Coming Out

She, Harry, and his mother were planning a quiet dinner at home that night. Harry offered to cook. Max was still in bed, watching videos night and day. And the older three were going out. Olympia was looking forward to a peaceful evening. Frieda tried the wheelchair, and declared it comfortable and efficient. It was going to make her life much easier the following evening. They left it folded up in the hall, so the driver could put it in the limo. Margaret had agreed to come by and pick Frieda up, since Olympia would already be at the hotel with the girls.

They enjoyed a cozy dinner that night on the second night of Chanukah. Frieda lit the candles and said the traditional prayer. Olympia loved to hear her do it, and it reminded Harry of his childhood, although he loved it when Olympia did it, too.

They were all getting ready to go to bed, when Olympia heard Ginny come in. There were voices in the downstairs hall, outside Frieda's room, the sound of running on the stairs, and then Olympia saw her fly past her open door and heard her sobbing.

“Uh-oh.” She looked at Harry. “Trouble in River City. I'll be back.” She went down the hall to Ginny's room and found her lying on the bed, crying uncontrollably. It took her mother nearly ten minutes to find out what was wrong. Steve had arrived from Providence that night, gone to dinner with her, and told her that he had actually come to New York to tell her it was over. He dumped her, and already had another girlfriend. Ginny was beside herself. She was crazy about him. Olympia couldn't help wondering why he had come to New York to deliver the message in person the night before her big event. He couldn't tell her afterward, or even on the phone? It seemed like a nasty stunt to her, and a devastating one to Ginny. There was little she could say to console her.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart… I'm so sorry…it was a rotten thing to do….” It didn't seem fair to tell hershe'd forget about him and there would be another thousand men in her life, after him. Right now it felt like a mortal blow, and a cruel trick.

“I'm not going tomorrow…,” Ginny said in muffled tones into the mattress. “I can't….I don't care anymore…. I'm not going to come out….I wish I were dead….”

“No, you don't. And you have to come out. This is a special moment in your life. You've been looking forward to it. You can't let this guy spoil it for you. Don't give him that. I know it feels awful right now, but you'll feel better tomorrow night… honest…I know you will.” Her heart was sinking. Why did he have to do that to her now? Couldn't he have waited till Sunday? Didn't the bastard have a conscience? Apparently not. Olympia went on talking to her for an hour, at the end of which Ginny still insisted she wouldn't do it. She was going to stay home the following night with Max and Harry. Veronica would have to come out alone. “I'm not going to let you do that,” Olympia said firmly. “I know you feel awful right now. But tomorrow night you're going to look beautiful on Charlie's arm, you're going to make your bow, and every boy in the room will fall in love with you. Ginny, you have to do this.”

“I can't, Mom,” she said, staring up at the ceiling, and looking as though the world had come to an end, as tears continued to roll down her cheeks. Olympia knew it felt awful, but there was no doubt in her mind that there would be life after Steve, the little shit. She wanted to strangle him for inflicting so much pain on her baby. All she could do now was help pick up the pieces.

It was nearly midnight when she got back to her own room. Ginny was miserable but calm again. She had finally stopped crying. And Harry was sound asleep. Olympia lay in bed next to him, closed her eyes, and silently prayed…. Please God, let everyone stay sane tomorrow and behave decently tomorrow night….I can't take any more surprises…. Please God, just for one night…. Thank you, God…. Goodnight. And with that, she fell asleep.

Chapter 8

The next day, Saturday, the day of the ball, dawned icy cold and brilliantly sunny. It didn't snow, it didn't rain, it was colder than the north pole, but it was a gorgeous day when Olympia woke up with trepidation. All she wanted to do was get through the day, dress the girls, watch them curtsy and come down the stairs, and survive the evening. It didn't seem like a lot to ask, but these days it was beginning to seem like a miracle if no one broke a leg, came down with a rare disease, or had a nervous breakdown. If anyone had one of those, Olympia was planning to be first.

At noon, she had to take the girls to get their hair done. She had an appointment in the same salon at two herself. By four they'd all be finished. She made breakfast for everyone, brought Frieda hers on a tray, and Frieda wished her luck for that night. She asked if there was anything she could do to help, but as far as Olympia knew, everything was in order. Both girls were still asleep. Harry had gone out early to play squash at his club. Max was feeling better. Charlie had spent the night with friends. For the moment, the house was peaceful.

At eleven o'clock, Ginny woke up and came rushing downstairs with a look of panic. She found her mother in Frieda's room, exploded into the room, and announced, “I lost a glove!” One of the long white ones, presumably, that were mandatory to wear. Her mother looked calm.

“No, you didn't. I saw them both yesterday. They were on top of your dresser, with your bag.”

Ginny looked instantly uncomfortable and slightly guilty. “I took them to Debbie's last night, to show her how gorgeous they were, and then everything happened with Steve. I forgot one of them there. She said the dog chewed it to bits last night.”

“Oh for God's sake …” Olympia struggled not to get upset. “When am I supposed to get another pair?… All right, all right… I'll go, now before I take you to the hairdresser. I hope they have another pair in your size.” Frieda watched with enormous admiration as Olympia handled the situation with aplomb. Ten minutes later Olympia was wearing jeans, a ski parka, fur-lined boots, and rushing out of the house. Miraculously, she was back just before noon, with another pair of the required gloves in Ginny's size. Problem solved. Disaster averted. Round one.

They left for the hairdresser at five to twelve, and after she dropped them off, Olympia came back to the house. She fed Max, made Frieda a kosher meal, and had a sandwich waiting for Harry when he came back from playing squash. Ten minutes later Charlie got home, and hovered around his mother. He seemed nervous, and she wondered if he was anxious about that night. She assured him he would be fine. She sat at the table for half an hour with Harry, and they chatted about assorted things. She didn't mention the ball to him. The subject was closed, and would stay that way. She went upstairs to change, and Charlie wandered into her bedroom.

“Are you okay?” she asked, and he nodded, looking distracted. “Something on your mind?” He shook his head and left again. She started to worry about him, but didn't have time. Then Margaret called. Her mother was running a fever after her mastectomy, and might have an infection. Margaret was still coming to the ball that night, but she was going to be late. She had to stay with her mother at the hospital and help her eat dinner. She didn't have time to pick Frieda up. She felt terrible to let Ollie down, but she had no other choice. Her mother was feeling rotten. Olympia said she understood, and stood staring at the phone for a minute, trying to figure it out. She had to be at the hotel with the girls from five o'clock on. Charlie had to be there by four, which left no one to accompany Frieda in the limousine. She had an idea then, and went to discuss it with Harry.

