“Look, Miss Nash. I don’t know what your credentials are or why you presume to know what’s best for my son. Miss Rothschild never talked about any of this crap. Open, supportive, nurturing—that’s the kind of mushy stuff you look for in a Kindergarten, not a high school.” He glowered.
“John, dear, I think we should listen to what Sara has to say. Julian has told me that she has spent quite a bit of time with him lately. He thinks the world of her and respects her opinions tremendously. I think we owe it to him to consider her proposal.”
“Thank you, Lauren,” said Sara as John gave them both a look of resentful resignation.
“Okay, so assuming we decide to keep him at home for high school—which I’m not saying we would, but, for argument’s sake, let’s say we did—why The Progressive School? Who the hell has ever heard of The Progressive School? I mean, I’ve heard of The Preppy Boys’ School or The Very Brainy Boys’ School. Why haven’t you suggested one of those?” Toppler questioned in the staccato style of a prosecutor.
“To be frank, those schools are not going to be any better for Julian than Extrover or Mannington. They both demand a certain degree of conformity that I think Julian would find oppressive. He needs a place where he will be valued for who he is. A place that fosters individuality. An accepting, nurturing environment. The other possible option, which I haven’t mentioned, is . . .” She hesitated. “. . . a public school.”
“WHAT! Did I hear you correctly?” he blasted.
“Not any public school. One of the specialized public high schools that foster creativity. Like The School for Fashion, or The School for Theater Arts. He would thrive in one of those places. There would be dozens of kids like him, and . . .”
Toppler emitted a loud Bronx cheer, spraying Sara’s desk with saliva. “Don’t waste our time, Miss Nash. That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve said so far.” Toppler shook his head in disbelief.
Having had enough experience with Toppler to know he had a short attention span, Sara worked quickly. “So let’s go back to The Progressive School. Would you consider submitting an application there? I think I could talk them into considering Julian, if you move quickly. There are no guarantees he would be admitted, nor are you committed to sending him if he is, but at least it gives you a New York City option, which is what Julian really wants,” she added, looking directly at Lauren, who, she knew, cared deeply about doing what was best for her son.
“I think we should do that, John. It doesn’t lock us into anything. We have nothing to lose,” Lauren suggested softly.
“Damn it, Lauren! Whose side are you on?” he demanded. “I’m tired of all this simpering. You treat my son like a hothouse flower. No wonder he’s such a pansy! He needs to get out on his own and become a man!”
Sara watched curiously as Lauren patiently waited for her husband to finish his diatribe before beginning to speak and then chose her words carefully. “John, dear, our son is probably a homosexual.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he roared. “Did you get that from her?” he demanded, pointing a finger at Sara.
“No, dear. I’ve suspected this since he was nine. Julian’s just recently discovering this about himself. It has nothing to do with Miss Nash,” Lauren said as Sara marveled at her serenity. She had no patience for Toppler, but out of respect for Lauren and a true fondness for Julian, she jumped in.
“Julian needs both of your support as he comes to grips with his sexual orientation. It’s a difficult challenge for an adolescent, and he needs all the help he can get,” Sara explained.
“It’s all your fault!” Toppler glared at his wife. “He got it from your side of the family. You’re the one with the queer brother. This can’t have come from me, that’s for sure. I’ve tried to make a man out of him, but he prefers the company of the laaa-dies,” he pronounced with disdain. “Or the decorator. I take him golfing, but when we get to the club, all he wants to do is hang around with your bridge group.”
Miraculously, Lauren remained composed and maintained her stoicism while her husband continued his crass assault, proving himself to be even more bigoted and Neanderthal than Sara had previously known.
He continued with his litany. “I remember the time, ten years ago, when he fought with Zoe Drager over who got to color with the pink crayon, and you broke the crayon in half so they could both have pink. You should have made him color with the blue crayon! That would have straightened him out. You allowed this to happen! It’s your fault!”
“Enough!” Sara shouted, startling all of them. “I think it would be more productive to talk about Julian’s future than to dwell on the past. Could I ask you, one last time, to please consider applying to The Progressive School?” she said directly to Toppler.
“I’ve had enough of this bullshit,” Toppler said, looking at his watch. “I’ve gotta get back to the office . . . where I’m paid to listen to this kind of crap,” he said, and stood up. As he was halfway out the door, he turned around and grudgingly muttered, “Throw in an application to that pussy school, if that will make you both feel better,” then added, “But just remember, an application doesn’t mean jack shit.”
Lauren smiled at Sara and said, “He’s really not so bad.”
Sara returned the smile, thinking that Lauren was hovering somewhere between sainthood and catatonia.
When Helen and Michael returned home after a pleasant dinner at the Bistro, they were tired but, as was generally the case with parents of adolescents, had no intention of going to sleep until Zoe was safely home and tucked into bed. In order to stay awake, they turned on the television and immersed themselves in an episode of Law & Order in which a private school admissions director was murdered. Just as the head of school, the primary suspect, was about to be arrested, Zoe returned home and plunked herself down on their bed, announcing that she had something important to discuss. Seeing that she was flushed and agitated, they reluctantly turned off the television, fully expecting a momentous announcement concerning her love life.
