Free Food for Millionaires (62 page)

Unu nodded. “Right. Right. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks,” David said. The man looked as though his heart were shattered.

Ella came out of the kitchen carrying a wooden tray bearing a teapot, blue striped mugs, and a plate of corn muffins she’d recovered from the freezer and heated through. She set the tray on the coffee table, then sat close to her cousin.

“Unu.” Ella embraced him immediately. She looked directly at his face, her eyes full of worry. “I’m so glad to see you. So glad. You know, we don’t see enough of each other. Why is that? It’s been, what, a month? I should have called you. Hey, hey—”

Unu’s lips trembled. Even as a little girl, she’d had this goodness. As children, they’d play during family vacations and she’d fix him snacks or get him cold compresses if he got hurt. Despite their five-year difference, she had always seemed like the older one. He had never wanted to look bad before her, but Ella would accept you. She’d never cast you out.

Ella moved closer to him to rub his back. She smoothed his hair, permitting him to sit in his anguish privately but not be alone. David remained seated in the armchair, not knowing if he should stay or go. It would be wrong to rush out, to draw attention to himself right now. His fiancée was so lovely, caring for her cousin in this way. Her heart was so big. David couldn’t look away, to not observe this moment. Unu was sobbing violently, almost unable to breathe. His hands, however, had stopped their fidgeting. David leaned his body forward; he’d say nothing, wait for Ella to indicate what he should do.

“Honey, whatever it is, it will look different tomorrow. It’s always worse at night. You need to rest.” Ella knew this was true. The awful could be different the next day. A social worker at the hospital had told her after she had taken too many of the codeine pills that every day the pain would alter a little and somehow you’d manage just a bit better. “I promise, Unu. There isn’t anything you can’t face.”

“I was evicted today. I lost everything.”

Ella tried to contain her surprise. David nodded solemnly.

“Then you’ll stay here. You’ll tell me everything in the morning. I’ll go make your room right now.” She pulled away from him so she could see his face better. She kept her arm around his shoulders. He looked so exhausted. “Do you want to sleep?”

Unu shook his head no. He wouldn’t be able to sleep like this. Without having explained. So he told them about the gambling. He spoke rapidly, hardly slowing down to give sufficient details, as if he’d lose his nerve if he took too many breaths. In his telling, he could hear the pattern himself: The gambling had started in Korea after his wife left—the occasional game of blackjack at Walker Hill; then, when he returned to the States, he’d placed a few bets on NCAA games through his frat brother, and then he found himself driving to Foxwoods on the weekends to stifle the boredom of his job. Things had gotten better when he was with Casey but got worse after he was fired. When she left, it had gone to hell.

Ella’s mouth was slightly open. A long time ago, Casey had mentioned something about Unu going to Foxwoods now and then. She had never mentioned that it was a problem. But it wasn’t like Casey to criticize others. When people were wrong or unkind, Casey tended not to talk about it. In all the time Ella was married to Ted, Casey had not said anything bad about him, though Ted had often been awful to her. How had she lived with Unu’s gambling? Especially if Casey had always worried about money. This didn’t justify her sleeping with her former colleague, but Ella couldn’t think any more that her cousin had been entirely innocent. Their breakup must have been more complicated than that. Ella should have thought about that, too. Her own divorce was baffling at best. She barely understood what had happened to her and Ted even now. Where had she gone wrong? Where had he?

Unu stopped crying. His face was calm, his eyes drained of the terror that had been there when he had first walked into the house.

“Did Casey—” Ella stopped herself. All she knew about their breakup was that Casey had slept with Hugh Underhill. Unu had said he had ended it because of that. Naturally, Ella had thought that was right. And Casey had not called her after moving out, and Ella had spoken to her only once—about her mom—and that call had gone poorly. “I mean, how did she. . .”

Unu paused before speaking. What did Ella want to know?

