Coming Out

“Good. I'll work on Veronica this weekend. She shouldn't spoil it for her sister. Cesar Chavez will never know she went, and it'll be more fun for both of them if they both go. And tell my son not to be such a pain in the neck. He just doesn't want to wear a tux. And if he won't go, we'll have a good time without him. December is a long way off, they'll all calm down by then. Don't let them upset you,” Frieda said in a loving tone, which was typical of all of Olympia's dealings with her in the thirteen years of her marriage to Harry. Olympia had won her mother-in-law's love and loyalty forever when she converted to Judaism. She was a terrific girl, and Frieda said she saw nothing wrong with the girls making their debut at an exclusive WASP social event. In fact, she was thrilled to go herself. “I'll put it on my calendar that we'll shop in September, as soon as the fall dresses come in. I'm thinking maybe black velvet. How does that sound to you?”

“It sounds like you're the most wonderful woman I know,” Olympia said with tears in her eyes. “I'm lucky to know you.”

“Just forget about it. Everything will be fine. Harry will get over it. He's just being stupid and overreacting.” They all were. “He should relax his principles for one night, enjoy it and eat his dinner, and not give you such a hard time.”

Olympia felt better as soon as they hung up. But, in spite of her mother-in-law's comforting assurances, she still looked tired and stressed. It was nearly five o'clock, and she wanted to get home to Max. One of her partners walked into her office five minutes later, and saw the look on Olympia's face.

“You look like you've had a fun day,” Margaret Washington said with a tired smile. She'd had a tough day herself, working on an appeal of a class action suit they had brought against a string of factories that were dumping toxic waste, and lost. She was one of the firm's best lawyers. She went to Harvard as an undergraduate, and then on to Yale Law School. She happened to be African American and Olympia wasn't anxious to explain her problems to her, but after circling the subject cautiously for five minutes, she finally spelled it out to her. Margaret had exactly the same reaction Olympia's mother-in-law had had. “Oh for chrissake, we poison the environment, we sell cigarettes and alcohol, half the nation's youth is hooked on drugs they can buy on street corners, not to mention guns, we have one of the highest suicide rates in the world among youth under the age of twenty-five, we get into wars that are none of our goddamn business at every opportunity, Social Security is bankrupt or damn near it, the nation is crippled by debt. Our politicians are crooked for the most part, our educational system is falling apart, and you're supposed to feel guilty about your kids playing Cinderella for one night at some fancy Waspy ball? Give me a break. I've got news for you, there are no whites at my mother's bingo club in Harlem either, and she doesn't feel guilty for a goddamn minute. Harry knows better— why don't you tell him to go picket someone? This isn't a Nazi youth movement, it's a bunch of silly girls in pretty white dresses. Hell, if I were in your shoes, and I had a kid, I'd want her to do it, too. And I wouldn't feel guilty about it, either. Tell everyone to relax. It doesn't bother me, and I boycotted just about everything on the planet all through college and law school. This one wouldn't even have raised my eyebrows.”

“That's what my mother-in-law said. Harry said it was a disrespect to every member of his family who died in the Holocaust. He made me feel like Eva Braun.”

“Your mother-in-law sounds a lot more sensible. What else did she say?” Margaret asked with interest. She was a spectacular-looking woman, a few years younger than Olympia, and she had modeled in college. She had been in Harper's Bazaar and Vogue in order to supplement her scholarship at Harvard.

“She wanted to know what I thought of black velvet, and how soon we could shop for her dress.”

“Precisely. My sentiments exactly. Fuck all of them, Ollie. Tell your revolutionary kid to shape up, and your husband to give it up. This isn't on the ACLU's radar screen, it doesn't need to be on his either. And your ex-husband sounds like a real jerk.”

“He is. If he gets a chance, he'll stir the pot. He'd rather have a kid on life support than one not making her debut. I just want them to have fun, and do the same thing I did. In my day, it wasn't a big deal, it was just something you did. I did it in the seventies, in the sixties everyone refused to, in the forties and fifties you had to, to find a husband. It isn't about that anymore, it's about wearing a dress and going to a party. That's all it is. A one-night stand for tradition and the family album. Not a travesty of social values.”