Tiny Imperfections

by Alli Frank

  I can’t stop staring at his picture and Lola knows better than to say a word. She simply grabs my phone, deletes the app, and holds my hand.

  “Two whiskeys, neat,” Lola tells the waitress as she walks by. “Champagne’s not going to cut it today.”

  SIXTEEN

  I know people judge me and think I’m a bad niece because I don’t drive Aunt Viv to school. Truth is, she’s never wanted me to. Morning is her time. Don’t ask her what she’s doing, who she’s with, or where she’s going, just leave her be. Aunt Viv rises long before Etta and I even know the sun’s thinking about coming up. Our alarm clock is Aunt Viv slamming the front door. For the thirteen years Etta and I have lived with Aunt Viv, her routine has never changed.

  Monday–Friday out the door at 6:15 a.m.

  Saturday cards start at noon, rotating location

  Sunday out the door at 8:00 a.m. to be at Glide Memorial Church early (Etta and I slide in the pew next to Aunt Viv on average five minutes late)

  One morning a few years ago, curiosity got the best of me and I followed Aunt Viv out the front door at 6:15 a.m. into the dark of Outer Richmond. Aunt Viv walked a brisk six blocks past our favorite burrito shop, an Irish pub that closes at 2:00 a.m. but reopens at 6:00 a.m. for those who need a pint before work, and the You Like Beauty hair-care store. I don’t know how the Kwon family that owns the store does it, but they carry the best black girl hair-smoothing products in the city. I’ve been buying all the products I need for my crown from Mr. and Mrs. Kwon for as long as I can remember. Years of following me around the store as a teen and then a dozen credit card approvals as an adult finally convinced the Kwons I was no shea butter thief. Now, before any opening night performance Etta stops by You Like Beauty to show Mrs. Kwon her perfectly smoothed and shellacked bun.

  Aunt Viv took a left at Starbucks, the first in Richmond back when I was in high school, walked three more blocks, and then a right at Clement Street. On Clement, about eight blocks after the rush of traffic on Park Presidio, Aunt Viv, chef extraordinaire, marched right into Allstar Donuts. All of Allstar Donuts greeted her with a “Morning, V! Got your seat right here.” Still hidden by the winter morning darkness I spied from the sidewalk and witnessed a whole community I never knew Aunt Viv had. Clearly she didn’t want me to know since she’d never mentioned word one about her Allstar Donuts posse.

  A group of about ten men and women—Asian, black, and white, as far as I could tell—gathered around two pushed-together Formica tables welcoming the day with warm embraces and conversation. I saw one man in a trucker baseball hat with gray curls escaping the sides put an arm around Aunt Viv’s chair. He seemed to have an easy laugh at anything said at the table, and I could have sworn I saw Aunt Viv put a hand on his knee. Did Aunt Viv have a secret lover? A friend? A closet husband? It was hard to tell because at that point I had fogged up my small peeping corner of the window.

  At exactly 7:30 Aunt Viv said her good-byes to the coffee klatch and headed out as economically as she had arrived. I hid in the bushes of the bodega next door and watched her hop a 7:45 bus to Fairchild, which was no more than a mile away. The next several days I had to fight my instinct to probe Aunt Viv about Gentleman Trucker Hat, but I never did. Aunt Viv had escaped New Orleans for San Francisco to start fresh and lead her own quiet life. That all came to an abrupt halt when I showed up roughly a decade later and altered Aunt Viv’s life plans, whatever they may have been. If Aunt Viv needed something to be all hers, well, I gotta let her have it. She’s never once complained about raising children she didn’t birth, never once mentioned a life she wished she could have led. If she needed to have her own private world from 6:15–7:45 a.m. Monday through Friday, who am I to take away that hour and a half of life that belongs only to her.