“I threw her out because she fucked Hugh. Maybe she fucked him because she was angry at me. Maybe she fucked Hugh because she thought I was a bum. Maybe she fucked him because she felt like fucking him. Maybe she fucked him because I wouldn’t marry her. Who the fuck knows?” Unu laughed. Suddenly he felt ridiculous. All this time, he had done everything he could to stop thinking about her. She had cheated on him even though she had known what his ex-wife had already done. He’d thought it was love—what they had, or at least on his side, anyway. Could he have read her wrong? The market calls he’d made—buy the growth and hold on long—Unu had been a true believer, not some damn hedger. The Street seemed to function on the slash and burn—live for this crop cycle and forget next year. Then whatever, he’d thought, he’d gamble it all, because what was the point of accumulating everything anyway or building something up? But inside, he’d been fighting to cling to some old notions of love. He had loved her. He had wanted it to work out. All along, he’d hoped that she was a true believer, too. Had she loved Hugh Underhill? No, it couldn’t have been that, he told himself. But they had never spoken about what had happened. Not really. He had made her leave because it had hurt too much to see her.

Unu sighed, then looked at Ella, his eyes confused and sad.

“We’ll think about Casey later, sorry,” Ella said slowly. “But right now, we have to get you to bed. Tomorrow we’ll look into getting help for you.” She glanced at David.

“There’s a lot of things we can do about gambling,” David said. There were programs for addiction that the inmates he’d taught had gone to in the city when they got out. He would call some people he knew.

“I have a list of meetings for Gamblers Anonymous. But it’s in my apartment.” Unu chuckled, remembering the green sheet of paper he’d saved from the glove compartment before giving up his car. “The landlord will get it. Like everything else in the place.” He shook his head in disbelief. It was all gone, he realized. Everything.

“Can’t we get your things back?” she asked.

Unu didn’t say anything. He didn’t have all the back rent, penalties, and lawyer’s fees—the things described in the eviction notice. More than that, he didn’t have the stamina to claim them.

“How much is owed?” David asked, surprised to hear the sound of his own voice.

“No. I don’t want anyone to bail me out. Everything is gone. I did this.”

Ella was sure that Unu would not change his mind.

“I’ll take you to the meeting tomorrow. We’ll find another schedule,” Ella said. David nodded encouragingly.

“I don’t want to be like this, Ella,” Unu said. “I don’t want to be a loser.”

Ella winced, hearing Ted’s word. “There are no winners or losers, Unu. That’s all. . .” She twisted her mouth a little before saying, “That’s just bullshit.”

Unu had to laugh, never having heard Ella swear before.

She took his hands into hers. “May I pray with you? I mean, can we try?”

She had never done this either.

“Come, David,” she said, and he moved toward them. The three of them held hands.

Ella tried to think of what she’d say. Speaking was not something she wanted to do, but she was scared for Unu, and she didn’t know what else might help.

“Dear God. . .” She took a breath, her eyes shut tight. “Please let Unu feel Your love. Please never let him go. In Him we pray, amen.”

Unu opened his eyes and smiled at his cousin. David kissed Ella on the cheek.

“I am sorry, Ella. To bring this to you,” Unu said, choking up, and he looked at David, feeling ashamed about everything.

“Oh, Unu. Don’t you know? There’s nothing you could ever do that would—” She tightened her grasp of his hands.

“You will figure out what to do,” David said. “You have friends.”

“Yes,” Ella chimed in. She squeezed his hand again before running upstairs to make up the guest room.

Casey phoned the church office from her desk at Kearn Davis. She identified herself as Leah Han’s daughter, saying that she wanted to ask the choir director for advice about some choral recordings for her mother. A surprise to cheer her up. “My mom loves hymns, you know.”

Of course, Mrs. Kong, the church secretary, knew that Deaconess Cho had suffered a miscarriage. The congregation had prayed for her during Wednesday Night Alive services. How nice of the daughter to get a present for her mother.

“And if I could have his address, I can send him a thank-you note for his help.”

Mrs. Kong took the time to spell out the choir director’s street address in Brooklyn and read out loud his home phone number twice.

“I’m sure the professor will want to know how your mother is doing.”

“Yes. I think so.” Casey thanked Mrs. Kong.

