“Look, I can do this job. My ideas were really good. If you’re that serious about these sports events, fine. I’ll get on board with sports events, though I want to be on record saying they’re a mistake.”
“We’re a small staff and we need people who are team players, frankly, not socialites playing at a day job.” He looked at his watch. “I need to get things ready for this event. Good luck.” He walked behind her to the kitchen.
Evelyn stood for only a couple of seconds before she got shoulder-checked by a baby-tee girl. She whirled around, grabbed her purse, and walked through the bar and out into the treeless section of Madison, blinking hard at the mirthless April sunlight. Half of her thought she should go plead her case to Arun, always the more sympathetic of the two co-CEOs. But then what? She’d keep marching to that dingy office while her friends bloomed and grew in their soft-lit lives? The M2 bus pulled up to the curb, stopped, and wheezed its dirty exhaust at her. The brown ad on the side of the bus was for Cellino and Barnes, injury attorneys. The M2’s doors opened and started beeping, pressing her for a decision. They thought she was a socialite? They dismissed her very good ideas because of that? Fine. She’d be a socialite.
Evelyn started stalking uptown. Madison was so dreadful here, loaded with dentists’ offices, kaiser-roll sandwich shops, and would-be luxury retailers that couldn’t afford the rent farther up, that after two blocks she walked west instead of heading east toward her apartment. Fifth Avenue opened up, broad and proud, Central Park in the background, the trees beginning to push out green leaves and closed buds. She crossed the street, feeling tourists’ eyes on her: Who is that? Is that someone? Yes, she told them in her head and, to show them that she was, pushed the door open at Bergdorf’s.
She tamped down the mincing thought that she shouldn’t be spending money. When things were rotten, you had clearance to do whatever you needed to do to get by, she was fairly sure Camilla had said once: throw money at the problem. She would get stock options from People Like Us, and probably some kind of severance or exit bonus. She was only going to get lunch, only going to create a glimmer of niceness in this day.
Up on the seventh floor, Evelyn ordered a Gotham salad and a chenin blanc. This was where she was supposed to be, up here off the dirty streets, with people who were actually like her, not People Like Us. Evelyn was feeling back to herself by the time she ordered an espresso with a twist of lemon and laid down her pretty silver Visa.
A few minutes later, as she glanced away from the Central Park view, she noticed the waiter hovering at her shoulder, mustache quivering.
“Yes?” she said coldly.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, do you have another credit card we could try?”
The “ma’am” distracted her, as it made her feel old, and it took her a moment to process what he was saying. “Pardon? What?” she said, making a Mitford fix.
“The credit card was declined.”
It sounded like he had raised his voice on purpose, and she frantically scanned the tables of chignoned blondes around her to see if they heard.
“That can’t be right,” Evelyn said. “Please try it again.” She had brought only the silver Visa with her because she knew she’d paid the minimum on that one, at least. Hadn’t she? Visa couldn’t stop letting her use it when the minimum was maybe one or two months late, could they? Wouldn’t they have sent her a letter? Had they sent her a letter? Wasn’t the point of a credit card to have credit? The silver card winked at her, taunted her, and she was glad when he took it away.
A piano played something insistent and Russian sounding, and Evelyn blinked. A young girl bumped into her chair, whining to her mother that they were already late for spinning, and Evelyn saw the girl was wearing a current-season Marni jacket. If the bills were as bad as Charlotte had thought they were—but no, they must not be—yet just on Thursday, she’d received a letter saying her April rent was past due and needed immediate payment. She tried to do what the Equinox yoga instructor said to do and thank each thought for coming, then let it float away, but the thoughts were not floating away and she couldn’t force them away, not even here, where she was supposed to be able to escape.
Evelyn clenched and unclenched her jaw. The waiter came back and, before Evelyn could even sit up straight, handed her the card, on a silver tray. There was no receipt.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said.
“Excuse me, please, while I sort this out,” Evelyn said.
He took a step back but remained at the table. “I said excuse me,” Evelyn said. “I’ll need a few minutes.” He turned on his heel and walked off.