“What I so very clearly now know is that going to college is what you want her to do whether she wants that for her future or not. Perhaps then, may I suggest that it is you who goes back to college and leave Etta alone to pursue becoming the professional dancer she was born to be.”
I’m stunned speechless, a state I’m not sure has happened since Donatella Versace told me though beautifully plump, my nursing tits hung too close to my belly button for her to consider me for her runway collection.
“That unitard makes your balls look lopsided,” is all I can think to say as I turn to walk out of the theatre, tears of rage burning my eyes. How can Jean Georges even begin to claim that I don’t support Etta’s interest? I came back to San Francisco to make sure she had a stable home with a loving, albeit small, family. I got a job as an admissions assistant so I could make sure she got to go to Fairchild and we would qualify for the faculty/staff tuition assistance. I borrowed money from Aunt Viv to make sure Etta could continue ballet through high school. And I will do what it takes to make sure she has a career where she never worries about money like Aunt Viv and I do. I have had thirteen years of making sure Etta has choices I never had because of lack of guidance (though I know Aunt Viv did her best). There was too much emphasis on my looks and not my brain—a bad combo for a young woman let loose in New York City with little understanding of the world. With all I’ve done, Etta will not end up back on my doorstep in five years.
And I really hate purple.
Alone in the lobby, gathering my composure, I have twenty minutes before Etta is done so I reach in my purse for my phone. Lola loves my Jean Georges impressions, particularly when I mimic him pissed off. I flip on the ringer to give her a call and see that I have had three voice mails and five texts in the twenty minutes I’ve been playing verbal badminton with ballet Barney. I go right to text.
SANDY
It’s Sandy in the main office your aunt Viv collapsed in the kitchen at school. We have called paramedics. Call the school.
5:12 P.M.
SANDY
Sandy again paramedics have arrived.
5:18 P.M.
SANDY
There is a woman named Lola also listed as an emergency contact for your aunt I’m calling her now since I can’t get you.
5:24 P.M.
LOLA
Jo get yourself to UCSF hospital ASAP! Meet you there. Aunt Viv is on her way in ambulance where the hell are you? Better not be drinking without me... Lo
5:36 P.M.
ELSA
Josie its Elsa, Nan’s Assistant. Sorry to bother you but Nan told me to text you since you didn’t answer her e-mail. Nan wants you to know she expects the list of the 20 wealthiest applicants for the coming school year in her in-box first thing tomorrow morning. Please include their individual names and net worth.
5:37 P.M.
This isn’t possible! The one time I have my ringer off, Aunt Viv, a woman who has never been sick a day in her life, decides to collapse? How, in one day, one hour, am I failing both Etta and Aunt Viv? And then there’s Nan and her need for me to facilitate playdates for her to rub elbows with San Francisco’s elite. My hashtag should be #sonotwinningatlife.
“Lola, where are you? Are you at the hospital yet? What happened to Aunt Viv?” I yell into the phone as I run to grab Etta out of class and head across town.
“I’m at the information desk right now trying to find out what room she’s in. I’ll be with her until you get here. Don’t worry, when the apocalypse comes that woman will still be standin’, trust.” I burst into tears knowing Lola is already at the ER, since it will take me a good forty minutes to get to UCSF hospital at rush hour. “You better turn off those waterworks before you see Aunt Viv, you know she has no patience for soft souls.”
“You’re right. I’ll lose it in the car but pull it together by the time I see Aunt Viv. Promise.” Jesus, I better be fine. I’m pretty sure I can’t do lifewithoutAunt Viv, but I’m 100 percent sure I can’t do lifewithAunt Viv if she thinks I fell to pieces at the first sign of a health issue in her sixty-nine years. I’ll never hear the end of it around the house.Josie, can I trouble you to get me two aspirin without you fallin’ all over my casket?
“Good. Here we go, just found out she’s been transferred from the ER to room 502, cardiac floor. By the way, where are you, why weren’t you picking up your phone?”
“I was battling with Jean Georges.”
“Oh snap, you had to do battle with him sober? Who won?” I can feel Lola sympathy cringe over the phone.
“He did.”
“Double snap. Crap day for you. See you soon; room 502.”
“See you there.”