The church secretary wished her mother a blessed recovery.

14
CROWN

T
HE COPIERS SHUT OFF AUTOMATICALLY AT NIGHT,
so Casey had to turn one back on to make two copies of her memo for Karyn and Larry. Anticipating that it would take a few minutes to start up again, she’d brought along the day’s paper. It was two in the morning, and she was at the office waiting for Xerox to cooperate. If she weren’t so tired, she’d find it funny that a copy machine by its design got a chance to rest but that interns didn’t. Her life was privileged, absurd, or shit, depending on how you looked at it, but this was the final week of the Kearn Davis banking summer intern program. The offer decisions would come out on Friday. Till then, Casey would do whatever Karyn and Larry wanted her to do.

Two of her office mates had already finished the crossword expertly, so Casey flipped to the movie section for new releases. In the middle of the right-hand column of the arts section, there was a black-bordered memorial notice from Icarus Publishers: “Joseph McReed, a true lover of books. 1913–1997. You are missed already.”

The green copy button lit up. The machine whirred steadily. Casey placed her forty-page memo on top of the feeder and pressed “copy.” She sat on the nearest chair and cried.

By eight in the morning, Casey was showered and dressed in a black suit. Sabine and Isaac had been long awake and were drinking their wheatgrass shakes in the Gottesmans’ marble-tiled kitchen. Melon wedges, yogurt, and toast had been put out on the counter.

“Have something to eat,” Isaac said.

“And the green stuff.” Sabine lifted her glass, grimacing. “Mmm.”

“Good morning,” Casey said, politely waving away the offers. She poured herself a cup of black coffee. If she could smoke in Sabine’s apartment, life would be a lot better. She had to move before school started.

“How are you?” Sabine was scanning the front page of the
Times
. She pulled down her reading glasses. “You look awful. When did you get in last night?”

“Three. Another great party at the office. Ha, ha.” Casey was disgusted with her lack of sleep. After she’d dropped off the memos on Larry’s and Karyn’s chairs, she’d worked for another twenty minutes, then finally taken a black car home.

“Poor baby,” Sabine murmured. It was pointless to tell Casey to quit now.

“They don’t pay you enough to work like that,” Isaac declared.

“Joseph McReed died,” Casey said. She leaned her hip against the island counter and sipped her coffee.

“The old guy with the bookstore?” Sabine frowned, noticing Casey’s melancholy expression.

“Who?” Isaac asked. He was snipping wheatgrass to make Casey a double shot.

“This book dealer that Casey took the bus with on Seventy-second Street,” Sabine explained, then turned to Casey. “Oh, how sad. He was your friend. And he gave you that incredible vintage hat from Lock & Co. You know, I called them in London after you showed me that hat. But they weren’t interested in distributing through us. I had this amazing idea of doing our windows with their things. You know, an Ascot theme!” Sabine raised her open palms like a showgirl. Her rose-colored manicure twinkled. “I phoned our window guy, Jolien, and he thought—”

“I hadn’t seen Joseph since I moved out of Unu’s. Because now I take the bus on Fifth. And I hadn’t checked in with him because I was busy, and—” Her stomach gurgled. She took another sip of coffee.

Isaac came forward and put his arm around her. Sabine moved closer to huddle with them.

“His memorial service is in an hour. At the Society Library.”

“You can make it?” Isaac asked. “Those bastards are going to let you go? Ah, then again, who cares. Go anyway.”

“Speaking of those bastards, I have to call Bastard One,” Casey said.

“Have fun.” Sabine shuddered and returned to her paper.

Isaac handed Casey a glass of wheatgrass juice. “For courage.”

She downed it, then ate a bite of toast. After taking a deep breath, she picked up the kitchen phone. Isaac pinched his nose with one hand and waved away the air with the other, as if there were a foul odor. Sabine burst out laughing.

“Larry Chirtle speaking.”

Casey zipped her lips in the direction of Isaac and Sabine. “Good morning, Larry. It’s Casey Han.”

“Hey, Casey,” Larry said brightly. “Got the memo. Did you get a chance to look up the numbers for Drane—?”

