“No, I mean, that sounds fine. So I can use my card now, right?”
“Yes, ma’am, you would be free to use your card at this time, and you will be able to continue using your new Visa Pewter Card once it arrives in the mail. I will need a verbal ‘yes’ at this time to activate the new member agreement.”
“Okay. Yes. Great.”
“Is there anything else?”
“No. Thank you. Thanks very much.” Evelyn hung up and looked at herself in the window, smoothed her hair, then put up one hand in what she hoped was a lackadaisical fashion to attract the waiter again. “A snafu with the bank,” she said when he arrived, and couldn’t help smirking at him. “You can go ahead and charge this.”
Ann called the next day and told her that since she hadn’t been at the company a full year, she didn’t qualify for stock options, and at any rate People Like Us was not close to being sold, so there wouldn’t have been a way to make them liquid. The company didn’t offer severance, which apparently was a benefit and not a right, and certainly wouldn’t apply to her being terminated for poor performance, and when Evelyn asked about an exit bonus Ann actually laughed.
On Monday, after ignoring a call and voice mail from Sag Neck—there was no one she wanted to talk to less than her parents right now—she met Camilla for lunch at Café Sabarsky to get assurances that losing her job would be fine. Camilla was certain: this was the best thing that could’ve happened, and everything would work out. “Darling,” Camilla said, “you can now focus on real life. You wanted to get more involved in charity work, and now you actually will, rather than spending time on that dreadful commute. You’ll absolutely love it. And you’ll finally be available for me during the day.” Camilla gave her that life-is-golden smile, and Evelyn felt instantly better. Camilla was right. There were the bills, of course, but her paltry paycheck barely made a difference in those anyway. She had a tiny bit in her 401(k) that she could use until something, someone, stepped in to give her the life she deserved. Camilla never paid for anything, and Evelyn was almost at that level. Scot could take care of dinners and things like that for now, and if all else failed, she could always marry him, or marry well, in any case.
She would have time now to start focusing on benefit committees, like Camilla said, and going to the gym more regularly. She could get more involved in the Bal, too, as the midday planning meetings would be easy to attend. All those Manhattan things that were impossible with a job were now possible. She thought of the embarrassment of having to call her dermatologist from work while Clarence snuffled next to her and overheard all about her occasional eczema flare-ups. How the dry cleaner was always closed when she came home, and how the tiles in her bathroom walls had started coming off weeks ago, but because she had to be at work when the super was available, she didn’t have time to handle any of it. She’d meant to learn to cook, but those classes all started at five, and she wanted to study Italian, but the classes were only Tuesdays and Thursdays midday. There was simply no way to work and do everything else she was supposed to do. Like Camilla always said, it was all for the best and it would all work out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Scottish Fling
Day four of not working, and it was second nature. Evelyn had woken when she wanted to, when the sun in her window gently nudged her awake rather than her insistent alarm, and gone to a late-morning Equinox yoga class, then strolled in the park and looked at the cherry blossom buds before returning home to shower, change, and head out for the hair appointment that she had been able to book just the night before because her time was now so flexible.
Afterward, she stopped for tea and a macaron at Payard, settled into a seat under the amber chandelier, and pulled out her phone. There was another voice mail from her parents, but she didn’t listen to it. She switched to the text-message function. She’d been putting it off, but she was seeing Scot tonight and texting seemed easier than a real conversation. She tapped out, “Guess what?” then erased it, then tried, “So update,” before deleting and writing, and finally sending, “I have big news…”
Scot’s response came seconds later: “?”
“Will tell u tnt,” Evelyn replied.
“Wd like 2 know now.”
Evelyn typed out, “So I was let go,” then, “So I was fired,” and finally settled on, “PLU had layoffs. Me. DONT worry. For the best.”
“You were fired? RU okay?”
“Laid off. Y. Is good.”
“What will u do?”
Evelyn took a tiny bite of chocolate macaron, the gold leaf melting on her tongue. Not knowing how to answer, she decided to pretend like she hadn’t seen the question.
