Eligible

by Curtis Sittenfeld

  “I feel terrible. I had no idea.”

  “Because you weren’t supposed to. None of us were. Have you bought your plane ticket to New York?”

  “For a week from today. Does that mean I’ll miss Jasper?”

  “Sorry, but no such luck. He gets to town Wednesday.” Liz leaned against her desk and folded her arms. “So you won’t believe this, but Charlotte and Cousin Willie have been talking on the phone, and now they think they’re in love and she’s going to visit him.”

  Liz expected Jane to react with either disgust or amusement, but her sister was serene.

  “I can see them as a couple,” Jane said.

  AFTER PARKING IN the P3 Garage at Christ Hospital, Liz and her father took the skywalk to Level A, whereupon Mr. Bennet asked the young woman at the information desk for the location of the administrative suite.

  “The billing department is that way.” Liz pointed.

  “We’re going to see Dick Lucas.”

  “But we have an appointment with a financial counselor named Chad Thompson.”

  Mr. Bennet’s expression was thoughtful. “Men named Chad make me uneasy.”

  “Is Dr. Lucas expecting us?” He held, Liz knew, some sort of executive position at the hospital, though Liz wasn’t sure precisely what it was. She wondered if he was aware of Charlotte’s trip to Palo Alto to see Cousin Willie.

  “I assure you Dick won’t turn us away,” Mr. Bennet said.

  This turned out to be accurate. In the administrative suite, Mr. Bennet gave his name to the woman at the reception desk, and no more than a minute later, Dr. Lucas appeared in the seating area in a gray suit, a yellow tie dotted with a pattern of tiny blue hummingbirds, and a white coat. “Fred and Liz!” he said in a voice that implied he couldn’t imagine a more pleasurable surprise. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “If we might have a word in private.” Mr. Bennet nodded toward the receptionist.

  In Dr. Lucas’s office, Liz and her father sat in chairs facing a massive cherry desk on which rested a gold nameplate that read RICHARD G. LUCAS, VICE PRESIDENT AND CHIEF CLINICAL OFFICER.

  “Sally and I have gotten ourselves in a bit of a pickle,” Mr. Bennet said. “Apparently, my stay here earlier in the summer wasn’t all-expenses-paid.”

  “Would that it had been,” Dr. Lucas said warmly.

  “We’re having a liquidity issue, and Liz here is convinced that if we don’t pay up on time, a shady character will find us and break our kneecaps.”

  Dr. Lucas chuckled. “We can’t have that, can we?”

  Liz cleared her throat and said, “My dad doesn’t have health insurance.”

  Dr. Lucas winced, but still somehow affably. “Tsk, tsk, Fred. I’m no more a fan of our president than you are, but when open enrollment starts, I’d urge you to sign up.”

  Liz said, “I’m under the impression that sometimes hospitals have flexibility in terms of payment plans.” She’d anticipated marshaling her shaky, Internet-gleaned knowledge to bargain with Chad Thompson, a stranger, and she found it more rather than less uncomfortable to do so with a man who, in her youth, had prepared pancakes that she and Charlotte ate in their pajamas after sleepovers. Still, Liz tried to sound mature and professional as she added, “I know that the cost of procedures can vary from hospital to hospital, and also that lots of medical bills contain mistakes. I’m wondering—”

  “Easy there, Liz,” Mr. Bennet interrupted.

  “No, she’s quite right,” Dr. Lucas said. “Mistakes happen, and there’s nothing wrong with using a fine-tooth comb to go over the figures. Here’s what I recommend. We have a crackerjack team down in our billing department, and there’s a fellow by the name of Chad Thompson. I’ll call him now, tell him my good friends are on their way, and I’m certain we can figure out a payment plan that works for the Bennet family and for the hospital. How does that sound?”

  Although there was some vindication in hearing Chad Thompson’s name, the vagueness of Dr. Lucas’s plan failed to entirely reassure Liz. She blurted out, “My parents are selling their house, so that should help with cash flow.”

  Mr. Bennet leaned forward. “Entre nous,” he said to Dr. Lucas.

