“It’s counter service, I think,” Evelyn said.
“Right over here,” Dale said. To Evelyn’s frustration, the guy brought over the coffee to their table. “Nothing a big tip can’t fix,” Dale said loudly.
Evelyn made a face at the tabletop. She couldn’t become annoyed with him; she was here as a supplicant, making a pitch for money. It was a ridiculous position to be in. She had tried so hard to support herself and had done a great job of it until recently, and now, as her father was being investigated by the government for bribery, she still had to come beg and allow him to pass judgment on her once again. Even the parental MasterCard had been canceled without explanation, so there was no backup source of funds.
The simple fact was she needed more money. She’d been able to somewhat keep up with her new social set so far, but the pace was quickening. In the past few weeks, Camilla had been pressing her to come to various events that were $500 or $750 apiece, and it wasn’t like she could ask Scot or Preston to pick up the tab. The clothes, too; she couldn’t believe how silly it sounded, but it was true. She had to have a whole slew of cocktail dresses, since wearing the same thing to events where she saw the same people was as weird as wearing the same jeans to work two days in a row. Those dresses were, even on a good sale, $600 each. Evelyn had ransacked the 401(k) from her textbook job, which helped for a while but disappeared fast. One key way to afford all this was to be able to afford it, like Camilla, in which case all the invitations were comped because the party organizers wanted Camilla on the step-and-repeat, and designers sent her dresses because they wanted the free publicity.
Everyone else had funds galore, if not from a job—and it rarely was from a job, except for the bankers—then from trust funds, parental subsidies, or other mythic sources. Evelyn wondered why, when she’d tried to be responsible her whole life, her parents didn’t find her worthy of such support. Actually, to be precise, she knew exactly why: because her father claimed to believe in the value of frugality, even as he was busy buying the dreadful and no doubt expensive maroon blazer he was wearing. He appeared to be especially shiny and salesmanlike today just to test her.
“So how are you, honey?” Dale said.
“Fine, Dad. Tired today; I was at a benefit with Preston and Camilla last night that went until two.”
“I thought your boyfriend’s name was Tate.”
“No. It’s not Tate. It’s Scot. Preston is one of my oldest friends. From Sheffield? You saw him at the Sheffield event.”
“Preston, that’s right. He’s that thin one. What does he do for work?”
What did any of these people do for work? Preston’s ill-defined investment work meant, as far as Evelyn could tell, he played golf and took lunches. Camilla had quit her Vogue job, as she’d said she would; the final straw had been when, as the special-events staff started work on the next year’s Costume Institute gala at the Met, Camilla had seen that Jessica Simpson was on the celebrity-invitee wish list and had thrown a fit.
Camilla’s friends had part-time jobs that gave them plenty of time to do the benefit scene—global ambassador for a jewelry brand, or marketing consultant to Citarella, the gourmet store on the Upper East Side and in the Hamptons. Nick, who did work, was constantly late to parties, if he didn’t miss them altogether, and Camilla had been getting increasingly furious with him. There wasn’t a way to hold a job and do all of this, and in fact, the holding of a job seemed to disqualify you from ever really belonging in this group.
“Preston does investing stuff. But he’s a Hacking on his father’s side and a Winthrop on his mother’s, so it’s not like he really has to work,” Evelyn said. Yet money flowed his way still, thanks to his connections; Charlotte had been dumbfounded when she’d heard he’d made a bundle on a tech IPO that everyone in the market wanted in on.
“While I worked my way through law school I was a dishwasher, at a gritty old diner in downtown Chapel Hill.”
“I know, I know, Dad. I’m not sure Preston’s entertaining a career in dishwashing, though. Most of my friends don’t have full-time jobs.”
“That doesn’t follow.”
“I think it’s really hard to keep up with modern life and work all the time. It’s sort of one or the other.”
“That can’t be true, Evelyn. Your friends all say no thanks to work?”