“See u Sothebys tnt?” she wrote.
“U ok?”
“Great. Bye!”
*
For once, Evelyn didn’t care that she would have to arrive solo to the event, a Scottish Society fund-raiser at Sotheby’s where she and Camilla were walking in a runway show. She could go from home, rested and refreshed, in an unwrinkled dress, with newly applied makeup. She was finally on equal footing with all the other girls.
When she walked into the benefit through a phalanx of bagpipers, she immediately spotted Preston, who looked like he was already several drinks in, gazing at a fern. “I need steak,” he groaned when Evelyn approached. Evelyn wondered briefly if she should be worried, given Charlotte’s concern about his drinking; she’d meant to observe him at her birthday party but had gotten totally sidelined.
“Darling P,” she said. “You made it.”
“Darling E,” he replied. “The newly minted twenty-seven-year-old. I don’t think I’ve seen you since your birthday dinner.”
“Wasn’t it the most fun? Bridie Harley’s toast was just amazing, wasn’t it?”
“Something like that,” Preston said, pushing up his glasses.
“I was so honored that she took the time to come. She had a Central Park Conservancy dinner that night and she still stopped by my party.”
“I’m glad her priorities are in the right place,” Preston said.
“I couldn’t believe that Camilla got the Colony to do a tropical theme. Didn’t you love the palm trees?”
“A bit of Polynesia in this drear season. ‘Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote.’”
“‘The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote.’ Have I really not seen you since then?”
“Well, my dear, whenever I try to set up a dinner with you, we end up at a large-group outing,” he said.
“Yet the Scottish Society could lure you?”
“I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to not wear anything under my kilt,” he said. He was wearing a suit.
“I’m glad I got you alone, actually.”
“Well, well, well. Aren’t we a forward little thing.” He bared his teeth at her.
“You look like an angry wolf when you do that.”
“Grrr,” he said, surprisingly loudly, rolling his shoulders forward and extending one hand in imitation of a paw, but by the time several people turned to look at where the noise had come from he was innocently looking around, too.
“Be quiet, Preston! People are looking at you,” Evelyn said. Two of the slightly older society girls, Alix Forrester Landau, whose father was said to have the private number of the investor Bernie Madoff, and Gemma Lavallee, whose mother had started a cosmetics line that included crushed pearls in all of the foundations, were craning their heads, looking for the source of the growl.
“I didn’t know you embarrassed so easily,” Preston said.
“Gemma and Alix are practically staring.”
“Why do you care about Gemma and Alix?” he said.
“I care about elegance and grace.”
“I repeat, why do you care about Gemma and Alix?” he said.
Evelyn sighed. “Oh, I meant to ask you something. I wondered if your mother could help me out with Sloan Kettering’s associate committee. Since your mom’s on the board of Dana Farber, she
must know the key people at Sloan Kettering, right?”
Preston poked at the fern, and took a minute before answering. “You should ask your pals Gemma and Alix to help you.”
“No, I know the people on the committee. That’s not the issue. It would just be a stronger endorsement if someone like your mother were to—were to indicate that I would be a good board member.”
“I don’t think my mother is involved in Sloan Kettering.”
“I know that, but these circles are small. I’m just asking her to mention me.”
“My mother barely…” He trailed off, evidently engrossed by an ice cube he was trying to push to the bottom of his drink with his straw. “I’ll try to talk to her,” he said finally, his eyes still on his glass. “I just need another drink.”
Evelyn reached for the glass. “I will do it for you, as thanks for your services,” she said, expecting Preston to laugh, but he pulled the glass away. “I’ve got it,” he said, and headed for the bar.
Nick and Scot arrived together at seven-fifteen, just as Camilla floated in. Camilla had severed her hookups with Nick a few weeks prior, explaining to Evelyn that she was trying to simplify and purify her life on the advice of a Reiki master she had gone to. Nick was determined to show how little the breakup, if one could call it that, had affected him; Camilla, on the other hand, appeared to genuinely not be thinking about it as she leaned in for a kiss. In return, Nick gave her a longing head-to-toe appraisal.
