Everybody Rise by Stephanie Clifford
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To my parents, with thanks
I was loved, happiness was not far away, and seemed to be almost touching me; I went on living in careless ease without trying to understand myself, not knowing what I expected or what I wanted from life, and time went on and on.… People passed by me with their love, bright days and warm nights flashed by, the nightingales sang, the hay smelt fragrant, and all this, sweet and overwhelming in remembrance, passed with me as with everyone rapidly, leaving no trace, was not prized, and vanished like mist.… Where is it all?
—ANTON CHEKHOV, “A LADY’S STORY” (1887) That faraway shore’s looking not too far.
—STEPHEN SONDHEIM, “OPENING DOORS,” MERRILY WE ROLL ALONG (1981)
Part One
CHAPTER ONE
Sheffield-Enfield
“Your pearl earrings are rather worn down. They’re starting to look like molars,” Barbara Beegan said to her daughter, poking with a cocktail knife at paté that was so warmed by the sun that it was nearly the consistency of butter. “Don’t you ever take them off?”
Evelyn’s right hand jolted up to her ear and rubbed at an earring, which did feel lumpy. She’d bought them as a prep-school graduation gift for herself, and over the years, wearing them during showers and swims and tennis games must have eaten away at the earrings’ round perfection, but it wasn’t something she’d noticed until now. “You wanted me to wear them,” she said.
“I wanted you to look like you were dressing to watch the lacrosse game, not playing in it. You could at least polish them every now and then. People must wonder if you can’t take care of your things. I think this paté has salmonella. Can’t you find something else to put out?”
Evelyn sidled along the edge of the 1985 beige Mercedes. Her mother had bought it, used, after Evelyn’s orientation at Sheffield, her prep school, once Barbara saw none of the old-money mothers would deign to drive a fresh-off-the-lot BMW like the Beegans had shown up in. The Mercedes was parked just a few inches from the next car, an aged Volvo—there was hardly a post-1996 car to be seen on the field—and Evelyn opened the door to slide her hand into a picnic basket in the backseat. She groped wedges of warm cheese in Saran Wrap, warm wine … a warm container of cream cheese? No, olive tapenade; and, guessing that the tapenade was the least likely to cause food poisoning, retrieved that. A roar went up from First Field, a few hundred yards away; the crowd approved of her choice. It was Sheffield-Enfield, her prep school’s version of a homecoming game, and the spectators were absorbed in the lacrosse matchup.
Shaking her hair forward to cover her earlobes, Evelyn sidestepped up to the table at the car’s trunk, one of the freestanding tables lined along Sheffield Academy’s Second Field, which had been transformed into a parking lot for the day’s game. A few tables had special banners draped across them, SHEFFIELD-ENFIELD SPRING 2006; the alumni association gave these to alums who donated more than $10,000 a year. Tables to Evelyn’s left held rounds of triple-crèmes that were melting onto their trays in the May heat. To her right, bottles of white wine and Pellegrino were sweating from the exertion of being outdoors. She noticed ancient alumni toddling by in their varsity sweaters, which they insisted on wearing even in May, and made a mental note. Her bosses at People Like Us would be interested in that.
She was turning to go to the field house when there was a squelching sound, and she saw Charlotte approaching, waving two boxes of water crackers in triumph in one hand and a Styrofoam cup in the other. For such a tiny person, narrow hipped enough that she often shopped at Gap Kids, Charlotte was leaving enormous gullies in the ground as she took huge steps in her rain boots. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but the humidity had created a walnut-brown halo of frizz all around her pale face. “Success!” Charlotte said, stomping toward Evelyn. “Babs would have sold me into white slavery had I not found these.”
“She didn’t send you for crackers, did she? I told her not to. Sorry, Char.”
“Listen, at least water crackers are actually something I can find. I was worried she’d send me to root you out a husband.” Charlotte stuck out her tongue, and Evelyn side-kicked her in the shins, but the rubber of the boots made her foot bounce off.
“Here,” Charlotte said, handing over the Styrofoam cup. “Cider.”