The Ivy Chronicles

by Karen Quinn

  “Okay, kids,” Mr. Taymore said, “go tell your parents you’ll be leaving them for a little while to play and have fun, but let them know that they’ll be all right and you’ll pick them up later.”

  The children did as they were told and then, following Mrs. Olson’s instructions, they formed a choo-choo train and chugged upstairs. Veronica Needleman was the engine and Maria Kutcher the caboose. They chugged into a sun-drenched classroom, filled to the brim with kindergarten staples like easels, blocks, crayons, books, computers—an environment hard to resist for all but the most jaded child. Of course, many children who passed through these doors were, indeed, jaded.

  “Okay, boys and girls, let’s form a circle.” The kids followed the teacher’s instructions and plopped their bottoms on the carpet below.

  “My name is Mr. Taymore, and I’m a teacher here at Harvard Day. This is Mrs. Olson, our psychologist. I coach the chess team at school. The thing I can do that I’m most proud of is run a mile in five minutes. Something I find interesting and want to learn more about is ancient Egypt. Now we’ll go around the circle and let each of you tell us about yourself.”

  Three hands shot up like lightning. “Me! Me! Me!” The anxious children waved their hands desperately.

  “Let’s go in order,” Mr. Taymore said. “Veronica, you first.”

  “My daddy yelled at my mommy today before we came here,” Veronica announced. “My mommy has shit for brains!”

  “I’m sorry about that, Veronica, but what I’d like you to do now is tell us about yourself, what you’re proud of, what interests you,” Mr. Taymore said.

  “Oh, okay, I’m Veronica. I’m four and three-quarters years old. I like to sleep and eat. But, what I’m most proud of is . . . um . . . I can pee standing up like my daddy.”

  The children giggled and Mrs. Olson cleared her throat in warning.

  “Mr. Taymore, I wanna learn about ancient Egypt, too. Were you alive then?” Veronica asked.

  “No, that was before my time, Veronica.” Mr. Taymore pointed to Jack Henry.

  “My name is Jack Henry. I’m gonna be famous when I grow up because I have a gap between my two front teeth. That’s rare. See,” he said, smiling like a jack-o’-lantern. The children oohed and ahhed.

  “When I grow up, I’m gonna be a millionaire,” Jack Henry added proudly.

  “What are you going to do to become one?” Mrs. Olson asked.

  “Save.”

  “I see,” Mr. Taymore said, and he called on the next child.

  “My name is WaShaunté. I’m gonna be famous, too. I’m going to be just like Dr. Martin Luther King Junior.”

  “Hmmm,” Mr. Taymore said. “Do you want to be like Dr. King because he’s black like you? And because he was a hero?”

  “No, that’s not it. If I was like Dr. King, my birthday would be a holiday and we could all take the day off,” Winnie-WaShaunté explained. “Anyway, I’m just pretending to be black so I can get into a new school. My skin is really pink. My hair is really yellow. My mommy changed my colors.” Winnie-WaShaunté put her finger to her lips and whispered, “but don’t tell anyone. It’s a see-cret.”

  Mr. Taymore and Mrs. Olson were confused. Wasn’t this the child who didn’t have a mommy? They exchanged looks that said We’ll talk about this later.

  “Do you want to know what I’m proud of?” Winnie-WaShaunté said. “I’m proud I can read minds. I’m psycho.”

  “WaShaunté, you’re psychic, not psycho,” Mr. Taymore said.

  “Robin is Batman’s psychic,” Winnie-WaShaunté said.

  “No, he’s Batman’s sidekick, not psychic,” Mr. Taymore explained patiently.

  “That’s what I said—psychic, a superhero’s assistant,” Winnie-WaShaunté said.

  “Ooh, ooh, ooh,” Jack Henry raised his hand, waving it wildly. “Did you see the Batman and Robin Chanukah Special this year? It was awesome.”

  “Ooookay . . . let’s move on . . . Ransom, what about you?” Ransom was so busy mining his nose that he didn’t hear his name called. Mr. Taymore cleared his throat. “Raaaansom.”

  “Sorry,” he said, partaking of one final morsel. “My n-n-name is Ransom Radmore-Stein.”

  “Radmore-Heinie. Did you say Radmore-Heinie?” Maria asked, giggling.

