Everybody Rise (31 page)

The day before, Evelyn, feeling guilty that she hadn't spent much time with Charlotte lately, had made the mistake of e-mailing 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 e-mailed 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.

She edged behind the water fountain, but Charlotte looked down the hallway and started pounding across the linoleum toward her. “Evelyn,” she said.

“Char. I didn't know you were coming to this. I'm surprised you got off of work.”

“Well, I handed off some of the modeling to the junior associates. I figured you'd be here, and since you didn't return my calls—”

“Who talks on the phone anymore?”

“Or my e-mails.”

Evelyn had typed out her anger at Charlotte's lack of support in a furious e-mail that she had never sent, opting instead to enjoy her workless weekday getting a facial and a hot-stone massage, which she thought showed not a small amount of emotional intelligence.

She drummed her hand on the water fountain. “Gosh, I barely check that account these days. I've actually got to dash. I'm in the runway show and I'm late.”

“You e-mailed me from that account, so obviously you were checking it.”

“Okay, girl detective. They've only done half my makeup. I'll see you after, okay?”

“Can you cool your jets for one minute? I actually have to talk to you.”

“Char, I've got to—”

“Evelyn, I'm serious.” Charlotte checked behind her back quickly. “Listen. The job thing. We need to talk about it.”

“I am focusing my energies elsewhere,” Evelyn said.

“You should be looking for another one,” Charlotte replied.

“For your information, I got fired, Charlotte.”

“It's a really bad idea,” Charlotte said.

“Oh, I'm sorry, getting fired is a bad idea? Alert
New York
magazine. You've got a trend piece.”

“Evelyn, you should be working.”

“Charlotte, you've always liked your job, okay? I just realized that maybe getting fired is a great thing. Spending time staring at an old computer isn't really a useful way to spend my life. Think back to the classes at Sheffield where they talked about finding your passion. I've been basically ignoring that for the last almost five years, just jumping between things that aren't that fulfilling.”

“Look, I like my job sometimes, but I've been doing basically data entry for the last three weeks, trying to figure out if the profitability trends at some random company will hold. It's not glamorous all the time. Or, really, ever. But every week, there's a paycheck. That's why they call it work.”

Evelyn blew out a breath. “It's not the same, Char. First of all, I was getting paid nothing close to what I should be getting, given how much more qualified I was than the cray-cray guy who sat next to me, and given that my health is suffering because of it, which seems like a pretty big price to pay. My stress level is up to here, my skin is disastrous, and I hadn't been able to go to cardio sculpt in, like, a month, because of work. I've had essentially no time to myself or to get involved with any of the things I want to get involved in.”

“Like cardio sculpt?”

“Forget it, Char.” Evelyn's voice was hard. “I have to get ready for this show.”

“Wait,” Charlotte said. “The deal I'm working on. We're acquiring the pill-packaging division of a pharma company. Evelyn, it's a company that had been sued by Leiberg Channing.”

Evelyn didn't move. Like a fear-of-flying airline passenger counting the seats to the exit row, she mentally measured how close to any eavesdropper they were. The drone of the overhead lights was the only immediate sound she could hear, the party muffled by the thick wall to her right.

“I know you said you didn't want to talk about it before, but the indictment against your dad came up in due diligence. Don't tell anyone I told you this—I'd get fired—but Evelyn, our lawyers say it doesn't look good for him.”

“There's no indictment, Charlotte. There's a weak investigation, and that's all, and, as I said, it is absolutely none of your business.”

“Technically, it is my business, since we came across it in due diligence,” said Charlotte. “And Evelyn, there is an indictment. It's not just an investigation anymore. He was indicted on Monday.”

Evelyn's laugh sounded cackling. “No, I don't think so.”

“I know so, Evelyn.”

“I don't … I don't…” Evelyn bent over the water fountain and took a long sip of water. She remembered the two or three missed calls from Sag Neck this week that she hadn't returned. When she stood up from the fountain, she felt pulled together again. An indictment wasn't that much worse than an investigation; it was just formal charges. It was better, even, because now it was clear what her father was dealing with, and his lawyer could respond properly. “Indictments happen all the time, Charlotte. I really have to get back.” She began heading toward the door.

“Did you know the partners at Leiberg are planning to sue your father if he can't get the case dropped?”

“That's ridiculous. He
is
one of the partners at Leiberg.” Evelyn had stopped walking and was staring down the empty hallway in front of her, which was too long and too gray all of a sudden.

“They're distancing themselves. Evelyn, that can be a lot of money. There's also restitution. I don't know how much your family has—”

Evelyn whirled back. Was everything fair game for Charlotte? Her job, her choices, her father, her family's money? “No, you don't, Charlotte. You're right, you could get fired for this, so I'm not sure you should talk about it anymore.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are
you
serious? I have to go walk in this show and I'm about to cry from the stress of what was supposed to be a fun night, and I just wanted a single minute by myself, but apparently that's too much to ask.”

Charlotte balled up her hand into a fist. “Fine, Evelyn. Fine. Go walk in your fashion show. Sorry that I tried to actually talk to you about something that's really fucking important. Sorry that I left work and changed into this ugly fucking dress, which is like Banana Republic 1995 and was the only thing in my office closet because I haven't had time to go shopping like you and Camilla seem to do every other day despite your massive—can we say massive? let's say massive—credit-card bills. Okay? You're right. Go take your minute to get your blush done or whatever the fuck you need to do and go do your fashion show. That's what's important.”