  * * *

  • • •

  School’s back in session after the holidays and Etta and I both held up our end of the bargain, though I wouldn’t say this was the jolliest of holiday seasons. Etta wrote an amazing essay on how the difference between a good dancer and a great one is caring about the tiny imperfections that no one else may notice, but as a dancer you do. What sets her apart from her peers is, though all humans are flawed, she enjoys the journey of working on her imperfections to try to become a better version of herself. She doesn’t do it for her teachers, for her family, or for her friends; she does it for herself because it is on stage that she comes alive as the best version of herself. Etta definitely stepped it up from the Husky the fat hamster essay. I tried to compliment her on her recent efforts when she stopped to give me the time of day, which was never long enough for me to finish my sentence. Merry Christmas to me.

  I held up my end of the bargain, too, by helping Etta get her application and prescreening content done and submitted to Juilliard by December 20. I was happy to learn that as a junior and senior Etta could take liberal arts credits at Columbia and Barnard. In fact, she could potentially become well-educated in addition to becoming an accomplished dancer. But, no matter how many classes she may take at Columbia that degree will still say Juilliard, not Columbia. I’m willing to bet not many tech start-ups or investment banking training programs are hiring Juilliard graduates.

  I also learned that if Etta passes the prescreening process, I will have to send her to New York for a live audition and interview. Add a plane ticket to New York City and a hotel room to the loss column of the ongoing Bordelon profit and loss, loss, and more loss statement. Note to self: Don’t even think about hitting the post-Christmas sales at Neiman’s or Bloomingdale’s. I text Lola and tell her it’s her job to not let me travel south of Pine Street to Union Square for the next several months.

  FROM: Nan Gooding

  DATE: January 25, 2019

  SUBJECT: Viv’s party

  TO: Josephine Bordelon

  Josie,

  Please come down to my office to talk about your aunt Viv’s party. It’s less than six weeks away. Elsa, my assistant, will let me know when you arrive.

  Please be on time. 10:15 sharp.

  Nan Gooding

  HEAD OF SCHOOL

  FAIRCHILD COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL

  Holy hell. I had prayed that the idea for Aunt Viv’s party died with the Christmas chrysanthemums and Nan’s holiday cheer. I put a little lipstick on and head to Nan’s office.

  “Hi, Nan.” I walk past Elsa and knock directly on Nan’s door, opening it a smidge. Her irritation at me has yet to subside since the admissions committee incident. My insubordination in bypassing Elsa and coming straight into her office only adds insult to recent injury.

  “Is Elsamyassistant not at her desk?” Nan leans over her laptop to look out to the foyer.

  “What would you like to talk about, Nan? I thought the party wasn’t happening since you haven’t mentioned it to me since mid-November. And I know you must be so busy working on your STEAMS project that I can’t imagine you have time to organize a party.”

  “Well, yes, I am very busy with my STEAMS project. It’s not even up and running yet and I can’t keep up with the requests from around the country to come and speak at different schools on behalf of the project. The head of school at Hotchkiss has been pestering me nonstop to come speak to his faculty and board of trustees, but I finally had to put my foot down and tell him that Fairchild requires me here. I can’t spend all my time on planes and at speaking engagements up and down the East Coast. So, yes, STEAMS does seem to keep me locked up in my office most of the day, but I’m a woman who can wear many hats and I’m still planning on hosting Viv’s party.”

  I struggle not to show my disappointment at this decision.

  “You’ve told Viv about the party like I asked you to, haven’t you, Josie?”

  “I was waiting to make sure the party was a go for sure. You know, I didn’t want to raise Aunt Viv’s hopes only to have them dashed.” If only there were a trapdoor I could drop through and disappear from
this conversation.

  “When have I ever changed my mind on a decision that I have made public in front of faculty and staff? Again, Josie. I ask you to do something, and again you disappoint.” Nan shakes her head. My fists are in balls at my side, nails digging into my flesh. It’s either self-inflicted pain or Nan is going to get a beat down.