He listened carefully, convinced she was going to try and manipulate him into going with her at the last minute. She had given up all hope of that. All she wanted from him was to get his mother into the limousine, put the wheelchair in with her, and call Olympia on her cell phone the minute they left the house. Olympia would then go down to the lobby and out to the street, meet Frieda in the limousine, put her in the wheelchair, and get her upstairs to dinner before the ball. Olympia made it sound easy. The fact that she'd be dressing two hysterical girls, watching them be photographed, and trying to calm them down, while dressing herself, she didn't mention to her husband.

“Can you do that for me?” she asked after outlining her plan for his mother.

“Of course I can. She's my mother.” Olympia made no comment about his not going with them, nor asked him to join her. All she wanted was for him to get his mother into the limousine and call her. They both knew anyone could do that, and it was the least he could do, whatever his political opinions. He looked slightly embarrassed as he assured his wife he'd take care of it on his end.

“Great. Thanks. 'Bye,” she said, and flew out of the house to get her hair done. Ginny's was done by then. Veronica was getting hers done at the same time as her mother. Ginny got her nails done while they had their hair done. Veronica had had her nails done first. It was orchestrated like the landing of the Allied troops in Normandy on D-day.

At three-thirty Olympia called the house to remind Charlie to leave for the hotel, with his tailcoat, trousers, shirt, white tie, vest, socks, and patent-leather shoes. And the gloves he had to wear. He said he would leave in five minutes. He was ready to go.

Olympia and the girls got home at four-fifteen, perfectly coiffed and beautifully manicured. Harry was playing cards with Max. Charlie had left. And Frieda was having a nap. They gathered up their things, and mother and daughters left for the hotel in good order at four-thirty. They checked into the room Olympia had reserved for them at the hotel where the ball was held. Olympia took a minute to call Harry then. She had scarcely said good-bye to him when she left. She reminded him of what time to put his mother in the limo, and to call her on her cell phone. He said he understood, and sounded very quiet. He promised to wake his mother at six o'clock, and would help her dress. The limousine was coming for her at seven-fifteen. There was a dinner for the girls, their escorts, and their families. The rest of the guests were coming at nine. Rehearsal was at five. It was in the same ballroom as the ball was held. Olympia got the girls downstairs on schedule, at ten to five.

As it so happened, Veronica's escort, Jeff Adams, was walking in, with his tailcoat on a hanger, just as Olympia and the girls appeared at the entrance to the ballroom for rehearsal. Olympia closed her eyes, hoping she was hallucinating. As it turned out, she wasn't. Jeff Adams had bright blue hair. Not dark blue, or midnight blue, which might be mistaken for black in a darkened ballroom. It was somewhere between turquoise and sapphire, and there was no mistaking what color it was, in any light. He looked extremely pleased with himself, and insufferably arrogant as he shook Olympia's hand. Veronica looked at him and laughed. Ginny still looked like a zombie, after Steve's perfidy of the night before. He had told her that even though he was dumping her for another girl, he was “willing” to come to the ball. And much to Olympia's horror, Ginny had told him he could. She said she wanted one last night with him. Thinking about it made Olympia feel sick, but she didn't want to upset Ginny more. He was due to show up at nine with the other guests, since he wasn't her escort. He was going to sit at Olympia's table with their other guests. Olympia was sorely tempted to stab him with a fork. She would have liked the same fate for Jeff, as Veronica congratulated him on the fabulous color of his hair. He handed his tailcoat to Olympia, and asked her to hang on to it for him during rehearsal. She wanted to kill him.

They lined up for rehearsal in four straight lines, two of debutantes, and two of escorts, while members of the ball committee walked between them and inspected them. A somber-looking matron in black slacks and a Chanel jacket stopped directly in front of Jeff, and explained the situation to him in no uncertain terms. After rehearsal he had until nine o'clock that night to return his hair to a normal, human color, whichever one he preferred, whether his own or not, or if he preferred not to change his hair color, Veronica would be provided with another escort for the ball. The head of the committee made it clear to him that it was entirely his choice. He looked somewhat subdued, while Veronica continued to laugh at him. She seemed to find the entire escapade hysterically funny, and her mother was seriously upset at her. Between the recent discovery of the tattoo on her back, and the color of her escort's hair, she seemed to be entering a new phase of her life. It was no longer enough to throw out the grapes her mother bought, now apparently she had to shock everyone and make a spectacle of herself. Olympia was far from pleased.

She mentioned it to her when they went back to their room after rehearsal, to dress.

“Veronica, that wasn't funny. All he did was make the members of the committee mad at him, and you by association.”

“Come on, Mom, don't be so uptight. If we have to do something as dumb as this, we might as well have a sense of humor about it.”

“It wasn't humorous,” Olympia insisted. “It was rude and annoying. Is he going to dye it back?”

“Of course he is. He just did it to be funny.”

“He wasn't.” Olympia looked seriously aggravated, and by then, Ginny was crying again. She had just heard from Steve on her cell phone. He was no longer sure he was coming. He thought it might be too hard for her. Ginny told him between sobs that it would be harder if he didn't. She damn near begged him, while Olympia cringed listening to her, and finally he agreed to come. If Olympia's thoughts of him could have killed him, the infamous Steve would have been dead on the spot. Instead, he was going to be her dinner guest, and break her daughter's heart on one of the most important nights of her life.

At six o'clock the girls put on their dresses, and Olympia stood looking at them with tears in her eyes. The moment was unforgettable. They looked like fairy princesses, and Veronica's stole demurely covered her back.

At seven they met with the photographer, while their mother stayed upstairs to get dressed. Her pantyhose ran the moment she put them on, but fortunately she'd brought a spare pair. Her zipper caught when she put on her dress, but she managed to salvage it somehow. She stopped for a minute, tried to slow down, and caught her breath. Her hair looked fine. She had put her makeup on, and it looked decent with her dress. Her shoes were killing her, but she expected that. Her evening bag was perfect. She put on the pearls that had been her mother's, and the earrings that matched. She looked in the mirror, and everything seemed all right to her. She put lipstick on, put on the matching navy blue stole, just as her cell phone rang. Harry said he had put his mother in the limousine. It was seven-fifteen. And he said Max was feeling better.

“I'll go right down and pick your mother up,” Olympia said, sounding out of breath.

“How's it going?” he asked, seeming concerned. Olympia was obviously a nervous wreck, he could hear it in her voice.

“I don't know. I think I'm more nervous than the girls. They both look gorgeous. They're having photographs taken right now. I have to join them as soon as your mother comes. Chauncey and Felicia are probably already downstairs.” She wasn't looking forward to that.

