Everybody Rise (29 page)

“Flyers? Who made the flyers?”

“Our firm did, at People Like Us's request.”

“This is absurd. I didn't even know about this and I'm the head of membership.”

“Maybe you should try on one of our baby tees and see where it gets you,” the woman said. “See Simon at the back of the room for the brochures.”

Evelyn stalked back to where someone who had a H
ELLO,
M
Y
N
AME
I
S …
S
IMON
name tag stood. He was holding a stack of flyers, and Evelyn snatched one from the middle of the stack, sending several of the rest to the floor. As Simon scurried to pick them up, Evelyn got as far as “People Like Us, a new social network to connect with other fans of * sports * music * television shows” when she heard Jin-ho's voice behind her and whirled around.

“What the hell is this?” she said, pinching the brochure like it was a used Kleenex. “Connecting with music and TV fans? I thought this beer-hall outing was bad enough in itself, but really? This?”

Jin-ho was irritatingly calm, taking the flyer from her and placing it neatly on the table. “We asked for membership growth, and we didn't get it, so we're trying something else,” he said.

“Without consulting me?”

“We asked you over and over to revamp the strategy, and your response was that your social friends wouldn't like it.”

“That was not what I was saying, and you know that perfectly well. I was saying that we had to differentiate the site from the dozens of other sites out there. And pardon me if I don't think a televised hockey game and some stock-photo flyers are the way to do it. I'm sorry, but this is absurd. There is beer on the floor, there is sawdust, the bathrooms are a gigantic health-code violation, and soon we'll have commuters coming to get loaded before they take the four-fifteen to Paramus. These are not, by definition, people like us.”

Evelyn watched as Jin-ho's ears turned pink. “I'm frankly not surprised at your response, Evelyn. Your attitude has been terrible for weeks, if not months, and you're not doing what we ask you to.”

“I brought you guys the best members possible. Excuse me, Camilla Rutherford? Bridie Harley, who gets a front-row seat at Oscar and Carolina Herrera and she's only twenty-eight? Caperton Ripp, whose family basically created Charleston?”

“That was when you started. What have you done in the last three months, Evelyn? Really? Point to one thing.”

“I've pitched one idea after another and heard nothing but no.”

“Your ideas aren't particularly suited for our site.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I was under the impression that People Like Us members, I don't know, were well educated. Or well traveled. Or interested in the arts. In part because that's who you told me you wanted for the site, and that, Jin-ho, is who I got. So forgive me for thinking that this hockey game you've arranged with your Rangers friend is massively off-brand.”

“Yes, Evelyn, you're quite familiar with this group, as you never cease to remind us. You haven't been doing what we've been asking you to do, however, which is increasing the membership to the levels Ulrich wants.”

“It will cheapen what People Like Us does,” Evelyn said. Jin-ho was just standing there, and she stared at him, waiting for him to admit he was wrong.

Jin-ho was looking behind her; Simon had vanished, and the busty girls were squeezing by to get supplies from the bar's kitchen. “This isn't working out,” Jin-ho said. “We're going to have to let you go.”

“You're firing me?” she said.

“Yes. Ann will call you Monday re the paperwork.”

“You're firing me at a bar? Outside the bathroom in a bar?”

“I'm sorry if it doesn't suit your high standards.” Jin-ho's ears were now a deep red, though his face had little color in it at all. “Your performance has been subpar for some time, Evelyn, and if you can't be bothered to participate in a membership event that we think is key to the site's future, that tells us everything we need to know.”

“I want to talk to Arun.”

“Arun agrees with me. We were going to do it when you were back in the office, but why drag this out?”

“Look, I can do this job. My ideas were really good. If you're that serious about these sports events, fine. I'll get on board with sports events, though I want to be on record saying they're a mistake.”

“We're a small staff and we need people who are team players, frankly, not socialites playing at a day job.” He looked at his watch. “I need to get things ready for this event. Good luck.” He walked behind her to the kitchen.

Evelyn stood for only a couple of seconds before she got shoulder-checked by a baby-tee girl. She whirled around, grabbed her purse, and walked through the bar and out into the treeless section of Madison, blinking hard at the mirthless April sunlight. Half of her thought she should go plead her case to Arun, always the more sympathetic of the two co-CEOs. But then what? She'd keep marching to that dingy office while her friends bloomed and grew in their soft-lit lives? The M2 bus pulled up to the curb, stopped, and wheezed its dirty exhaust at her. The brown ad on the side of the bus was for Cellino and Barnes, injury attorneys. The M2's doors opened and started beeping, pressing her for a decision. They thought she was a socialite? They dismissed her very good ideas because of that? Fine. She'd be a socialite.

