Girls with Bright Futures

by Tracy Dobmeier

  A smirk played at Alicia’s lips. “No need.” She held up her phone and waggled it back and forth.

  “You turned it off? What the hell? I was right in the middle of something.” He ran a hand through his sandy-brown hair, making it stand on end.

  “Seems like the only way to get you guys to talk to me.”

  “Oh gimme a break.” Bryan bent down to open the undercounter beverage fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. He flipped off the cap and took a long swig. “So how was…wait, what city were you in last night?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

  “Salt Lake City. And it didn’t go well.” Alicia closed her eyes and massaged her temples. “My gut is telling me this acquisition might be a huge mistake. The CEO has been tweeting all kinds of crazy stuff.”

  “Dad, the Wi-Fi still isn’t working,” Brooke yelled as she clomped down the back staircase that ended next to the butler’s pantry in the kitchen. She stopped cold when she saw her mother.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” Alicia said with all the false cheer she could muster. She was a CEO, not an Academy Award–winning actress, for God’s sake. “I brought you back some saltwater taffy.” She rooted around in her tote for the package and slid it down the island.

  “You know salt water taffy isn’t some special treat. They sell it at the grocery store.” Brooke was no longer willing to exchange her anger at her mother for a guilt gift, but Alicia couldn’t bring herself to stop trying.

  “Consider it a treat for working on your essays. How’d the call go this afternoon with Professor Bejamaca?” Earlier that week, Alicia finally reached the professor her colleague had referred her to for college essay assistance. He charged her double given that the early admission application deadline was just over two weeks away, but at least he’d agreed to do it.

  “Um, well, he had to reschedule,” Brooke said, shooting her dad a conspiratorial look. “Dad said Mr. Clark told you last week that Stanford’s only taking one more EBA student. You’ve known for a whole week. Why didn’t you tell me when you got home from New York?”

  Alicia glanced at her husband. Why did he insist on making everything more difficult? “If you’ll recall, we had other things to discuss that night during the limited window in which you tolerated my presence. And besides, it doesn’t change a thing.” They’d spent forty-five minutes screaming about the other’s ethical breaches—Brooke decrying her mother for hiring someone to write her essays and Alicia firing back that Brooke had no qualms about using her mother to cover up her unexcused absences. What would have been the point of giving her daughter yet another excuse not to finish her application?

  “What about Winnie and Krissie? They’re both planning to apply.”

  “Actually, Winnie is planning to apply to UW Honors, which is a terrific program and will be a great fit for her.” Alicia swiped a carrot through the hummus with a flourish and relished the text she’d received from Diana relating Winnie’s plans.

  “Would you say that if I wanted to go to UW?” Brooke asked, nibbling her cuticle. A habit Alicia detested.

  Alicia shot her husband an expectant look. On the topic of Brooke not going to his alma mater, they were aligned. For much different reasons, of course, but that was splitting hairs.

  “B, you know I’m the biggest UW fan around. I bleed Husky purple,” Bryan said, stopping for a sip of beer. “As much as I would love for you to go there, it’s really important that you have the chance to go away to college and get out from under the glare of being Alicia Stone’s kid.”

  “And you think going to Stanford, where there will literally be a building with our name on it, will do that?”

  Bryan held up his hands. “Hey, it’s not me saying it has to be Stanford.”

  “Why are you both so intent on flushing this opportunity down the toilet?” Alicia snapped. “It doesn’t matter how you get in, and it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. To hear a lot of people tell it, the only reason I became the CEO was because some guy couldn’t keep it in his pants. Not because I worked my butt off and earned it.”

  “Maybe, but unlike you, we both know I haven’t earned Stanford. Just like I didn’t earn my spot at EBA.” Brooke crossed her arms and stared at her mother.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alicia said.

