Coming Out

“That's too bad for you,” he said, sounding sympathetic for once. “Felicia and I will look out for you.” It was the nicest he had been in years, and Olympia was glad that she had followed Charlie's suggestion. It warmed things up a bit and broke the ice before the inevitable stresses and tensions of the big night. The girls would be nervous wrecks, and she suspected she would be, too, getting them ready, getting them there, and making sure that all was right. Not to mention an escort for Veronica whom she'd never met, and her attitude about the event. Olympia realized it was still possible, right up to the last second, for Veronica to back out. She just hoped she wouldn't, and had already told Harry several times not to stir her up, or encourage her to do anything foolish. He had promised he wouldn't.

“Anything I can do for you before you come?” Olympia asked generously. “I have a good hairdresser, if Felicia needs one. If she'd like, I can make an appointment for her.”

“I think she has one, but thanks. Take care of yourself, Olympia, don't let the girls drive you nuts. We'll see you there.”

A moment later they hung up and she sat staring at the phone. She was so distracted she didn't see Margaret walk in with a stack of briefs in her arms.

“You look like you've just seen a boa constrictor sitting on your desk. Everything all right?”

“I think so. More like a boa constrictor in sheep's clothing. Charlie suggested I call his father before the ball. I just did. I can't believe how nice he was.” Olympia looked genuinely startled. He was being much nicer about the ball than Harry. But then again, this was Chauncey's kind of event, and surely not Harry's.

“Old boa constrictors die hard,” Margaret said with a grin.

“I guess so. He hasn't been that pleasant in fifteen years. I guess he's pleased that the girls are coming out. It's a big deal to him.”

“It is a big deal. It should be fun for them. Maybe even for you, too. I'm looking forward to it. I've never been to a coming-out ball before. I even bought a new dress.”

“Me too.” Olympia smiled, grateful for her friend's support. It was more than she could say for Harry. It was a shame he felt he had to make such an issue of it. The only one it hurt was her.

“Has Harry backed down yet?” Margaret asked cautiously, setting the briefs down on Olympia's desk. She wanted her opinion on them.

“No. I don't think he will. We all worked on him about it. I've finally given up. At least for once Chauncey isn't being a horse's ass. Although God knows how he'll be that night.” He tended to drink a lot, although less than when he'd been married to her, according to friends. In his youth, he had been drunk for most of their marriage. In the early days, it made him charming and amorous. Later, he turned surly and nasty. It was impossible to predict how he'd behave with four martinis and a bottle of wine in him on the night of the ball, or worse yet, once he got into the brandy. But for the moment at least, he was being civil, and it was Felicia's problem now to control him once he got drunk. No longer hers, thank God. Felicia drank a lot, too. They had that in common. Olympia had never been much of a drinker, nor was Harry.

“Don't worry, Ollie. I'll be there to hold your hand,” Margaret reassured her.

“I'll need it,” Olympia said, as she pulled the briefs toward her, across her desk, and Margaret sat down to review them with her. Olympia wasn't sure why, but in spite of her pleasant exchange with Chauncey, she had the feeling that the night of her daughters' debut at The Arches was going to be even more challenging than she feared. Especially without Harry for support.

Chapter 5

The weekend before the coming-out ball, Olympia woke up with a raging fever. She'd been feeling funny for two days. She had a scratchy throat, a stom achache, a stuffy nose, and by Saturday night, she felt like death. Her fever was 102. She was slightly better on Sunday, but the stomachache was worse. She was practically in tears when she came downstairs on Sunday morning. Harry was making breakfast for Max, and she noticed that her son's face was bright red. She took Max's temperature right after breakfast. His was 103, and he said his tummy itched. When she looked, she saw that he had a nasty rash. It was coming up in tiny blisters, and when she took out her trusty copy of Dr. Spock, which she had kept since Charlie was born, what Max had perfectly matched the description of chicken pox, as she suspected.