Free Food for Millionaires (36 page)

“—Casey, I’ve never been in love before. Not like this. He asked me to marry him. And I fought it. I tried to stay away, and so did he. But we need to be with each other. I don’t expect you to understand completely, or for us to be friends like we were before—I mean, I understand how you feel about being loyal to your friend—but we’re friends, too.”

“Ella tried to kill herself,” Casey blurted out, then felt worse than before.

Delia hung her head. She’d felt terrible about this ever since she’d heard.

“I’m not saying it’s your fault, but I am confused by all this. Delia. . .” Casey looked at the gift Delia had brought. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a bad person. I don’t. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hope you’re happy. I do. I hope it works out.” She raised her eyebrows. “To be honest, I’m kind of puzzled by the great women Ted can attract. I really am. He must be something else.”

“He can be an asshole. And when he is, I tell him to cut it out.” Delia crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. “When I heard. . . she took codeine, I told him to go back to her.”

Casey looked into Delia’s eyes, wordless.

“But she didn’t want him back.”

“I know.” It was true. Ella was filing for divorce, and she wanted full custody.

“I don’t expect us to be friends like before.. . .” Delia repeated this statement, wanting Casey to contradict her even as she fully anticipated a rejection.

Casey reached over to hug Delia, and Delia held her tight.

“I’m sorry,” Delia said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for who I am.”

“No, no, don’t say that,” Casey said. Delia’s words upset her.

Each pulled back, and Casey looked at Delia.

“Listen, I want you to be happy. I’m glad you have love. I hope he’s good to you. And you’re right, when Ted is an asshole, you should let him know. He’s probably grateful that someone is checking him,” Casey said. “It must come as a relief to him that not everyone believes his show.”

Delia nodded. “Ted’s good to me.”

Casey nodded.

“You know what Ted said, Casey? He said that he’s a strategic person on every aspect of his life.” Delia made air quotes when she said the word
strategic.
“And falling in love with me has been his most irrational act. But he said that being a smart and calculating person has been his way of building a strong cage around him, and doing the unexpected has freed him to be a new person. He said he feels free even though he’s kind of scared. Ted admitted that he’s scared.” Delia appeared proud of him. “And I think when he explained it that way, I realized he wasn’t just having an affair. He says. . . he says that winning life isn’t worth it without me.”

Delia had had no one to tell this to. She averted her gaze, filled with shame and happiness. She looked up. “I don’t think I’ve been very strategic with my life.” It was odd to use Ted’s funny Harvard words. “I haven’t trusted men, but I decided that I will make my life with Ted. I know it’s crazy, but he and I make sense even though it doesn’t look right. Do you know what I mean? Like I know what he thinks, what he’ll do. I can’t explain our connection.”

Casey nodded, wanting to understand. She squeezed Delia’s hand.

“I better get going,” Delia said. She hugged Casey again.

“Bye now,” Casey said, feeling her loss again.

Delia left them, and a few of the guys seemed sad to see her go but didn’t urge her to stay. She was Ted’s girl now. Unless you were living in a cave, you knew about the security tape and Ted’s and Delia’s “resignations.”

On their way out, Hugh slung the golf bag over his shoulder. Everyone said good-bye at the table and again at the sidewalk. Kevin Jennings actually noogied her on the head. One of the traders put her in a headlock and made her say uncle, threatening to tickle her.

“I’m really going to miss you guys,” she said, coughing, when she was freed. Drinking made everyone sentimental and ridiculous.

Hugh hailed a taxi and offered to take her home. They both lived on the East Side. Casey nearly fell into the cab while Hugh put the clubs in the trunk. From her seat, she could hear him telling the driver where to take them. “Two stops,” Hugh said, and gave the driver her address as the first stop before his, although it didn’t make much sense because she lived a few blocks north of him. Seated in the back of the yellow cab, she felt even more muddy-headed from the red wine, champagne, and brandy. Tomorrow would be a doozy.

“You don’t like them,” Hugh said as he entered the car, even before he sat down.

Casey didn’t understand right away. Then she got it.

“No, no. I love them. I do. It was incredibly—”

Hugh cut her off. “Women like jewelry, clothes—”

“But girls also need cash.”

Hugh laughed. An old girlfriend used to ask him for money to tip the bathroom attendant when she went to the bathroom, as if she were Holly Golightly or something. He’d always give her a hundred-dollar bill, and there was never any change. That was some girl, though—Hugh smiled at the thought of her significant talents.

