Cookie Monster

Victoria Berg is raising a perfect daughter. I’ve known that since Victoria volunteered for me at the Girl Scout office two years ago. I’m a service unit director in charge of cookie sales, our chief fundraiser, which falls on the heels of Christmas and runs into the middle of January with no letup until Easter when the money’s counted.

Working with the Girl Scouts may sound like fun and games, but most people have no idea the kind of hours you put in. Cookies don’t bring in much dough, and entertaining the troops isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. I’ve spent more Januarys than I care to name counting orders and divvying out duties with no overtime, but it’s a worthwhile cause. You really have to care about girls.

The day Victoria walked into my cubbyhole office, I knew she wasn’t your average volunteer. She’s a statuesque size 8 with rich chestnut hair, and she had on one of those hooker-tight jumpsuits with silver studs to match her over-sized earrings. I don’t know many mothers who dress like that—I certainly don’t dress that way at 49—but there she was, an aging Charlie’s Angel with clipped wings.

“I used to be a Girl Scout,” she said.

She helped herself to move some magazines and a stack of order forms off my only spare seat and said, “Do you know my Megan? She’s in Troop 12.”

Of course I know Troop 12. It’s in my service unit up in Winwood Heights, where the houses have built-in sprinklers and boat docks. Megan, tall, slim and beautiful, is as hard to overlook as her mother. And Megan’s got brains, so she’s a girl the others love to hate.

“Excuse how I look. I’ve been to the gym,” Victoria said, smoothing her hand over her hipline. “I hear you need a Cookie Monster,” she laughed, meaning she wanted to be put in charge of the big fundraiser.

It’s a familiar story. A mother looks back at the good old days and wants to re-live them by doing something “fun” with the Girl Scouts. As I sized up Mrs. Berg, I tried to imagine this living ad for Speedo parading through the council offices and me trying to explain to our executive director how I’d turned down help from someone as prominent as this doctor’s wife.

Dependable volunteers are hard to come by, and even the most dedicated want something in return. It didn’t take long for me to realize that what Victoria really wanted was to fluff up her resume. She told me that she planned to apply for Director of Volunteers over at Piedmont General Hospital, and even though her husband was an ophthalmologist, she could use extra help getting the job. She’s the blooming side of a spring-and-fall marriage that sprung up when she met the well-heeled Dr. Jerry Berg through a temp service.

“ I’ve been out of the business loop since Megan came along,” she said, noting that she’d been her husband’s receptionist before they married.

I, along with the rest of the town, knew that story. He made eyes at her, she stayed late, the wife got everything but the lake house, the second Mercedes and half the practice.

The very next day she took me to lunch at Duffy’s Grill in the country club—me in my frumpy kelly-green uniform and she in peachy brushed silk. We chatted about our lives, how I’m single with no children and how she’s a doctor’s wife with one special daughter.

“ I want her to amount to something when she grows up and if I’m going to set a professional example, I need to get back in the working world and get my feet wet,” she said.

Over vegetarian quiche, she talked me into letting her coordinate cookie sales for her section of town. I got a cookie chairman and she got some work experience to use on her job interview.

That year the economy was good and our girls sold a tractor-trailer load. Victoria kept up with the paperwork pretty well, though I could have used a more effective sales manager. She barely tried any of the samples—saying the Thin Mints wouldn’t keep her thin, and insisting that the Peanut Butter Sandwich should still be called “Savannahs” like when she was a girl. She couldn’t get over the fact that cookies cost more than two dollars a box. She rolled her eyes, “Back in my day, they were sixty cents.” Some habits die hard. With so little money being collected, you would have thought she had the girls charging 1970s prices.

Naturally, some troop leaders wouldn’t cough up the cash, claiming the council got all the proceeds and they got just a few pennies a box. They might’ve been more right than wrong, but they didn’t have any business hoarding the cash. We were right up to the day national headquarters wanted the report, and some of those leaders sauntered in pretty as you please.

That year, though, Victoria came through and gave each of her troop leaders an extra nudge on her cell phone, promising publicity in the council newsletter if our service unit got our money in first.

She enlisted Megan to “sell” to a built-in market at Dr. Berg’s office and naturally, Megan was the top seller—more than a thousand boxes, thanks to those cookie-hungry med techs, nurses and patients. “I had her put on the charm,” her mother said.

I knew full well Megan probably never darkened the door of her daddy’s office. At eleven, she was very pretty with chestnut curls like her Mom, and a sway in her hips that’s bound to take her a long way in this world. I’d run into her at a Junior scout lock-in at Winwood Academy where Troop 12 meets. A Trivial Pursuit-type game was in progress, and Megan and another girl were out-scoring the other teams, thanks almost entirely to Megan’s quick wit. She correctly answered “What was Juliette Low’s maiden name?” (Gordon), “In what countries are the four Girl Scout World Association Centers?” (Mexico, England, India and Switzerland), and she accurately recited the Girl Scout Law.

