A Place at the Table
3
Frustrating Children
Liam
“LIAM, PLEASE COME to the library. Your mother and I wish to speak to you.” I looked apologetically at Meredith but she just shrugged her shoulders and said goodnight. I followed my parents into the library.
“Whatever came over you, Liam? It was unconscionably rude to challenge Mr. Ferguson at a dinner party filled with friends who came to celebrate the achievement of your majority.” Mother accepted a glass of scotch from Father as she scowled at me.
“Were those my friends, Mother?” At my birthday dinner, most of the guests had been my parents’ friends or people they hoped to impress with a dinner at Buxton House. I was merely an excuse for the event.
“This is not a debate,” Father snapped. “Keep your Socratic questions for your conversations with your grandmother. She is the only one amused by them. I happen to be in negotiations with Fergie that could be worth millions.”
“I’m sorry, Father. Do we need money?” Father scowled at me and I conceded defeat. They had long since learned how to handle my attempts to turn the conversation to my own ends. The Socratic method really only works well when you can control the flow of the conversation. It was time to make a straight-forward justification and explanation. “I’m truly sorry, Father. Mr. Ferguson was throwing around unsupported opinions and theories that were disproved decades ago. He was, in fact, directly insulting one of my close friends. Remy Fortier came to this country to get an education and seek the opportunities our nation is reputed to offer all. I could no more sit by and let my friend be insulted than you could help being offended by my treatment of your friend.”
“Remy Fortier does not fit the profile Fergie was describing,” Lydia interrupted. “He’s a good and talented boy and scarcely even has an accent. And he is a virtuoso on the violin.”
“In other words, because he is white?”
“We are not racists! I employ people of all races in my companies and treat them all equally. Their advancement is based on merit and merit alone.”
“Father, it is all too obvious that even assignment to a class has become culturally discriminatory. How can one develop into a Leader if there are no opportunities to lead? How can he become a Commander if all he has ever known is being bossed around and told what to do? We espouse the idea that classes are based on inner character, yet people like Mr. Ferguson continue to promote discriminatory practices under the guise of saying ‘It’s their own fault.’ That simply isn’t acceptable.”
“What is unacceptable is for you to challenge and insult people who came to honor you on your birthday. That is not the sign of a Leader,” Mother said. That stung a bit and I suspected she was probably right.
“I am eighteen years old today. Perhaps the next time there is a party to honor me, it might be with my friends and associates.”
“Go to bed.” Mother tossed down the rest of her drink before continuing. “We’ll discuss this with your grandmother. She egged you on. She can decide the appropriate punishment. If we punish you, you will automatically believe we are being unfair.”
I was relieved. I didn’t like these conversations with my parents. I’d grown to see, over the years, that regardless of class, they honored wealth. And I was a beneficiary of that. I lived in a mansion and never had to worry about anything. I had a feeling that wealth was an obstacle I would need to overcome in order to be a Leader.
Angela Ritter
I’M SURE THERE ARE DAYS in every mother’s life when she wonders what she did to deserve such a troublesome daughter. I’ve spoken to enough mothers to know in my head that it doesn’t last forever, but perhaps we could just skip the teen years. And having a precocious teen is even more problematic. She shouldn’t have grown up so fast!
I looked at the notes I’d made for next week’s articles. Being a daily columnist had its good parts, but I was itching to get started on my next book. A stack of research on “Leaders of Our Age” looked abandoned on the edge of my desk as I fought with the outlines for my series on “Influencing Class.” It was an ageless argument between the influence of heredity and environment on class determination. Our society had long abandoned the notion of a hereditary class system, and just as quickly abandoned classes based on wealth or position. “Inherent Character” was supposed to be the determination and most of our educational system was supposed to identify and enhance a student’s class characteristics.
I wondered, sometimes, how effective it was. Was there a reason that certain schools turned out large numbers of Dexters—people who were ‘happiest’ working with their hands and bodies—while other schools had more Creators or Commanders or Defenders? I had a stack of research on the teachers in those schools and still had little in the way of conclusive results.
I needed to know why. I guess that’s what makes me an Inquirer. I couldn’t identify anything in my own childhood environment that influenced my class. I had simply always wanted to know the Why and the How of things.
Currently, I wanted to know why my fifteen-year-old daughter was only now getting in at a quarter past midnight.
