Free Food for Millionaires

by Min Jin Lee

  Hugh smiled at her. “So have you missed me terribly? How have you gotten on?”

  “It’s been unbearable, really.” Casey tried to keep a straight face. “Sometimes these powerful feelings of loss overcome me, and I can hardly function. If I fail at school, the blame will rest on you, Hugh Edgar Underhill.” She appeared as mournful as possible.

  Hugh reached over and kissed her cheek, and Casey pushed him away. “Yuck. Cut it out.” She laughed.

  “Don’t come begging for more,” he said.

  The waiters brought glass equipment to brew coffee table side. Each set resembled pieces from chemistry lab—glass bowl-shaped beakers with a kind of elegant Bunsen burner fitted on their bottoms and delicate tins with Sterno fuel. Another waiter carried a ceramic crock filled with coffee from Hawaii. The headwaiter ceremoniously lit a tiny blue fire under each beaker, and the water in the glass beaker boiled rapidly. The brokers and traders were hypnotized by the coffee preparation. They looked like boys more than Wall Street guys worth millions. Casey liked them suddenly this way, for their innocence and absence of cynicism at such a gimmicky contrivance. For her, the effect was lovely enough, especially the aroma of good coffee being brewed. But each cup was ten dollars. Waiters put out cream in pewter pitchers, and Casey put some in her white coffee cup. She dropped two sugar cubes in her cup, though she normally took her coffee black, no sweetener. Feeling poorer than she’d ever felt, she craved every bit of luxury and feared never having any more, and what made it worse was that she was ashamed of wanting it so much, to consume it, to incorporate it somehow into her body. She didn’t want to feel poor anymore.

  When she was growing up, her parents drank Taster’s Choice with Coffee-Mate, which they called “preem” after a nondairy additive they’d used in Korea. When she’d go to the grocery store with her mother, she’d finger the box of Domino Dots—sugar in perfect sharp cubes—but she’d never considered asking her mother to buy a box; it seemed so costly and frivolous compared with the store-brand white sugar in five-pound bags. From the ages of eighteen to twenty-five—she was nearly twenty-six—Casey had eaten at many different kinds of tables, some of the fanciest restaurants, private clubs, and homes in New York, but inside, she believed that she could be asked to leave at any moment, and what would she do but leave quietly with the knowledge that this was what happened to girls like her?

  When the coffee was served, several men turned their heads toward the door, and Casey checked to see what they were staring at. Delia had come.

  “Hey, Delia,” a few guys said. Several of them waved.

  Delia gave a small wave. She walked straight over to Casey and handed her a shopping bag tied with a ribbon.

  “Hey there. Walter said I could drop by. I’m glad I caught you,” Delia said, taking a deep breath. “I got you some—” She laughed.

  Casey smiled politely, not knowing what to do. “Hi,” she said finally. “Thank you.” She accepted the bag and burst out laughing at the contents. It was chock-full of bath gels and soaps. Every Christmas, brokers’ wives would send her and Casey bath products they bought from some suburban mall. It was the generic assistant gift that no one they knew ever used.

  Casey winked. “Oh, how sad, no scented candles.”

  Delia laughed in relief. One Christmas, the two of them had piled up the cache of scented candles, soaps, and bath gels from the brokers’ wives. It was nice of them, but did they think single women lived mostly in their bathtubs when they weren’t at the office?

  Delia remained standing, and when Casey looked around, there were no empty seats. Walter offered up his seat, but Delia refused. “Thanks, baby, but I have to leave soon.”

  Casey got up to stand with her. “Thanks for coming.”

  “I got balls to come to this. You think any of these guys saw the tape?” Delia rested her hand on her cocked hip. She blew the wisps of red hair from her forehead.

  “It means a lot.” Casey smiled at her, because it did.

  Delia motioned toward the bar, wanting Casey to come with her. The others seemed to get that the girls wanted to be alone. They stood close to each other.