She didn't tell Harry that she missed him, because she didn't want to make him feel guiltier than she already had. There was no point. It hadn't gotten her anywhere. She had a brief fantasy that he was in the limousine with her mother-in-law, but she could hear from the sound of Max talking in the background that Harry was obviously still at home. This was just going to be one of those disappointments that happened in a marriage, that she would have to swallow and forget. There were lots of other things he did right. And other than this, he had always been there for her, and would be again. This was one thing he couldn't do for her, and that she had no choice but to accept. There was no point damaging their relationship over a coming-out ball he wouldn't attend. She couldn't allow it to mean that much. She said good-bye to him hurriedly, left the room, and took the elevator downstairs. She was waiting on the street for Frieda, shivering, when her limousine arrived. Frieda looked like a dignified grande dame in her elegant black dress, with her hair swept into a smooth French twist she had done herself, as the doorman helped her into the wheelchair, and wheeled her inside. Olympia took over from there.

Olympia got her in the elevator, and up to the ballroom level, where the girls' families were gathering to be photographed, looking proud. The mothers were given corsages of gardenias to pin on their dresses, carry, or wear on their wrists, and the girls were given wreaths of tiny white flowers to wear on their heads, and bouquets to carry when they walked out onstage. There was something exquisitely virginal about fifty young women all dressed in white, with wreaths of flowers on their heads, carrying their bouquets. It brought tears to Olympia's and Frieda's eyes.

“They look so beautiful,” Frieda whispered to her, and Olympia was profoundly touched to see what it meant to her. She was the grandmother of their hearts. She looked at Olympia then and shook her head. “I'm so sorry Harry's not here with you. He's even more stubborn than his father. I told him tonight I was ashamed of him,” she said unhappily, and Olympia patted her arm.

“It's all right.” There was nothing else she could say. He had taken a position, and stuck by it, whether she was disappointed or not. Frieda was stunned by her daughter-in-law's generosity about it. She wasn't sure she would have been capable of it herself. She was furious with her son, for letting Olympia down. But before she could say more about it, a tall blond man in white tie and tails approached them, with an equally tall blond woman at his side. It was Chauncey and Felicia. Olympia introduced them to Frieda. Felicia said good evening to Frieda politely, Chauncey ignored her entirely while he greeted his ex-wife. In spite of the fact that she'd dressed quickly, and paid little attention to herself, Olympia looked spectacular that night. Chauncey looked her over with a practiced air.

“You're looking well, Olympia,” he said, kissing her cheek. She thanked him, and shook hands with Felicia, who looked silly in a pink satin dress that was way too low and way too tight. Olympia was startled to notice that she looked cheap. She didn't remember her looking that way, but it had been years since they last met. She hadn't improved with age. And she could see that the girls' unflattering comments about her were right. She looked foolish, and dressed inappropriately for her age. Olympia's well-cut navy blue satin evening gown looked more elegant, much sexier, and wasn't nearly as low cut. Olympia looked spectacular and dignified. Chauncey seemed to notice it, too. He put an arm around her shoulders, and gave her a hug “for old times' sake.” Looking at him, Olympia suspected he was already drunk. And Felicia was well on her way. This was not going to be fun.

“Where are our girls?” he asked, glancing around.

“They're having photographs taken with their escorts. They'll take some with us in a few minutes.” She felt like a tour director on board the ship to hell. Everything about the evening had become difficult, from Ginny's heartbreak to Veronica's escort's blue hair, not to mention the butterfly tattoo, or the events of the week, from broken ankles to chicken pox, cold, and flu. It had been an insanely stressful week, and standing there with Chauncey and his wife, Olympia found it impossible to relax. It would have been easier for her if Harry were there. Instead, she was pushing his mother in a wheelchair. She could no longer remember what stroke of insanity had made her think this would be fun. So far, it had been anything but. She just hoped Ginny didn't lose another glove.

She got her first glimpse of Jeff then, since their encounter that afternoon. He walked out of the ballroom with Veronica, and his hair was no longer sapphire blue, but an inky dense shoe polish black. Not exactly a natural color, and it was easy to see it had been dyed. It looked very punk rock, but the committee had decided to ignore it. Olympia was grateful for small mercies. Jeff glanced at her with a look of supercilious amusement, and she had a powerful urge to slap him. He was arrogance personified, although admittedly a handsome kid, but the kind of boy who thought he was smarter than everyone, especially anyone's parents. She couldn't help wondering if Veronica had invited him to upset her. She had done everything else possible to do so since Olympia and Chauncey had forced her to make her debut. Veronica was doing it, but no one was going to force her to take it seriously, or enjoy it. And Ginny was still looking upset when both girls kissed their father, and said hello to Felicia. She told the girls they looked beautiful, and Frieda cried when she hugged them.

After family photographs, the girls, their escorts, and the girls' families all went to another floor for dinner. Olympia was sitting between Veronica and Frieda. Chauncey and Felicia were next to Ginny. Everything seemed to be going perfectly, until Chauncey got up to go to the men's room, halfway through dinner. Veronica had draped her stole over the back of her chair. It was too awkward to manage during dinner, in the slippery satin. She and her mother had momentarily forgotten why she had worn it in the first place. Chauncey stopped directly behind her chair and looked as if he'd been shot. He turned directly toward his ex-wife and stared at her in disbelief.

“Are you out of your mind?” She had no idea what had set him off, except that she'd noticed he'd been drinking. Felicia looked just as mystified as she did, and then Olympia saw him look at the artwork on his daughter's back. “Are you both totally crazy? How could you let this happen?” He was looking over his daughter's head right at Olympia.

“Actually, Chauncey,” she said, looking annoyed but aloof, “she got out of her cell and escaped, despite the handcuffs. Almost like Houdini.”

“You're not amusing. That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen. She'll have it surgically removed, or I'm not paying tuition.” Whether or not he paid tuition for them seemed to have become his only form of blackmail and control over her, and recently, his mantra.

“I don't think this is the place to discuss that,” Olympia said with a quelling look. Everyone at the table was watching, and no one had seen what he was talking about, since the others were facing Veronica across the table. She turned to look at him, with open outrage.

“Stop threatening my mother. I'm eighteen years old, and I wanted to do it. She didn't even know I did it till this week.”

“Veronica, you're out of control,” he said in booming tones, which the entire room could hear. “If you're going to disfigure yourself in that way, you belong in prison, with other people who look like you.” Olympia was momentarily terrified that Veronica would tell him to go fuck himself, and cause a bigger scene than they already had. Everyone was riveted by the scene. He wasn't subtle, and thanks to the booze he'd already consumed, he was loud. Even Felicia looked surprised by the fuss he was making.

