“Not all my friends. Just, well. I work,” she said, shifting her weight on the stool and giving him what she hoped was a winning grin. It had been a relief, since she graduated from college, to have her own paycheck so she didn’t have to do this song and dance, but that paycheck barely covered anything in her life anymore. “So, Dad,” she said. “I was hoping I might get a check from you, just as a cushion.”
“You’re a grown-up. And you, I’m pleased to say, do have a job.” His eyes were looking behind her, at the menu written above the bar on a black chalkboard. “What about that. Pickled pigeon. Do you think they’re getting the pigeons from the sidewalk? My man?” he hollered, apparently about to ask that question, but Evelyn waved the counter guy away.
“Dad, forget about the pigeon. What I was saying is, most people in New York get help from their parents, and on my salary, it’s not exactly easy to keep up.”
“You’re not most people. You were raised with some standards.”
“But Dad. I know it sounds dumb, but these benefits are really expensive.”
“Benefits, Evelyn? If you want to go to parties, you can pay for those parties.” He waved his hand at the counterman. “I think I just might have to try some of that special ham.”
Evelyn twisted around again, but the man was busy with another customer. She turned back to her father. “The benefits are part of my work, and I’m just asking for the smallest bit of help.”
Dale moved his lips to one side as Evelyn caught sight of her mother walking into the restaurant. Barbara wore the giant sunglasses that she had lately started to wear from first light until dusk. She carried a lilac Bergdorf’s bag, though Evelyn could see a larger Duane Reade one crammed into it.
“Mom, Dad and I were just talking about whether I could get some extra money going forward. All of these benefits and dinners and trips add up,” Evelyn said.
“I was telling Evelyn that I do not want to step in to fund a social life,” Dale said. “If it were true living needs, that might be another matter, but I don’t think a party dress qualifies as a necessity.”
“Your pocket square cost two hundred dollars!” Evelyn spat.
“I made my money and can spend it as I want, just as you can spend the money you make as you want.”
“Right. Silly me.”
“I’ve had this argument with your father for decades, Evelyn. He has no idea what it costs to maintain a semblance of a social life,” Barbara said. She still hadn’t taken off her sunglasses. “Are we supposed to sit at this communal table?”
“Mom,” Evelyn said. “Just sit. It’s supposed to be like Spain.”
Barbara grudgingly balanced herself on a stool. “Dale, Evelyn is having the time of her life, and that doesn’t come for free.”
“Then she can pay for it. Simple as that,” Dale said.
They were all fuming and all looking at different walls. The counter guy approached, evaluated them, and retreated.
Finally, Barbara said, “Your father’s right, dear. Budgeting is important.”
“Mom.” Evelyn was exasperated.
“How’s the apartment search going?” Barbara said.
“What?”
“Evie was planning on moving,” Barbara said, to Evelyn’s surprise; she wasn’t. “Her apartment now is rather dangerous. The location, that is. We’d been talking about her moving west of Lexington, where it’s less seedy.” Barbara shot Evelyn a conspiratorial smile. “Wasn’t there an incident outside your apartment recently, Evelyn? A safety incident? That’s why we’d been talking about the move.”
“Right,” said Evelyn, getting the hint. “Right. The apartment I’m looking at is quite a bit more expensive, though. Because it has twenty-four-hour security, which is important these days, because of the crime. It also has an alarm system.”
“I didn’t think your neighborhood was high crime,” Dale said.
“It’s becoming so, with the projects; there are lots of muggings, and where I am just doesn’t feel that safe at night,” Evelyn said. High crime in that occasionally a teenager from Brearley stole some nail polish from Duane Reade, but she didn’t need to specify that. “The new building isn’t that much more money. It’s just a few hundred more a month. I think that’s invaluable in terms of me feeling secure.” She felt bad as she watched her father consider this, but also remembered what her mother always said: that because he was insistent on controlling the money, he was the one who forced them to act this way.
“Where’s the new apartment?” he said.
“It’s, um, Sixty-eighth. East Sixty-eighth. Just off Park.”
“It’s a few hundred more a month?”
“Right.”
“I guess that’s reasonable,” he said. “I want you to get some Mace, too.”
“Of course.” She and her mother smiled at each other. Evelyn would stay at the Petit Trianon, easy enough to conceal from her father since he never visited, but the difference in “rent” would mean $400 more a month straight to her. After just a few months of that, she calculated, she could afford the Chanel cap-toe ballet flats she’d been coveting. Budgeting wasn’t so hard.
“New York is full of crime.”