“That sounds about right,” said Karen, smiling. “Or maybe it’s Vancouver. I can’t remember.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he went on. “She was the biggest dyke on the whole planet. And yet, in my great na?veté, I somehow imagined that my charms would be enough to convert her.” He smiled back.
“From what I recall, it was a valiant effort.”
“—that failed miserably.”
They both laughed.
“I assume you eventually found love elsewhere,” Karen said.
“Don’t assume so much,” Clay replied. “But first, I want to hear about you. What have you been doing since college?”
“That’s a very good question—let’s see,” said Karen. “Well, the nineties are kind of a blur at this point. I worked in DC for a while.”
“Such a boring fucking place.”
“Tell me about it. Then, at around thirty, I got a master’s degree, which I never use. For a split second after that, I worked at Planned Parenthood.”
“Giving abortions?” asked Clay.
“Excuse me?”
“Just kidding.”
“I was actually in the communications department, but whatever,” Karen said with a quick laugh as she tried to gauge whether or not she should be mortally offended. Her whole life, she’d had a tendency toward delayed reactions.
“For the record, I fully support Planned Parenthood,” said Clay, as if he could tell she was still deciding. “I think I even give them money.”
“Oh—cool,” said Karen, trying to smile.
“And then what?” asked Clay.
“Well, at some point, I began fund-raising for the causes I care about. And at another point, I got married and had a kid. My husband and I actually met at the Republican National Convention, if you can believe it. Or, really, outside the Republican National Convention. If I remember correctly, we were both chanting, ‘Hey, ho, the GOP must go.’” Somehow, Karen sensed that Clay, whatever his current political persuasion, would appreciate that last detail.
And he did. “Of course you were,” he said, seeming inordinately pleased, if only because the anecdote fit so neatly into his picture of the world. “I love it.”
“And our daughter is about to turn nine,” Karen went on. “And I don’t have to tell you what I’m doing right now, because you already know! What about you?”
“What about me?” he said, popping an olive into his mouth as if there weren’t much to say.
“I don’t know! Tell me anything.”
“Well, I’m permanently jet-lagged. And I have four kids. How’s that?”
“Four! Yikes,” said Karen, who had noticed in her travels that only the very rich and the very poor had families that large anymore. “I can barely manage one.”
“Yeah, well, we have a lot of help.” Clay unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap. “But to be honest, it’s been kind of stressful lately. My wife basically hates my guts.”
“Oh no!” said Karen, surprised at how forthcoming he was being and titillated to have such personal information in her possession but also feeling that she somehow needed to even the score. “Well, my husband and I barely see each other,” she told him. “He used to work as a housing lawyer, but now he’s building this website and app, and he’s never home. But why am I telling you this?” She laughed again, this time nervously. Now that she’d said so much, she felt guilty and keen to bring the conversation back to its original impetus in case Clay had forgotten why she’d invited him to lunch. “Anyway, I hope you don’t mind me e-mailing you out of nowhere. I’m sure you’re incredibly busy. But I heard you were involved in philanthropy, and I just wanted to let you know that Hungry Kids is an amazing cause. People think starving children exist only in Africa. But it’s a big issue right here in our own backyards. It’s even worse for these kids on weekends and in the summertime when schools are out and not providing free breakfast and lunch. By our estimates, there are currently one point seven million people living in food-insecure households here in the city and surrounding areas, one million of whom are children and three hundred thousand of whom are grown-ups who are eligible for food stamps but who don’t have them. So part of what we do is help parents file for the benefits their families are entitled to. We also help stock food pantries and soup kitchens—”
“It all sounds very admirable,” said Clay, interrupting. “In fact, I had my assistant look up your GuideStar rating this morning and apparently you guys get five stars. But first I have a question.” He laid a hand on Karen’s forearm. “Do you think we could order before we talk any more about your good cause? To be honest, I’m fucking starving…speaking of starving.”
“Of course!” said Karen, embarrassed. Had she come on too strong, too early? You had to time these things for maximum impact. Following Clay’s lead, she picked up her menu and quickly announced, “I think I’m going to get the wild salmon.”
“Always a solid choice,” said Clay, motioning for the waiter.
He ordered for them both—oysters on the half shell for himself, along with some pasta dish involving scallops, a large bottle of sparkling water, and a half a dozen exotic-sounding appetizers that Karen doubted they’d be able to finish, which struck her as ironic considering they were there to address food scarcity. But no matter.
After the waiter left, Clay said, “So, back to your thing…I have a real question for you. I hope you’re not offended by my asking it. But the poor children one sees around the city don’t always look exactly, well—how do I put this nicely?—starving. Sometimes the opposite.”
Karen had heard the question before. “Actually, childhood obesity has a lot to do with food scarcity. When they have no access to nutritious food, children are more likely to fill up on empty calories that taste good while they’re eating them but don’t make them feel full or provide them with adequate nutrients. You can be obese and malnourished. That’s the irony. And that’s where Hungry Kids’ education program comes in. We have this amazing troupe of young actors who visit the public schools and perform skits that teach young children about healthy eating habits. They’re actually hilarious. They all dress up as fruits and vegetables.”
“Sounds amusing,” said Clay.
Was he mocking her? Karen couldn’t tell. “Anyway,” she continued, “we’d be totally thrilled if you wanted to get involved. Eighty percent of donations go directly to feeding the poor and related programs. I should add that we also have this fantastic new outreach program, Keep It Fresh, which increases access to affordable and nutritious fresh food in low-income neighborhoods and enables economic development through creating or expanding food-related jobs and—”
“I’m happy to help,” said Clay, again cutting her off and also sounding the tiniest bit impatient.
Or was Karen overinterpreting? “Thank you so much, Clay,” she said, relieved to have gotten the ask part of the conversation over with, even as she wished she’d waited.