“Real estate is good, too,” Casey continued. “Even better than jewelry. The resale value on diamonds is actually quite shocking.”

Hugh turned to her and kissed her on the mouth. The pressure of his mouth was strong, and Casey didn’t resist. He put his right hand behind her neck, and Casey leaned her head back, letting his tongue in her mouth. Hugh took her hand and placed it on his crotch.

Casey pulled back. “Hey, hey, hey,” she whispered, withdrawing her hand, realizing that she’d just touched his erection. The kissing had been good, and she’d certainly been with men who were less attractive than Hugh. But his direct come-on was fast and unexpected. In their three years, he’d never done anything but treat her like a college kid. “Cut it out, Hugh,” she said quietly, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, drawing his body away from hers. He combed his hair back with both hands. “Funny, I don’t get that much.” He wiped the corners of his mouth with his index finger and thumb.

“You don’t get what much? Girls who say no?”

He nodded.

“Well, honey, there’s always a first time,” Casey said, thinking of the strange victories found in a woman’s refusal. Virginia had once said men never forgot the girls who said no. This was particularly odd for her to say, because Virginia nearly always said yes. “I’d rather have good sex than pride,” Virginia had claimed a moment later, to which Casey had replied, “Under your theory, you’d rather have good sex than be memorable.” Virginia had ultimately won the point, however, when she’d declared, “Oh no, Casey, I make sure that the sex is so good, he can’t forget it.” Casey took her word for it.

Hugh sat up straight and adjusted himself. Then he reached over and took Casey’s hand again and held it. Her long fingers laced with his.

Casey glanced at Hugh but imagined Unu’s face instead—his dark, sad pupils, the sharp arch of his eyebrows when he joked. His first wife had been in love with someone else throughout their marriage. In the end, he’d told her to go, but even when she was there, she’d already been gone. She didn’t want him to get hurt again.

Hugh rested his head against the back of the seat. He felt the buzz of the Sauternes and coffee. “Shouldn’t have had the coffee,” he said.

Casey didn’t know what to say to Hugh. Why had he kissed her?

“So, you in love with your feller?” Hugh asked.

“Feller?” she said, imitating his inflection. “Oh yes, I forgot, your generation does have its speech peculiarities.”

“You didn’t answer the question, my dear.”

“He doesn’t believe in marriage,” Casey said, not having intended to say that at all.

“You don’t seem like the marrying kind, either,” he said.

“You’re probably right.” She agreed with him, though it upset her to hear it. What girl wanted to be the unmarrying kind? She’d done some bad things in her life. She was no Ella, but she was no Delia, either. And even Delia was getting married, it seemed, to Mr. HBS. And at the office, she’d been more than competent and respected. They cared about her enough to throw this lavish send-off. What did Hugh mean by that? That he wouldn’t marry a girl like her or that she didn’t seem to want to get married? She turned to him. The blush of liquor stained his cheeks, and Casey glanced down at his pants, then felt ashamed at having looked.

He’d caught her doing this. “And what are you looking at, missy?”

“Not much,” she said, giving him the line from her old neighborhood.

He was still holding her hand, and now he drew it closer to his torso. Casey’s eyes didn’t waver from his. He was trying to make her play a version of chicken, and she wouldn’t let him win. Hugh inhaled, drawing in his flat stomach, then tucked her hand into his trousers. The cottony shirting fabric of boxers felt smooth and warm. Her fingers nested him.

Casey measured her own breathing. “Thanks for sharing the good news,” she said. With control, she stroked him slowly upward. Hugh stopped breathing. She pulled her hand away. She smiled, feeling her power restored. The taxi driver was busy talking to his dispatcher in a language she couldn’t make out, maybe Russian or Polish. She had no intention of giving Hugh a hand job.

They weren’t five blocks from her apartment. “You know what, Hugh? It’s late. I better go to sleep. I have to go to work tomorrow.”

“Mmm. It is late. You should go to bed,” he said, winking.

She shook her head no.

Hugh moved in and kissed her again, and this time she didn’t fight it, letting his tongue move in her mouth, his hands roam over her brown silk blouse. He was good at this, and she was admittedly curious about his lovemaking, but this was where it would end, she told herself.