“I'm not going to discuss this with you, Dad. Why don't you grow up?” Veronica said, standing up and looking him in the eye. “It's a tattoo, not a crime. Why don't you have another drink? I'm sure that will make you feel better,” she said in icy tones, and then walked out of the room. Jeff saw her leave, and followed her out. As she disappeared, everyone at the table got a full view of the tattoo Chauncey was objecting to so loudly. Felicia turned to look and gasped. She assured everyone at the table that none of her own daughters would think of doing a thing like that, and then admitted that her oldest daughter was just thirteen. Olympia knew that a lot was due to change in Felicia's life in the next five years. In spite of one's best efforts, there was only so much one could do to control one's kids.

Olympia didn't like it either, but much to her surprise, she thought Veronica had handled the scene with dignity and decorum, far more so than her father. Charlie glanced down the table at his mother, and a moment later, the conversations around them resumed. It wasn't until after dinner that one of the other mothers came over to talk to Olympia, with a look of sympathetic amusement.

“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.

Frieda was still smiling with pride and pleasure when they found their table. Olympia settled her in, and sat down next to her. Ginny's friend Steve was already sitting there. He stood up politely and introduced himself, looking faintly embarrassed, and then sat down again. Olympia was cool and still seriously annoyed at him. The other couple she had invited came shortly afterward. She introduced them to Frieda, and within seconds Margaret Washington and her husband appeared. She had left her mother at the hospital in good hands. She was wearing a spectacular brown lace gown, almost the same color as her skin. Frieda thought she looked like a young Lena Horne. It was a congenial group as everyone talked about how beautiful the girls had looked on the receiving line.

Five minutes later, Chauncey and Felicia arrived. Olympia noticed that Chauncey was beginning to show the vast quantity of booze he had on board. And much to Olympia's annoyance, he stared at Margaret and her husband in disbelief as though he had never seen African Americans before. Or surely not here. He said not a word, looked at Olympia unhappily, and sat down. She had done the unthinkable. She had not only brought a Jewish woman with her to the ball, she had invited an African American couple. Chauncey looked as though he were going to burst an artery. And to add insult to injury, his daughter had a tattoo. Seeing the look on his face, Olympia started to laugh. Margaret's eyes met hers, and registered what she was laughing about, and she started laughing, too. Frieda was smiling blissfully, oblivious to what was going on. She loved watching the people, and seeing the jewels and evening gowns, and the pretty young girls. Frieda thought the ballroom was like something in a fairy tale. The look on her face was worth the entire night to her daughter-in-law. Whatever Chauncey thought of it, she knew she had done the right thing. Frieda deserved to be there as much as anyone else in the room. The days of Chauncey's world, its values and segregated, secluded life were over. In the end, what Olympia had done was far more powerful than Harry's statement by refusing to come. He had done exactly what people like Chauncey wanted, and stayed home. Olympia had brought the real world right into the ball with her, a Holocaust survivor and a brilliant young black lawyer who had grown up in Harlem. What better way to prove the point to them? She could think of none.

As she thought about it, she was startled to see Charlie walk toward her across the ballroom, and wondered if something was wrong. Everyone was at their table by then, and the girls had gone backstage to get ready for the presentation. Noses were being powdered, hair was being smoothed down and combed, lipstick was being put on. The band had begun to play, and the debutantes' parents and friends were dancing. They had another twenty minutes to enjoy themselves before the show began. Charlie strode purposefully across the floor, and much to his mother's surprise, he asked her to dance. She smiled at him, touched by the gesture. She knew he had done it because Harry wasn't there. And he knew how hard it was for her to spend an evening with his father. He had been boorish to her about the tattoo and rude to her guests. And for some odd reason, Chauncey and Felicia had invited none of their own. Charlie led his mother out on the dance floor, among the other parents, and began a graceful fox trot with her.

“Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?” She looked up at her firstborn with a happy smile, while Frieda watched them with pleasure. Olympia was a beautiful woman, and her son was a handsome, kind-hearted boy. He'd been eight when Olympia and Harry got married, and Frieda had watched him grow from child to man. Like his mother, she was proud of him, too. He was a good boy.

“I love you, Mom,” Charlie said quietly, and she saw the same shadow in his eyes again, as though there were a question there. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't figure out the question, or the answer.

“I love you, too, Charlie. More than you know. The girls look pretty tonight, don't they?” He nodded, and she continued chatting as they danced. It had been years since she danced with him. It startled her to realize how much he looked like his father at the same age, but he was a much better person. “There are a lot of pretty girls here tonight. Maybe you'll find the girl of your dreams,” she teased him. In truth, she would have been unhappy if he had. She wanted him to find a girl from a more interesting world than this one. These people were all right for one night, but in some ways they were an oddity, a relic from the past, like Charlie's father. She wanted him to find someone with broader horizons than these, a woman whose values weren't as narrow. And as she thought about it, Charlie looked down at her with a quiet smile.

“I know this is a crazy place to do it, Mom. And I know it's probably the wrong time. But I've wanted to tell you something for a while.”

“If you tell me you have a skull and crossbones tattooed on your chest, I'm going to hit you.” He laughed and shook his head, and his eyes grew serious again.

“No, Mom. I'm gay.” He didn't miss a step as he danced with her, and she looked at him with eyes filled with more love and pride than he had ever dared to hope he would see there once he told her. She hadn't let him down. And for her, the question she'd seen in his eyes for so long had finally been answered. She didn't say anything for a long time, and then she leaned closer to him and kissed him.

“I love you, Charlie. Thank you for telling me.” His confidence in her was the greatest gift he could have given her, just as her peaceful acceptance of what he had told her was the greatest gift she could have given him. “I guess when I think about it, I'm not all that surprised. I am, but I'm not. Was that what happened with the boy who killed himself last year? Were you in love with him?” Maybe in her heart of hearts she had wondered about it all along. She was no longer sure. Maybe her heart had told her Charlie was different long before her head understood.

“No.” He shook his head. “We were just friends. He went home for the weekend and told his parents he was gay, too, and his father said he never wanted to see him again. He killed himself when he got back.”

“How terrible of his father to do something like that.” She caught a glimpse of Chauncey over his shoulder as they danced. It was not going to be easy for Charlie to share this news with him. They both knew that. Chauncey had a million prejudices on a multitude of subjects.

“I think I was afraid that something like that could happen to me. Not killing myself. But I was afraid of what you'd say if I told you and Dad. I think I knew you'd be okay, but you never know. And I can't see Dad taking it well.”

“He probably won't. He has some growing up to do. Maybe I can help. But I don't think you should try telling him tonight,” she said cautiously, and Charlie laughed. Chauncey was obviously drunk, as always.

“I wasn't planning to tell him tonight. I've wanted to tell you and Harry for months. Do you think he'll be okay?” Charlie asked with a look of concern. What Harry thought mattered a lot to him. He had deep respect for the man, even though he wasn't there that night. Not being there was just something Harry thought he had to do. They had all forgiven him by then, even his wife.