  “Absolutely, Fred, absolutely. Life is complicated. I’m just relieved you’re sitting across from me now looking hale and hearty.” He glanced at Liz. “Your father gave us quite a scare, didn’t he?”

  “And thank you for everything you did—everything everyone here did—to take care of him,” Liz said. “I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m not grateful.”

  “She shows her gratitude by accusing the people who saved my life of malfeasance,” Mr. Bennet said to Dr. Lucas. “As you can imagine, her mother and I are very proud.”

  LIZ WOULD HAVE estimated that there were twenty boxes in Jane’s former bedroom; when she counted, there were sixty-one. She looked at the dates of the packing receipts for the boxes she’d already opened, and the pineapple throw pillow was from 2008.

  Online, she had found a so-called eBay valet, a woman who lived ten miles away in Terrace Park and would resell these items and return to Liz 70 percent of their sale price. Kathy de Bourgh was a believer that it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission—in Revolutions and Rebellions, she had described learning this lesson during the 1970 Women’s Strike for Equality—and it was in a de Bourghian spirit that, after taking inventory of all of the boxes’ contents, Liz loaded up her father’s Cadillac and made two trips to the valet’s house. Fortuitously, Liz didn’t encounter anyone while carrying boxes from the third floor to the driveway. One of the virtues of the Tudor was the privacy offered by its capacious dimensions, and though Liz suspected that this fact reflected poorly on her, she was at times most able to enjoy her family members when she could sense their presence nearby without actually interacting with them.

  At the conclusion of her second round trip to Terrace Park, Liz called the number for a general contractor, whose receptionist scheduled a water-stain evaluation for two days hence. After the call, Liz felt a sense of achievement that she realized wasn’t commensurate with the day’s modest progress. The meetings with Dr. Lucas and Chad Thompson, the drop-offs to the valet, and the appointment with the contractor were steps in the right direction; but to see them as true resolution could only be folly.

  “I’VE BEEN OFFERED a position as a private yoga instructor by some friends in upstate New York,” Jane said at dinner. “It’s been wonderful being home, but I’m moving there next week.”

  “Bravo,” Mr. Bennet said, just as Mrs. Bennet, with great distress, asked, “But what about my luncheon? And for God’s sake, Jane, what about Chip? He’ll be devastated.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Jane said, “Chip is in Los Angeles now, shooting an Eligible reunion.”

  A silence followed, then several family members spoke at once.

  “When did this happen?” said Mrs. Bennet.

  “Is he hanging out in hot tubs with other girls?” said Kitty.

  “Why would he sign on for that all over again?” said Mary.

  “Hmm,” said Lydia. “Maybe so he can hang out in hot tubs with other girls?”

  “How long will he be gone?” Mrs. Bennet asked Jane. “You’ll have to get back here by the time he returns.”

  Jane’s eyes met Liz’s, and Liz was tempted to announce herself that Jane and Chip had broken up. What did postponing the news achieve?

  “I don’t know if Chip is coming back,” Jane said.

  “But the hospital must be counting on him,” Mrs. Bennet said.

  “It’s obvious he’s always been torn between Hollywood and medicine,” Liz said.

  Mrs. Bennet looked suspiciously at Jane. “Are the friends you’re staying with those ladies?” Those ladies was how Mrs. Bennet had referred to Amanda and Prisha ever since Jane had told her mother of their marriage years earlier. Having met Amanda during Jane’s undergraduate years, Mrs. Bennet had said, “I did always think she had very manly posture.�
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  “Yes,” Jane said. “And I’m really looking forward to working with them.”

  “If Chip wants you to move out to California, you’re a fool to tell him no,” Mrs. Bennet said. “A man with his background and education can’t be expected to wait around while you dillydally.”

  “Mary, maybe you should be the one to move in with those ladies,” Lydia said. “I think you guys have something in common.”

  “Lydia, when do Mom and Dad get to meet Ham?” Liz asked.

  “When I feel like it,” Lydia said.

  “Who, pray tell, is Ham?” Mr. Bennet said.

  “He went to the University of Washington out in Seattle,” Mrs. Bennet said, and Lydia glared and said, “Have you been stalking him?”