“They were so pretentious,” Susan answered my question about how the party was. I disciplined myself not to mention the rumpled state of her party clothes and smeared lipstick. “We weren’t allowed to take pictures and I had to leave my camera at the door. I only wanted a couple of snaps to show my friends I was really there. No one will believe me otherwise.”
“It’s an honor to be invited to Buxton House at all. I’m sure if you call, they would arrange a photo tour for you. It’s not polite to just point a camera and take photos of other people’s homes without an invitation to do so,” I said. I’d seen a notice that tours of the old mansion were available for groups, though I’m sure they were closely monitored and did not get to see private areas of the old house. It was one of the original estates that went back nearly two hundred years. It was architecturally grotesque as every generation seemed to add its own touch to the house and grounds. At one time, it was said, over a hundred people had lived there, including the staff. There were only four family members now. I wondered how many staff they needed to maintain the old monstrosity.
“Everyone was so formal,” Susan continued. “Mr. This and Mrs. That. There were only four teens there. Some celebration for an eighteenth birthday. We called each other by our first names, except Liam and Meredith. I mean Lonnie and I used their first names and they used ours, but between the two of them, they were Mr. Cyning and Miss Sauvage.”
“Meredith Sauvage?” I said. “So, she’s the one who won.”
“Won what?”
“It’s long been assumed that Liam Cyning would settle into a class as a Leader, Commander, Promoter, or Inquirer. In any of those positions, he would require an assistant. It could even have been your Lonnie who got that job.” I had been reasonably certain the selection would be made soon but was unaware of a choice having been made. One didn’t probe deeply into the affairs of the Cynings, but rumors had surfaced nearly ten years ago that teachers were looking for classmates of Liam to train as assistants.
“Lonnie, an assistant? Hardly,” Susan scoffed. “He’d be Liam’s boss. But I don’t think Liam would make a very good assistant, either. He’s too full of himself. Do you know he started an argument with one of the guests? Rather than pursue the argument at the table, the guest got up and left.”
“Was the guest offended?”
“I don’t think anyone dares to be offended there. How do they rate? I mean, they’re rich, but so are Lonnie’s parents. And Lonnie’s house isn’t as big but it’s much prettier. Buxton House was designed by a dyslexic monkey,” she twittered.
“Oh? When did you see Lonnie’s house?”
“Um… We stopped by so he could introduce me to his parents. Once. They were quite nice.” My daughter was lying. Of course, unpleasant people can adopt an air of politeness when social niceties called for it. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t consider Susan as anything more than a convenient toy for their son and not worth the time of an introduction. Mr. Porras was a Senator and Mrs. Porras managed his career, his campaigns, and his money. “Oh, Lonnie said to be sure to tell you that Mrs. Cyning would like to meet you.”
“Liam’s mother?”
“No. His grandmother. I don’t know why you’d want to meet that old lady.” My clueless daughter.
“Well, perhaps your relationship with Lonnie Porras will have some benefits after all.” I was afraid the relationship between the two was to be short-lived. A boy four years older than my daughter and screwing her on their second date. I did have sources of information. But what was I to do? Forbidding her to see him would simply mean she would sneak out to be with him. Still, I wondered how traumatic the breakup would be.
“So why do you want to meet her?”
“Regina Cyning may be the most important woman you will ever meet,” I said. “The thickest of my folders of research over there contains everything I’ve discovered about her. I’ve sent half a dozen requests to interview her. Regina Cyning has her fingers on the pulse of America. Not the pulse in the wrist, but the pulse in the neck.”
“What’s the difference? Don’t they both show how fast the heart is beating?”
“To that extent, yes. But if I placed my fingers on the pulse in your wrist and squeezed tight, it would hurt. Perhaps your hand would go numb. Cutting off the flow of blood might be serious enough to lose your hand. Compare that with the pulse in your neck. If I squeezed there hard enough to cut off the flow of blood, you would soon lose consciousness. You might even die.”
“Is she really that powerful? What does she do?”
“She leads. These days, she contents herself with working at a low level, negotiating agreements, reviewing legislation, even arbitrating disputes.”
“Like a judge?”
“Not so formal. People seek her out to resolve their conflicts and problems. In times past, she and her husband frequently met with presidents and dignitaries. Buxton House was the site where treaties were signed, trade agreements made, and even marriage partners introduced. It is a trait of true Leaders that people are willing to follow them.”
“So, do you think Liam will be having that kind of party in the future? I mean with presidents and dignitaries?”
“One doesn’t begin there. Even in leadership, there is a path from the simple to the great. Who knows how far along that path he might go?”
