“I’m positive I did.” She knew she hadn’t.
“You said there was a donation, Evelyn, not one that’s more than the yearly salary of many Americans. Promising that I’ll give twenty-five thousand dollars to a cause of your friend’s? What were you thinking?” He stared at her, unblinking.
“I didn’t make the promise. You were the one that wanted to go.”
“Evelyn, I do not think anything will happen with the investigation, but if it does, and frankly, even if it doesn’t, do you know how unseemly it would be for me to be giving such a large donation to one of your friends right now?”
“What am I supposed to tell her?”
He smiled and picked up the yearbook again. “Lord, Evelyn, tell her I can’t go.”
“It’s not as easy as that.”
He wasn’t listening anymore, though. He had again opened the yearbook again, to the same page. He was tracing his finger over the caption; Evelyn could only read the first part, “BASEBALL BOYS BREAK TIME, captain D. Beegan…”
He did not look up when Evelyn slid her unfinished bourbon toward him and left.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Security Questions
The sharp ring of the Petit Trianon apartment phone startled Evelyn awake. What was it? Where was she supposed to go? It was dark; was it today or tomorrow?
Another ring and she lifted herself off the couch. “Hello? Yes?”
“Miss Evelyn, Miss Charlotte is coming up.”
“What—what time is it?”
“Eight oh-five, miss.”
It took Evelyn a couple of seconds to place herself in the evening. She’d left PLU early to go to Equinox for a vinyasa class, trying to quiet her mind, reverberating with worry about her father and her money situation and the Luminaries dinner, but it didn’t work. In the locker room after class, Evelyn got dressed again, not wanting the other girls putting on heels and skirts and makeup in preparation for nights out to think she had no plans for the evening. She joined a blonde blow-drying her hair in front of the long primping mirror and gave her a knowing smile as Evelyn smoothed her own hair. Evelyn’s look lasted long enough to take in the ring pressed against the girl’s hair dryer: princess cut, platinum, the ring a banker would bestow.
She was pretty sure, lately, that if she dropped enough hints, she could get a ring like that from Scot. Wedding rings were everywhere, and Evelyn didn’t want to be the pitied single girl forever. But what was the point in extracting a ring from Scot? If you were going to marry and not feel much for your husband, that husband should at least give you the life you wanted. Sarah Leitch, whose husband was squat and boring but had made $20 million last year, was redecorating her Napa winery right now.
Standing at the mirror, Evelyn, too, had blown her hair dry, patted concealer around her eyes, stroked mascara onto her eyelashes, added lip balm, and put on her Jimmy Choos. She’d then twisted a gold-set ruby ring on backward on the fourth finger of her left hand so it resembled a wedding band. She’d walked to the lobby of the gym looking the very picture of a married girl off to a social event, for anyone who was looking.
“Can you tell her I’m not here?” she said to the doorman.
“I’m sorry, Miss Evelyn, she is a regular guest so I let her up already. It is policy.” She had not seen Charlotte much lately. Charlotte was always going to museums with names like the American-Jewish Museum of the West African Diaspora and making a point of how much she learned there and how much more instructive it was than what Evelyn was doing with her time. Evelyn knew that her life sounded ridiculous to Charlotte—Charlotte had said that much directly. What Charlotte couldn’t know was how addictive it was.
There was a knock on the door. Evelyn switched the ring to her right hand and tried to sound surprised: “Yes? Who is it?”
“Charlotte.”
“Oh! Char! Coming! Sorry, they didn’t call up.”
She opened the door to a tired-looking Charlotte wearing a smart gray suit, pulled together, no doubt, by the Saks personal shopper she’d hired who specialized in lady bankers. On her feet were L.L. Bean duck boots, slushy from the outside world.
“Do you have any beer? I could use some.”
“What are you doing in the neighborhood? And out of work at eight?”
“I’m not staffed on a deal for the first time in ages. Also, sorry, you’re asking me what I’m doing here? When you’re the one that’s basically dropped off the face of the earth? Seriously, do you have a beer?”
“Just wine.”
“You always have beer.”
“Just wine, Char.”
Charlotte plopped on the couch and took the wineglass Evelyn offered. “You look dressed up. Are you heading out?”
“No, I had an event. After work,” Evelyn said. Yoga could sort of be counted as an event. “So what are you doing up here?”
Charlotte made a weird air sound with her cheeks. “Date. Bad one. I feel like I just scream ‘lesbian’ to everyone I meet.”
“Did you wear the duck boots?”