“I think Harry will be fine. In fact, I'm sure of it. Tell him whenever you want.”

“I will. Thanks, Mom,” he said then, looking down at her. He looked happier than she'd seen him in months. And as she looked at him, the dance came to an end. “You're the best mom anyone could ever have. Now can I tell you about the tattoo on my back?” He laughed at her, looking like a kid again. But that night they both knew he had become a man. He had taken the terrifying step from childhood into adulthood. Tonight had been a rite of passage for him, too, a terrifying one. And thanks to her, he had landed on both feet, and the ground under him was solid, whatever his sexual preferences were. She loved him no matter what. That was clear. He had her unconditional love and respect.

“Don't you dare tell me you have a tattoo, Charlie Walker. I might have to strangle you for that!”

“Don't worry, Mom, I don't.” He had to go backstage to the others then, but he had known that before he did, he had to tell her. He didn't know why, but he knew that he had to tell her tonight. He wanted to. In a different way than his sisters, he had come out, too.

She turned to look at him again before he led her back to her table, and she told him just what he wanted to hear and needed from her. “I'm proud of you.” He kissed her cheek and led her back to her table. There, standing quietly next to her seat, was Harry in white tie and tails, watching her. He looked as though he had always planned to be there with her. Frieda was beaming up at him with pride. It had not just been a night for the girls, it was a good night for sons, too.

“What are you doing here?” she asked softly, smiling at him, as Charlie left them. She was touched beyond words that he was there. His coming, despite his principles and objections, was a gift she would forever cherish, as she would the trust of her son. It had been a memorable night so far.

“I decided to take your suggestion, and my mother's, and get over myself. I thought tonight might be a good time to do it.” Everyone seemed to be having epiphanies that night, and she had had hers, too. She realized that she loved him, whether he came to the ball or not. She had given up hoping ever since he told her how strongly he felt about it.

“Do we have time for a dance?” he asked her gently, and she nodded. It was the last dance before the presentation. He had orchestrated his arrival perfectly.

“I love you, Harry,” she said happily, waltzing slowly in his arms.

“I love you, too. I'm sorry I was such a pain in the ass over this. I guess I had to work it out for myself.” And then he laughed. “My mother told me tonight when she left that she was ashamed of me. She said I was the most prejudiced person she knew. Max even said it was stupid of me not to come. I know it was. The only one I care about here is you, and the kids of course. But I wanted to be here with you. I'm sorry I let you come here alone. How was dinner, by the way?”

“Interesting. Chauncey had a tantrum over Veronica's tattoo. I don't blame him, but as usual, he went a little overboard.”

“Did she tell him to get fucked?” he asked with amusement. He had obviously missed the fireworks over dinner, but had turned up for the best part, the part that really mattered to her. The presentation of her girls to society, whatever that was.

“Remarkably, she didn't,” she said in answer to his question about what Veronica had said to her father. “She told him to grow up. That's not a bad idea. Getting sober wouldn't be a bad idea, either. He still drinks too much.” She had a lot of things to tell him when they went home that night, mostly Charlie's admission to her. It was foremost in her mind. But she didn't want to tell him here. She was still a little startled by what her son had told her, but touched that he had taken her into his confidence at last. He had looked like a thousand-pound weight had been lifted off his shoulders from the moment he told her. She still had to digest it herself. But in the end, whatever he was or wanted or needed, or made him happy, was fine with her. And she knew it would be with Harry, too. Chauncey was another story. She suspected he was going to take longer to adjust. And then she laughed as she continued to fill Harry in on what he'd missed. “I thought Chauncey was going to have a heart attack when the Washingtons walked in.” Harry laughed in response.

“You certainly know how to make a statement a lot better than I do. Whatever their rules are, you've probably broken all of them with who you have at your table, along with the biggest WASP in Newport. That's one way to mix it up, and drag these people into the real world. How's my mother doing?”

“I think she's having fun.” She smiled up at her husband then, with a look of obvious pleasure. “Thank you for coming, Harry. I'm so glad you're here.” He could see how much it meant to her and was pleased. He had done the right thing in the end and he knew it.

“So am I. When does the show begin?” A drumroll at the end of their waltz answered his question, as the bandleader asked everyone to take their seats.

Harry followed his wife off the floor, and sat down next to her and his mother in her wheelchair, and a moment later, the room went dark, a curtain rose, and a spotlight shone on an arch of flowers. A line of cadets from West Point appeared, raised their sabers, and crossed them. The debutantes were going to pass underneath, just as they had when Olympia made her debut twenty-seven years before. Frieda's eyes were wide as she watched the performance, and a moment later, the first girl came out. They appeared alphabetically, and Olympia knew that with the last name of Walker, the twins were going to come out last. They had forty-eight other girls to watch before Virginia and Veronica made their bows.

The girls came out slowly, some looking nervous, others looking confident, some smiling broadly, others not at all. The wreaths of flowers on their heads made them look almost angelic, and some of the gowns were really lovely, others were slightly over the top. There were fat girls and thin ones, exquisite ones and plain ones, but as each of them came out, holding her bouquet, her gloved hand tucked into her escort's arm, each looked as though it was the most glorious moment of her life. The announcer called their names, and those of their escorts. They stood still, as everyone applauded, siblings whistled and shouted, and with measured grace, they curtsied, walked slowly down the stairs and under the cadets' sabers, and crossed the ballroom to wait for the others. There was something slightly silly about it, and wonderfully old-fashioned. It was easy to imagine girls doing it for the past several hundred years, right into modern times. Unlike their ancestors, these girls were no longer looking for husbands. They were stepping out into the world among family and friends for one magical moment they would remember forever. It was a world waiting to receive them and celebrate them, one that would be easy for some and harder for others. But tonight, in this one shining moment, everything that was happening was to assure them that everyone in the room loved them, was proud of them, and wished them well. There was an overwhelming feeling of joy and tender approbation in the room, as everyone applauded for each girl. And then at last, Olympia and those at her table applauded as first Veronica and then Virginia came out. Veronica looked anything but reluctant. She looked confident and proud, smiled a sexy smile, held her stole around her, and came down the stairs with measured steps, passed under the swords, and crossed the room to the others. Then Charlie appeared with Virginia. He looked incredibly dashing as he tucked his sister's gloved hand into his arm. He squeezed her arm gently, as she smiled shyly, dropped into a graceful curtsy, and walked slowly down the stairs and past the cadets. They paraded one more time around the dance floor, stood in a breathtaking line of young beauties, curtsied one last time, and then the fathers were invited to come to the dance floor. Chauncey got up more steadily than Olympia expected, and walked proudly onto the dance floor to claim Virginia. Olympia then whispered something to Harry. He hesitated, and she nodded, and then he went out to claim Veronica.

