He glanced over his shoulder, then up the street behind me. His eyes, when they landed on mine, were brimming with a new emotion. Panic? Fear?
“I have to tell you something,” he said, and he pulled me inside.
*
The long-awaited Fletcher Foundation gala had been the week before. I got there early, in charge of checking guests in upon arrival. I peered through the doors into the ballroom, which glowed softly, with white roses and candlelight on every table. Up on stage was Eleanor, clipboard and BlackBerry in hand. She wore a long black gown. Her skin had the slightest dusting of a tan.
Laurie arrived, looking exhausted. I had overheard snatches of her conversation with Henry Fletcher earlier that day. She was explaining that the gala had cost more than anticipated. Donations had dried up, returns from the endowment were down, and we were tight on cash for the rest of the year. The conversation seemed to go badly. “Yes, of course,” she had said, raising her voice. “Of course I know how bad the market is right now. But I’m telling you that we’re at real risk of—”
She paused, apparently listening to him. She spoke more quietly, and I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She sighed after she hung up. Then she shut her door, and it stayed shut for the rest of the afternoon.
“Oh, hello, Julia,” she said distractedly. She dumped her bag and coat on the checkin table. “Can you find somewhere to put these?”
The guests started arriving in a trickle, then all at once. I kept a smile plastered on my face, answering questions, directing traffic. A corner of my mind worried over Laurie’s mood. If things were as bad as she said, I wondered whether my job might be in jeopardy. A little later, Abby and Jake walked through the door. “Julia!” Abby said, coming over to give me a hug. “Holy crap. Woman in charge.”
“Hey,” Jake said, jerking his chin in greeting.
“Hi, guys. Let’s see…you’re at table one. No surprise there, I guess.”
“You look great,” Abby said.
“Stop. You look great.” She did, too. I had never seen her so radiant. “Hey, Jake, are your parents here? Laurie is eagerly awaiting them.”
“Yeah,” Jake said, rubbing his chin and looking bored. “They’re outside. My dad got stopped by some reporter.”
Adam, I thought, and my heart fluttered.
“Are we sitting together?” Abby said.
“What? Oh, no. Laurie is probably at your table, though.”
Abby and Jake drifted toward the coat check. There was a lull in the arrivals. I took the chance to scoot out from behind the table and survey the red-carpeted sidewalk. Henry and Dot Fletcher were talking to the reporter, a man in jeans and a parka. He held a recorder up toward Henry Fletcher. The parka man turned, catching the light on his face. It wasn’t Adam. Of course it wasn’t. I went back to the table, smoothed my skirt, and resumed my smile. The Fletchers approached the table. Dot, to her credit, remembered who I was.
“Julia, dear! It’s so wonderful to see you. How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. I’m so—”
She clutched my hand to cut me off. “I was just talking with your mother the other day. You look lovely. So grown up. Doesn’t she, Henry?”
He turned, distracted, rubbing his chin. He and Jake were so much alike.
“Of course. Nice to see you.”
Dot smiled sweetly at me, waving her fingers as they walked away to join the party. Henry, I noticed, had a tan, too.
Eleanor swept through to check on me as the guests started filing into the ballroom for dinner, after the cocktail hour ended.
“What time is it?” she said.
There was a clock on the wall. “Ten past eight.”
“Good. Stay here till eight thirty, in case anyone trickles in.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “Oh, and Julia, I forgot to say. Laurie doesn’t like junior staff to drink at work events. It’s always been her policy. So just be aware of that.”
She emphasized the junior in “junior staff” with particular care. I gave the finger to her back as she walked into the ballroom. The event had started at 6:30. Nobody else was going to show up at this point. This was pure spite—Eleanor wanting to remind me that she was the one in charge.
I texted Adam. How’s the deadline coming?
It was quiet in the entrance hall, just the muted sound of traffic on Park Avenue and the occasional clatter of silverware from the ballroom. I started counting the number of no-shows for the final tally when I felt my phone buzz.
Still trying to get this piece done. I don’t suppose you have any comment on the AIG bailout? Or insight into what the Fed is thinking?
I laughed. No comment. And no insight. Sorry, I’m useless.
A minute later, another buzz. Not useless. You’re my motivation to get this done. Meet me later for a drink?