“Anyway, I have my hands full with Anton, my job, and my husband, who works round the clock. They said they would do the application for us and cover some fee. I was concerned I wasn’t more involved in the application, but Winn . . . er, Mr. Hawkins promised I had nothing to worry about.” This visit was well worth the afternoon away from campus. After one joyride I’m getting the answers to six months of the Winn, Jared, Courtney triangle.
“It’s not easy raising three boys in this neighborhood, but they’re good kids and they deserve a chance. At Royal-Hawkins my sons can have a fresh start in high school with teachers who can help them with their schoolwork, and they’ll meet a new crowd to run with. They need positive influences in their lives, influences like Jared Jones.”
At this point I’m so heated I’m not sure I want Jared Jones having an influence over any kids at my school, but on the outside I remain cool.
The living room settles into silence as Carmel ties up the end of this fascinating tale, and a look of gratitude settles across her face. My mother carried that same expression when my brother and I were on the private school track. A different life for her boys has seemingly fallen like a gift from the sky and landed in a pretty package in her lap. No mother can resist the chance of having better for her children.
“Well, I think we’ve taken up enough of your time this afternoon, Carmel,” I say, and motion for Roan to stand so we can start making our way to the door. “Plus, I bet this chunk of love is getting hungry for a snack.” I reach over and give Anton’s tummy a quick tickle. “Anything else about the visit from Winn and Jared you want to share? I apologize my schedule has been so packed I haven’t had the chance to catch up with either of them to hear the full story.”
Carmel shifts uncomfortably, and I give a quick side-eye at Roan.
“Roan, can you keep an eye on Anton for a moment while Carmel and I step out onto the front porch?”
“I’ll do better than that, I’ll keep both eyes on this little guy,” Roan jokes, reaching out for Anton’s hand. Walking out to the porch behind Carmel, I see Roan settle onto the carpet with Anton. Looks like I may have a future babysitter in Roan.
“Listen, Nina, I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I almost cried in front of those two men. I thanked them for the offer to get my boys into Royal-Hawkins, but I told them that it would be impossible for me to get them to and from Pasadena every day. I don’t have a car. Anywhere we gotta go, we gotta go by bus. On a good day, it would take my boys at least ninety minutes each way on public transportation.” Carmel’s no longer meeting my eyes as she reveals her personal circumstances, a recognition that this is where our life experiences diverge.
I gently touch Carmel’s forearm and assure her, “You don’t ever have to be embarrassed talking with me.”
“Winn offered if I send my boys to Royal-Hawkins to play ball, he would figure out a way I could have a car.”
I have heard a lot of tales of rich people’s shenanigans, but this one tops the list.
“Well, I promise, going forward, I’ll be the one in touch with you. Us mothers have to help each other, right?”
“True. My favorite poet, Tupac, said it best in ‘Keep Ya Head Up.’”
I give Carmel a knowing smile and say, “I thank the Lord for my kid too.”
“You know it,” she responds, enveloping me in a goodbye hug. Leaning back from the embrace Carmel adds, “If you help my boys, I’d be so thankful, sis.”
“I’ll try my best, Carmel, I will,” I say, though I’m uncertain how my best will play out.
TWENTY-THREE
You want to stop and grab whatever women in your condition binge-eat while freaking out?” Roan asks with a rare touch of trepidation, my silence no doubt tough to read.
“If by women in my condition you mean irate, then yes, I’m starving. A banh mi sandwich or poutine would be good. You decide,” I suggest, distracted. “Or both.”
“That’s a random combo only to be found in the great American strip mall. Lucky for you they are a staple of Southern California,” Roan says, craning his head left and right as he maneuvers through traffic. After visiting with Carmel, I was in stunned disbelief. To avoid a collision to top off this dreadful afternoon, Roan decided it would be best if he drove us safely to Pasadena.
Back home, having finished off my sandwich and my investment committee meeting, the shock of my visit with Carmel Burns had dwindled. I gave in to the fact that men do stupid things when it comes to playing with balls. The question that looms large is, Why would Courtney want to buy herself a third-wheel spot on this shady recruitment train with a $250,000 donation to the athletic department? I can deal with Winn and Jared. Their motive is simple: they want to be big swinging dicks winning basketball championships, even if they have to import the talent. But Courtney’s personal investment, I don’t yet know. I want to call and ask her if this is her tactic for paying her four foot, ten inch stepson’s way onto the varsity basketball team even though he’s far better suited to be the team manager. Perhaps, as Marisol predicted, this is a lusty fatal attraction scenario at play. Both answers though are too tidy, too simple. I’m going to need to consider how to deal with Courtney with cunning and without Roan.
Being head of school can be a lonely job, and this pay-to-play development is exactly why. I can’t out Royal-Hawkins among its competition by bringing this ethical predicament to my heads’ support group, and even Marisol’s mouth is a gossip risk on this one. The danger of this backdoor deal being put on front street, by anyone, is too great. I don’t want to hear Courtney’s voice right now for fear of what I might say, so instead I bang out an email from my phone that will allow me some time to think about how best to deal with her.
FROM: Nina Morgan Clarke
DATE: February 4
SUBJECT: Welcome to Royal-Hawkins Board of Trustees
TO: Courtney Dunn
Dear Courtney,
It was wonderful to have you attend our February meeting. The board valued your input and abundance of advice.
Thank you in advance for your generous service.
Yours in community,
Nina Morgan Clarke
Head of School
Royal-Hawkins School
“NINAAAAA,” Fitzroy sings from my backyard. “Come on out here and give me a hand collecting all these weeds I’ve pulled out of the garden.” Dad decided to fly back to Queens right after New Year’s for the month of January. I invited him to stay longer, but he brushed me off with a claim of house business to attend to. I couldn’t imagine what that would be for the twelve-hundred-square-foot apartment he’s been living in for fifty years, but I also didn’t have the energy to get into it.
We actually bumped into my dad at LAX as Leo and I were walking out to find Marisol, and Dad was heading in to catch his flight to New York. I was startled to see him. I didn’t really think he’d leave until after I got home, and we caught up on my trip. My real shock, however, was catching him heading to a midday flight, not one first thing in the morning. Was Fitzroy’s New Year’s resolution to ease up on a lifetime practice of up and at ’em? I couldn’t imagine, but I also didn’t want to discourage the welcomed change. We hugged and wished each other a Happy New Year, and Dad promised he’d return just around Valentine’s Day to get started on my garden, a late-in-life interest he’d come to enjoy in mild Southern California winters.