“Wait,” Charlotte said. “The deal I’m working on. We’re acquiring the pill-packaging division of a pharma company. Evelyn, it’s a company that had been sued by Leiberg Channing.”
Evelyn didn’t move. Like a fear-of-flying airline passenger counting the seats to the exit row, she mentally measured how close to any eavesdropper they were. The drone of the overhead lights was the only immediate sound she could hear, the party muffled by the thick wall to her right.
“I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it before, but the indictment against your dad came up in due diligence. Don’t tell anyone I told you this—I’d get fired—but Evelyn, our lawyers say it doesn’t look good for him.”
“There’s no indictment, Charlotte. There’s a weak investigation, and that’s all, and, as I said, it is absolutely none of your business.”
“Technically, it is my business, since we came across it in due diligence,” said Charlotte. “And Evelyn, there is an indictment. It’s not just an investigation anymore. He was indicted on Monday.”
Evelyn’s laugh sounded cackling. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I know so, Evelyn.”
“I don’t … I don’t…” Evelyn bent over the water fountain and took a long sip of water. She remembered the two or three missed calls from Sag Neck this week that she hadn’t returned. When she stood up from the fountain, she felt pulled together again. An indictment wasn’t that much worse than an investigation; it was just formal charges. It was better, even, because now it was clear what her father was dealing with, and his lawyer could respond properly. “Indictments happen all the time, Charlotte. I really have to get back.” She began heading toward the door.
“Did you know the partners at Leiberg are planning to sue your father if he can’t get the case dropped?”
“That’s ridiculous. He is one of the partners at Leiberg.” Evelyn had stopped walking and was staring down the empty hallway in front of her, which was too long and too gray all of a sudden.
“They’re distancing themselves. Evelyn, that can be a lot of money. There’s also restitution. I don’t know how much your family has—”
Evelyn whirled back. Was everything fair game for Charlotte? Her job, her choices, her father, her family’s money? “No, you don’t, Charlotte. You’re right, you could get fired for this, so I’m not sure you should talk about it anymore.”
“Are you serious?”
“Are you serious? I have to go walk in this show and I’m about to cry from the stress of what was supposed to be a fun night, and I just wanted a single minute by myself, but apparently that’s too much to ask.”
Charlotte balled up her hand into a fist. “Fine, Evelyn. Fine. Go walk in your fashion show. Sorry that I tried to actually talk to you about something that’s really fucking important. Sorry that I left work and changed into this ugly fucking dress, which is like Banana Republic 1995 and was the only thing in my office closet because I haven’t had time to go shopping like you and Camilla seem to do every other day despite your massive—can we say massive? let’s say massive—credit-card bills. Okay? You’re right. Go take your minute to get your blush done or whatever the fuck you need to do and go do your fashion show. That’s what’s important.”
Evelyn stepped back, then stepped back again. Her phone buzzed and she looked at it: a text from Camilla, “They nd u backstage NOW.” Charlotte was pounding her fist against the water-fountain button, making water shoot on and off, and Evelyn left her, walking away so fast she was almost running. She rejoined Camilla behind the scrim. Ten minutes of makeup and ten minutes of hair later, she changed into her outfit, a kilt with a tight sequined sweater that was the more demure version of what Camilla was wearing. As she tugged on the kilt, Evelyn forced herself to ignore the uneasy feeling that lingered like bad breath from the conversation with Charlotte.
“You look good,” said Camilla, sticking out her lower lip.
“You look better,” Evelyn said, and got in line behind Camilla to strut along the runway. Evelyn indeed made the party photos at Patrick McMullan the next day. The photo caption read “Camilla Rutherford and friend.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Homeward Bound