Coming Out

Frieda had only met Chauncey and Felicia once, and he had been barely civil to her. She wasn't even a blip on his radar screen. He had instantly dismissed her, as he did anyone who was not part of his familiar social world. Olympia knew he would be annoyed that she had invited Frieda to The Arches. More than likely, he would ignore her, and he would be even more upset that she had invited Margaret Washington to join them as well. Elderly Jewish women and African Americans were not Chauncey's idea of appropriate guests for a debutante cotillion. It was easy for Olympia to imagine the kind of guests they would bring, if they did. All very Social Register, snobbishly aristocratic, and boring as dirt. At least Frieda was fun and interesting to talk to, she had traveled widely, read constantly, loved to talk politics, and had a warm way with people. And Margaret was one of the smartest people Olympia knew. She was still upset that Harry said he wouldn't be there. He had dug his heels in and refused to discuss it with her. She had given up by then, and Frieda nearly had, too. The ball was still three months away. At least now they both had dresses, as did the girls. The conversation moved on to some of Olympia's cases, and a scandal in the Senate that had recently been in the news.

Olympia didn't leave till nearly dinnertime. When she got home, Harry was cooking dinner, Max was helping him. They had made a huge mess in the kitchen, but they seemed to be having fun. Harry had lit the barbecue in the garden, and they were having steak. Max had just started first grade.

“Where have you been?” Harry inquired as she kissed him and then bent to give her son a hug.

“Shopping with your mother,” she said, looking happy to be with them. It was the kind of cozy, domestic scene she loved.

“Was she okay?” he asked, as he put the steaks on a tray. It was still warm outside.

“Fine. We found her a really pretty dress for the ball.”

“Oh that,” he said, frowning, and then walked outside to put the steaks on the barbecue, as Max turned to his mother.

“He's still not going,” Max said with a serious expression.

“I know.” Olympia smiled at her youngest son.

“You're not mad at him anymore?” Max was concerned.

“No. He has a right to his opinions.” As she said it, Harry walked back in, and she spoke directly to him. “Although your position about not going to the ball is actually discriminatory. You're discriminating against WASPs.”

“They're discriminating against blacks and Jews.”

“I guess you're even then,” she said calmly. “I'm not sure one discrimination is better than the other. It seems about the same to me.”

“You've been talking to my mother,” he said, tossing the salad. “She just wants an excuse to get dressed up. You all do. You're losing sight of what this kind of thing means.”

“It's just a rite of passage, Harry. There's no malice behind it, and the girls will be disappointed if you don't go. That seems worse to me, hurting people you love and who love you, in order to make a statement to people you don't know, and who won't care that you're not there. We will.”

“You'll be fine without me. Max and I will stay here.”

“What are they going to come out of?” Max asked, still confused about what the girls would be doing, and how Charlie would help them, while his mother and grandmother watched. Although he knew his father disapproved.

“The girls are going to walk out on a big stage, under an archway of flowers, and they will make a curtsy, like this.” She demonstrated it for him, sinking gracefully with her head up and back straight, and then coming back up again with her arms extended like a ballerina.

“That's it?” Max looked intrigued, as Harry went to turn the steaks on the barbecue. He had seen her curtsy and pretended he didn't. He didn't want to know.

“That's it. It looks better in a long dress.”

“That looked pretty good.” Max looked impressed. His mother was pretty, and so were his sisters. He was proud of all of them, and Charlie and his dad, too. “Do the girls know how to do that?” He hadn't seen them practice and it looked hard to him. He suspected correctly that it was harder than it looked.

“Not yet, but they will. They'll have a rehearsal that afternoon before the ball.”

“I bet they do it better than everyone else,” Max said with certainty. “What will Charlie do?”

“He'll stand next to Ginny while she does it, and then give her his arm, and they'll walk down the stairs. And afterward, the girls will dance with their dad.”

“Both of them at the same time?” It sounded complicated to Max.

“No, one at a time.” The other twin could have danced with Harry, if he'd been there, and then switched. This way, without him, they would have to take turns.

“Who's going to walk Veronica down the stairs?”

“We don't know yet. Veronica has to figure it out by Thanksgiving.”