  Mrs. Bennet looked affronted. “Lizzy told me.” She turned to Jane. “I saw some place settings in the Gump’s catalog that are very elegant. You should start thinking about what you want to register for so you’re ready when the time comes.”

  THE DEADLINE FOR Liz’s pay-raise article had come and gone, and Liz still hadn’t heard back from Kathy de Bourgh’s publicist; feeling un-Kathy-de-Bourgh-ishly defeated, Liz emailed the article to her editor, Talia.

  So sorry the interview didn’t come through, Liz typed. Good news is I have solid quotes from high-ranking woman at IBM. Maybe reconnect w/ de Bourgh in the future?

  THE NIGHT BEFORE Jasper’s arrival in Cincinnati, while watching television in the den with Jane, Kitty, and Mrs. Bennet, Liz said during a commercial, “Kitty, will you give me a pedicure?”

  Kitty looked at her with confusion. “Why?”

  “Because you’re good at it and I need one.” Liz extended her legs and wiggled her toes.

  “Fine, but I’m not touching your calluses,” Kitty said.

  “It’s a deal,” Liz said.

  “The calluses are because you run too much,” Mrs. Bennet said without glancing up from her catalog. “All that jostling is bad for your ovaries, too.”

  In Kitty’s bathroom, which was where she and Liz adjourned to, Kitty was thoroughly professional in demeanor as she applied the layers of polish, focused and serious in a way Liz had never seen. Perhaps most impressive of all, Kitty owned pale pink disposable foam toe separators, which she inserted and told Liz to wear for the next forty-five minutes while the polish dried. “I’ve never waited that long in my entire life,” Liz said, and Kitty said, “I put four coats on. Trust me.”

  With the separators in, Liz walked on her heels down the hall to Mary’s room and knocked on the door. After a minute, Mary opened it just a few inches, as if concerned about intruders.

  “How’s it going?” Liz said.

  “What do you want?” Mary asked.

  “I’m just coming to say hi.” It was shortly after eleven P.M., and during her pedicure, Liz had heard Mary climb the stairs, apparently returning from wherever she’d been. “Did you have a good night?” Liz asked.

  “You’re acting weird,” Mary said.

  Trying to maintain a casual tone, Liz said, “Where do you go on Tuesdays, anyway?” Really, the omertà surrounding Mary’s night life made no sense.

  “Nowhere,” Mary said.

  Warmly, Liz said, “Well, obviously, you go somewhere.”

  “I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  The inquiry was going less well than Liz had hoped. “I wasn’t,” she said, which may not have been entirely true. “In fact, I was wondering if it had ever occurred to you to find out what happened to Allen Bausch.”

  Mary squinted. “My prom date? That guy was such a loser.”

  Switching tacks, Liz said, “Of all the degrees you have, which one do you think you’re most interested in pursuing for a career?”

  “I won’t finish this one until December.”

  “It’s a master’s in psychology, right?” Liz said, and Mary nodded. “Would you like to be a therapist?” Liz asked. The notion seemed at best ill-advised and at worst harmful to others. To her relief, Mary shook her head.

  “I’m studying applied psychology, not clinical.”

  “Remind me what people do with applied psychology degrees?”

  Mary shrugged. “Employee training. Product testing.”

  “You should work for Procter & Gamble!” Liz exclaimed. Seeing that her zeal seemed to repel Mary, Liz added more calmly, “I’m sure Charlotte would be happy to talk with you.” Presumably, Liz thought, her own awkward last encounter with Charlotte wouldn’t make an entreaty from Mary unwelcome. Liz then wondered how Charlotte’s visit to see Cousin Willie had gone.

  “Are you asking me this stuff for an article you’re writing?” Mary said, and Liz said, “Can’t I just be interested in your life?”

  “Yeah, right.” Mary nodded with her chin toward the floor, where Liz’s toes were five different candy colors on each foot. She said, “That looks ridiculous.”

  THE CINCINNATI AIRPORT, while indeed an airport, was not actually in Cincinnati; rather, it was located across the river in Hebron, Kentucky, and this was where Liz picked up Jasper Wick just before noon. He’d texted her after his plane landed, as she was pulling off the highway, and by the time he emerged from the terminal, Liz was waiting by the curb. She climbed from the car to wave, and when Jasper smiled, he looked exceptionally handsome.