  “It’s sweet of you. And very funny.” Casey lifted the shopping bag. Then she closed her lips tight, feeling awful about everything. Just two weeks ago, Ella had come out of the hospital after overdosing on codeine. She’d taken too many Tylenol-3’s and had to have her stomach pumped after passing out at Tina’s wedding. For now, Ella was living in Forest Hills with her dad and the baby. As far as Casey knew, Ted was living with Delia. Casey grew somber at the thought. The happy mood between them was broken.

  “I know it’s awkward,” Delia said, “but I wanted to explain.”

  “No, there’s no need.”

  “I didn’t mean to—to come between Ted and your friend. You know how skeptical I am about guys. But we fell in love. Casey, he’s the right guy for me. He’s flawed and selfish. I know that. But he loves me, and I think he’s the one. I know that doesn’t excuse everything, but—”

  Delia spoke rapidly, as though she were being timed. Ella wasn’t here, Casey told herself, and Delia deserved to be heard.

  “—Casey, I’ve never been in love before. Not like this. He asked me to marry him. And I fought it. I tried to stay away, and so did he. But we need to be with each other. I don’t expect you to understand completely, or for us to be friends like we were before—I mean, I understand how you feel about being loyal to your friend—but we’re friends, too.”

  “Ella tried to kill herself,” Casey blurted out, then felt worse than before.

  Delia hung her head. She’d felt terrible about this ever since she’d heard.

  “I’m not saying it’s your fault, but I am confused by all this. Delia. . .” Casey looked at the gift Delia had brought. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a bad person. I don’t. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hope you’re happy. I do. I hope it works out.” She raised her eyebrows. “To be honest, I’m kind of puzzled by the great women Ted can attract. I really am. He must be something else.”

  “He can be an asshole. And when he is, I tell him to cut it out.” Delia crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. “When I heard. . . she took codeine, I told him to go back to her.”

  Casey looked into Delia’s eyes, wordless.

  “But she didn’t want him back.”

  “I know.” It was true. Ella was filing for divorce, and she wanted full custody.

  “I don’t expect us to be friends like before.. . .” Delia repeated this statement, wanting Casey to contradict her even as she fully anticipated a rejection.

  Casey reached over to hug Delia, and Delia held her tight.

  “I’m sorry,” Delia said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for who I am.”

  “No, no, don’t say that,” Casey said. Delia’s words upset her.

  Each pulled back, and Casey looked at Delia.

  “Listen, I want you to be happy. I’m glad you have love. I hope he’s good to you. And you’re right, when Ted is an asshole, you should let him know. He’s probably grateful that someone is checking him,” Casey said. “It must come as a relief to him that not everyone believes his show.”

  Delia nodded. “Ted’s good to me.”

  Casey nodded.

  “You know what Ted said, Casey? He said that he’s a strategic person on every aspect of his life.” Delia made air quotes when she said the word strategic. “And falling in love with me has been his most irrational act. But he said that being a smart and calculating person has been his way of building a strong cage around him, and doing the unexpected has freed him to be a new person. He said he feels free even though he’s kind of scared. Ted admitted that he’s scared.” Delia appeared proud of him. “And I think when he explained it that way, I realized he wasn’t just having an affair. He says. . . he says that winning life isn’t worth it without me.”

  Delia had had no one to tell this to. She averted her gaze, filled with shame and
happiness. She looked up. “I don’t think I’ve been very strategic with my life.” It was odd to use Ted’s funny Harvard words. “I haven’t trusted men, but I decided that I will make my life with Ted. I know it’s crazy, but he and I make sense even though it doesn’t look right. Do you know what I mean? Like I know what he thinks, what he’ll do. I can’t explain our connection.”

  Casey nodded, wanting to understand. She squeezed Delia’s hand.

  “I better get going,” Delia said. She hugged Casey again.

  “Bye now,” Casey said, feeling her loss again.

  Delia left them, and a few of the guys seemed sad to see her go but didn’t urge her to stay. She was Ted’s girl now. Unless you were living in a cave, you knew about the security tape and Ted’s and Delia’s “resignations.”

  On their way out, Hugh slung the golf bag over his shoulder. Everyone said good-bye at the table and again at the sidewalk. Kevin Jennings actually noogied her on the head. One of the traders put her in a headlock and made her say uncle, threatening to tickle her.