“Hi, Milla. Hi, boys,” Evelyn said, mentally picturing how she looked holding her champagne glass as she talked to Camilla. Moments later, the Patrick McMullan photographer snapped the very photo she was hoping he would, and she leaned forward to speak into his handheld recorder like a pro, “Beegan, B-E-E-G-A-N.”
Camilla just gave the photographer a wave; she didn’t need to identify herself.
“Good day in the markets,” Nick said. “Dow thirteen thousand, what-what?”
“It’s as I said: the trend is your friend,” Preston said. He had bounced back from whatever had been bothering him earlier, Evelyn thought. “Did you hear Monsieur Paulson last week? All this subprime nonsense is contained and he believes housing is about to go back up. What say we, should we buy some subdivisions?”
“Paulson should never’ve left Goldman,” Nick said. “Dude left so much money on the table. Deal flow right now is intense.”
“Is the subprime stuff really contained?” Scot asked. “The mortgage market is getting loopy. I offered to guarantee my mom’s mortgage—she was buying a new house and had some bad credit history. The bank in Arizona said I shouldn’t bother with the guarantee as the paperwork was a headache, and they were just going to bundle the mortgage and sell it off to another bank. They also tried to push her to borrow more money, which she didn’t need and, frankly, shouldn’t have qualified for. That just strikes me as untenable. I’m not sure the CDO crisis can be contained if banks are doing that.”
“Way to be a downer, man,” Nick said. “Why don’t you just enjoy the ride?”
“It sets off an alarm bell for me, Nick. So the banks are creating and selling CDOs, hedge funds are doing credit arbitrage with them, the mortgage lenders continue to lend, and no one has any idea what’s at the core of these holdings, right? The thing with my mom’s mortgage drove it home.”
“Who has a mortgage, anyway?” Camilla said. “If we are forced to talk about business, I would like to talk about how the pound is now absurdly high. Céline had to special-order a clutch from its London store for Evelyn and she had to pay in pounds. It was at least twice what it cost here.”
Evelyn was both surprised that Camilla had noticed the price and flattered by the callout; she shifted the clutch, which was gorgeous, in front of her.
“Well, it looks sharp. I must say, Evelyn, you look good. Unemployment agrees with you,” Nick said.
Scot, who was turning his large head around the room—Evelyn supposed he saw the unusual view of tops of heads, cowlicks, and thinning spots, given his height—snapped it back. “You told Nick?”
“It was a secret? Oopsies,” said Preston, covering his mouth with his hand.
“You didn’t know your girl here has joined Camilla in the ranks of the unsalaried?” Nick said.
Scot’s mouth set in a line that Evelyn hadn’t seen before, and he said in her ear, “So you told everyone but me?”
“I told you, too,” Evelyn said, looking beyond him and opening her mouth in mock surprise as she waved at Bridie Harley, who had just walked in. “What time is it? I have to get backstage for the runway.”
“Evelyn.” He turned her so she was facing him straight on. “When were you laid off?”
“The weekend?” she said, biting her lip in a way she’d seen Camilla do with Nick.
“It’s Wednesday. You just told me now?”
“I told you a few hours ago.”
“Days after it happened?”
“We’re time-stamping everything now?”
“Everyone else seems to have known for a while.”
“Rumors travel fast,” she said as Camilla glided over and said, “Evelyn, my dear, we have to go backstage immediately.”
“Where are you going to work?” Scot said.
“Isn’t it fantastic? Evelyn was never meant to work at that place anyway,” Camilla said gaily.
“Where are you going to work?” Scot repeated.
Evelyn hoped Camilla would jump in to answer the question, but Camilla was looking at her expectantly. “I’m … not.”
“What?” Scot said.
“It’s just impossible to keep up my life and work at the same time.”
“We’ll see you on the runway, Scootles!” Camilla trilled, grabbing Evelyn’s right elbow while Scot held tight to her left one.
“How are you going to support yourself?” Scot said.
