you think he seems like a nice kid?” he asked with a hint of hostility.
“Yes, Michael, he’s a nice kid,” she said condescendingly. “Are you being so terse because you’re still angry with me for not jumping on the Fantasy Basketball Camp bandwagon?” she asked angrily.
“It’s you who’s picking the fight,” he retorted under his breath.
Julian’s singing in the other room became louder. “When the bitch bites, when the kids sing, then I’m feeling bad . . .” They returned to the table and served the dessert.
After the guests departed and the kitchen was cleaned up, Helen went into Zoe’s room to chat while she was getting ready for bed.
“Tell me everything you and Max talked about,” Zoe pleaded. The reality was, Helen’s mind had been elsewhere for most of the evening, and other than her astonishment at Max’s ability to identify Frantisek Styrsky, she had only a sketchy memory of their conversation.
“He seems very bright. We talked a little bit about his parents, who sound very interesting, and then he and Daddy got into basketball. Otherwise, I mostly listened to you kids talk, and I thought he seemed very composed and articulate.”
“So do you like him?” Zoe asked anxiously.
“Very much,” she said. She could tell Zoe wanted her approval, and she had every intention of giving it. But she was so preoccupied with the dilemma presented by Phillip’s e-mail that she had no capacity for anything else. She knew she would never be able to sleep unless she had ascertained whether Catherine had told Zoe that she had found the earrings.
“Have you spoken to Catherine lately?” she asked with a casualness that downplayed her sense of urgency.
“Yeah, yesterday. Why?” Zoe was annoyed that her mother didn’t seem to want to talk about Max.
“How was her trip to Sweden?”
“She said it was fun. She did a lot of skiing with her grandmother.”
“That’s nice.”
Zoe busied herself brushing her hair as Helen watched quietly, lost in thought. After a few minutes, Zoe began hesitantly, “Mom, something weird happened. I think I need to tell you.”
“What’s that?” Helen said, masking her nervousness.
“Remember Catherine’s party before Christmas? Remember how you generously let me wear your garnet earrings? Well, Catherine called yesterday to tell me that she found them at her house. At first I thought they couldn’t be yours, because I was positive I never took them off at the party. So I looked in your jewelry box and they weren’t there. So then I thought I must have left them at her house. But I’m totally freaked out because, I swear, I can’t remember ever taking them off,” Zoe said, almost crying. “I feel like I must be going crazy or something. Then I started wondering if maybe someone had slipped some drugs into my soda, and now I’m worried that I might have done other stuff that night that I don’t remember.”
Helen was overcome with confusion, guilt, and self-hatred. Clearly, her first obligation was to relieve Zoe of her anxiety, so she finessed and concocted an explanation that straddled the line between fact and fiction, closer to the latter than the former.
“That’s a funny mix-up,” she began, feeling duplicitous as soon as she started. “I had to drop in at the Cashins’ last week, while you were still in Cuba,” she continued, keeping it light but provoking a prickly response from Zoe nevertheless.
“Really? Why?”
“A little business,” she said, wondering where she was going with this. “You know Catherine’s dad is an important art collector, right? Well, he asked me if I would come over to look at a painting he was considering buying.”
“Really?” Zoe was skeptical.
Helen nodded. “The day I went there, I was wearing the garnet earrings, and there happened to be another woman there who asked to see them. I took them off for her and forgot to put them back on,” she explained feebly. She was deeply ashamed at the ease with which she told the lie, but the alternative was unthinkable; she would never in a million years consider telling Zoe what she was really doing at the Cashins’, especially since she was hard-pressed to explain it herself.
“Well, I’m glad to know I’m not losing my mind,” Zoe said sleepily.
“Of course you’re not, sweetie,” Helen said, kissing her daughter on the forehead and quietly leaving her room.
But I think I am, thought Helen, and then made a vain attempt to sublimate her unbearable feelings of shame. An analyst would have a field day with this story. It’s got it all: mother-daughter dynamics, the family jewels (everyone knows what they symbolize . . . and they’re red, no less!), adultery, deception, triangulation. . . .
After the Dragers had scheduled their meeting with Sara, Helen had sent her an e-mail telling her that Zoe would not attend. Sara found the decision curious, given the lip service Helen had been paying to the importance of keeping Zoe involved. But a few comments that Helen had recently let slip led Sara to suspect that the Dragers had a few issues that they were anxious to discuss and had apparently determined that this was best done without their daughter.
