“No, it’s not. It’s not fine. It’s not fine.” Charlotte waved the papers. “I thought this was your rewards points, but you owe sixty-five thousand on your AmEx. Do you know what you’re—no, it’s okay, we’ll figure this out. We’ll sit down and figure out all the minimums you owe and transfer the balances—”
“I’ve been paying the minimums,” she said loudly, though seeing Charlotte’s panic at just this bill, which was only one of several, sent a sharp knife of fear through Evelyn. This problem was huge. A loan from Charlotte wouldn’t fix it. Nothing would fix it.
“No. No. You’re—do you see this? You’ve been late on your minimums, so the APR on this is up to twenty-two percent. That means you’re paying, you’re paying thousands of dollars just on fees on this one alone.” Charlotte grabbed a stack of unopened bills from the drawer, new bills that Evelyn hadn’t paid even the minimums on. The ripping sound as she opened them made Evelyn shudder. “Look, Barneys—and, Jesus, Visa—you can’t have all these credit cards that you haven’t paid off, Ev. This is going to massacre your credit rating.” Charlotte was frantically reshuffling the bills like she was hoping for a better hand.
Evelyn looked at the ugly, unkempt sight of Charlotte, hysterical and judgmental over these papers, promising to help and instead making Evelyn feel worse. Charlotte’s nose was oily and porous, her hair erupting out of her ponytail. The pressure in Evelyn’s stomach was starting to rise, but she wouldn’t allow Charlotte to see she’d affected her. “A credit card gives you credit.” Evelyn spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “I am going to ask you to leave.”
“No, Evelyn. Four thousand dollars from Gucci? Nine hundred from Saks?”
“Get out of my stuff.”
“Ev, your parents—they can help—”
“You seem to have read all about my father, so you know that in fact they can’t. Please put those papers back now, Charlotte. Now.” Evelyn crossed to her and tore the envelopes from her hand, stuffing them back in the drawer and closing it with some difficulty against the bulging stack at the back. Charlotte opened her mouth but closed it, and took a step back, almost tripping on the threshold at the kitchen’s edge. Evelyn didn’t move, keeping her eyes trained on the drawer, as if constant vigil could keep the contents from filtering into her life. She eventually heard Charlotte pick up her things and then heard the door shut, but she stayed, watching, shaking with the effort it took to keep everything contained.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
People Like Us
“This is a bad joke,” Evelyn said in a clipped tone to the wall, which was dark wood and covered with framed sports jerseys. Jin-ho had called in a favor with his front-office friend at the Rangers, and that had somehow, hideously, resulted in this People Like Us–sponsored Rangers-Devils game at a Midtown East bar on a Saturday afternoon in April. The beautiful, restrained People Like Us font and logo—a stylized fleur-de-lis that Evelyn had helped pick, meant to evoke a connection to European aristocracy—was now displayed on posterboards above two hockey helmets.
Evelyn sighed as loudly as she could, though she was too far away from the other people there—the busty girls Jin-ho had hired from some event-marketing firm, and the staff setting up chairs and pitchers of beer—for anyone to notice.
Evelyn turned toward the dirty glass door, where chilly air was coming in from outside, and dialed Camilla.
“You’re psychic,” Camilla said by way of greeting. “We’re just about to go to lunch at—where is this place? I don’t know, somewhere in Chinatown, where we’ll eat soup dumplings and get totally drunk on cheap wine. Come join us. No, the snakeskin, please,” she said to someone at the other end of the line.
“I’m at, get this, a sports bar in Midtown East. It’s the worst.”
“Whatever for?”
“People Like Us is having a membership event here.”
“Yawn. Phoebe says this is the best Chinese food in town. A total dive. Then we’re going to find a Chinese herbalist that will keep us forever young. I told you about the fleece flower root, right? Do I want a pair of green snakeskin pumps?”
“It’s so dreary, Camilla.”
“These are a really pretty shade of green.”
“No. This PLU event. I’m seriously about to lose it.”
“Then get out of there. Come join. We’ll get that foot-acupuncture thing afterward. It’s the first not-freezing day in about a century.”
“I can’t. I’m supposed to be doing recruitment at this event, but it is so massively wrong for PLU, I can’t even tell you.”
A girl from the event-planning firm, who was wearing a shrunken T-shirt that proclaimed PEOPLE LIKE US! in magenta cursive over her large breasts, grabbed Evelyn by the elbow. “Excuse me. People Like Us, right?”
“I’m on the phone,” Evelyn replied.
“We need you to help with some collateral.”
“I’ll work on it once I’m off the phone.”
“We need you to work on it now; the guests are arriving in ten minutes.”