“I should have it for you this afternoon.”

“Not this morning?”

“I have to go to a memorial service.”

“Someone die?”

“Yes. A friend.”

“That’s too bad.”

“He was a good friend,” she said, sensing his disapproval.

“Will you get a chance to finish the project this afternoon? I don’t mean to be a jerk about it, but if you can’t, I’ll hand it over to someone else.”

“No need, Larry. I said I would. But I have to go to the memorial.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“Thanks.”

“O-kay.” He hung up the phone.

Isaac uncrossed his arms. “That’s a stupid business. And that’s no way to talk to another human being. He’s going to make a terrible banker.”

“Well, he’s my boss for now.” Charlie Seedham, the real boss, had charm to spare, but he reserved it for important people, not interns. Even Larry could be perfectly human if you didn’t work for him.

“You should go to the service. Good people who are kind are not common. Larry is common,” Isaac said.

Casey finished her coffee and put on her shoes.

The Members’ Room of the Society Library was mostly filled. Casey sat near the back row. She recognized no one. The eulogies were brief, but there were many of them. The speakers were introduced by John Griswold, Hazel’s younger brother and Joseph’s closest friend. It turned out that Joseph had suffered for years from arterial sclerosis—a heart attack came in the end. He’d been visiting John and his wife, Lucy, for the weekend at their house in Lakeville. When he didn’t come down for dinner, Lucy had knocked on the door. She’d discovered his body slumped over on the sofa, an Auden biography in his lap. The man who wrote the biography, a friend, was in attendance, and he spoke, too, making a joke about how boring his prose must have been to send poor Joseph to his final rest.

There were other things Casey learned about Joseph McReed: He was a sailor; he possessed an enviable collection of Trollope; he had played the oboe for sixty years. He’d had a drinking problem, which he’d controlled through abstinence. He and Hazel had loved to dance. A tall, elderly woman with ginger hair joked that Joseph was a terrible shopkeeper, because he didn’t actually like selling his beautiful old books. Knowing guffaws erupted at that remark. It was Hazel who’d had the head for business. After she had died, many of the speakers suggested that Joseph hadn’t much spirit left to carry on.

There were funny stories about book parties that had turned into dance parties, the kind where men knew how to lead and women knew how to dress up. Writers had come from all parts of the city to talk about Joseph and Hazel. Two of the poets were the best speakers. One recited Auden and Dylan Thomas. The other had made up a funny limerick yet burst into tears after saying it. The last memorial service she’d attended was for Willyum Butler, her professor at Princeton. Casey didn’t know if Joseph was religious or not. No one mentioned God.

When it was over, John Griswold invited everyone to the house for sandwiches. His wife stood in the back of the room handing out printed cards with directions for their place in Turtle Bay. Casey would miss the reception. It was already eleven o’clock. The bastards would have her head.

On her way out, Lucy Griswold stopped her. “You must be Casey.”

Casey looked about the room. There could be no mistake. She was the only minority person there.

“Yes. I’m Casey. Hello.”

“I’m Lucy Griswold.” She looked up and waved her husband over. “She’s here.”

John moved through the crowd toward them.

“Joseph told us about you. And I’m glad you’re here, because it would have been difficult to find you. It occurred to us to stand by the bus stop on a Saturday morning on Seventy-second Street to honor his wishes, but, anyway. . .”

Casey stared at the couple quizzically. “I don’t understand.”

“Joseph said to us several times that he wanted you to have Hazel’s hats. I think he might have mentioned my sister’s hats.” John smiled. “There are more than a hundred.”

Lucy nodded gravely. “I hope you have a huge place.”

Casey tried to keep it together. Her eye makeup was already undoubtedly a mess. As it was, she had been looking for a restroom where she could tidy up before heading back to the office.

“I can’t believe he even mentioned me.”

“Oh yes. He looked forward to seeing you at the bus stop. He’d tell us how much Hazel would have loved you. You bought
Jane Eyre
from him. I can’t believe he let it go.”