  “Bullshit. I heard you and Dad talking about my shitty eighth-grade report card the summer before high school started. I heard you wonder if you’d made a mistake using Winnie’s test scores to get me in. So don’t fucking lie to my face. At least have the balls to admit what you did. I’m the one who’s had to see Winnie every goddamn day the past three years knowing my own mom wishes she were her daughter instead of me—and worrying that someone is going to figure out I’m a total fraud. Winnie’s the one who deserves the Stanford spot, not me. Or even that bitch Krissie. At least Winnie doesn’t make me feel like an idiot the way Krissie does. She never misses a chance to remind everyone she’s smarter than me.”

  Brooke’s lower lip quivered, so Alicia downshifted to a softer tone. She reached out to smooth her daughter’s wavy dark-brown hair and tuck it behind her ear. “I know you think everything in life should be fair. But it’s not. The world just doesn’t work that way. Winnie will be fine at UW, and the good news is once you’re at Stanford, you’ll never have to see her again. And don’t worry about Krissie,” Alicia said, waving her hand dismissively. “Her mom is operating under the mistaken assumption that her hooks somehow matter. But, Brooke honey, I need you to do your part. Can you just finish your application, for the love of God?”

  Brooke broke eye contact first with an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever. Why can’t you just snap your fingers and have me admitted? Why do I even need to apply?”

  “Don’t whatever me, Brooke. Let me make this crystal clear—you will not embarrass me,” Alicia said, enunciating each word. “This is about so much more than college. This is about my career. My image. If you can’t get into Stanford with all my support, what does that say about me?”

  “Alicia, come on,” Bryan said, moving toward Brooke.

  “Not another word out of you.” Alicia pointed a finger at Bryan and then turned to look her daughter square in the face. “If you finish your goddamn application and manage to keep your mouth shut about whatever you think may or may not have happened with your admission to EBA, I will buy you a Range Rover. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand perfectly,” Brooke said through gritted teeth.

  * * *

  Alicia finished her call and relaxed back into her in-home styling chair. Up until the day Alicia’s regular stylist had canceled on Alicia and Brooke two hours before Brooke’s fifth-grade graduation, Alicia hadn’t realized what a wizard Maren was with hair and makeup. But after all the compliments they’d received that day, Alicia had immediately purchased the styling chair and added hair and makeup to Maren’s regular duties. She smiled at Maren in the mirror. “Ugh, investors,” she said, bugging out her eyes for effect as Maren applied product to Alicia’s wet hair and began sectioning it out. They’d weathered bumps in their relationship before, but Alicia was a master at smoothing over uncomfortable situations. “I got Winnie a little gift,” she said, pointing at a box sitting on the counter wrapped in paper with a repeating UW logo and a giant purple bow.

  Alicia had been waiting in the parking lot when the university bookstore opened earlier that morning. She’d selected a light-gray hooded sweatshirt emblazoned with the words “University of Washington” in purple and a purple block W underneath and paid in cash. No need for rumors that Alicia Stone was seen buying a UW sweatshirt.

  “Wow, word travels fast.” Maren returned Alicia’s smile. “That’s so thoughtful, I’m sure Winnie will appreciate it.” She turned on the hair dryer.

  “Mare,” Alicia said over the din of the dryer, trying to catch Maren’s eye through the reflection in the m
irror. “I never anticipated my mom’s health would deteriorate so quickly. You have to understand, none of this is personal.”

  “I get it,” Maren said, her eyes focused on Alicia’s hair. “Family comes first.”

  Alicia stared down at her hands clasped together in her lap. It was clear from Maren’s clipped response that she was pissed off, but it wasn’t Alicia’s fault Stanford was only taking one more EBA student and that college admissions was not, and never would be, a meritocracy. “Does Winnie have her heart set on UW, or is she looking at other options like, I don’t know, something like Arizona State or schools like that with honors colleges and merit scholarships?”

  “She’s got a couple of those schools on her list. With her grades, we’re really hoping she gets some kind of merit scholarship at UW. I want to help her as much as I can, but, man, college is expensive.” Maren finally looked up at Alicia. “Even if she gets tuition paid for, there’s still room and board, a new computer, books, stuff for her dorm room.”