  His curly blond hair was thinner than it had once been but still abundant enough to be windblown, and his brown eyes remained mirthful. He kissed her on the mouth—this was a bolder display of affection than they partook of in New York and that even in Cincinnati did not feel risk-free—and Liz said, “Welcome to the ’Nati.”

  “You didn’t tell me the airport’s a ghost town. I think a tumbleweed just blew by.”

  “It used to be a Delta hub, but that was a while ago.” Jasper set his suitcase in the trunk, which Liz closed. Inside the Cadillac, she said, “Should we eat first or just go straight to your hotel?” In case her meaning wasn’t clear, she wiggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly.

  “Actually, I need you to drop me at Avis. You know where that is?”

  Liz looked at him in confusion. “Why did I pick you up if you’re renting a car?”

  “I didn’t know if this was one of those airports where the rentals are a million miles from the terminal. Plus—” He smiled at her. “I wanted to see you.”

  “Jasper, I could have been working.”

  “I thought we were about to go have a nooner. Don’t be mad, Nin. I didn’t rent the car till yesterday because I didn’t realize how far apart my hotel and the sports mall are.”

  Sighing, she started the car and followed the signs to Avis, which was under a mile from the terminal. As Jasper stepped from the car, he said, “I’ll text you my room number when I check in.”

  She shook her head. “Let’s just go get lunch. Meet me at the Skyline Chili on Madison Road in Oakley.”

  Jasper laughed. “Making me work for it now, huh?” he said. “Okay. I’ll play.”

  “BIG NEWS,” JASPER said as the waitress at Skyline set down their dishes of oyster crackers. “I had a drink with Brett Yankowitz yesterday.” This was, Liz knew, a powerful literary agent, though she had never met him. “He digs my book idea about that Idaho fly-fishing family,” Jasper continued. “If he sells it, I’ll take a leave in the spring.”

  “Will Sporty let you?” Contrary to the rumors Jasper had previously shared with Liz, no announcement had occurred about the firing of the editor in chief of Dude.

  Jasper said, “If they want to keep me, they will. How long you think it’d take me to write a book—three months? Four?”

  “Don’t you need to finish the first fifty pages for Yankowitz to sell it?”

  “Presumably.”

  “So keep track of your average daily word count. I bet you—” At that moment, Liz glanced at a person passing her and Jasper’s table and was startled to make eye contact with Fitzwilliam Darcy. He was approaching from the rear of the restaurant and was no more than three fe
et away; to pretend she hadn’t noticed him would be preposterous.

  “You really are a regular here,” she said, and Darcy said, “I’m a man of my word.”

  “Wait a second,” Liz said. “You guys know each other.”

  If she hadn’t been aware of Jasper and Darcy’s mutual antipathy, she’d have immediately intuited it; Jasper did not stand to greet his former college classmate. Instead, coolly, Jasper said, “Fitzwilliam Darcy. It’s been a while.”

  Equally coolly, Darcy said, “It has.”

  Liz wondered if he’d eaten alone again.

  “I wouldn’t have expected you to wash up in Cincinnati,” Jasper said. To Liz, he added, “No offense.”

  “I’m a physician at a stroke center here,” Darcy said.

  “I’m in town from New York to write about squash for Sporty, where I’m a senior editor. Also about to sign a contract for a book about the royal family of American fly-fishing.”

  “Congratulations,” Darcy said, and surely the word had never been uttered with less enthusiasm. Darcy looked between her and Jasper. “I won’t keep you.” He nodded. “Liz.”

  When he’d moved on, Liz said, “Remember Chip, the Eligible guy Jane was dating? Darcy’s good friends with him. Oh my God, have I not told you that Jane’s pregnant?”

  “No shit—from the mail-order sperm or the old-fashioned way?”

  “The sperm, which seems to have sent Chip running. He didn’t know she’d been trying to get pregnant on her own, so I get that it’s shocking, but still—he’s fled all the way back to L.A. to be on an Eligible reunion. Don’t mention any of this when we have dinner with Jane.”

  Jasper looked intently at Liz. “You’re not banging Darcy, are you?”