  “You want a knuckle sandwich, Chickbutt?” Ransom threatened.

  “Children, don’t be rude. Ransom, continue,” Mrs. Olson said.

  “I’m proud I learned how to c-c-congregate verbs. Do you want to hear me do it?”

  “By all means,” Mr. Taymore said.

  “I f-f-fuck today. I fucked yesterday. I will fuck tomorrow,” he said, beaming with pride.

  Mrs. Olson gasped audibly. Mr. Taymore ignored Ransom.

  Veronica raised her hand. “Yes, Veronica,” Mr. Taymore said.

  “What does ‘fuck’ mean?” Veronica inquired.

  “Oh, I know, I know,” Maria said, waving her hand furiously. “Call on me. Me! Me! Me! Me!”

  “Let’s not discuss it,” Mr. Taymore said. “That’s not a nice word.”

  Maria leaned over to Veronica and whispered, “It’s means ‘sexing,’ you know, when the man puts his penis in the woman’s bagina to make a baby.”

  “Oooh, gross,” Veronica said. “My daddy would never do that.”

  “Girls, that’s enough. Maria, please introduce yourself,” Mrs. Olson said.

  “My name is Maria Kutcher and my daddy is a butcher. Did you know there’s no Santa Claus?”

  “What!” Jack Henry said. “That’s not true.”

  “Oh, yes, it is,” Maria said, nodding her head. “My daddy told me and he’s a wiseguy. And there’s no Easter Bunny, either.”

  “Hhhhhhhh,” Jack Henry gasped, clapping his hands to his mouth.

  “And there’s no t-t-tooth fairy,” Ransom added.

  “So I guess there’s no God,” Jack Henry said, looking to the teachers for verification.

  “Good reasoning ability, Jack Henry,” Mrs. Olson said, making notes in her file.

  With that, Mrs. Olson took three of the children and Mr. Taymore took two. They went to separate tables, where they drew pictures of their families, counted little bears, added, subtracted, and demonstrated their ability to write and recognize letters. Maria didn’t know her hexagons from her parallelograms. Ransom didn’t know his numbers. Otherwise, the children managed well. A snack of rice cake, fruit, and apple juice was served. Maria wouldn’t eat her peach because of the “bone” inside. Veronica spilled her juice.

  “Okay, children, everyone line up and we’ll go pick up your parents,” Mrs. Olson said.

  “Who farted?” Maria accused.

  “Don’t look at me. I’m innocent,” Jack Henry said.

  “He who smelt it d-d-dealt it,” Ransom said in Maria’s face.

  “He who denied it supplied it,” she said right back at him.

  “Veronica, start walking toward the door,” Mr. Taymore said, ignoring the flatulence fracas.

  “Pssst.” Maria tapped Veronica on the shoulder. “What’s your favorite holiday?”

  “Saturday.”

  “Pssst.” Maria tapped her again. “You wanna have a playdate with me?” Maria asked as they choo-chooed back to their parents.

  “Sure,” Veronica said, digging her Rugrats Filofax out of her Cinderella backpack as they marched downstairs. “What’s good for you?”

  “I’ll call Daddy and ask,” Maria said, whipping her cell phone out of her SpongeBob purse. “He’s holding my Power Puff Palm ’cuz it didn’t fit in my bag.”

  That afternoon, an intimate group of two boys were set for their interview. Mr. Taymore introduced himself again and invited the candidates to do the same.

  “Hi, I’m Moses Epstein-McCall. I like to watch sports on TV and play T-ball. I can speak Hebrew. Did you know that every Jewish prayer starts out ‘I broke my toe in Illinois’?

  “I think you mean Barukh atah Adonai,” Mr. Taymore said.

&
nbsp; “That’s what I said. ‘I broke my toe in Illinois.’ Oh, and my most proud thing is I can turn my penis inside out. Wanna see?” Moses began to unzip his fly.

  “No,” Mrs. Olson insisted, frantically waving her hands. “Everyone will keep his penis confined to his pants, please.”

  “I own a basketball team,” Moses added.

  “Cool,” Irving said.

  “Now, Moses, you don’t own a basketball team,” Mr. Taymore said.

  “Do so.”