Evelyn started stalking uptown. Madison was so dreadful here, loaded with dentists' offices, kaiser-roll sandwich shops, and would-be luxury retailers that couldn't afford the rent farther up, that after two blocks she walked west instead of heading east toward her apartment. Fifth Avenue opened up, broad and proud, Central Park in the background, the trees beginning to push out green leaves and closed buds. She crossed the street, feeling tourists' eyes on her: Who is that? Is that someone? Yes, she told them in her head and, to show them that she was, pushed the door open at Bergdorf's.

She tamped down the mincing thought that she shouldn't be spending money. When things were rotten, you had clearance to do whatever you needed to do to get by, she was fairly sure Camilla had said once: throw money at the problem. She would get stock options from People Like Us, and probably some kind of severance or exit bonus. She was only going to get lunch, only going to create a glimmer of niceness in this day.

Up on the seventh floor, Evelyn ordered a Gotham salad and a chenin blanc. This was where she was supposed to be, up here off the dirty streets, with people who were actually like her, not People Like Us. Evelyn was feeling back to herself by the time she ordered an espresso with a twist of lemon and laid down her pretty silver Visa.

A few minutes later, as she glanced away from the Central Park view, she noticed the waiter hovering at her shoulder, mustache quivering.

“Yes?” she said coldly.

“I'm sorry, ma'am, do you have another credit card we could try?”

The “ma'am” distracted her, as it made her feel old, and it took her a moment to process what he was saying. “Pardon? What?” she said, making a Mitford fix.

“The credit card was declined.”

It sounded like he had raised his voice on purpose, and she frantically scanned the tables of chignoned blondes around her to see if they heard.

“That can't be right,” Evelyn said. “Please try it again.” She had brought only the silver Visa with her because she knew she'd paid the minimum on that one, at least. Hadn't she? Visa couldn't stop letting her use it when the minimum was maybe one or two months late, could they? Wouldn't they have sent her a letter? Had they sent her a letter? Wasn't the point of a credit card to have credit? The silver card winked at her, taunted her, and she was glad when he took it away.

A piano played something insistent and Russian sounding, and Evelyn blinked. A young girl bumped into her chair, whining to her mother that they were already late for spinning, and Evelyn saw the girl was wearing a current-season Marni jacket. If the bills were as bad as Charlotte had thought they were—but no, they must not be—yet just on Thursday, she'd received a letter saying her April rent was past due and needed immediate payment. She tried to do what the Equinox yoga instructor said to do and thank each thought for coming, then let it float away, but the thoughts were not floating away and she couldn't force them away, not even here, where she was supposed to be able to escape.

Evelyn clenched and unclenched her jaw. The waiter came back and, before Evelyn could even sit up straight, handed her the card, on a silver tray. There was no receipt.

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” he said.

“Excuse me, please, while I sort this out,” Evelyn said.

He took a step back but remained at the table. “I said excuse me,” Evelyn said. “I'll need a few minutes.” He turned on his heel and walked off.

She gingerly picked up the card and examined it. On the back was an 800 number, and she turned toward the window and discreetly punched the number into her cell phone. “Customer service,” she said quietly when prompted. “Customer service. Customer service. Customer service. Customer service!” On the other end of the line, someone with an unplaceable accent greeted her.

“Hi, my credit card isn't working? I just need you to clear this up so I can charge my lunch,” she said.

“Thank you, ma'am,” the woman on the line said. This “ma'am” sounded warm and inviting, not at all the judgment she was expecting. “While I bring up your account, I'll be glad to tell you about special offers and services customized for you. Ma'am, yes, ma'am, you have a past-due minimum-payment balance, and until that balance is paid, we've been instructed to withhold authorization. Would you like to pay that balance now?”

Evelyn scooted her chair closer to the window and leaned into the phone. “The thing is, I need to pay for lunch, and they're declining the card. Can we fix that?”

“Well, ma'am, our records show that a payment on this card has not been made since February and the outstanding balance is—”

“I didn't know it was that long. Honestly, I have a lot going on right now. I've been meaning to pay it.”

“I see, ma'am. We are always glad to help our valued clients. I am authorized to create a payment plan for you at this time.”

“Listen, the thing is, I'm at lunch right now and I just switched wallets so I only have this one card with me today. I had to go to this dreadful thing at a sports bar earlier, you see, so I kind of have to pay for lunch with this card. Isn't there something you can do?”

“Yes, ma'am, please hold, and let me see which offers we can bring you today.” After a couple of minutes of Hall & Oates, the woman was back on the line. “I can authorize further charges at this time with a transfer of your balance to our Pewter Card, which is a new card specially created for credit-challenged consumers like you. Now, with this offer does come a higher APR and annual fee. Would you like to hear the details of this offer?”

“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.