“Don’t you ever—” Charlotte said. “I mean, all of it, all this prep-school stuff and everything that surrounds it, the weekend trips and the wines and the dinners. Like, when we were at Nick’s in the Hamptons, everyone was just sort of congratulating themselves on being part of the WASP hegemony, when it’s not really meaningful anymore.”
Evelyn picked up a smoked salmon crepe. “I don’t know, Char. It has its appeal,” she said.
“How?”
“I guess it’s in the tradition of it. The way of life, the code of manners. Treating people well, and serving a greater good. The people—Char, not to be all PLU propaganda, but I thought the people would be awful and they’re nice. They’re great, in fact.”
“But”—Charlotte swept her hand over the meeting room—“who in that crowd, or here, for that matter, is achieving a greater good? It’s a bunch of self-involved kids who have jobs supplied for them by their parents.”
“That’s not true, Charlotte. You’re saying that because everyone’s young, and no one’s really had a chance to shine yet, but Camilla’s going to run the New York social scene and, you laugh, but it is pretty important charitable work. Nick’s grandfather was a Massachusetts governor, and he’ll probably go into politics.”
“That’s crazy talk. Nick can’t even get a promotion to VP and has a long history of cocaine use that would waylay any attempt to run for office. You think any journalist covering him isn’t going to turn up the, like, thirty women a year he slept with and never called back before he marries whatever proper wife he ends up marrying? Also, in order to be in politics, shouldn’t he be doing something other than banking right now?”
“He’s not going to be a banker forever. He was talking last weekend about moving back to Brookline and running for selectman. The banking background gives him some real-world experience.”
“I don’t think it works like that anymore. Look at the kids out there who actually are trying to do politics as a career. About half of the kids I went to Harvard with were dead set on being president. They were scary as hell, but that’s a side note. They were presidents of their high-school classes, and they joined the Institute of Politics the first week on campus, and by the time we graduated they were interning in D.C. and organizing conferences with Henry Kissinger. A banker with family connections can’t just sail in and get elected anymore.”
“Look at the Bushes. There’s something about family connections that people trust.”
“The Bushes! Okay, except for an incident where Daddy buys you out of trouble and gets you the presidency—”
“Charlotte, please, I don’t really need your lecture on this. The Kennedys, if you want an example of a Democrat.”
“I’m just saying that money is made in so many more interesting ways now.”
“Well, but doesn’t that make the tradition more important? If anyone can make money, isn’t it desirable to have, I don’t know, breeding, or tradition—”
“Say it. Class.”
“Charlotte.”
“Class. Class class class class class.”
“Whatever. I’m just saying that as all these colleges and clubs and whatnot open up to literally anyone who can buy their way in, and even to people who get in on their own merits, then maybe people still want somewhere where family and tradition and—”
“Insularity and aristocracy still reign? Keep the rabble out, right, Ev? Look, the WASPs used to be in charge of everything because there was no one else there. Now there is. We live in a meritocratic society, or at least what’s supposed to be a meritocratic society, so you have people with actual ability who are gaining power. I mean, the manners of the WASPs are still good, yes, but there’s nothing else to look up to. Nobody cares about the WASPs except the WASPs themselves.”
“I just don’t think that’s true. Look at, I don’t know, fashion. Michael Kors’s fall collection is all Gatsby and Love Story. Rugby stripes everywhere.”
“You care about fashion now?”
“You don’t need to be so dismissive, Charlotte.”
“Okay. It’s a cultural reference still, I’ll give you that,” Charlotte said.
“Look, the other paradigm for someone with money is, like, Phil Giamatti or your dreadful boss with his house on Meadow Lane. I’m not sure that’s something to aspire to, either.”
Charlotte snorted. “Did I tell you my boss named his new yacht the Never Satisfied II?” she said.
Evelyn laughed. “The Never Satisfied I should’ve been a clue.”