  “When do you plan on telling your aunt Viv about the party? I know she’ll want plenty of time to prepare,” Nan asks, her eyebrows raised so that they are hiding under her bangs. The only time and preparation Aunt Viv needs is to bitch and moan to me about the party, bitch and moan about my inability to cancel the party to her card group, and bitch and moan to Etta that I’m a terrible niece and when she dies, all her worldly possessions will skip me and go directly to Etta.

  “Trust me, Nan, I’m the last person in the world Aunt Viv wants to hear from about this party. Like I said before the break, I think it will mean so much more coming from you.” I don’t want to be the messenger who gets shot.

  “Well, I’m just so busy here, Josie, I don’t know when I’ll find the time to find, er, I mean, go to the kitchen and tell Viv about the party. I would send her an e-mail, but you were the one who told me that the invitation should be delivered in person.” I have a pile of admissions files back in Colson Hall to go through and, frankly, I don’t have the time right now for a verbal badminton match that I’m eventually going to lose since Nan’s my boss. I throw the match but with a caveat.

  “Okay, Nan. I’ll do it tonight, but I want to see the invite list so I can show Aunt Viv who’s been invited so she’ll get excited for the party.”

  “Yes, fine, fine, fine. Elsamyassistant will e-mail the Viva la Viv list to you. I think we are done here, don’t you?” Nan has surpassed her standard two minutes of human interaction. “Elsamyassistant will see you out now.”

  SEVENTEEN

  I stare at the App Store button on my phone. I’ve been doing this about six times a day ever since Lola and I came across Michael’s profile on Bumble. There are so many unanswered questions I have, and I want Bumble to be able to answer them for me. What happened to the job in Sacramento? When did Michael move back to San Francisco? Where does he live? Does he have a girlfriend? A wife? Is her booty bigger than mine? And since he’s been back in San Francisco has he ever been compelled to get ahold of me? To find out how Etta’s doing? I haven’t had the guts to download the app again, but it doesn’t mean every time I look at my phone I don’t want to. Sheer willpower and pride have kept me from going down the ex-boyfriend rabbit hole.

  TY

  S.O.S. Daniel’s NOT going to be happy with me. I can’t make the date of our Fairchild visit date for Gracie. I haven’t told him yet. Can you help an absentminded doctor out of an ugly domestic situation and schedule us for another date? Please, I’m begging you. If you don’t my sister will kill me and then who will take care of Aunt Viv?

  10:22 A.M.

  Excellent, a distraction. I swipe over to text.

  JOSIE

  I will.

  10:22 A.M.

  TY

  I know for a fact she would prefer the care of a golden doctor.

  10:23 A.M.

  JOSIE

  That’s fair. Then what’s the favor worth to you?

  10:24 A.M.

  TY

  I will insist on doing Etta’s Cornell alumni interview and I’ll bring you a HUGE bag of chocolate pretzels.

  10:32 A.M.

  JOSIE

  How do you know I like chocolate pretzels? Another nugget of information Lola should have kept to herself?

  10:33 A.M.

  TY

  No, I saw one crushed into your carpet when we had our parent interview.

  10:34 A.M.

  So Golden Boy couldn’t manage to notice my fabulous outfit, but he noticed food ground into my carpet. He’s a unique breed of gay, I have to say.

  JOSIE

  The way you wolfed down Aunt Viv’s coffee cake it’s a wonder you didn’t dive after that chocolate pretzel.

  10:36 A.M.

  TY

  No kidding. You would think for tuition of 40K a year you could at least have a cheese plate at the interviews.

  10:37 A.M.

  JOSIE

  No cheese plate and no go on changing the visit date. JK. Let me see what I can do.

  10:38 A.M.

  TY

  Your good deed will not go unnoticed. I have some things to drop off for your aunt Viv. She around this evening?

  10:40 A.M.

  JOSIE

  She’s going to the movies with her friend Louise. She has a crush on Morgan Freeman and he’s in some new medical thriller. But don’t tell her I told you, she wouldn’t want you to know she’s cheating on you with another doctor.

  10:41 A.M.