Chauncey glanced at him for a moment, and then nodded. As though prearranged, they each danced with one girl for half a dance, and then switched. It was a moment Olympia knew that she, Harry, and Frieda would never forget. The man who had objected so strenuously to everything the evening stood for had danced with her daughters the night of their debut. And when the dance was over, much to Olympia's amazement, Chauncey shook his hand. It had turned out to be a rite of passage not only for the children but for the adults as well. Both families had acknowledged their bond to each other through their children. And then Chauncey came back to the table and invited Olympia to dance.

“I still haven't gotten over that tattoo,” he said, looking down at her, smiling this time. For an instant, she could almost remember the man she had once loved. He shared these lovely children with her, and they had just shared a night that they would all long remember and cherish. She laughed at what he said.

“Neither have I. I thought I was going to keel over when I saw it. I guess our children will always surprise us, and not always in the ways we want. But we're lucky, Chauncey, they're great kids.”

“Yes,” he admitted without hesitation, “they are.” She looked across the dance floor and saw Harry dancing with Felicia, Veronica with Charlie, and Ginny happily in the arms of Steve, who had broken her heart the night before. She was laughing as he said something to her, and Olympia couldn't help wondering if Ginny had dazzled him and changed his mind that night. She hoped so. The girls deserved to be happy on that night more than all others. She knew that the girls would be out with their friends all night, and home after they had breakfast somewhere.

Both girls made a point of coming over to her to tell her how much they loved her, and how glad they were that they'd done it. Veronica hugged her extra tight, and all three women cried as the twins thanked her. In that one shining moment, Olympia knew it had all been worthwhile.

She and Harry danced long after Chauncey and Felicia and their guests left. Frieda sat happily in her wheelchair, enjoying the music and watching the people. They all had midnight supper, and it was two in the morning when all three Rubinsteins left. Frieda said that if she hadn't broken her ankle and been in a cast, she would have danced all night. She said it was the most magical evening of her life. Just seeing how thrilled she was to have been there touched Harry's and Olympia's hearts.

Charlie had made a point of coming to say goodbye to them before he left with the girls. They were going to a private club to dance some more. It was a night none of them would ever forget. Charlie had whispered to his mother before he left, “Thanks again, Mom, I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.” She smiled at him. For that one night, everything that mattered bonded them to each other. Both girls had come to thank her. Even Veronica said she'd had a great time, which was exactly what Harry said as they left.

“I had a terrific time, Ollie,” he said, looking at her tenderly. He loved what she had done for his mother. She had known instinctively how much it meant to Frieda, and nothing in the world could have stopped Olympia from getting her there. Each in their own way, they had all come out that night. Perhaps Harry most of all. He had given up his radical ideals for just a moment, allowed himself to be mellowed, and discovered that it wasn't such a travesty to move in many worlds. Frieda's eyes were still sparkling as they got in the limousine. Tonight Frieda was Cinderella, Olympia had been her fairy godmother. And Harry had turned out to be the handsome prince after all.

The three of them gathered in the kitchen when they got home, where Harry made omelets. Frieda was still wearing her beautiful black velvet dress, as Harry loosened his tie. They sat at the kitchen table, talking about each special moment of the night.

“That was quite a dress Felicia was almost wearing,” Harry said as he finished his omelet, and Olympia laughed.

“She suits Chauncey to perfection, better than I did,” Olympia said generously. “Maybe Veronica broke the ice with her goofy tattoo. Madame Butterfly. Maybe I should get one, too.”

“Don't you dare!” Harry growled at her, looking more handsome than ever to his mother and his wife.

Olympia helped Frieda get into bed, while Harry cleaned up the kitchen. Frieda looked up at her daughter-in-law from her pillows, with stars in her eyes.

“Thank you, Olympia. I had the best time I've ever had.”

“Me too,” Olympia said honestly. “I'm so happy you and Harry were there.”

“He's a good boy,” Frieda said proudly. “I'm glad he did the right thing.”

“He always does,” Olympia said, and kissed her good night, then she turned off the light and left the room. Harry was waiting for her in the hallway outside his mother's room. They walked upstairs hand in hand and quietly closed the door to their bedroom, so they didn't wake Max. The sitter Harry had called at the last minute had left when they got home. She'd been fast asleep in Charlie's room, since it was nearly three. It was almost four when Harry unzipped Olympia's dress and looked at her with pleasure, and then she remembered what she hadn't been able to tell him until then. Her eyes grew serious as she looked at him.

“Charlie told me something very important tonight.”

“That he has a tattoo, too?” he teased, and she shook her head. She wasn't sad for Charlie. She had enormous respect for him.

“Charlie came out tonight, too.”

“Out of what?” Harry asked, looking confused, and then he understood. It didn't completely surprise him, although he had never been sure. But he had wondered once or twice, and didn't want to say anything to Olympia, in case his suspicions weren't accurate. He was afraid it might upset her. It hadn't. It had surprised her, but she loved him more than ever.

“He told me,” she said proudly. She was touched by the faith he had put in her. “When we were dancing, right before you got there.”

“I wondered what he was saying to you. I was watching you while you danced with him. You looked beautiful.” He came to put his arms around her then. “Are you okay with it?” He looked concerned. It was a big admission for her son to make, with many ramifications that would affect him and all of them for years. For the rest of his life.

“I think I am. I just want him to be happy. He looked a lot happier once he told me than he has in a long time.”

“Then I'm glad. And relieved for both of you. You know,” he said as he sat down on their bed and looked at her. “You were right. I think a coming-out party is a good thing. It's a lot like a bat mitzvah. It's one of those times that makes everybody feel good, not just the girls, but all their friends and families, and everyone who shares it with them. I loved seeing my mom there. And I loved dancing with you and the girls. And stupid as it sounds, when Chauncey shook my hand on the dance floor, it brought tears to my eyes.”

There had been tears in his eyes several times that night, and in hers. It had been a night of love and celebration, a night of hope and remembrance, a night when girls became women, children became adults, and strangers became friends. Just as she had said it would be, it was a rite of passage, and a lovely tradition, and nothing more. It was a night when he had come out from an old world into a new one, when others got a glimpse backward into an old one. When the past and future met in one shining moment, when time stopped, sadness slipped away and was forgotten, and life began.

About the AuthorDANIELLE STEEL has been hailed as one of the world's most popular authors, with over 560 million copies of her novels sold. Her many international bestsellers include Sisters, H.R.H., The House, Miracle, ImPossible, Echoes, Second Chance, Ransom, and other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of His Bright Light, the story of her son Nick Traina's life and death. Visit the Danielle Steel Web Site at www.daniellesteel.com.

