“You look beautiful, Aunt Viv.” I get up and walk across the room to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t be wastin’ that nonsense on an old woman like me,” Aunt Viv scolds, but I know she loves the compliment. “You have that special phone of yours that takes pictures and videotapes?” Aunt Viv is still working on the ins and outs of her flip-phone, circa 2004.
“It’s called an iPhone, Aunt Viv, no one videotapes anymore, but yes, my phone does take video.”
“Good. Give it to me. I’ve been reading on the computer how to take good video when people are moving around a lot. I do believe I know what I’m doin’. I just want to do a little practicin’ in the car.” Aunt Viv sees my phone on the coffee table and swiftly picks it up and drops it in her purse. She gives it a pat to make sure it’s landed where it’s supposed to. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”
“And what do you think you’ll be doing with my phone?” I ask, elbowing her in the side knowing she and technology will never be friends.
“I will be gettin’ Etta into Juilliard, that’s what I’ll be doin’. Now what you don’t want to be doin’ is makin’ me late for Etta’s performance.”
* * *
• • •
“Josie. Josie! JOSIE, DEAR!”
Aunt Viv is busy talking with Krista from college counseling and her three-year-old daughter, who just saw her first Nutcracker. I turn to try to locate who in the crowd is calling my name.
“Josie, it’s Meredith Lawton and Vanessa Grimaldi. What a surprise to see you here.” Meredith yells over the crowd then begins to push her way toward me dragging behind her someone who could only be Harrison. Vanessa follows suit with Antonia drowning in layers of pink tulle.
“Darling, wasn’t that performance absolutely grand?” Vanessa purrs in her Italian accent. As much as I dislike running into potential parents outside of school I could listen to that accent all day, the perfect mix of culture and sex. “That Sugar Plum Fairy was simply magnificent. Maybe one day that could be you, darling?” Vanessa coos, brushing Antonia’s flushed cheek with the back of her hand.
“That was my daughter.”
“Who’s your daughter?” Meredith asks, looking behind both shoulders.
“The Sugar Plum Fairy.”
“No! Really? Beatrice never told me you have a daughter who is a talented ballerina.”
“Well, I don’t talk to Beatrice all that often since her children graduated Fairchild, so I can’t imagine an occasion where I would have shared that piece of information with her.” Can Meredith not stand on her own two feet without the mention of Beatrice?
“You mean you haven’t spoken to her on Harrison’s behalf yet?”
“Not yet.”
Meredith is visibly flustered. Or maybe she’s shaking from lack of nutrients, her leather pants hanging loose over a nonexistent backside. All I can think is that someone needs to get this woman a cheeseburger and some self-love.
“It’s five-thirty, we need to be heading backstage to grab Etta,” I say to Aunt Viv, loud enough for Meredith and Vanessa to hear. “It was lovely to see you both.” I put my hand on Meredith’s upper arm to give her a reassuring squeeze; all I get is a handful of bone. I thank God borderline anorexic has never been a black beauty standard as my stomach rumbles for the fried chicken Aunt Viv promised Etta post performance. I bend down to Harrison’s and Antonia’s eye level before I go. “My name’s Josie, and I think in a couple of weeks you’re going to come to my school to play and meet other kids and have loads of fun. I can’t wait for you to visit so I can show you all the interesting things we have to play with at Fairchild Country Day School.”
“Do you have a drone?” Harrison asks with eager eyes.
“No drone.”
“Do you have robots?” Antonia asks, twirling in her tulle.
“No robots.”
“Then what kind of toys do you have?” Harrison questions, genuinely perplexed.
“Everyday toys like basketballs and blocks. See ya in a few weeks.” I stand up and leave the mini MIT graduates-in-training wondering what’s “everyday” about playing with drones and robots before age five.
* * *
• • •
Even during vacation Lola and I stick to our Tuesday afternoon Absinthe date. The Nutcracker is over, and the fall karate session is done, but there are still inappropriate topics to discuss, champagne to be drunk, and children to be avoided. Most people teach for the great vacation schedule and summers off. Lola may be the only teacher I know who lives for when school is IN session. For her, vacation is akin to being taken hostage in a zoo full of foul smells, two-hour feeding schedules, and the messy habits of four males. Lola always returns to school looking more haggard than when she left after a week or two or ten spent with her boys. This is why we generally start drinking earlier than four o’clock during holidays. We make our annual winter break meet-up a champagne brunch—shake it up a little. The time, not the cocktail.
I roll into Absinthe with an infinity scarf wrapped around my dreads, the San Francisco staple puffy coat to fight off the winter wind and fog whipping through the city, and a pair of red patent leather Chelsea boots I snuck from the set of a Jimmy Choo shoot back when Tamara Mellon was just launching the company and no one knew how loco Jimmy or Tamara really were. The boot never made it to market because it’s a flat.
First thing I notice when I walk in Absinthe are the two women, who are not me and Lola, sitting on our stools. I’m thrown. Lola comes in right after me and stops dead in her tracks when she sees the imposters.
“Oh no they didn’t,” Lola snaps a little too loudly.
“Oh yes they did.”
“How dare they?”
“I know, right?” I say back to Lola, unable to take my eyes off the interlopers. They’re probably having a bit of a rest after shopping for precious pastel macarons, organic persimmons, and chemical-free makeup at the boutique marketplace that used to be a corner liquor store and hooker hangout when I was a kid.
“Well, we actually need table space this morning anyway. Two, please,” Lola tells the hostess. I don’t say a thing; I’m too busy wondering if it will feel weird to drink champagne at a table.
Once we’re seated, Lola reaches into her hobo bag, pulls out her laptop, and scoots her bistro chair closer to mine. I pluck a feather out of a seam of her down jacket.
“I have a Christmas present for you,” she says tentatively.
“You givin’ me your laptop?”