Evelyn stepped back, then stepped back again. Her phone buzzed and she looked at it: a text from Camilla, “They nd u backstage NOW.” Charlotte was pounding her fist against the water-fountain button, making water shoot on and off, and Evelyn left her, walking away so fast she was almost running. She rejoined Camilla behind the scrim. Ten minutes of makeup and ten minutes of hair later, she changed into her outfit, a kilt with a tight sequined sweater that was the more demure version of what Camilla was wearing. As she tugged on the kilt, Evelyn forced herself to ignore the uneasy feeling that lingered like bad breath from the conversation with Charlotte.

“You look good,” said Camilla, sticking out her lower lip.

“You look better,” Evelyn said, and got in line behind Camilla to strut along the runway. Evelyn indeed made the party photos at Patrick McMullan the next day. The photo caption read “Camilla Rutherford and friend.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY

Homeward Bound

The high-pitched trill of Evelyn's phone went off for what seemed like the fifteenth time this hour. Camilla had made the first call, wanting to know if Evelyn would be going to Sachem this weekend or not, and Evelyn put her off. She wanted to go, especially once Camilla mentioned that Jaime de Cardenas and some of Souse's friends were going. Yet there was also a fund-raiser for the Philharmonic on Saturday that some of the Sloan Kettering board members were supposed to attend, and Evelyn figured that if she had to choose, she was better off focusing on Sloan Kettering and meeting Jaime another time. She kept calling the Philharmonic development person to see who had RSVP'd, but hadn't heard back.

Everyone else that she didn't want to hear from kept on calling. Her rental management company called, telling her that her April and now her May payments had not been made, and she would need to get a check to them by the end of the week. “Tenant law is very strong in New York,” Evelyn responded, repeating something her father had once said. She thought she had at least three or four months before she really got into trouble for skipping her rent, and she would have money sorted out by then, somehow. The woman on the phone said that tenant law wasn't that strong, and that further proceedings would be pursued. They're just trying to scare me, Evelyn thought, and Camilla would not let something like this bother her, and Evelyn resolved not to, either. Then a blocked number, a man who left a voice mail telling Evelyn that he was from a collection agency that had taken over her past-due Barneys account and to call back to work out a payment plan. She deleted that midway through the message. Plausible deniability, she thought.

After that, her father called and left a message, but Evelyn didn't listen to it. Once Charlotte told her about the indictment, Evelyn called home, and her mother confirmed that Dale had been indicted on bribery and other charges. Barbara was livid, and Evelyn was, too. That he could put the family in this precarious situation because of his own greed, his desire for maroon jackets and pocket squares and flashy cars was infuriating. Worse, she now thought he was stupid. He had been the only one at his firm to get indicted, and for someone who practices law to get so badly entangled in it meant he was careless and dumb. She had barely communicated with her father since. The one time he'd e-mailed her, it was to ask if she had a receipt for some dinner they'd had a year ago on a date prosecutors had been inquiring about. He didn't explain what had happened, or ask her how she was holding up, but pretended like everything was cheery and fine. She'd responded by asking him again what she was supposed to tell Camilla about the dinner, and he'd replied that it wasn't his problem.

The series of calls was capped off with her mother—a call Evelyn picked up, to see if she could get some money out of her so these other people would stop harassing her. Evelyn had to come home; it was an emergency, Barbara said.

“I've got a packed week, Mom. It can't be done.”

“Evelyn, it's not optional.”

“I'm either going to this big fund-raiser or to Sachem this weekend, and I have a lot to do before then.”

“Tomorrow, if you can't today,” her mother said. “You'll take the morning train and you can be back by the evening. We'll pay for it.”

“Oh, thank you. Nice of you to pay when it's convenient to your ends,” Evelyn said.

“Evelyn. You will be here tomorrow,” Barbara said, and the line went dead.

Five minutes after Evelyn walked in the door at Bibville, the home phone began ringing. It rang four times, then five, then six, before Evelyn figured out that her mother must've turned the answering machine off. She was reaching for the receiver of the front-hallway phone when she felt a swift slap on her forearm.

“It's journalists,” Barbara said. “Or other vultures calling to express their sympathy over your father. Really, they're so happy to see him taken down. Don't pick it up.”

Evelyn withdrew her hand. “Ow. That hurt. Where did you come from? I didn't realize you were home. You wanted me here, so let's do whatever it is we're here to do. I have a ticket on the bus from Easton to New Carrollton in three hours, so unless someone wants to drive me to New Carrollton, I have to be on it.”

The phone had stopped ringing, and Barbara took the receiver off the base. “Let them get a busy signal,” she said. “You didn't see anyone in Easton, did you?”

“Just the taxi driver. We need to talk about money, too. This rent money you promised is nowhere to be found, and I need some for bills, too.”

“Dale,” Barbara hollered. “Dale! Your daughter is here!”

Evelyn heard the study door open and shut, and her father walked slowly down the stairs, clutching the banister.

“Hi,” Evelyn said flatly.

“Hello,” he said back.

Neither smiled.

Evelyn shrugged. “So what's the big mystery, parents?”

“We'll talk outside,” her father said, and opened the front door. His shoes crunched on the gravel as he walked, and Evelyn craned her head to see where he was going, which was about thirty yards away, to a grove of pines that they'd planted when they moved in, which now were tall and elegant.

Her mother clomped after him, and Evelyn, with a bewildered look on her face for the effect of anyone who was watching, followed them. Her parents were standing silently by the trees.

“Is now when we sacrifice a goat?” she said when she had joined them.