The taxi stopped in front of her building. George Ortiz, who was working the late shift, headed toward the car but stopped approaching when he saw a man in the car leaning toward Casey Han.

Casey pulled away from Hugh. She opened her purse to give Hugh some money.

“Put your money away,” Hugh said, then told the driver to hang on and keep the meter running.

They both got out of the car. Hugh removed the clubs from the trunk and pulled the strap over Casey’s shoulder. He moved closer to her.

“Don’t kiss me,” Casey said with a polite smile.

Hugh crinkled his pretty brown eyes.

“George,” Casey whispered.

“Who’s George? Now you live with two guys?”

“The doorman,” she said. If George had seen Hugh kissing her in the taxi, he wouldn’t say anything to Unu, she imagined, but he’d think less of her.

Hugh turned away and went into the car. From inside, he blew her a kiss. No one could tell him what to do. He screwed up his eyes when he looked at her, as though he were trying to make out a sign from far away. “Good night, Casey Cat.”

“Good night, Hugh Edgar,” she said, then turned toward the building.

George had kept a respectful distance, but he had missed nothing. He took the golf bag from her. “Thanks, George,” she said without making eye contact.

The doorman nodded, the line of his lips drawn thin and straight. The guy in the cab had looked over Unu’s girlfriend as though he wanted to eat her. He was not a good guy—that bit was obvious. George pulled the bag strap closer to his neck and followed behind Casey. He helped her with the elevator and let her get upstairs.

Unu was home. He’d been playing solitaire with a fresh deck of cards. The deliberate act of laying out the rows of cards, their faces down, was refreshing. That evening he’d come home, having forgotten that Casey would be out at her dinner, and the empty apartment felt keenly lonely to him. Things were not going well at work. His last calls on a few stocks had bombed, and Frank, his boss, in an act of kindness surely, had been giving him signs that his year-end bonus would be flat or even down this year. If his bonus was down, then it might as well be a Dear John letter. And the week before, he’d gone to Foxwoods when Casey was at Sabine’s and lost eight thousand dollars. He owed his bookie two grand.

Casey let herself in, took off her shoes, and scanned the table surfaces for a packet of cigarettes. Unu was playing cards and didn’t hear her come in. His concentration was hard to break. When he was reading, she had to physically tap him to get his attention.

“Hey there,” Casey said, unloading the bag of clubs near the door. The parquet floor needed mopping, she noticed.

Unu peeled off another card from his stack and turned it over. A two of spades. He looked up from his neat lines.

“Whoa. A little shopping?” he said, staring at the clubs.

“My gold watch for being a good girl Friday.”

“Check it out,” he said, getting up from his seat. “Nice.”

“Yes. Very.” Casey tried to be dignified about her disappointment.

Unu pulled out two irons, one with each hand. He whistled, exactly the same way the guys had at Kuriya. “Gor-geous,” he said.

“I have to sell them.”

“What?” Unu looked hurt. “You can’t do that. That’s a gift.” He seemed shocked by her statement.

They were Koreans, both educated in good private colleges, but he was the son of millionaires, grew up in an affluent suburb, private school from kindergarten on. On either side of his parents’ family, there wasn’t a single person who didn’t graduate from Seoul National, Yonsei, or Ewha University. Her folks never went to college. She’d grown up in a tacky apartment building bracketed by the Maspeth gas tanks and Queens Boulevard. Her parents still lived in a rental, and their only asset had just burned down. Could he ever understand her?

“Listen up, rich boy, I need some dough. I can’t afford two sets of clubs. You get me? Get real,” she said, scowling.

“Rich boy?” Unu said. His eyes shrank, as if he were trying to hide them.

Normally, she’d have apologized, but Casey didn’t feel like it. She spotted the Camels on the console. There was a lighter in her skirt pocket.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.

“I’m just up to my ears in debt again. I can’t stop thinking about my school loans and this idea of compounding interest. And of course, of course. . . there’s always my credit card bills.” Casey sealed her lips. “I know. It’s my fault. I blame myself for this mess. Okay?” Her voice sounded more defensive than she’d have liked. But Unu hadn’t accused her of anything. “And you are trying to help me on that score. I do appreciate it. Really.” She shook her head, feeling angrier by the second. She hated explaining her problems. Money made her feel ashamed, angry, and afraid. And she had done it to herself. She’d dug the grave, one handful of dirt at a time. Her debts made her want to disappear in the hole.