“Are you both awake enough to discuss something really, really important?” she asked.
Do we have a choice? Helen wondered. “I suppose I am. Are you, Michael?”
“For you, baby? Of course,” he replied sleepily.
“Okay. You’re sure? It’s pretty heavy.” They yawned and nodded.
“It’s important that you know this isn’t coming out of left field. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. And I spent a lot of time thinking about it when I was in Cuba.”
She’s joining the Venceremos Brigade? Converting to Catholicism? Getting her nose pierced? The possibilities flashed through Helen’s mind.
“I’ve decided that I want to go to a public high school. The High School for the Musically Gifted.”
First there was silence and then a series of dull thuds, as Helen and Michael pounded their pillows into upright positions, their heart rates shooting from an amble to a sprint in ten seconds flat. It was a rude awakening.
“I must say, this isn’t what I expected,” Helen confessed, making a valiant effort to remain calm.
“It does come as a bit of a shock,” Michael added.
“You’re not serious, are you, sweetie?” Helen asked.
“Of course I am. Do you think I would ever dare say this if I weren’t one hundred percent positive? It’s all I’ve thought about for weeks,” Zoe said with surety.
“You can’t be,” Helen said again.
“Helen, this is a difficult subject for Zoe. Let’s listen to what she has to say,” Michael said sternly.
“Zoe, I need to understand your thinking. Take a minute to explain how you reached this decision,” Helen requested formally, as a way to mitigate her exasperation.
“All right, I will.” Zoe stood her ground. “Number one: there is not one school that we have looked at that I feel superenthusiastic about. Number two: the kids at the private schools seem elitist, consumerist, and class cons
cious. I have a hard time relating to that kind of stuff these days, and it makes me feel like I don’t fit in. Number three: none of the private schools are really diverse. They all talk a lot about it, but they really only have a few token minority students. I have problems with that. I want my friends to come from all sorts of backgrounds, not just the upper class. That’s gross. Number four: private school costs a fortune.”
“The fourth reason, the financial part, shouldn’t be a concern. We’ve factored tuition into our budget and aren’t worried about it, so neither should you be,” Helen said, not looking for Michael’s agreement on this point since she was not sure she would get it. “So you’ve told us why you don’t want to go to private school. Now tell us why you want to go to public school,” she challenged.
“Ever since the chorus began to work with The Public School, I’ve felt differently about myself. I used to take everything I had in my life for granted. I acted really smug and superior a lot of the time. When I met the kids at The Public School and learned how much harder they have to work for everything they have, I started to feel more and more disgusted with my life. Getting to know these kids, and then being in Cuba, has really forced me to examine who I am and what kind of person I want to be. I’d rather be in a school that’s maybe not ‘the best’ academically but where the kids have better values. And since I really want to pursue music, it makes sense to me to go to a high school that focuses on that. Plus, from what I’m hearing, the good colleges give more serious consideration to kids who do well at public schools than private.”
“I really respect your thinking on this, Zoe. It sounds like you’ve given it a tremendous amount of thought,” Michael said gently.
“Well, I think that you’re being unfair to yourself. You’ve never been a snob in any way I’m aware of. You’ve never taken what you have for granted. I think you have excellent values. Just because we haven’t had to struggle to make ends meet doesn’t mean we don’t work hard. Everything we have, we have because we work for it. Including your education.” Helen became increasingly self-righteous as she spoke. She couldn’t believe that this was happening after all they had been through over the past five months.
“I appreciate how hard you and Daddy work so that I can have a good education. But I’m saying that money doesn’t necessarily buy the kind of education that I want,” Zoe said calmly. “Or is necessarily the best for me.”
“I’m going to ask you a question that may anger you, but I want you to give serious consideration before answering. Does this have anything to do with your wanting to be at the same school as Max?” Helen asked, knowing full well that this would unleash a fury.
Right on cue, Zoe instantly became enraged. “I knew you would say that! I just knew it! You’ve objected to Max from the very beginning. You think he’s not good enough for me because he goes to public school!”
“That’s ridiculous, Zoe. I have nothing but good feelings about Max. If I object to anything, it’s the intensity of the relationship. You’ve gotten deeply involved very quickly,” Helen explained calmly.
“Like you and Phillip Cashin?” Zoe countered.
“Who?” Michael asked. “I’m lost.”
Helen was speechless. She never expected her daughter to hit her with such a low blow.
“Phillip Cashin is the father of Zoe’s friend Catherine. He and I have become friendly. He invests in art and has asked me to evaluate a few paintings for him. We’ve developed a bit of a professional relationship. Period. So no, Zoe, it’s not like Phillip Cashin and me,” she said, struggling to remain composed.
“Zoe, that was really mean. I don’t understand why you said that. You owe your mother an apology,” Michael instructed in his best rendition of chivalrous knight defending fair maiden.
“I’m sorry,” Zoe said contritely, refusing to look at her anguished mother. “That was totally inappropriate.”