  Mr. Taymore and Mrs. Olson looked at each other with raised eyebrows. “Where did you get that knot on your head, Moses?” Mr. Taymore asked.

  Moses touched his lump. “Oh, I bumped my head on my bump bed. Did I tell you my uncle died last year? Yeah, I’m gonna dig him up soon.”

  Trying to suppress a smile, Mr. Taymore called on Irving.

  “My name is Irving Pou. If you dig up your uncle, he’s gonna be a skeleton. If you want, I’ll come wich you and tell you the names of his bones. I’m gonna be a doctor someday.”

  “You can come,” Moses said. “It’d be good to have a doctor there.”

  “I have a pet mouse that lives in my mom’s closet,” Irving said.

  “Neat!” Moses said.

  “Don’t you have a problem with mouse droppings?” Mrs. Olson asked.

  “Oh, no. I trained him to poop on Post-it notes.”

  As with the earlier group, Mrs. Olson and Mr. Taymore observed Moses and Irving in the classroom. Counting. Drawing. Block-building. Both boys demonstrated an extraordinary flair for scissors. Irving forgot the words to “The Farmer in the Dell.” Moses ate most of his Play-Doh, a transgression that would, of course, be overlooked in light of his family’s donor potential.

  14. Let’s Go to Luckenbach, Texas

  Stu held me responsible for the breakup of his marriage to Patsy.

  “This is all your fault, Ivy! If you hadn’t put ideas into Patsy’s head, none of this would have happened!” Stu screamed so loudly that I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

  “Stu, don’t you think you might have had something to do with it?”

  “No, Ivy, I don’t! Patsy and I were happy before you came along. We never argued. Patsy agreed with me on everything. The day we hired you is the day our lives fell apart.”

  “And you think I’m responsible?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it!”

  “Okay, Stu, how can I make this up to you?”

  “You can get me my wife back, that’s number one. You can get Veronica into a top-tier school, that’s number two. And, after that, I never want to see your sorry face again!” He slammed down the phone.

  After Stu’s ass-reaming, I walked outside, sat on the bench in front of Kratt’s, and wept. Thirty-nine years old, and all I wanted was my mommy.

  I wasn’t good at getting yelled at. At Myoki, yelling was for suckers. Only rubes revealed their hand so aggressively. At Myoki, we smiled at our enemies while scheming behind their backs, devising cunning ways to even the score. My expert ability to fight back through passive-aggressive means had been honed under the tutelage of such gifted maestros as Drayton Bird and Konrad Kavaler. That’s how I survived fourteen years there. When someone screamed at me as Stu had, I regressed and became five-year-old Ivy Schechter, whose mommy and daddy used to scream and fight when Daddy came home smelling of perfume; at least that’s how my former shrink explained it.

  So Stu’s tirade drove me to tears, and I went outside to cry myself out. Sitting on the bench with my head in my hands, sobbing, I heard someone say, “Are you all right?” I looked up, and there stood Philip with two D’Agostino bags in his hands.

  “Do I look all right?” I asked. “I’m upset because my client yelled at me.”

  “Did you do something wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” I told Philip about Stu’s accusations as objectively as I could.

  “This guy sounds like a real jerk. If I were his wife, I’d leave him, too.”

  “Thanks.”

  Philip sat next to me, putting down his bags. “What about the rest of your clients? Are you doing better with them?” He seemed genuinely interested.

  “For the most part, yes. But all the tricky-dicky stuff this job requires is driving me insane. I thought I’d given that up when I left Myoki, but it seems I can’t get away from it. I’m too resourceful for my own good. And now I’ve instigated so many crazy plots, there’s no going back,” I complained.

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  I updated him on my latest shenanigans. How we’d disguised Winnie so she’d look black. How we’d hired Archie to pretend to be Winnie’s father. How Omar was strong-arming trustees to get Maria in. How we’d helped Veronica cheat on her ERBs.

  Philip asked me lots of questions about how we managed to change Winnie’s color, how she was handling the charade psychologically, who Omar was extorting, how Veronica had cheated on her test—and, more to the point, what she had said to get herself caught. I was pleased that he was taking such an interest in my life. Maybe there was hope for us.

