SUBJECT: Kindergarten Tour
TO: Josephine Bordelon
Dear Josie,
Thank you for the school tour yesterday. While Daniel was ecstatic to be there from the get-go, I will admit I came in with some serious reservations. But between your warm smile, your thoughtful answers during the Q and A, and the phenomenal facilities, I have to say I, too, am impressed. Gracie would be a lucky little girl if someone as wonderful as you were to be in her life. Daniel and I look forward to seeing you again for the parent interview. Until then, keep sharing that beautiful smile with the world.
Best,
Ty Golden
Wait a minute, Wonder Boy’s last name is Golden? Well of course it is, ’cause the universe just kind of works like that. You don’t get to be a six-foot-four Adonis with a name like McClumsky. So now Wonder Boy will forever and always be known as Golden Boy. And Golden Boy is either more knowledgeable about how to play the private school game than I gave him credit for or he’s working me over with his man charm. If I didn’t already know Ty is gay, I might even read between the lines and figure this dad wants more than an acceptance letter. For sure it wouldn’t be the first time a dad has hit on me, but it has been a few years. More than likely he’s harmlessly flirting with me because he thinks it’s upping the family’s game.
Overall though, not a bad morning. A date proposal and a compliment from a foxy baby daddy, so I think I’ll let Meredith’s e-mail sit and not ruin my current good mood. I know she means well and she’s not used to having to play by the rules of the real world. She wants the best for her son, and she’s settled on Fairchild. While her sense of entitlement chafes me in all the wrong places, I can’t totally fault her; I feel the same about Etta, but with more subtlety and finesse, of course. To think that Meredith Lawton and I may have a minuscule something in common gives me pause.
* * *
• • •
I grab the extra chair in Roan’s office and post up next to his desktop, where he’s busy checking the WeeScholars website to see how many applications are in so far. There are 261 applicants, including siblings, for the 36 spots available. About what I expect to have come October. And if we stay on target it will be upward of 625 by December 14.
“Two hundred sixty-one, you know what that means?” I ask Roan, tapping my pencil on his desk. He slaps his hand over the pencil to make it stop.
“Please, I beg of you, don’t make me start today. You can have my gift certificate for a mani/pedi on Fillmore if you let me start next week. Trust me, that’s a great deal, have you seen your nail beds?” Roan doesn’t lie, and I’m tempted, I really do need to stop picking my cuticles.
“We agreed that when applications passed the 250 mark we would start setting up parent interviews. And by we, I mean you. Here, I brought you Altoids to get you started.” I shake the can at Roan like he’s a kitty ready to pounce on a shiny object.
“They can’t smell my breath over the phone.”
“No, but in two hours when I come back to check on you and your mouth is all dry and cottony from talking to 261 fascinating parents, trust me—rank. You know I always work from a state of self-preservation.”
Roan takes a huge swig of coffee and exhales in my general direction.
“Well, I was going to let you wait until next week, but after that act of insubordination, it’s game on, Roan.”
“You were not. Alright, pop an Altoid yourself and let the cold calling begin.” Roan has surrendered to the chief.
“Okay, I want to hear you do your first conversation since it’s been a year; put the call on speaker. Remember to be accommodating, enthusiastic, and kind. Don’t be pushy, but don’t let them manipulate you. Avoid unnecessary conversation, but try to connect over something you may have in common so they feel known and they feel important. Oh, and heard, people love to be heard; psychology 101. Oh, and remember DO NOT get off the phone until you have nailed down an actual date and time, no matter how annoyed you may get. In other words, pretend to be someone you’re not.”
“Any other advice for a grown man who has successfully been making phone calls long before you came along?”
“Yes, withhold sarcasm, as painful as it may be for you. And if you play nice, I’ll buy lunch today AND let you choose where we eat.”
“Today’s lunch is above and beyond all my school tour wins, right?” Roan questions, raising his eyebrows at me. I notice a few new forehead lines but decide it’s in my best interest not to point those out to him now.
“Let the Academy Award–winning performance begin.” Roan dials a 917 number for an Alice Allsworth. Must be a New York transplant.
ROAN: Hello, is this Alice Allsworth?
ALICE: Speaking (says Alice with the disdain of a woman being solicited for money by her kid’s sleepaway camp).
ROAN (ALREADY ANNOYED BUT MAINTAINING COMPOSURE): This is Roan Dawson from the admissions office at Fairchild Country Day School.
ALICE (WITH A COMPLETE CHANGE IN TONE AND LEVEL OF EXCITEMENT): Oh, well, HELLO, Roan, so lovely of you to call. You just caught me between my Pilates session and running to open my store for the day.
Roan and I quickly skim through the application online to find that Alice owns a high-end denim and chocolate bar on Sacramento Street in Presidio Heights. Seems like either a complete oxymoron or marketing genius. Buy jeans and chocolate. Eat too much chocolate. Need new pair of three-hundred-dollar jeans. I make a mental note to google the shop.
ROAN: Well, I’m calling to set up a day for you and your husband to come in for a parent interview on behalf of your child, Smith.
ALICE: Absolutely, we are wide open. I’m so thrilled to hear from you, this is news we’ve been waiting for since we sent in our application. Do you have a date and time to suggest? Meeting with Fairchild is our number one priority.
ROAN: How about next Tuesday at three-forty-five?
ALICE: Does Smith attend the interview? Because if he does, Tuesday afternoons are out for us. On Tuesdays he has private CrossFit sessions to work on his core strength and agility for soccer season.
ROAN: No, the interview is just for you and your husband. It takes about twenty to thirty minutes. So then, will Tuesday at three-forty-five work?
ALICE: That should work. No, never mind, Steven has his weekly call with his leadership coach on Tuesdays at four o’clock. They have been together since his first job post–business school. He’s more faithful to her than he is to me.
Roan writes down TMI! in huge block letters on a notepad.
ROAN: Okay, how about anytime the week of October twenty-second?