  “I’m sure I could help out with some of that stuff when the time comes,” Alicia said, hoping her offer would ease the tension between them.

  “I’m not asking for a handout, but a raise wouldn’t hurt,” Maren said, her eyes once again trained on her boss’s tresses.

  Alicia had lost track, but it had probably been several years since she’d given Maren a raise. She was paying Winnie’s EBA tuition, after all, which went up 5 percent like clockwork each year. More than a cost of living adjustment. “OK, how about a 5 percent raise starting with your next paycheck? I’ll text my accountant when we’re done.” She waved her phone in the air. A small price to pay to ensure Maren’s continued loyalty.

  Maren turned off the hair dryer and set it on the counter. “Thanks, Alicia. That will help.”

  “Oh good,” Alicia beamed as she absorbed Maren’s gratitude. The ship had been righted. Equilibrium restored. She grabbed her talking points as Maren moved on to the curling iron to create the beachy waves Alicia’s image consultant said made her look powerful yet still youthful. The New York Times was flying a Sunday Styles reporter into town for a human-interest story. They were doing the interview at Alicia’s house to position her as “she’s just like us.” Today wasn’t the first time her PR flacks had taken advantage of her gender and mommy status to burnish the company’s image. Soon after she’d been appointed CEO, the director of corporate communications had decided it would benefit the company to establish Alicia’s personal brand as a leading woman in tech. Although Alicia hadn’t been entirely comfortable becoming the feminist face of working women in tech, she’d been so focused on actually running the company that she’d trusted her PR team. They’d lined up a high-profile 60 Minutes interview featuring Alicia as the new darling of Wall Street who had it all, including a supportive partner who shared equally in all parts of their home life and an adoring, accomplished daughter.

  If only that were even remotely true. The reality was that as Alicia’s career had ramped up, Bryan had done less and less around the house. After countless nasty arguments, Alicia had finally given up and backfilled the job, first with au pairs and then with Maren, who oversaw the entire childcare operation and eventually came to manage the housekeeper, the kitchen staff, the groundskeepers, the property managers for their personal homes, and just about every aspect of their lives. While Alicia could never admit it in an interview, in many ways, Maren was the supportive partner who made her career possible.

  “Hair’s done. Good luck with your interview,” Maren said as she put the curling iron back on the dressing table. Spinning the styling chair around, she handed Alicia a hand mirror so she could check the back of her hair.

  “Looks fabulous as always, Maren. Thank you. You’re the best.” She handed back the mirror. “I hope Winnie enjoys my gift. Our girls have such bright futures ahead of them.”

  8

  Kelly

  From: Kelly Vernon, Today, 11:05 p.m

  To: Alicia Stone, Diana Taylor, Augusta Wagoner, Amanda Russell, Sarah Silver, Jennifer Tan

  CC: Maren Pressley

  Subject: SST Update

  Hi, ladies,

  First, congratulations to Jennifer on chairing a fabulous College Critter Day! The EBA-branded poop bags and tissues made from recycled content were right on target with the EBA Sustainability Policy. Yay for our negative carbon footprint!

  I can’t believe we had two hundred animals on campus! That’s two for every senior! Other than the three epi shots the school nurse had to deliver, the two dogs mating in front of the gym, and Jasper Kincaid’s potbellied pig giving birth in the quad, it was a wonderful event and no doubt helped our spectacular seniors during this incredibly stressful time in their lives. Making lemonade out of lemons, the Kincaids are generously letting us auction off the piglets. All money raised will support the EBA Sexual Health Awareness Program. The online auction will go live when the piglets are weaned…just in time for the holidays. Anyone want a piglet for Christmas?

  Maren, when you get a chance, we would love an update on Snowcoming. It’s just six weeks away! Is everything on track? Can’t wait to hear who Alicia has in mind for the big surprise!

  xx

  Kelly

  * * *

  Kelly took her triple venti mocha with extra whipped cream back to her chair in the café. She’d given up manicures and her monthly massages, but she was not giving up her overpriced coffee even after her fight with Kevin this morning over their Visa bill. Kelly had been washing her face when he’d stormed into the bathroom waving a printout of the latest charges. One of the perils of being married to an accountant. He carefully monitored all spending in real time.