“Lonnie is far more commanding. He’s more likely to go places than Liam is. Even he seemed a little cowed by Mrs. Cyning, though.”
“And much though I wish it was different, you fit with Lonnie much better than with any Cyning. And not because I think you will go through life blindly following his orders, sweetheart. You think alike.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you choose Lonnie?”
“He’s a good catch. He’s rich and he’s going places. And I wasn’t about to let Josie Lebrun get her hooks in him.”
“So, you caught him. With sex.”
“Mother!” She stopped and looked me in the eye. There was no way she could deny it. “Yes, I made love to him. And I do it as often as possible. We like it. It’s not like I’m selling myself. I’m not a whore.”
“I didn’t say you were, dear. You are a woman. There was once a time in ancient days, when women had very little choice in the matter. Their value was as breeders. So, they used their sex to attract and capture the man who could protect and provide. We women opened our sex to capture the man and produced children to hold him. Sex has always been a transaction. But the times have changed. Our class system is now generations established. Within the classes, women are neither inferior nor superior.”
“Are the classes discriminatory? I mean… do men and women have an equal chance at being chosen for any class?” Susan was getting to the real problem. It is what I was studying so fervently.
“There are few compiled statistics that would answer that question,” I said. “On the surface, the criteria for evaluation are non-discriminatory. But are there inherent traits in women that indicate a tendency toward one class or another? Perhaps. Let’s take Defenders for example. At first glance, we might see the traditional military force as being a natural home for defenders and it is more likely to be male than female. But the determination to maintain order, discipline, and protect others can be seen as easily in housewives who spend all their time focused on the home and the children as it can be in a soldier. In that instance, women are far more likely to be classed as Defenders. The tasks are different but the class is the same.”
“I don’t want to be held down in what I can achieve. And I don’t want to be lumped into a particular class because I like having sex with my boyfriend.”
“That is less likely than you think. We women are strong enough and independent enough to not need a man to protect and provide. I earn three times what your father does. I bought this house. Why do I need him?”
“Are you talking about love?”
“That comes into play, but in our day and age, love is often an aftereffect of sex rather than a reason. Even after marriage in many instances. Your father has access to much of the Commander class, even though he, himself, is an Advisor. He opens doors for me. And over the years, I have come to love him. Even though my reputation has grown to the point that I might open most of those doors myself, if I ever mistreated him, I would find them slammed in my face.” I hugged my daughter to me and she sighed. How I wish she had not grown up so fast.
“You need to pay attention to Lonnie in more ways than spreading your legs or you will lose him. Much of the benefit of being with him is yet to come. He will open many doors and will go far. If you can show him you can open doors for him as much as he opens them for you, you will keep him.”
“I’m going to lose him. I could see it at the party tonight. He held my hand but he never took his eyes off that girl, Meredith Sauvage, even though she paid no attention to him or to anyone but Liam Cyning. It was obvious she was only there to set her hook in him. Why would Lonnie want her instead of me? I’m much prettier.”
Angela laughed. She couldn’t help herself. She threw back her head and let the laughter roll. Susan stood and stomped her foot.
“It’s not funny. I’ll fight her for him.”
“Oh, you won’t have to, daughter. Meredith Sauvage was bred and born to be with Liam Cyning. It would take someone far more persuasive than Lonnie to interfere with that.”
“You mean she has a marriage contract with him? Is that even legal?”
“I doubt very much they will ever marry. Possibly. She might help him pick his wife eventually. But no matter of that, she has a bond with him that will last a lifetime. They’ll have problems, no doubt. My research has shown significant areas that are a doorway to conflict. But essentially, they are complementary in much the same way you and Lonnie are. You could be his one true love, or you could lose him by being in contention with him instead of cooperation. It will be mostly up to you.”
“How do you know so much about these people?” Susan seemed to seriously be pondering whether she would ever be cooperative enough to stay with Lonnie. It was one of the reasons I regretted her having moved into this relationship so quickly.
“It’s my job and my passion. I am an Inquirer. I research and write about society, politics, and economics. I can see who the influencers and the manipulators are. I study them. I speak about them. I write books and columns about them. I have to know about them. And now, thanks to you, my dear, I will have an opportunity to know Regina Cyning.”
“You’ll write about the Cynings?”
“If she permits it. There are certain things I can never expose to the public. It would be a kiss of death. Hopefully, only to my career. But if she permits me to put my hand on hers, I, too, might feel the pulse of America.”
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