BUNGALOW 2

on sale June 26, 2007

It was a beautiful hot July day in Marin County, just across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco, as Tanya Harris bustled around her kitchen, organizing her life. Her style was one of supreme order. She loved having everything tidy, in its proper place, and in control. She loved to plan, and therefore she rarely ran out of anything, or forgot to do anything. She enjoyed a predictably efficient life. She was small, lithe, in good shape, and didn't look her age, which was forty-two years old. Her husband, Peter, was forty-six. He was a litigator with a respected San Francisco law firm, and didn't mind the commute to Ross, across the bridge. Ross was a prosperous, safe, highly desirable suburban community. They had moved there from the city sixteen years before because the school system was excellent. It was said to be the best in Marin.

Tanya and Peter had three children. Jason was eighteen and was leaving for college at the end of August. He was going to UC Santa Barbara, and although he couldn't wait to go, Tanya was going to miss him terribly. And they had twin daughters, Megan and Molly, who had just turned seventeen.

Tanya had loved every moment of the last eighteen years, being a full-time mom to her kids. It suited her perfectly. She never found it burdensome or boring. The tedium of driving car pools had never seemed intolerable to her. Unlike mothers who complained of it, she loved being with her children, dropping them off, picking them up, taking them to Cub Scouts and Brownies, and she had been head of the parents' association of their school for several years. She took pride in doing things for them, and loved going to Jason's Little League and basketball games, and whatever the girls did as well. Jason had been varsity in high school, and was hoping to make either the basketball or tennis team at UCSB.

His two younger sisters, Megan and Molly, were fraternal twins, and were as different as night and day. Megan was small and blond like her mother. She had been an Olympic-caliber gymnast in her early teens, and only gave up national competitions when she found it was interfering with her work at school. Molly was tall, thin, and looked like Peter, with dark brown hair and endless legs. She was the only member of the family who had never played competitive sports. She was musical, artistic, loved taking photographs, and was a whimsical, independent soul. At seventeen, the twins were going into their senior year. Megan wanted to go to UC Berkeley like her mother, or maybe UCSB. Molly was thinking about going east, or to a college in California where she could follow artistic pursuits. She had been thinking seriously about USC in L.A., if she stayed out west. Although the twins were very close, they were both adamant about not going to the same school. They had been in the same school and class all through elementary and high school, and now they were both ready to go their own ways. Their parents thought it was a healthy attitude, and Peter was encouraging Molly to consider the Ivy League schools. Her grades were good enough, and he thought she'd do well in a high-powered academic atmosphere. She was considering Brown, where she could design her own curriculum in photography, or maybe film school at USC. All three of the Harris children had done exceptionally well in school.

Tanya was proud of her children, loved her husband, enjoyed her life, and had thrived in their twenty-year marriage. The years had flown by like minutes since she'd married Peter as soon as she'd graduated from college. He had just graduated from Stanford Law School, and joined the law firm where he still worked. And just about everything in their life had gone according to plan. There had been no major shocks or surprises, no disappointments in their marriage, no traumas with their kids as Jason, Megan, and Molly navigated through their teens. Tanya and Peter enjoyed spending a lot of time with all three of their children. They had no regrets, and were well aware of how fortunate they were. Tanya worked in a family homeless shelter in the city one day a week, and she took the girls with her whenever she could and their schedules allowed. They both had extracurricular pursuits, and did community service through school. Peter liked to tease Tanya about how boring they all were, and how predictable in their routines. Tanya took great pride in keeping it that way, for all of them. Everything about their life felt comfortable and safe.

Her childhood had not been quite as neat and clean, which was why she liked keeping their life so tidy. Some might have called her life with Peter overly sterile and controlled, but Tanya loved it that way, and so did he. Peter's own youth and adolescence had been very similar to the life he and Tanya had created for their children, a seemingly perfect world. In contrast, Tanya's childhood had been difficult and lonely, and frightening at times. Her father had been an alcoholic, and her parents had gotten divorced when she was three. She had only seen her father a few times after the divorce, and he died when she was fourteen. Her mother had worked hard as a paralegal to keep her in the best schools. She had died shortly after the twins were born, and Tanya had no siblings. An only child of only children, her family consisted of Peter, Jason, and the twins. They were the hub of her world. She cherished every moment that she spent with them. Even after twenty years of marriage, she couldn't wait for Peter to come home at night. She loved telling him what she'd done that day, sharing stories about the children, and hearing about his day. She still found his cases and courtroom experiences fascinating after twenty years, and she liked sharing her own work with him as well. He was always enthusiastic and encouraging about what she did.

Tanya had been a freelance writer ever since she'd graduated from college, and through all the years of their marriage. She loved doing it because it fulfilled her, added to their income, and she worked at home, without interfering with their children. She led something of a double life as a result. Devoted mother, wife, and caregiver by day, and singularly determined freelance writer at night. Tanya always said that to her, writing was as essential as the air she breathed. Freelance writing had proven to be the perfect occupation for her, and the articles and stories she'd written had been well reviewed and warmly received over the years. Peter always said he was immensely proud of her, and appeared to be supportive of her work, although from time to time, he complained about her long work nights, and the late hours when she came to bed. But he appreciated the fact that it never interfered with her mothering or devotion to him. She was one of those rare, talented women who still put her family first, and always had.

Tanya's first book had been a series of essays, mostly about women's issues. It had been published by a small publisher in Marin in the late 1980s, and reviewed mostly by obscure feminist reviewers, who approved of her theories, topics, and ideas. Her book hadn't been rabidly feminist, but was aware and independent, and the sort of thing one would expect a young woman to write. Her second book, published on her fortieth birthday, two years earlier, and eighteen years after her first book, had been an anthology of short stories, published by a major publisher, and had had an exceptionally good review in The New York Times Book Review. She had been thrilled.

In between, she had been frequently published in literary magazines, and often in The New Yorker. She had published essays, articles, and short stories in a variety of magazines over the years. Her volume of work was consistent and prolific. When necessary, she slept little, and some nights not at all. Judging by the sales of her recent book of short stories, she had a loyal following both among average readers who enjoyed her work and among the literary elite. Several well-known and highly respected writers had written her letters of warm praise, and had commented favorably about her book in the press. As she was in all else, Tanya was meticulously conscientious about her work. She had managed to have a family, and still keep abreast of her work. For twenty years, she had set time aside every day to write. She was diligent and highly disciplined and the only time she took days off from her writing mornings was during school vacations, or when the children were home sick from school. In that case, they came first. Otherwise, nothing kept her from her work. In her hours away from Peter and the children, she was fanatical about her work. She let the phone go to voice mail, turned off her cell phone, and sat down to write every morning after her second cup of tea, once the kids had gone off to school.