“I think you should give your mother and me some time to discuss this alone. We can talk about it again tomorrow. Okay, love?” Michael proposed gently.
“Yeah, I guess. ’Night,” Zoe said, and stalked out of their room.
Helen and Michael were awake until four in the morning.
“Don’t you think that your bias towards private school might have something to do with the fact that you went to an exclusive private school?” Michael accused.
“It wasn’t exclusive,” Helen replied angrily. “It was in Philadelphia, for Christ’s sake.”
Then she went on the offensive. “You always talk about what a lousy education you got. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been angry with your parents for not sending you to private school. Talk about baggage! When it comes to education, you’ve got more baggage than a luggage carousel at JFK.”
“That’s because it was a lousy school. Not all public high schools are that bad,” he retorted.
“I saw the expression on your face when she made the remark about the money. You looked just like your father. You’ve always resented spending twenty-plus grand a year on tuition,” Helen attacked again.
“I have not. But it would make paying for college a hell of a lot easier, that’s for sure,” he argued.
“That’s true. But it’s not a good enough reason to let her do it.”
“Do you really think she made this choice just to be with Max?” Michael asked.
“I wish I could say no . . . but in part, yes. Maybe not just Max per se, but his whole lefty gestalt. I think a lot of the kids at The Public School come from working-class families, and that appeals to her. I can definitely understand how she feels. The public-school kids feel more . . . authentic to her. But I think it’s our duty to make sure she gets the best education that we can give her. She’ll be grateful to us for the rest of her life. She just doesn’t know that now. She’s not mature enough to make this decision on her own, and it would be irresponsible of us to let her.”
“Remember what Sara said about letting her choose,” Michael said.
“She was talking about making the choice between two or three private schools. You know that,” Helen said impatiently.
“But I still think we have to factor public school into the equation. Zoe is. So we have to, also.”
“I’ll call Sara tomorrow. I’ll be interested to hear what she has to say,” Helen said sleepily, her eyes closing against her will.
“Helen? Why do you think Zoe said what she did about this Cashin person?” he asked, for the first time revealing an iota of jealousy.
“My guess would be that in the course of her sexual awakening, she’s experiencing feelings of guilt. So she’s sublimating that guilt through a fantasy about my having an illicit relationship with Phillip Cashin. That way, she can be free of the guilt she’s feeling about Max by transferring it to me,” she explained lamely. If Michael hadn’t been half asleep, her wobbly psychoanalytical construct might never have held up. As it was, it was as shaky as a vertiginous five-year-old on the top rung of an eight-foot-tall jungle gym.
“You’re sure I shouldn’t be worried?” he asked again.
“At the moment, we’ve got bigger things to worry about than Phillip Cashin,” she answered. He took that as a no.
Early the following morning, Helen called Sara at The School, having correctly assumed that, even though it was Saturday, that was where she would find her. Trying hard to control her extreme agitation, she told Sara about the two-ton bomb that Zoe had dropped the night before.
“Oy,” was the first thing out of Sara’s mouth.
“I love that you’ve become such an oyster,” said Helen wryly.
“I’m glad you’re finally able to see some humor in all this. So what would you like me to do? I’d be happy to talk with her if you think that would be helpful,” Sara volunteered.
“I was hoping you would say that. She really looks up to you and would probably be more receptive to what you have to say than she is to us right now,” Helen answered gratefully.
“I’m v
ery interested in hearing what she has to say. I’ll also make an appointment to visit The High School for the Musically Gifted. I’ve heard good things about it from Elizabeth Marcus.”
“Are you saying that we should actually consider it?” Helen asked with surprise.
“Out of respect for Zoe, I think you have to. Be open to the possibility. Look at it as another option. It’s not as if you’re going to withdraw the applications you’ve submitted to all the other schools. And who knows? Zoe could change her mind again before February twelfth. I think it’s entirely possible that if and when she gets an acceptance letter from The Bucolic Campus School, the whole thing will blow over.”
“I hope you’re right,” Helen said.
“The important thing is that Zoe doesn’t feel like she’s being backed into a corner or ganged up on.”
“I agree,” Helen said, and sighed resignedly. “So how are you doing?”
“Overwhelmed. Crazed. But I’ve got to tell you, I’ve never felt so excited about work in my whole life. This job is so incredibly complex. I’m faced with new challenges almost every day. It’s like being the CEO of a company with the most demanding clients in the world. I don’t have to tell you how intense New York parents are when it comes to their children’s education.”
“Present company included?” Helen joked.
“At least you’re self-aware enough to know you are. Most of the parents I’m dealing with these days are positively myopic. But Zoe aside, how are things with you?” Sara asked.
“Icchh, complicated,” Helen answered.
“That must mean you slept with him.”
“NO! Michael just stepped out of the shower. He says hi,” Helen said, deftly sidestepping further questioning.
“Hi, Michael. How’s the auction shaping up? It’s in less than three weeks,” Sara said.
“We’re in good shape. I’ve got to find a dress today. Denise was a little insulted when I told her I refused to wear matching gowns, so I compromised and agreed that we’ll wear the same color. But I look horrible in red.”
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