Close to the end of the cheer, the Sheffield side lost the rhythm, but they screamed out “puns” in unison, as though it were the ultimate insult to the other team.
Barbara, taking up half a row of seats with a giant stadium blanket, waggled her fingers at Charlotte and Evelyn. Sheffield got the ball and the crowd started shouting as Evelyn squeezed in.
“Your earring looks smudged,” Barbara said.
“Mother, I am going to throw the earring into this crowd if you do not stop harping on it,” Evelyn said as she heard a snort from Charlotte.
Barbara rearranged herself on the blanket, and the crowd howled a mass downward arpeggio when Enfield took the ball back.
It’s all right, it’s okay, you’re gonna work for us someday, rose the cheer from the Sheffield side.
CHAPTER TWO
Next Stop, Lake James
Evelyn looked at her bed, strewn with dresses, sweaters, jeans, boots, sandals, and Patagonias, and tried once again to narrow down what she’d need for an Adirondack weekend.
She flipped open her ringing cell phone. “Hi, Mom,” she said.
“Are you bringing the Lilly?” Barbara said.
“Honestly, Mother, you’re calling me to see what I’m packing? I’ve been to Preston’s place, remember? You haven’t.”
“You’ll never regret bringing a Lilly Pulitzer dress to a summer weekend,” Barbara said firmly from the other end of the line.
Evelyn was headed to Preston’s summer house in Lake James, in the Adirondacks, for Memorial Day, with the goal of recruiting more People Like Us members. Upon starting the job at People Like Us, Evelyn had waited a few days for the co-CEOs, Arun and Jin-ho, to tell her what the membership goals were and how she was supposed to achieve them—go to Spence School pickup with a sign-up sheet? They hadn’t, though. People Like Us was a true start-up: an unrefurbished office in Chelsea, folding tables serving as desks, beige IBMs salvaged from some previous start-up.
The idea for the site, and the funding, came from a Swiss septuagenarian who was a Habsburg and wanted to connect with people of his ilk as he traveled to Dubai or the Maldives. He had hired Arun and Jin-ho, Stanford business school grads, and had left the rest up to them. They, in turn, seemed to be leaving the membership strategy completely up to Evelyn.
Evelyn started by studying the website New York Appointment Book and the social pages of the Times, trying to get a feel for who was who in society and who People Like Us might want as its American members. Her notion was that PLU should start with top-tier members to create buzz and exclusivity.
At the top of Evelyn’s list was Camilla Rutherford. Evelyn had seen Camilla in person only once, when Evelyn was at the bar at Picholine, passing time with an overpriced Old Speckled Hen until Barbara Cook’s Broadway! at the Vivian Beaumont started. The ma?tre d’ was on the phone with someone for a good twenty minutes, giving the person turn-by-turn directions from Chelsea. When Camilla walked in, the waiters hushed as though Madonna had arrived, and the ma?tre d’ apologized for having given such unclear directions. Evelyn, who had overheard the whole thing, thought they were perfectly clear and wondered why the man was so contrite. Then she glanced at Camilla, and just the fact of the girl’s confidence, not to mention her beautiful hair and perfectly pressed silk blouse, made Evelyn feel wrinkled, her hair greasy, her toenails ratty.
Babs was well aware of Camilla, and had pushed her as a friend even when Evelyn was at Sheffield. Evelyn had heard of her at Sheffield, of course. Camilla-from-St. Paul’s was a conversation topic whenever Preston’s New York set returned from vacations. Camilla was now an associate director of special events for Vogue, a job reserved for the beautiful and the chic, women who added luster to parties simply by showing up. On Appointment Book, the one social site that socialites actually read, Camilla emerged as the clear center of Young New York. In a tiered dress the color of milky coffee, Camilla Rutherford lounging on a bench at the Met for its Egyptian-wing party. At the Young Collectors Council for the Guggenheim, in a black silk blouse and zigzag skirt, holding champagne. In a flamenco-looking getup that Evelyn would never have been able to pull off at For Whom the Belles Toll, a Spanish Civil War–themed fund-raiser for the New York Public Library. Identifying Camilla as a prospect was easy. Signing her up as one was the challenge.
That’s when Evelyn remembered that Camilla had a camp in Lake James, where Preston had his summer place, and she’d known what to do. The way to attract these people was on their literal turf—not on city streets, where any huckster or green-energy evangelist with a clipboard could approach them, but at their hard-to-get-to summer homes where Evelyn’s very presence would show she belonged. She’d e-mailed Preston to see if he was spending Memorial Day at Shuh-shuh-gah, his Lake James camp, and he’d e-mailed back, “Comme d’habitude.”