“Brooke Birch Brodzik?” Evelyn said with a chortle.
“Oh, my God, I hadn’t even thought of that. Brooke Birch Brodzik. Evelyn, there’s so little greatness in our society today, so little actual greatness, and so much—this sounds terrible, but you understand—focus on work and drudgery,” Camilla went on. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Like a cat.” This wasn’t quite the comparison Evelyn was looking for.
“I’m going to quit,” Camilla said.
“Quit work?”
“Let’s be honest—it’s pointless, isn’t it? I don’t know what me learning about Microsoft Outlook is going to do for the world. It’s not good for the skin, or for the body, to sit inside an office all day. I think I’d be so much more useful and helpful to society if I became more involved in real work now, rather than pretending like I care about coordinating the waiters’ outfits for another event.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Evelyn said.
“Will Brodzik! When people our age are actually doing things. Like Jaime de Cardenas, and yet there’s boring Will.” She swung her arms like an ape.
“Jaime? Completely,” Evelyn said carefully.
“You know him?”
“I know—I think I’ve met him at the Harvard Club,” Evelyn said.
“I think he’s going to be a great man. A great man. Are you going to marry Scot?”
“I’ve only been dating him for a couple of months.”
“I see.” Camilla frowned, though lightly; she was always careful not to frown in a way that would increase wrinkles. “It’s so hard to imagine Scot at Harvard, isn’t it?” She turned onto Seventy-first. “Scot’s a good match for you, anyway.”
Message received, thought Evelyn, trying not to roll her eyes at Camilla’s undercutting.
At Camilla’s apartment, a classic six on Fifth that looked over the Central Park Zoo, the group reassembled. By the fourth bottle of wine, Brooke had brought the conversation back to her engagement.
“I wanted to do Asscher cut, though I had always thought of myself as a princess-cut girl, so that’s what we ended up going with,” Brooke was saying.
“Wow,” said Camilla, looking at the ring with a big smile. “It’s so beautiful, Birchie. Just what you always wanted. So you’re thinking June?”
“I think so. It’s so much planning. My mom is helping me, of course, and she thinks June flowers will be just right, with the roses and the lilies.”
Evelyn poured herself a big glass of wine, wondering what Camilla, her attitude completely changed from hours earlier, was up to; she was now asking Brooke about her preferred bridal-gown silhouettes. It was only when the rest of the group had come to attention that Camilla stopped, letting a Brooke statement about necklines hang in the air.
“Birchie,” said Camilla, though she was addressing the room, “it sounds like the wedding will be an absolute ton of work. I don’t want to take you away from that, so I’ll be a good friend and let you out of the Bal.” Before Brooke had swallowed her sip of wine, Camilla tossed her hair and turned toward Evelyn. “Evelyn, you can do it, right? You’ll have time?”
Evelyn looked up from her glass. Everyone but Will had frozen midsip.
“Evelyn? You were a deb, so you know the whole thing,” Camilla said.
“I do. I do. I’d love to. I mean, if Brooke—”
“Brooke’s a bride-to-be now. She has flowers and guest lists and becoming Mrs. Brodzik to deal with. Right, Birchie? Ev,” Camilla said, thrillingly shortening her name for the first time Evelyn could remember, “you are going to love it. I think it’s one of the best parties in New York.”
“That’s fine,” said Brooke, her eyes bright. “That’s fine. I will be busy in June, Camilla, you’re right.”
“That’ll be great,” said Evelyn. “That’ll be fabulous.”
Will, oblivious, finished his glass with a slurp. “Anyone up for golf tomorrow?” he said.
“It is a city weekend, Will. You can golf back in San Francisco,” said Camilla, who had turned to look out the window.
Later, when Evelyn stepped over a supine Preston to go to the bathroom, he tapped her ankle with the Cohiba he was smoking. “The Bal. That’s all right,” he said.
Part Two
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rich and Happy