Coming Out

“I know how you feel. My nineteen-year-old came home from UC Santa Cruz with tattooed sleeves. They're the worst thing I've ever seen, but there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I don't even want to think what that will look like when her arms start sagging. There are worse things they could be doing.” Olympia wasn't sure what those would be, but she was sure she could come up with something, if she thought about it. And she was grateful for the other mother's compassionate reassurance.

“I'm still in shock. I only saw it two days ago for the first time. My mother-in-law made her a stole to go with her dress tonight. I wasn't sure the committee would appreciate the artwork.”

“I'm sure she's not the first girl who's come out with a tattoo. My older daughter's escort showed up with a bull ring in his nose.”

“One of ours showed up tonight with blue hair,” Olympia admitted, and both women laughed at the foibles of youth.

“Things are a lot different than they were in our day. My grandmother had a fit when I wore a strapless gown. I think in her day everyone had to wear little cap sleeves to cover their arms. It's just the way things are today.”

“I guess you're right,” Olympia said, finally calming down. She could see that Chauncey was still fuming when he resumed his seat. He glared across the table at his ex-wife, while Frieda watched him with an anxious frown.

“That's the most outrageous thing I've ever seen,” Chauncey said more quietly this time. By then, Felicia knew what it was about.

“I don't like it either,” Olympia said to Chauncey quietly after he sat down. “She had it done while she was at school. I just discovered it this week.”

“You're far too liberal with that child, with all of them in fact. She'll wind up in jail as a Communist one of these days,” he said, as he ordered another drink.

“They don't put Communists in jail, Chauncey. She's liberal, but she's not totally out of her mind. She just wants to prove she has her own ideas.”

“That's no way to do it,” he said with a look of outraged disapproval. Veronica's tattoo had shocked him to the core.

“No, it isn't. I hate to say it, but I suppose it's harmless. Ugly, but harmless.” Olympia was resigning herself to something she knew she could do nothing about.

“She's disfigured for the rest of her life.” He looked pained, and it was obvious that he blamed Olympia for allowing it to happen. She hadn't, but he blamed her anyway. He always did, and always had.

“She's not disfigured,” her mother defended her. “She's still a lovely girl. It was a foolish thing to do. And if she hates it later on, which I hope she will, she can have it removed.”

“We should force her to,” he said, looking hopeful as he finished his drink.

“No, Chauncey, we shouldn't. She'd just get another one right now. Give it time.” He shook his head, and said something under his breath to his wife, and then seemed to notice Frieda for the first time, and decided to vent his spleen on her.

“I suppose your son has tattoos, too,” he said accusingly. It had to be someone's fault. In this case Olympia and Harry's. Frieda smiled at him, looking vastly amused. He was easy to read. She had dealt with his kind of prejudice for years.

“No, he doesn't. Jews don't get tattoos. They're against our religion.”

“Oh,” he said, not knowing how to respond. He said something to Felicia then, and they both got up. The meal was over, and it was time to go back upstairs and join their guests in the ballroom. The girls were going to form a receiving line, to greet the guests as they went in, while their escorts waited for them backstage. It was nearly nine o'clock.

Chapter 9

Olympia rolled Frieda toward the elevator after the girls left. When last seen, Veronica had the stole neatly draped over her shoulders, and Olympia was once again grateful that Frieda had made it for her. At least the entire ballroom wasn't going to get a view of her tattoo. The rest of them had seen enough of it during dinner, and it had caused considerable stir.

“I'm sorry about Chauncey,” Olympia apologized to her, as she rolled her toward the elevator in the wheelchair.

“It's not your fault. It always amazes me that there are still people like him around. That kind of prejudice still takes me by surprise. He must live in a very sheltered world.”

“He does,” Olympia assured her, grateful that she was no longer married to him. Whatever Harry's faults, he was an intelligent, kind, decent man.

Once on the ballroom floor again, they went through the receiving line. It seemed to take forever, and Frieda sat and beamed at the girls when they got to them. She and Olympia had shaken all fifty properly extended gloved right hands. There were some very pretty girls in the group, but none as pretty, Olympia thought, as her twins. They looked dazzling in the very different but equally beautiful white evening gowns.