“What?”
“Darling, everyone who’s anyone is being investigated by grand juries these days. You’re not taking enough risks in your business if you’re not, truly. Two of the girls in my St. Paul’s class have had their fathers indicted in the last two months.” Camilla was nodding confidently. “First of all, no one ever goes to jail, and if they do, they go to, basically, camp for a couple of months. The wives love it; they get a break from their husbands. My mother just planned a trip with one of her best friends whose husband is going away for three months. The Amalfi Coast.” Camilla clapped. “I’m serious. You cannot be worried about it. It is not even an issue. By the way, I brought up your father because he sounds very real,” she concluded.
Evelyn, despite herself, laughed.
“I think it’s so important to stay connected to real people,” Camilla said. “Like, I’ll bet your father’s clients are people who are in real poverty.”
“His clients?” Evelyn said. His own family had been. She had visited the town where he had grown up only twice. Once when his parents were still alive, and Evelyn could only remember a dark house with dentures floating in a smudged glass, and everything smelling like wet wood. Later, in high school, Dale had made a great fuss about a father-daughter weekend they’d have together, but instead of going golfing like he’d initially proposed, he had taken her to his hometown, now mostly abandoned and somewhat frightening. Whatever it was he had wanted to tell her, he hadn’t been able to find the words, and they’d ended up silently eating greasy burger patties at the one operating restaurant and then spending the night in Charlotte. If Camilla had already read about her father, Evelyn wasn’t going to be able to paste over that background, but she could still shape Camilla’s impression of her mother’s lineage. “The clients are definitely real people. As is my father. I mean, he and my mother are such a funny pair. She’s from this old Baltimore family, shipping—shipping fleets—and they’d been in Baltimore for generations, and her parents nearly lost it when she brought home this North Carolina mill-town boy.”
“That’s so romantic.”
“Very.”
“I love that. That’s so amazing. I want you to introduce me.”
“To my parents?”
“To your father.” Camilla folded her arms, looking quite pleased with herself. “I want an introduction.” She turned toward the door and, walking out, tossed Evelyn a set of car keys. “Can you drive? I’m a little woo-woo.”
“On it,” said Evelyn, a bit befuddled as to what had just taken place.
Camilla’s car was the blue one, tiny and sleek.
“I love your license plate,” Evelyn said as she opened the drivers’-side door.
“What do you mean?” said Camilla.
“‘BIGDEAL’? It’s so funny.”
“Oh my God,” Camilla said. “That is not my license plate. This is my mother’s boyfriend’s car. I decided I needed it for the summer. He could not be tackier. That license plate gives me conniptions.”
“Right,” Evelyn said quietly and put the key in the ignition; at least she had learned to drive stick in Sarennes.
When they pulled up to a stoplight, Evelyn saw that Camilla was wearing the same racket bracelet she’d worn at Sachem. Camilla directed her to go to Southampton, which, she said, had better shopping than Bridge. Evelyn obeyed and, improbably, found a parking spot on Main Street once they arrived. “So, do you want to get the steaks and the lobster salad? I’m just going to pop into the drugstore,” Camilla said. “Johnson’s is a block that way.”
Camilla hopped out of the car and crossed the street between a Volvo and a Vespa, both seafoam green, both stopping in the middle of the street for her. A pug in the basket of the Vespa was wearing goggles. “Thanks! You’re a doll!” shouted Camilla from the other side of the street. “Ooh, and some wine! A cab or something!”