  TY

  Lips sealed. Heart broken. You home then?

  10:43 A.M.

  JOSIE

  Should be after 5:30.

  10:44 A.M.

  TY

  Great. I’ll swing by for a house call.

  10:44 A.M.

  “Oh my G.O.D. Josie, the Liu twins are in the front office with their Chinese ayi for their school visit. They ARE NOT what I, you, we would expect from the ed consultant’s e-mails and from reading the twins’ applications.”

  “What’s an ayi?”

  “That’s Chinese for nanny. I had to look it up when the consultant e-mailed to tell me the twins would be arriving with their ayi and she wanted to know where their two drivers could park.” It’s not even worth my mental energy to ask why two drivers. “I’m pretty sure their parents are back in Shanghai and didn’t see how the twins walked out of the penthouse this morning. You have to take a look at these two before I take them on the tour you pawned off on me. Plus, I have to run and grab Cindi, the new Mandarin teacher, so she can tag along and interpret for me in case I talk too fast like I tend to when I’m, um . . .”

  “Nervous?”

  “Yeah that.”

  “Why would you be nervous, you’re the MC who moves the crowd.”

  “You’re right. I got this.” In front of my eyes Roan grows an inch.

  “Now, brush your shoulders off and do this thing.”

  Before I leave, I turn to Roan to clarify: “Wait, so I understand correctly, the Lius are not here to see the school? They just sent their children?”

  “And the nanny—sorry, ayi—and the two drivers. And I’m going to go out on a limb and guess the ayi has very little power and sway over the twins.”

  “Okay, meet you in the front office in two. I gotta check these kids out and then I’m passing the baton to you.”

  I walk through the back door of the front office and spy two lumps slouched in the oversized leather wingback chairs, their phones two inches from their faces. The chairs sit directly beneath a sign that reads: NO CELL PHONE USE IN THE FRONT OFFICE, THANK YOU. Interesting, I remember on their international applications that it was marked “proficient in English.” With the intensity they are texting, I can understand the consultant’s claim that they are “focused.” I think what they are truly proficient in is surly teen.

  “Hello, my name’s Josie Bordelon and I’m the director of admissions at Fairchild Country Day School,” I say to the ayi with what I believe is a warm and inviting Welcome to America face. Her eyes grow big and she bows her head and mumbles in soft Mandarin. Is this an act of servitude, reverence, lack of English, or has she never been this close to a black person before?

  I move to stand in front of the tech twins, but still they don’t look up. The pearl-encrusted Hello Kitty phone case belonging to Mei is blinding me, so I take a step to the right. Mei’s legs are crossed and she’s cluelessly swinging her stiletto-clad foot at me. I can see too much l
eg, but it’s almost okay because it’s impossible to note the short skirt when your eyes are drawn to the diamond chain belt circling her hips. From the waist down, she looks like a Bergdorf window gone bad.

  Bai has on Chanel sunglasses—indoors on the cloudiest of San Francisco days. Several thick gold chains hang from his pencil neck. I’m a bit perplexed how this pimply, skinny teen can hold his Lil Wayne jewelry up. His sneakers are a brand I’ve never seen and perfectly unblemished. I have to believe he put them on in the car and then had his driver carry him into the school and plop him in the leather chair. He looks up to say hello, or so I think, but instead looks right through me and then bows his head again to the God of all things tech.

  Mei finally looks up with a smile and a bit of life in her eyes; this feels promising. “When will we be done here? I want to go to the Apple Store and get iPads for my friends.” She doesn’t wait for my answer before reengaging with her phone. Her English is perfect.

  I decide I’m no longer needed here, turn quickly on my kitten heels, and head out. Roan has handled tougher audiences than the Liu twins in my absence and I’m fully confident they won’t break him. I have more pressing concerns like cleaning the living room before Dr. Golden comes over. If Aunt Viv finds out he stepped one foot in our apartment in its current condition, I’ll be the next Bordelon to end up in the hospital.