  “I’m really going to miss you guys,” she said, coughing, when she was freed. Drinking made everyone sentimental and ridiculous.

  Hugh hailed a taxi and offered to take her home. They both lived on the East Side. Casey nearly fell into the cab while Hugh put the clubs in the trunk. From her seat, she could hear him telling the driver where to take them. “Two stops,” Hugh said, and gave the driver her address as the first stop before his, although it didn’t make much sense because she lived a few blocks north of him. Seated in the back of the yellow cab, she felt even more muddy-headed from the red wine, champagne, and brandy. Tomorrow would be a doozy.

  “You don’t like them,” Hugh said as he entered the car, even before he sat down.

  Casey didn’t understand right away. Then she got it.

  “No, no. I love them. I do. It was incredibly—”

  Hugh cut her off. “Women like jewelry, clothes—”

  “But girls also need cash.”

  Hugh laughed. An old girlfriend used to ask him for money to tip the bathroom attendant when she went to the bathroom, as if she were Holly Golightly or something. He’d always give her a hundred-dollar bill, and there was never any change. That was some girl, though—Hugh smiled at the thought of her significant talents.

  “Real estate is good, too,” Casey continued. “Even better than jewelry. The resale value on diamonds is actually quite shocking.”

  Hugh turned to her and kissed her on the mouth. The pressure of his mouth was strong, and Casey didn’t resist. He put his right hand behind her neck, and Casey leaned her head back, letting his tongue in her mouth. Hugh took her hand and placed it on his crotch.

  Casey pulled back. “Hey, hey, hey,” she whispered, withdrawing her hand, realizing that she’d just touched his erection. The kissing had been good, and she’d certainly been with men who were less attractive than Hugh. But his direct come-on was fast and unexpected. In their three years, he’d never done anything but treat her like a college kid. “Cut it out, Hugh,” she said quietly, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, drawing his body away from hers. He combed his hair back with both hands. “Funny, I don’t get that much.” He wiped the corners of his mouth with his index finger and thumb.

  “You don’t get what much? Girls who say no?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, honey, there’s always a first time,” Casey said, thinking of the strange victories found in a woman’s refusal. Virginia had once said men never forgot the girls who said no. This was particularly odd for her to say, because Virginia nearly always said yes. “I’d rather have good sex than pride,” Virginia had claimed a moment later, to which Casey had replied, “Under your theory, you’d rather have good sex than be memorable.” Virginia had ultimately won the point, however, when she’d declared, “Oh no, Casey, I make sure that the sex is so good, he can’t forget it.” Casey took her word for it.

  Hugh sat up straight and adjusted himself. Then he reached over and took Casey’s hand again and held it. Her long fingers laced with his.

  Casey glanced at Hugh but imagined Unu’s face instead—his dark, sad pupils, the sharp arch of his eyebrows when he joked. His first wife had been in love with someone else throughout their marriage. In the end, he’d told her to go, but even when she was there, she’d already been gone. She didn’t want him to get hurt again.

  Hugh rested his head against the back of the seat. He felt the buzz of the Sauternes and coffee. “Shouldn’t have had the coffee,” he said.

  Casey didn’t know what to say to Hugh. Why had he kissed her?

  “So, you in love with your feller?” Hugh asked.

  “Feller?” she said, imitating his inflection. “Oh yes, I forgot, your generation does have its speech peculiarities.”

  “You didn’t answer the question, my dear.”

  “He doesn’t believe in marriage,” Casey said, not having intended to say that at all.

  “You don’t seem like the marrying kind, either,” he said.

  “You’re probably right.” She agreed with him, though it upset her to hear it. What girl wanted to be the unmarrying kind? She’d done some bad things in her life. She was no Ella, but she was no Delia, either. And even Delia was getting married, it seemed, to Mr. HBS. And at the office, she’d been more than competent and respected. They cared about her enough to throw this lavish send-off. What did Hugh mean by that? That he wouldn’t marry a girl like her or that she didn’t seem to want to get married? She turned to him. The blush of liquor stained his cheeks, and Casey glanced down at his pants, then felt ashamed at having looked.