When the points were tallied, Megan’s team had won hands down.

“How do you know all those things?” I asked.

“She’s got a photographic memory,” one of the other girls answered.

“She reads the encyclopedia in bed at night,” another said.

Megan giggled, then said, “I just look at a book and remember stuff.”

Of course I’ve never mentioned this to her mother, knowing she’d take offense. If it’s a matter of looks versus intelligence, it’s a tough race in Victoria’s book. She wouldn’t relish her daughter being considered just a bookworm.

Inside of a year, Victoria had taken that job at the hospital, the auxiliary enlisted several of our Cadette scouts as candy stripers and Dr. Jerry had loaned his lake house for a volunteer appreciation cookout.

The Council was smiling. After cookie season, Victoria used me as a reference to land that position over at the hospital, and snapped up Lee Ann and Barbara, two of my best volunteers, to push flower carts and man the hospital reception desk. With her persuasion, Victoria Berg should have gone into sales herself. I don’t appreciate her stealing my best help, but I’ve lived in this town long enough to know not to make people like her angry. They can be hellcats, pulling strings and clawing rugs out from under you. Nonprofits can’t withstand that kind of ill will, so I’m not about to make waves.

As time passed, Victoria and I crossed paths occasionally, though not through Girl Scouts. By the end of Junior scouting in sixth grade, Megan had racked up nineteen merit badges for ballet, art dabbling, photography and pet care—the Bergs have registered Himalayans that are spoiled rotten and professionally groomed. She had also been elected Patrol Leader and gone to camp on a cookie sales “campership,” but when it came time to move up to Cadettes, she dropped out. Megan, like so many girls these days, declared the uniform “dopey,” the organization “out of it,” and advanced to middle school without the Girl Scout Promise.

I was visiting a friend at Piedmont General one evening when I bumped into Victoria in the corridor, and the conversation gravitated to her daughter.

“Meg doesn’t have time for little-girl things anymore,” she said. But that’s not to say she didn’t have promise. Last year in seventh grade, she was into cheerleading, baton, tumbling and band, not to mention making High Honors. What keeps her from burning out is beyond me.

Back when I was growing up, my parents set high expectations—get a teaching degree so you’ll have something to fall back on if your husband can’t work. My valedictory address got me a scholarship, but I had to work for my grades. I would have liked to have had some daughters of my own, but my husband never materialized, so I guess Girl Scouts is the next best thing.

“Meg’s a sharp cookie,” Victoria said. She found it in her heart to call me up practically every week to ask if I’d seen Megan’s name in the county paper, to ask me to be sure and cut it out since they take just the city paper. This request was more of an excuse to keep in touch and remind herself if no one else, how smart Megan was. She’s not an only child. Dr. Jerry had three sons by his first wife, but they’re all at least ten years older. Megan grew up in her mother’s shadow, but Mom’s helped her along to “perfection.”

“When I was in high school, I did a lot,” Victoria said. She listed the activities—Student Council, National Honor Society, head cheerleader, Girls’ Athletics Association and Prom Queen, a title reserved for girls the faculty and students want to honor, not just the most popular. She would have gone on to Duke, but her Daddy had a heart attack and finances got tight. “I had already applied and got accepted,” she said, but wound up going to a state school.

That’s her story. I don’t know how well she did. Probably didn’t set the world on fire or I’d have heard about it long ago. I bit my tongue about my own early successes, since it’s bad form to brag. If I’d had kids they wouldn’t have had all that to live up to. I’d have let them grow up at their own pace.

It was no surprise when I read that Megan Berg got picked to take the SAT through Duke Talent Identification Program. Several of our Cadettes have been invited over the years, bright girls who agree to take the PSAT. If they score high enough, they’ll get to enroll in special “enrichment” programs throughout high school, and get special consideration if they want to attend Duke—assuming they can afford it, which is a big if these days.

Of course Victoria had pointed out long ago that Megan’s “AG.” “That means Academically Gifted,” she said.

I may not be a teacher, but I’m no dummy when it comes to educational trends. We used to call it “accelerated,” meaning the brighter kids were assigned more homework. I’ve seen plenty of AG kids who haven’t cut the mustard once they’ve grown up, but of course that won’t be the case here. When Mom asks Megan to jump, the question is how high.

Victoria called me up the January after she took her hospital job, asking the Girl Scouts to set up a booth at the hospital one Saturday morning. “I’ll bet you could sell a hundred boxes of cookies easy,” she said. I agreed it sounded like a win-win. Before she hung up, I thought I’d never hear the end of Megan’s academic ventures. You would have thought she was vying for the Olympics. Victoria insisted she bone up for the PSAT with a self-study computer program, and she enrolled her in a SAT prep course designed for high school juniors.

Actually, it’s a wonder Megan isn’t headed for gold. I wouldn’t put it past her mother to push her further into gymnastics. Megan’s too tall for tumbling or ballet. She’ll push six feet by the time she’s an adult. One look at the girl’s shoes would tell you that.