  “We need to talk about this,” he said.

  “Can it wait until after I’m done getting ready?” Kelly asked, rinsing the last traces of soap from her face.

  “There’s a $900 charge from College Bound Tutoring.” Kevin stared at her in the mirror. “Please tell me that’s a mistake.”

  Kelly reached around her husband for a towel. Unable to afford a larger house in Seattle’s overheated real estate market, they’d instead added a “master” bath to their attic bedroom when Krissie started middle school. There was no way they were going to survive five family members (including three teenagers) fighting over one bathroom. Instead of an en suite master bath with separate shower, jacuzzi tub, toilet room, and double sinks like so many other EBA parents had, they’d ended up with a three-quarter bath with a single sink and no counter space. Kevin had to bend his knees to take a shower under the sloped ceiling. Stalling for time, as apparently the conversation couldn’t wait until she was done getting ready, Kelly patted her face dry. Even though last week, Kevin had said they couldn’t afford any more tutoring, Kelly had added a tutoring session for Krissie after she’d come home hysterical about her upcoming Calc II test. Rather than just have the other kids sit in the car during Krissie’s tutoring session, Kelly had figured she might as well add sessions for Katherine and Kaleb, which totaled six private hours of tutoring for the week at $150 a pop.

  “I think it bears repeating, Kelly, we’re paying $100,000 a year in tuition,” he said, his face inches from hers given the lack of space in the bathroom. “I can’t wrap my mind around why they all need tutors on top of that. Maybe we should be talking to the school?”

  “One-on-one tutoring is so important. Especially for Krissie. It really helps reduce her stress,” Kelly said, rubbing in her moisturizer. She knew Kevin would back down if she brought up their daughter’s fragile mental state. “And science is always difficult for Katherine, you know that. The tutoring could be the difference between an A and an A-minus in AP Chem. Kaleb needs as much help as he can get if you don’t want to be editing his English papers into college. EBA does a great job teaching the kids to think, but they’re terrible when it comes to teaching the mechanics of writing.”

  �
�Are you kidding? Why aren’t we talking to the school about this?”

  “Writing came so naturally to the girls that I didn’t realize it was a problem.” Kelly dabbed on some foundation. “I’ve been in to see Kaleb’s teacher and the head of the middle school English department, but they don’t see a problem with his writing, but that’s because either his tutor or I edit everything before it gets turned in.”

  “Here’s a radical idea: don’t edit his work so the teacher can see the problem for herself.”

  “But every parent is doing this. It’s not just me.” Kelly walked back into their bedroom. “If we don’t help Kaleb, he’ll suffer in comparison, and the teacher will think he’s the one with a problem.”

  “It sounds like he is the one with the problem,” Kevin said, following her. “So what’s the IvyPlusorBust.com charge for $2,500?”

  “They’re reviewing all of Krissie’s essays.” Kelly looked for her stretchiest jeans. “Last year, they had a twenty-five percent acceptance rate for clients who applied to Stanford.”

  “Jesus, how do you know they didn’t have four clients and one got in? And anyway, we discussed this a week ago, and I said absolutely not. How could you go behind my back and do this?”

  “Krissie was freaking out last weekend when you were out of town with Kaleb at his fencing tournament. She didn’t think they were good enough, and Ms. Barstow had already reviewed them. I didn’t know what else to do,” Kelly said as she pulled on her jeans.

  “Kelly,” Kevin said, slumping on the bench at the end of their bed. “We can’t afford this. And there’s no way we can do all this for Katherine and Kaleb. I just filed our taxes and took a hard look at our finances. These are my peak earning years, and the only money we saved this year was what the company deducted for my 401(k). I didn’t even max it out. Have you even thought about what would happen to us if I dropped dead of a heart attack or got cancer or something? It happens to people our age. Just look at what happened to the Ropers.”