  He’d caught her doing this. “And what are you looking at, missy?”

  “Not much,” she said, giving him the line from her old neighborhood.

  He was still holding her hand, and now he drew it closer to his torso. Casey’s eyes didn’t waver from his. He was trying to make her play a version of chicken, and she wouldn’t let him win. Hugh inhaled, drawing in his flat stomach, then tucked her hand into his trousers. The cottony shirting fabric of boxers felt smooth and warm. Her fingers nested him.

  Casey measured her own breathing. “Thanks for sharing the good news,” she said. With control, she stroked him slowly upward. Hugh stopped breathing. She pulled her hand away. She smiled, feeling her power restored. The taxi driver was busy talking to his dispatcher in a language she couldn’t make out, maybe Russian or Polish. She had no intention of giving Hugh a hand job.

  They weren’t five blocks from her apartment. “You know what, Hugh? It’s late. I better go to sleep. I have to go to work tomorrow.”

  “Mmm. It is late. You should go to bed,” he said, winking.

  She shook her head no.

  Hugh moved in and kissed her again, and this time she didn’t fight it, letting his tongue move in her mouth, his hands roam over her brown silk blouse. He was good at this, and she was admittedly curious about his lovemaking, but this was where it would end, she told herself.

  The taxi stopped in front of her building. George Ortiz, who was working the late shift, headed toward the car but stopped approaching when he saw a man in the car leaning toward Casey Han.

  Casey pulled away from Hugh. She opened her purse to give Hugh some money.

  “Put your money away,” Hugh said, then told the driver to hang on and keep the meter running.

  They both got out of the car. Hugh removed the clubs from the trunk and pulled the strap over Casey’s shoulder. He moved closer to her.

  “Don’t kiss me,” Casey said with a polite smile.

  Hugh crinkled his pretty brown eyes.

  “George,” Casey whispered.

  “Who’s George? Now you live with two guys?”

  “The doorman,” she said. If George had seen Hugh kissing her in the taxi, he wouldn’t say anything to Unu, she imagined, but he’d think less of her.

  Hugh turned away and went into the car. Fro
m inside, he blew her a kiss. No one could tell him what to do. He screwed up his eyes when he looked at her, as though he were trying to make out a sign from far away. “Good night, Casey Cat.”

  “Good night, Hugh Edgar,” she said, then turned toward the building.

  George had kept a respectful distance, but he had missed nothing. He took the golf bag from her. “Thanks, George,” she said without making eye contact.

  The doorman nodded, the line of his lips drawn thin and straight. The guy in the cab had looked over Unu’s girlfriend as though he wanted to eat her. He was not a good guy—that bit was obvious. George pulled the bag strap closer to his neck and followed behind Casey. He helped her with the elevator and let her get upstairs.

  Unu was home. He’d been playing solitaire with a fresh deck of cards. The deliberate act of laying out the rows of cards, their faces down, was refreshing. That evening he’d come home, having forgotten that Casey would be out at her dinner, and the empty apartment felt keenly lonely to him. Things were not going well at work. His last calls on a few stocks had bombed, and Frank, his boss, in an act of kindness surely, had been giving him signs that his year-end bonus would be flat or even down this year. If his bonus was down, then it might as well be a Dear John letter. And the week before, he’d gone to Foxwoods when Casey was at Sabine’s and lost eight thousand dollars. He owed his bookie two grand.

  Casey let herself in, took off her shoes, and scanned the table surfaces for a packet of cigarettes. Unu was playing cards and didn’t hear her come in. His concentration was hard to break. When he was reading, she had to physically tap him to get his attention.

  “Hey there,” Casey said, unloading the bag of clubs near the door. The parquet floor needed mopping, she noticed.

  Unu peeled off another card from his stack and turned it over. A two of spades. He looked up from his neat lines.

  “Whoa. A little shopping?” he said, staring at the clubs.

  “My gold watch for being a good girl Friday.”

  “Check it out,” he said, getting up from his seat. “Nice.”