that birthday, but as soon as she’d left home for boarding school Mimi had made a beeline for the nearest Piercing Pagoda. Maybe one of these days she’d actually get around to wearing earrings again.
From the other end of the telephone line her father cleared his throat. “I’m delighted you’re keeping so busy during your time off from work.”
Cutting sarcasm had always been one of his strengths, Mimi thought.
“Therefore, rather than wait for you to find the time, I decided to call you instead.”
“Before you begin the lecture, I know I should come down to see the family,” Mimi cut in, anticipating his demands. Grantham, New Jersey, Mimi’s family’s hometown, was an hour’s train ride south of New York City. It was the epitome of a picture-postcard college town—Gothic university buildings and historic colonial houses. Its quaint main street—named Main Street, no less—boasted high-end jewelry shops, stock brokerages and coffee shops that catered to black-clad intellectuals and young moms with yoga mats tucked in the back of expensive jogging strollers.
“So, I promise to visit soon,” she continued, only half meaning it.
“That would be most welcome,” her father replied. “But actually, I am inquiring about something else. I’m on the organizing committee for Reunions this year. Quite an honor, really.” Reunions at Grantham were a giant excuse for alumni from all the previous graduating classes to gather for a long weekend at their old stomping grounds, reminisce about the good old days and make fools of themselves by wearing silly class outfits and drinking excessive amounts of alcohol.
“Reunions? But they’re not until June. If it’s about giving Noreen plenty of notice that I’ll be staying at the house, you don’t have to worry.” Noreen was her father’s third wife. Mimi’s natural predilection was to despise her stepmothers, but even she had to admit Noreen was pretty decent.
“I’m sure Noreen will appreciate hearing from you, but I repeat, that’s not why I called. Really, Mary Louise. If you’d let me get a word in edgewise, you’d realize that fact.”
Chastised but not humbled, Mimi bit her tongue.
A self-satisfied silence permeated the line. “I wanted to speak to you in regards to my position on the Reunions committee. I’m in charge of organizing the panel discussions.”
Despite his chastisement, Mimi couldn’t help but jump in with a comment. “I thought I made it clear to you and everyone else that I don’t want to talk about what happened in Chechnya.” She hated the fact that her voice trembled.
“Yes, you made that loud and clear when you took an extended leave from the network—though I still believe you should talk to the psychiatrist that Noreen found for you, the specialist in matters…in matters related to your particular circumstance.” Conrad cleared his throat uneasily. “What I had in mind was more directly relevant to the Grantham student experience. Intercollegiate athletics, to be precise.”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t participated in any competitive sports since my senior year.” Mimi was baffled.
“Which was the year you served on a panel at Reunions addressing Title IX and its impact on Grantham’s varsity teams. As I recall, your comments were particularly offensive to certain male members of the audience when you advocated the demotion of the wrestling team to a club sport,” Conrad noted.
“That’s because there was no female equivalent,” Mimi pointed out, the arguments still fresh in her mind. That whole memory trick again. “Anyway, I recall that the university administration agreed with me.”
“And I have no doubt you’d be more than willing to defend the same position what…ten or so years after the fact?”
“Twelve, as I’m sure you know perfectly well.” Her father might be an arrogant twit, but as a founding partner and long-standing chairman of a successful private equity firm, one thing Conrad Lodge III knew—and remembered—was numbers, any and all numbers. Except for the date of my birthday, she qualified silently.
But instead of enjoying her self-righteous sulk, Mimi suddenly experienced one of those lightbulb moments. “Wait a minute. You didn’t call to merely reminisce about one of my more dramatic episodes, did you?”
“Since when have I been inclined to reminisce about you?”
At least he was honest. This time, she amended.
“No, I was thinking about reconvening the same panel of administrators, coaches and students from before. A do-over confab, you might say.”
Mimi pinched the skin at her throat. “Well, I suppose the topic might be of general interest—might. As you’re no doubt aware, there’s been a number of recent headlines about colleges manipulating their athletic reporting to fulfill their Title IX obligations. But even if you buy into that premise, from the practical perspective, half the people who were on that panel must be dead.”
“There you go again—jumping to conclusions. As it turns out, only one person has passed away—the former athletic director.
“I remember him,” Mimi grumbled. The moron had refused equal locker room space to the women’s water polo team until their demonstration senior year. She smiled, remembering the photo in the New York Times of her leading her teammates into his office to use it as their changing room. Boy, did they get permission to share the men’s locker rooms adjacent to the pool, but fast.
“But the rest are still active at Grantham or other universities,” Conrad went on. “I even tracked down one of the coaches who’s currently with a professional basketball team in Italy.”
“And you honestly think you can get him and everyone else to come back for a rerun?”
“I already have. Everyone but you and one other person have been confirmed. Not many people say no to me.” He stated it as a simple matter of fact. “Besides, they’re doing it for Grantham.”
“And I’m such a loyal alum—not,” Mimi said. “But who knows, one of these days I might actually donate some money.”
“And give generously. All Lodges are loyal alums.” Her father’s words had a certain déjà vu ring to them.
She’d been ten, and it was right after her parents’ divorce. “All Lodge men go to Grantham,” she remembered him telling her. They’d been on a sailboat in Seal Harbor, Maine. Mimi had had two options—stay in a sweltering apartment in Easton, a far less socially acceptable town just north of Grantham where her mother had moved, or two, enjoy coastal Maine’s balmy breezes and wild blueberries—not to mention an unlimited family tab at the Bar Harbor Club in between tennis lessons. She’d chosen Maine.
Two weeks later, her mother had chosen an overdose of sleeping pills.
Her father cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present. “So do I have your agreement?” he asked.
Mimi recalled her first experience on the panel. “You know, I’m not sure I’m your safest bet. Not only did I tee off some people in the audience, I didn’t exactly see eye to eye with some other members of the panel.”
“One in particular, I believe—the captain of the football team. How could I forget the way you dumped a pitcher of water over his head.” Conrad chuckled.
