Meredith Christopher Lawton San Francisco images
I love Google. Researching applicants is a major part of my job. Well 3 percent, but procrastination can make it more like 50 percent. It was officially 10 percent of my job when I was an admissions assistant (so technically now it’s Roan’s job), but I haven’t quite been able to kick the stalking habit. I figure it can’t hurt to know what the Lawtons look like before they walk into the conference room this week for the first school tour of the year.
Hundreds of images load of Meredith purring across my screen, a full-on couture kitten. I wonder how Karl Lagerfeld, Yves Saint Laurent, and Tom Ford feel about battling it out for prime real estate on the same five-foot-nothing body. Scrolling down I finally find a picture of Meredith with a man I assume is her husband standing slightly behind her, caught in her shadow. Meredith hovers just above him in five-inch Jimmy Choos, perfectly frayed jeans, and a wrinkled but ready-to-wear button-down shirt tied at the waist with a Gucci belt peeking out. Flawless Californian dress up dress down. Even squinting, I can’t quite make out Christopher’s features behind his wife’s presence.
Twenty more minutes of searching and I now know Christopher Lawton’s net worth, his two failed tech start-ups before hitting the mother lode six years ago, and where he earned his collection of PhDs. I develop a soft spot for him because it turns out the couture kitten is actually his first wife, not round two or three. A mythical loyal, wealthy male breed. But what he actually looks like remains a mystery.
THREE
I wear my head-to-toe black outfit for every school tour. Roan calls it my “death of childhood” uniform. Fitted cashmere crewneck sweater, cigarette pants, and towering heels. Very Vera Wang. I read in a four-year-old Harper’s Bazaar at the dermatologist’s office that a work uniform that never changes is a display of power (and creates an illusion that makes you appear ageless, wait no, I think it was timeless). Anyway, maybe for Carolina Herrera it is, but for me, I just can’t compete on the fashionista playing field of the potential Fairchild mom even though the ex-model in me still wants to try. However, in heels I have a good three inches on even the tallest of baby mamas around the conference table—and that’s just enough to let each of them know who, exactly, is in charge of their offspring’s future.
“You have lipstick on your teeth,” Roan says, pulling on his upper lip and pointing to his perfectly bleached white teeth. Roan assures me that in the haughtiest of gay circles he aspires to belong to, flawless teeth are a must. It was a bonding moment between boss and peon because in the mating rituals of my African ancestors the whites of the eyes and teeth are the first sign of good health, thus making the subject in question acceptable dating material. Somehow that nugget of historic folklore has transferred itself into modern sex ed in black families. In the Aunt Viv puberty talk when I was twelve, the first lesson she imparted to me was to check out the whites of the teeth and eyes. From there, decide whether to look down and check out the rest of the package. Roan says white teeth glow better when clubbing.
“That’s blood. I ate a small child for lunch.”
“I hope you plucked a fat, juicy one off the playground. Not some kid who’s all knees and elbows,” Roan lobs back, completely nonplussed by the inappropriate banter of a prestigious school administrator such as myself. I love Roan. Best. Hire. Ever.
“You know this is probably the year when the majority of mothers applying their little darlings to school will most likely be closer to my age than yours?”
“How do you figure that?”
“Well, you’re thirty-nine, let’s say they’re on average probably thirty-two or thirty-three and I’m a baby at twenty-nine. So, you know what that means, right?”
“What?” I ask, directing my question more to the marketing materials I’m arranging on the conference table than to Roan.
“You’re old.”
“You’re fired,” I say, not looking up from the admission view books.
“No, I’m not.”
“How do you know?” I ask, fake annoyed that he’s questioning my authority.
“Because you can’t stand sending out the rejection e-mails to 90 percent of the applicant pool every year in March. You don’t have the stomach to break young hearts and crush young futures all over the Bay Area, so you make me do it. And then, after I push send, you pretend to have a doctor’s appointment and go to the Fairmont for a gin-soaked spa afternoon with Lola. You’ll keep me around forever just to do that one task. Behind that witchy black wardrobe you wear is a bleeding heart. Mine’s Teflon.”
“Lola and I meet at the Huntington Hotel for our annual sweat and swill, not the Fairmont,” I shoot back at Roan as he heads to his dime-sized closet office across the hall.
Roan’s right. For all our verbal sparring over the young and the shallow, Roan is wicked smart and gets private school culture. Though he was raised deep in the almond groves of Modesto, he enjoys the lifestyle of the absurdly rich. He has flourished in this madcap milieu using his gift of gab to develop an astonishing level of cultural competency of the 1 percent. Over the years he has morphed into my work “boo-friend” and I trust him. Like I said, best hire ever.
FROM: Meredith Lawton
DATE: October 2, 2018
SUBJECT: My +1
TO: Josephine Bordelon
Dear Josephine,
Christopher will not be able to attend the tour this afternoon. While he cares deeply about Harrison’s educational journey and path to success, the international markets can’t wait, and he had to jet to Hong Kong last minute. In his absence our family bodyguard, Randy, will be in attendance.
I assume having personal bodyguards on campus is not an uncommon occurrence given the children who attend Fairchild Country Day. We like to treat our support staff like family (excellent modeling to teach Harrison the importance of being inclusive of all people), so it’s critical to us that our bodyguard enjoys the school he may be attending alongside Harrison. I ask that you treat Randy with the same respect and courtesy you give all applicant parents and students. Hopefully there will be another bodyguard or two attending the school, so Randy may make a friend and have someone to eat lunch with once Harrison is comfortably settled.
Looking forward to finally meeting you in person at 1:00. I will be rushing over after having lunch with Beatrice Pembrook at Pizzeria Delfina. Have I mentioned we are the best of friends? Depending on traffic down California, if I’m a tad late please excuse my tardiness, I appreciate you waiting and not starting without me.
Bless you (I just got out of the BEST Vinyasa yoga class. Feeling so centered:-)),
Meredith Lawton
Life being what it is, I expect the occasional last-minute e-mail from a frantic parent that they can’t make their coveted tour spot due to a bedridden illness, car trouble, or being pulled into a meeting that, if missed, would cost them their job. I get it, I do. But holding up my tour because of slow restaurant service, no way.