  I went on to remind Philip of how Lilith Radmore-Stein was planning to bribe a Stratmore Prep trustee and how Moses McCall’s grandfather was still offering me $1,000,000 to betray his son. The only clients who weren’t mixed up in smoke and mirrors were Ollie, Tiny, and Willow. Philip couldn’t believe all the extras Buck had given me in anticipation of the big payoff.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Philip remarked. “Wow!”

  “Wow, indeed,” I answered. “And there’s something else I should tell you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m considering accepting Buck McCall’s offer. I’m thinking of taking the money, getting out of this business, and moving to Luckenbach, Texas.”

  “Luckenbach, why?”

  “I don’t know. It’s in a Waylon Jennings song. You know, ‘I’m goin’ to Luckenbach, Texas, with Waylon and Willie and the boys.’ It sounds so easy. I could buy a house outright, put the girls in public school, get a used Ford, and become a cashier at the local Piggly Wiggly.”

  “So Green Acres is the life for you?” Philip joked.

  “It may be,” I said seriously. I felt my chin wobbling. “Philip, I’ve done some really bad things. You’re lucky to be rid of me.”

  “I miss you,” he said quietly.

  “I miss you, too,” I whispered. “But, hey, it sounds like there’s a wedding in the cards for you and Sassy. I’m happy for you, I guess.”

  He laughed. “Where did you get that idea?”

  “From Sassy, where else?”

  “It’s not true,” he said. “I’ve had dinner with her a few times, but that’s all.”

  “Isn’t she inspiring you to write your new book?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Sassy, who else? She told me you said she was the inspiration for the lead character in your new novel,” I said.

  He laughed. “I talked with her about the relationship you and I had. I told her you had inspired me to write the main character in my book. She must have said that so you’d think badly of me. I guess she wants to keep us apart.”

  “God, she’s so dishonest,” I said. “You broke up with me for that. Why do you stay with her?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend, Ivy. I haven’t even slept with her.”

  “Oh, my God! She told me what a wonderful lover you were, how you definitely weren’t gay,” I exclaimed.

  “Gay?”

  “Not important,” I muttered. “Listen,” I said to Philip, “I can understand why you might not want to build a life with someone as unprincipled as me, but can we at least be friends again?”

  “Oh, Ivy,” he said, “I want that, too.”

  It wouldn’t have broken my heart if Philip had argued the point, insisting that my principles weren’t so bad and maybe there was a future for us. I wouldn’t have objected if he’d swept me into his arms, carried me upstairs, and made love to me like he had last
summer. But he didn’t. He only wanted to be my friend. Just like Michael. Always the friend, never the girlfriend.

  15. An Important Introduction

  The phone was ringing when I went inside. It was Sassy. I wished she’d stop calling me. Still, I asked her how she was. Always having fake-friendly conversations with people I can’t stand, that’s me.

  “I’m not well, Ivy, not well at all. United found Drayton’s ashes, so there goes my pain-and-suffering award. And someone made an offer on the apartment. I’ll have to take it.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks. One good thing happened, though. I got my first paid decorating job. I’ll be doing the bedroom of one of Bea’s friends. The girl’s mom felt sorry for me because of Drayton. It’s a pity commission, but I’ll take it. I can’t believe I have to support myself. I could kill Drayton for putting me in this position.”

  “I know how devastated you are about having to work,” I said. Life can be so cruel.

  “Yes, I am. But that’s not why I called. I need to ask a favor. Philip’s taking me out Saturday night to cheer me up and Irma can’t babysit. Can I leave the children at your house, since you live so close to Philip and I’m sure you don’t have a date? I could pick them up in the morning. Things are really heating up between us. I’m hoping he’ll propose. We have so much in common, you know. He’s attractive. I’m attractive. He’s a famous writer. I have many famous friends. And the sex with Philip, well, it’s amazing. Amaaaazing. I wonder how much time I should let pass before I marry again?” She blabbered on like a schizophrenic Chatty Cathy doll.

  “Gee, Sassy, I’m glad to hear you two are so much in love. I wish I could help you Saturday, but darn it, I have plans.”

  “Won’t you change them?” she said, making pathetic whimpering sounds. “It would mean a lot to Philip and me. Especially after my awful news about the ashes. And you promised Drayton’s spirit you’d help me, re-meeeember?”