Camilla released Evelyn’s arm and rolled her eyes. “So practical,” she whispered to Evelyn. Then, more loudly, “See you backstage!”
Scot was still staring at her.
“What?”
“How are you going to support yourself?”
“I don’t know. How does Camilla support herself?”
“Are you being serious?”
“I suppose so.”
“Camilla has somewhere north of twenty million dollars managed for her right now, and she’ll come into about quadruple that when her parents pass away.”
Evelyn blinked. “I—I have family money, too.” Her parents would eventually loosen their grip on their money; they had to. Though her mother hadn’t sent the faux rent money in a month or two, Evelyn remembered; she should track that down.
Scot dug his hands into the roots of his hair and tugged at it, waiting for her to say more, but she didn’t. “I’m late,” Evelyn finally said, ignoring his “Wait. Wait.”
She turned, hurrying alongside the makeshift runway, and moved the curtain at the end of it back.
Camilla was sitting in a chair as an intensely angled woman applied eyebrow powder to her. “I knew Scot wouldn’t understand,” she said as a man with swooped-forward hair like Prince’s pushed Evelyn into a chair next to Camilla’s and began smearing foundation over her cheeks.
“Well, you were right. He seemed baffled.”
“A man whose life ambition is dealing with media companies can’t be expected to understand, can he? Scot’s very sweet, but honestly. He’s never been taught the virtues of charity work or anything like that.”
“You don’t think he’s meant for greatness.”
Camilla smiled at Evelyn sympathetically. “I really don’t.”
Evelyn looked at herself in the dark mirror, surrounded by Broadway-like bulbs. The Prince man, whose breath smelled of raisins, dipped a brush in a pot of eyeliner and began applying a thick stripe along Evelyn’s lashline. “Scot’s dressing better. Have you noticed?” Evelyn asked.
“He absolutely is, darling, but clothes only do so much.”
“A
pink shirt does not make the man,” Evelyn said.
“I meant to ask you about your father’s donation,” Camilla said, shutting her eyes for eye shadow. “We have him down in the program as a Luminary Patron, so we do need the check before the event.”
“Ouch!” said Evelyn, though the Prince man’s eyeliner brush was in the pot of liquid. “Sorry, I just got something in my eye. Can I just—I need to just go get it out.”
“Five minutes,” the Prince man said, tapping his watch. “Go fast. There’s a restroom at the end of the back hallway there.”
Through a side door, Evelyn walked down an empty service hallway, one eye wet with liner, the other bare, rattled by Scot’s reaction, Camilla’s assessment that he still wasn’t good enough, and the looming fact of that donation. She saw a water fountain and stopped to cool down and breathe. When she stood up, she saw, surprisingly, Charlotte, who she didn’t think had been invited. Evelyn noticed with annoyance that Charlotte hadn’t done anything to her hair besides stick a bobby pin in it so she looked like a ten-year-old, and her boring black cocktail dress had a milk stain on it, sloppy in a new mother and inexplicable in a twenty-six-year-old single banker.
The day before, Evelyn, feeling guilty that she hadn’t spent much time with Charlotte lately, had made the mistake of emailing her to see if she wanted to have lunch, even offering to go to Midtown East to meet her. Predictably, Charlotte responded by explaining how busy she was and how she couldn’t even leave for coffee, much less lunch, and then asked Evelyn why she was arranging a Tuesday lunch downtown. Evelyn emailed back that she had decided to depart People Like Us to focus on things other than her job.
Charlotte called less than a minute later. Evelyn didn’t pick up. An e-mail arrived a few minutes after that, with a lot of caps and a lot of judgment, and the release Evelyn had been feeling since she had been fired was quickly stolen by Charlotte. She had put up with Charlotte when Charlotte was awkward and odd, and had never called her on her holier-than-thou behavior around Camilla, yet her friend couldn’t seem to extend the same leeway to her. Now Evelyn needed two minutes, just two minutes, to collect herself, and apparently she wasn’t allowed even that.
Everybody Rise Page 23