Of course Victoria has had plans for her daughter since day one: undergraduate degree at Duke, grad school there or somewhere equivalent and enter a profession like law or medicine. When I pointed out that Duke’s known for its divinity school too, she scoffed. “Meg’s going to be a professional, not a preacher!”

This girl isn’t going to depend on marrying the breadwinner, she’ll be one herself if Victoria has anything to do with it. She’s managed everything else for that girl.

“She’ll be on her way, acing the SAT,” I said, trying not to sound patronizing.

I doubt if any twelve-year-old can ace that test, but who am I to say?

The other day Megan popped into my office with one of her friends who’s still a Cadette scout. “How’s it going, Pauline?” Megan said.

I’ve never gotten used to having young people call me by my first name, but that’s how it is these days. She told me how she’d just taken first place with her clarinet solo at the district contest and how her essay on “What I want to be when I grow up” earned her a free season pass to Carowinds.

“So what do you want to be when you finish school?” I asked.

She grinned. “Dad wants me to be an ophthalmologist, but I don’t want to work on eyeballs all day. Mom wants me to be something like a researcher, you know, find a cure for cancer, but I want to be a veterinarian.”

Of course. She hadn’t earned that Pet Care badge for nothing. The girl would probably be great as an animal care specialist, but I know it’s Mom pushing the college major already.

“You have plenty of time to think it over,” I said.

“Oh, no I’m sure that’s what I want to be. I’m in the Duke TIP program. I’ve already taken the SAT.”

“So I heard,” I said.

Being asked to take the test is a nice gesture, something to put on your scholastic resume, but that’s about it. Most families can’t afford pricey enrichment camps and excursions. Megan, of course, would be the exception.

“Daddy says I can go to the Outer Banks with TIP. They’re going to be working with Venus fly traps, fiddler crabs, stuff like that,” she said.

“That sounds like fun,” I said.

“Oh, this isn’t a vacation. It’s real school. I’ll get credit for it,” she said.

“I see,” I said. With all she has going for her, she doesn’t need to worry about summer credits.

I wondered what these educators are thinking.

My answer came a few weeks later when Victoria nuzzled her shopping cart next to mine in the frozen foods aisle at Fresh Market. “How goes it, girlfriend?”

If there’s one thing worse than kids being too familiar, it’s grownups trying to sound hip. It sounded silly and forced, like the outfit she was wearing—one of those sleeveless bulky lime green sweaters with a cowl neck collar, and a pair of pencil-thin black leather slacks. It was a step up from the cat suit, but too much for a forty-year-old body, regardless how often she works out.

“Did you see last night’s paper? Meg scored so high she gets to go to Wake Forest to be honored by the governor.”

“Wonderful,” I said. I really meant it after all the pressure her mother’s put her under.

“The next thing’s high school. Would you believe they’re already having them take Advanced Placement courses in eighth grade?”

I felt a chill as if someone opened the door to the ice cream cooler.

“We signed up for Algebra I,” she went on, “so we’ll have that out of the way. And Meg’s dropping band so she can take Spanish I. If she does that, we might be able to finish Spanish VI, calculus and trig by the time she’s a senior.”

“Imagine that,” I said. I wondered if it was Meg taking the courses or her Mom.

“I hope they have enough to keep her challenged. You know some of the kids enroll in college courses their senior year. That way they get some credits out of the way. If she does that, she’ll finish her undergraduate work in three years, easy.”

“Easy,” I repeated.

I felt more sorry for Megan than ever. Not that I’m jealous. I see such girls pushed too hard and burn out.

“What then?” I said.

Victoria brightened. “Why graduate school of course! Duke, Carolina, someplace like that.” A smirk shadowed her face. “What else would she do?”

“Maybe take a breath,” I said, and leaned closer, taking in Victoria’s perfume, one of those high-dollar scents sampled in women’s magazines. “Kids grow up so fast these days.”

Her eyes softened. “Exactly. Like I was telling Jerry, we want Meg to have every advantage so we’ve left it up to her. She could’ve gone to the TIP math program at Davidson this summer, but we thought the Outer Banks would do her more good since she’s so crazy about animals.”

“How are things at the hospital?” I asked.

Victoria fingered her silver bangle bracelets. “Great. I really appreciate all you did to help me get that job, Pauline. I hope you aren’t mad at me stealing Lee Ann and Barbara way from you.”

I shrugged.

“By the way, do you think we could set up a cookie booth in our gift shop? Not just one morning, I mean for several weeks. Lee Ann says she misses those Savannahs every January. It’s her idea, so that way she’d still be working for you. I’ll bet I could talk the Auxiliary into letting us do it. I’m on the board.”

Victoria Berg should run for office. I don’t agree with how she’s hurrying her daughter along to adulthood, but I’m not foolish enough to pass up a good cookie deal when I see it.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” I said.

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