“Let’s start by reviewing where you stand with each of the schools you have applied to,” Sara began.
“Okay. First there’s the noncontender—The Progressive School. None of us liked it at all, and we agreed that even if it were the only school that accepted Zoe, we wouldn’t send her there,” Helen explained.
“Fair enough. I agree it’s not the right place for her, although it does have its virtues,�
�� Sara said. She had several other students for whom it was a good fit, and had determined it was good practice not to speak negatively about any school.
“Next on our list is The Safety School. I think we all agree it’s our last choice, don’t we, Michael?”
“Definitely,” he said.
“So you consider The Safety School your fallback? That is, would she go there if that were the only place she gets in?” Sara asked.
They both nodded affirmatively but halfheartedly.
“I spoke with Shirley Livingston last week. We have eight students who have applied to The Safety School, all of whom she thought were good candidates. She asked me to tell her which of the eight I think will attend if accepted. I think it’s unlikely to be Zoe’s only choice, so shall I tell her that she will most likely not attend if accepted?”
“If you think that we’re covered,” Helen replied, wishing that Sara were telling them what to do, not asking. But she also remembered how belittling it was when Pamela barked directives, and given a choice between the two, she had to admit, she preferred Sara’s more inclusive and honest approach.
“Next are the two single-sex schools, The Fancy Girls’ School and The Very Brainy Girls’ School. In my mind they’re tied,” Helen stated, clearly not having consulted Michael.
“We hated The Very Brainy Girls’ School!” he exploded, surprising them both with his vehemence.
“We had the tour guide from hell,” Helen explained to Sara, “so we didn’t get a good feel for the place. But their reputation is so strong, I think we have to consider it if she were accepted.”
Michael pouted but remained silent.
“I spoke to Eva Hopkins yesterday about Zoe. She was noncommittal about her and said she sensed some ambivalence from you two,” Sara explained.
“She never spoke to us!” Michael said angrily.
“Really? She led me to believe she had gotten a strong sense of both of you.”
“We introduced ourselves. That was all. Maybe she didn’t approve of Helen’s shoes,” Michael said sarcastically. Helen scoffed but also wondered how they could have managed to make a negative impression when they had virtually no contact with the woman.
“I would recommend, if Zoe is accepted, that we ask her to arrange for you to make another visit. That would be perfectly reasonable under the circumstances,” Sara advised, and then, turning to Michael, asked, “You’re leaning more towards The Fancy Girls’ School?”
“Between the two, I would have to say yes,” said Michael. “But we would much rather see Zoe at a coed school.”
Helen cleared her throat audibly. “Excuse me? When did we make that decision?”
“I thought we had agreed on that a while ago,” Michael responded.
“Maybe you made that decision. But I would love to see Zoe in an all-girls school. I think she’s leaning in that direction, too.”
“Really? As of when?”
“The last time she and I discussed it. A few weeks ago.”
“Maybe she said that just to please you. She knows you’ve had your heart set on a girls’ school from the very beginning,” Michael said with a distinct tone of irritation.
“Okay. So I have. But I also think it would be good for her,” Helen continued defensively.
“Well, I don’t think that’s what she wants. And I don’t think it’s right for her, either. Even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’ll get in to The Fancy Girls’ School.”
Helen shot him a querulous look. It was not lost on Sara, who was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the tension between them. In the years that she had known the Dragers, she had rarely witnessed this level of antagonism, and wondered if there was an underlying cause above and beyond the stress of admissions.
“The last time I spoke to Justine Frampton she was positive about Zoe but by no means definitive. Do you know something about The Fancy Girls’ School that I don’t know?” Sara asked.
Before coming here today, Michael and Helen had agreed not to tell Sara anything about La Cuisine de Justine. But now that Michael had dropped a hint, Helen unilaterally decided to tell her the whole story.
Sara was astonished and thoroughly amused. “That is so great! I love it! It bears out what I’ve always believed about Justine—she’s a status-seeking social climber who’s purely out for herself. I always suspected that she and Pamela had some kind of quid pro quo deal going with the cooking school. It was no coincidence that the families who vacationed there ended up with children at The Fancy Girls’ School. The Bakers, the Cookes—there have been at least three or four others.”
“The Winters,” Helen added.
“We’ll see about them,” Sara replied evasively. “The way you figured out how to play her is hilarious. Whose idea was it?”
“Hers,” Michael said, pointing his thumb in Helen’s direction.