She also enjoyed writing in a more commercial vein, which was the profitable side of it for them, something Peter respected as well. She did occasional articles for the local Marin papers, now and then for the Chronicle, on an editorial basis. She liked writing funny pieces, and had a knack with comedic work, in a wry, witty tone, and now and then she wrote pure slapstick when describing the life of a housewife and mother, and scenes with her kids. Peter thought it was what she did best, and she enjoyed doing it. She liked writing funny stuff.

The real money she'd made, compared to what she made on her articles and essays, was writing occasional scripts for soap operas on national TV. She had done quite a number of them over the years. They weren't high literary endeavors, and she had no pretensions about what she did. But they paid extremely well, and the shows she wrote for liked her work, and called her often. It wasn't work she was proud of, but she liked the money she made, and so did Peter. She usually wrote a dozen or so scripts a year. They had paid for her new Mercedes station wagon and a house they rented for a month at Lake Tahoe every year. Peter was always grateful for her help with tuition for their children. She had saved a nice little nest egg from her commercial writing work. She had cowritten a few miniseries, too, mostly before the market for miniseries and television movies had been impacted by reality TV. These days no one wanted miniseries or TV movies, and the only regular work she got for TV was on her soaps. Her agent called her about a script for a soap at least once a month, and sometimes more often. She knocked them out in a few days, working late at night while the rest of the family slept. Tanya was lucky that she needed very little sleep, much to her agent's delight. She had never made gigantic money for her work, but she had produced steadily for many years. She was in effect a housewife and writer with stamina and talent. It was a combination that worked well.

Over the years Tanya's freelance writing had been a steady, satisfying, and lucrative career, and as the kids got older, she had plans to write more. The only dream she had that hadn't been fulfilled yet was to write the screenplay for a feature film. She had persisted in pushing her agent about it, but to some extent her work in TV made her ineligible. There was very little, if any, crossover between television and feature films. It irritated her because she knew she had the skills to do movies, but so far nothing in that vein had come her way, and she was no longer sure it ever would. It was an opportunity she'd been waiting for, for twenty years. In the meantime, she was happy with the writing she did. And the system and schedule she juggled so successfully worked well for all of them. She'd had a steady flow of work during her entire career. It was something she did with her left hand, while she tended to her family with her right and met all their needs. Peter always said that she was an amazing woman, and a wonderful mother and wife. That meant far more to her than favorable literary reviews. Her family had been her first priority during all her years of marriage and motherhood. And as far as Tanya was concerned, she had done the right thing, even if it meant turning down an assignment now and then, although that was rare for her. Most of the time, she found a way to fit it in, and was proud of having done that for twenty years. She had never let Peter or her kids down, nor her work, or the people who paid her to do it.

She had just sat down at her computer with a cup of tea, and was looking over the draft for a short story she'd started the day before, when the phone rang, and she heard the answering machine pick it up. Jason had spent the night in San Francisco, the girls were out with friends, and Peter had long since left for work. He was preparing for a trial the following week. So she had a nice, peaceful morning to work, which was rare when the kids were out of school. She wrote far less in the summer than she did in the winter months. It was too distracting trying to write when the children were home on vacation, and around all the time. But she'd had an idea for a new short story that had been bugging her for days. She was wrestling with it, when she heard her agent leave a message on the phone, and strode rapidly across the kitchen to pick it up. She knew that all the soaps she wrote for were on hiatus, so it wasn't likely to be a request for a script for a soap. Maybe an article for a magazine, or a request from The New Yorker.

She answered the phone just before her agent hung up. The message he'd left was a request for her to call him. He was a long-established literary agent in New York, who had represented her for the past fifteen years. The agency also had an office in Hollywood, where they generated a very respectable amount of work for her, as much as in New York, sometimes more. She loved all the different aspects of her work, and had been dogged and persistent about pursuing her career through all the kids' years of growing up. They were proud of her, and once in a while watched her soaps, although they teased her a lot, and told her how “cheesy” they were. But they bragged about her to their friends. It was immensely important to her that Peter and her children respected what she did. And she liked knowing she did it well, without sacrificing her time with them. There was a sign on her office wall that said “What hath night to do with sleep?”

“I thought you might be writing,” her agent said as she picked up. His name was Walter Drucker, and he went by Walt.

“I was,” she said, hopping onto a high stool near the phone. The kitchen was the nerve center of the house, and she used it as an office. Her computer was set up in the corner, next to two file cabinets bulging with her work. “What's up? I'm working on a new short story. I think it may turn out to be part of a trilogy when it grows up.” He admired her, and the fact that she was unfailingly professional and conscientious about everything she did. He knew how important her children were to her, but she still stayed on track with everything she wrote. She was very serious about her work, and everything she touched. It was a pleasure to deal with her. He never had to apologize for her missing a deadline, forgetting a story, going into rehab, or blowing a script. She was a writer to her core, and a good one. Tanya was a true professional. She had talent, energy, and drive. He liked her work, although usually he wasn't a short-story fan, but hers were good. They always had an interesting twist, a surprise. There was something very quirky and unusual about her work. Just when the reader expected it least, she came up with a stunning twist, turn, or ending. And he liked her funny stuff best. Sometimes she made him laugh till he cried.

“I've got work,” he said, sounding vague and somewhat cryptic. She was still thinking about her story, and not entirely focused on what he'd said.

“Hmm … can't be a soap. They're on hiatus till next month, thank God. I haven't had a decent idea all month, till yesterday. I've been too busy with the kids, and we leave for Tahoe next week, where I am head chef, chauffeur, social secretary, and maid.” Somehow she always ended up doing all the domestic work when they went to Tahoe, while everyone else swam, water-skied, and played. She had finally just accepted that it worked that way. The kids all brought friends, and no matter how much she begged, pleaded, or threatened them, no one ever helped. She was used to it by now. The older they got, the fewer chores they did. Peter wasn't much better. When he went to Tahoe, he liked to take it easy and relax, not do dishes, laundry, or make beds. She accepted it as one of the few downsides of her life. And she knew that if that was as bad as it got, she was lucky. Very, very lucky. And she took pride in taking care of them herself, and not hiring help. She was a perfectionist to her core, and taking care of her family, in every aspect, was a source of great pride to her. “What kind of work?” she asked, focusing finally on what he'd said.

“A script. Based on a book. It was a best-seller last year by Jane Barney. You know the one. Mantra. It was number one for about nine million weeks. Douglas Wayne just bought the book. They need a script.”

COMING OUT

A Dell Book

Published by Bantam Dell

A Division of Random House, Inc.

New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2006 by Danielle Steel

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2005045491

Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-307-56638-6

www.bantamdell.com

v3.0

a cognizant original v5 release october 14 2010

Table of Contents

Proverbs 31

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

About the Author

BUNGALOW 2 on sale June 26, 2007