“I know, Dad.”
Her phone rang and she looked down. She had promised to meet Camilla for a pedicure in the Village and needed to leave momentarily. She picked it up and told Camilla that she was at Bar Jamón, trying to wrap up with her parents, and she’d hurry to Jin Soon afterward.
Mission accomplished on the money, Evelyn was asking her father questions about the Tar Heels’ football season ten minutes later, when a gust of cold air and pavement smell announced the arrival of someone from the street. Evelyn turned around and saw with a start that Camilla was cantering toward them. Evelyn just had time to turn back to her parents and whisper, “That’s Camilla Rutherford. Don’t—”
“Hello!” Camilla called out merrily. “Mr. Beegan. Mrs. Beegan. It’s such a pleasure. I’m Camilla Rutherford. I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I was nearby and Evelyn said you were here. I couldn’t pass up the chance to meet you.”
“Camilla!” said Evelyn. Why had her father chosen today to wear that ridiculous maroon jacket? “What a surprise. These are my parents, but I guess that’s obvious.”
“It is so nice to meet you,” said Camilla earnestly, shaking Barbara’s hand and submitting to Dale’s grasp-and-pump. Evelyn noticed that the cuffs of his shirt were too short and that he was wearing a yellow LIVESTRONG wristband.
“Mom, Dad, we’re actually late for a pedicure appointment, so we should probably be going,” Evelyn said. “Mom, can we figure out the check situation tomorrow morning? I can come by your hotel.”
“No, no,” said Camilla, “don’t be silly. We can get a pedicure anytime, but it’s not every day the Beegans are in town.”
“We have six o’clock appointments.” Evelyn had to cut this off, or who knows what her parents would say? Her mother would say something to give herself—and thus Evelyn—away as solidly middle class, and her father would be all oozy Southerner.
Camilla waved her hand. “Evelyn, don’t worry about it. Jin Soon can take us anytime. This is such a pleasure for me.”
“I made the Jin Soon appointment three weeks ago,” Evelyn protested.
“Well, why don’t you sit down, Camilla?” Dale said. “I’m having this fancy ham, and I’ve got to say, it’s pretty good.”
“No, we’re really in a hurry. It’s just jamón serrano, Dad. It’s not that rare. They have it everywhere in New York,” Evelyn said.
“The new gourmet store in Easton has plenty of it, Dale,” Barbara said. “Really, it’s not like we live in a backwater.”
“I’d love to join you,” Camilla said. “What kind of coffee are you having, Mr. Beegan? That looks delicious. I’ll have one of those. And some of the jamón, too, why not?”
“We don’t have time to stay. We really have to go,” Evelyn said.
“Camilla, I understand you’re very involved in visual arts philanthropy,” Barbara said, “as am I. Evelyn sent photos of you at the MoMA event and I thought your dress was just stunning.”
“No! I didn’t send photos,” Evelyn said. She had. “You’re thinking of—I think you saw the paper the next day. I didn’t send photos. Honestly. So weird. So it’s a black coffee, Camilla?”
“An Americano, they call it here,” Dale said, signaling to the counterman. “Yo soy Americano.”
“Dale learned Spanish to talk to some of his lower-class clients,” Barbara offered.
“The coffee?” Evelyn almost yelled. “Another Americano? Please?”
“Now, Camilla, I hear you’re rising through the banking world as fast as a jackrabbit,” Dale said.
“Dad, that’s Charlotte, and it’s private equity. Charlotte’s my Sheffield roommate? Who you’ve known for, like, ten years? Camilla doesn’t work in banking.”
“It’s so easy to mix up, Mr. Beegan,” Camilla said, and Evelyn got the unnerving feeling that Camilla was flirting with her father. “All of these New York girls and our jobs. But, no, I worked in event planning and community relations until recently.”
“Community relations, that’s wonderful. I always tell Evelyn that you have to consider the wider world in your work, but I’m not sure she listens.”
“For Vogue,” Evelyn said, digging her nails into her wrist. “Vogue magazine? The fashion magazine?”
“This is delicious,” Camilla said, smelling her coffee like it was wine. “Excellent recommendation, Mr. Beegan.”
“Isn’t it tasty?” Dale asked, the “idn’t” ringing in Evelyn’s ears at the same time that Barbara said, too familiarly, “Camilla, how is your mother?” as though she and Souse had met.
Camilla looked from one of them to the other, and apparently chose Dale. “Mr. Beegan,” she said, leaning close to him, “I hope I’m not being too aggressive, but I wanted to talk to you in person about the Luminaries support.”