“I have to take the rap for this one,” Helen confessed with a smirk. Sara was relieved to see her reach out and take Michael’s hand.
“If it means Zoe’s acceptance, I applaud it. It will definitely go down in the annals of bizarre admissions stories. Last is The Bucolic Campus School, right?”
“We all love The Bucolic Campus School, don’t we, Michael? If we decide to go the coed route, that’s our first choice,” Helen said in a conciliatory tone.
“Vince Gargano and I had lunch last week. There are four students from The School who have applied, and he and I met to discuss each one. But he seemed to be completely enamored with the Drager family, and I had trouble getting him to focus on anyone else. You seem to have made quite a good impression on him,” Sara reported enthusiastically.
“Um . . .” Helen shrugged and cocked an eyebrow. Michael nodded and said, “Why not?”
“Your turn,” Helen said, and Michael told Sara about his cultivation of “Vinnie.”
“And the funny thing is, I really like him. He’s a good guy. He’s someone I could actually imagine hanging out with,” Michael explained.
Again Sara was astounded. “Boy, did I underestimate you two!”
“This was also Helen’s idea,” Michael volunteered.
“Nice going. I never knew you had it in you,” Sara said.
“You and I have never been on opposing teams,” Helen laughed. “I can be cutthroat.”
“I’ll have to remember that. Well, it looks like you’re in good shape. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m fairly certain Zoe will have a few good options and will be in the enviable position of being able to make her own decision instead of having it made for her. My advice would be to let her take the lead. She’s the one who has to attend the school every day, and you want her to feel that wherever she ends up is her choice. Do you agree?” Sara asked, making certain to look at both Helen and Michael.
“Absolutely,” they said in unison.
They left The School together but were heading in opposite directions: Helen to the library to do some research, and Michael to his office. Even though they were both under pressure to get to work, they lingered on the corner for a few minutes, discussing the prudence of sharing Sara’s optimism. Michael was more inclined to do so than Helen, who was concerned about Sara’s lack of experience. She thought that accepting the words of the various admissions directors at face value was naïve and therefore risky. She refused to breathe a sigh of relief until she had an acceptance letter in hand.
“So your pessimism negates my optimism and we remain neutral. That’s probably a healthy attitude for us to convey to Zoe during the final waiting period,” Michael said sensibly.
“Well put,” Helen agreed. “What time do you think you’ll be finished with work tonight?”
“Not late. What time does Zoe get home?”
“Tonight’s the night she’s going to The Public School to see the performance of Guys and Dolls. Max told us he’s playing Nathan Detroit. Remember? He’s invited her to the cast party after the show, so she’ll be home on the late side. We
could meet somewhere for dinner, if that works for you, and get home before she does,” Helen suggested.
“Let’s do that. The Bistro at seven?”
“Great. See you there.”
The only eighth-grade parents that Sara dreaded meeting with almost as much as the Winters were the Topplers. In the past few days, she had spoken to the admissions directors at the five boarding schools to which Julian had applied, and while all of them were impressed with his scores and school records, they questioned, as one put it, “his emotional maturity,” or, in the words of another, “his personal style.” She took this to mean that they were uncomfortable with his sexual ambivalence but, lest they be accused of discrimination, couched their concerns in the most euphemistic terms possible. She had several conversations with Julian in which he talked extensively about his desire to stay in New York, convincing her that it was her duty to go to bat for him in what she knew could potentially be an explosive battle with his father. She had even gone so far as to call Soledad Gibson at The Progressive School, to float the idea of the Topplers submitting a late application for Julian. She felt a little like Pamela when she dropped a hint about Toppler’s wealth, but was willing to pull out all the stops to help Julian secure a spot in an open-minded, supportive environment. The Progressive School certainly fit that bill, but convincing John Toppler of this wasn’t going to be pleasant.
Lauren Toppler had arrived on time for their appointment; John was twenty minutes late and, when he finally arrived, was belligerent towards both Margaret and his wife and barked, “This better be important; it’s costing me five hundred an hour in lost billings.”
He barged into Sara’s office and demanded she drop whatever she was doing (speaking on the phone to Lisa Fontaine, who, hearing the unmistakable growl of John Toppler, understood when Sara abruptly signed off).
Sara wasted no time presenting her case and, as she talked about the importance of taking Julian’s uniqueness into consideration when making a decision about school, heard Toppler grunt and harrumph. Lauren looked at the floor as Sara finished explaining to them why she thought a school like The Progressive School was the best place for Julian.
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