“Yes.” Casey found an old paper napkin in her purse to mop up her face. “I didn’t know him long. But he was always so nice to me. He’d make suggestions of what I should read and didn’t tease me for rereading the same books over and over.”

“I thought you’d be wearing a hat,” Lucy said. “We heard you always wear a hat.”

“I’m working in a bank right now, and—”

“Oh?” John said. “Where?”

“Kearn Davis. I’m an intern for the investment banking program.”

“Do you like it?” he asked.

Casey nodded.

He’d caught her neutral expression, however. “Ah, the world hardly needs another investment banker.”

“Oh, John—” Lucy elbowed him. “Mr. Sensitivity.”

“They’re not so bad,” Casey said halfheartedly.

“Oh, they’re awful. I used to be an investment banker before I retired. And my father was one, too. So was Lucy’s dad.”

“Can you come to the house? Chicken salad sandwiches and iced coffee. Chocolate cake. That was Joseph’s favorite lunch.”

“I wish I could. But I have to get back to work. Offers come out this week. I wasn’t supposed to be here even.” She didn’t know why she was telling them all this. “But I happened to see the memorial in the
Times
this morning, and I wanted to say good-bye—” Casey stopped talking. Lucy patted her back.

“Here’s the directions for our house. Our number is on the bottom. You call us when you want the hats. They’re in the attic at Joseph’s place in Litchfield. We can hold them for a while. But why don’t you call us. And give us your number, too.”

Casey wrote out Sabine’s number and gave it to Lucy.

“Joseph said you were a born designer,” she said.

John nodded, having heard the same.

“That’s funny.”

“He said you made beautiful hats and wore the prettiest dresses he ever saw,” she said.

Casey looked over her black suit—a Sabine hand-me-down, the fake Chanel slingbacks, the Kearn Davis tote bag. Her outfit felt like a disguise.

“He was kind to say those things,” she said.

“The old flirt. Gosh, I miss him.” Lucy smiled. She peered at the tall girl. The dark circles under her eyes showed through her concealer. Crying had made her small eyes puffier. “Do call on us, Casey. To get the hats, but come over when you like.”

“Thank you so much,” she said, leaving the Griswolds to attend to the other guests.

It was a glorious August day outside, and Casey dreaded returning to the office. It would have been wonderful to take a long walk in the park to shake off some of this sadness. But she hailed a taxi. After giving the driver her address, she stared at the park on her right as the car moved down Fifth.

On her desk, there were three messages from Karyn and two from Larry. The other interns looked as exhausted as she did, and she felt a little sorry for everyone, including herself. Five of the twenty-one wouldn’t get a spot. There was talk that they might make fewer than sixteen offers. Casey put down her things and immediately returned to Larry’s project. After she finished her assignment, she’d take thirty minutes to pay her personal bills. It was a good feeling to have money in the bank to pay them. The tuition invoice sat on top of the pile, but that would have to wait until the loan check arrived. Including living expenses, she’d borrow almost fifty thousand dollars for her second year of school.

By nine p.m., more than half the interns still remained at their desks. Casey had finished Larry’s project and had another day to work on Karyn’s. She hadn’t eaten dinner yet but couldn’t fathom the idea of more greasy take-out or pizza. The endless stream of coffee and Diet Cokes kept her wired and anxious; sleep would not come easily. All day, she’d been pushing back the idea of asking Unu if it would be all right for her to pick up some of her things. Sabine had been lending Casey skirts and blouses that didn’t fit her anymore, but it would have been nicer to have her own things. If Unu left the key with the doorman, she could get her clothes, the
Jane Eyre,
Hazel’s hat. The rest, she’d pick up when she found her own place—that being the next item on her to-do list. Of course, she’d understand if he didn’t want to see her.

Casey picked up the phone. After three rings, a recording came on. The line had been disconnected. No forwarding number. She put down the phone and went to the empty conference room that she used occasionally to work in the evenings. No one noticed her leaving the shared office.

It was quiet here, and she was finally alone. She sat at the head of the conference table. Unu was gone. The truth was that she had no right to know where he was. She couldn’t very well phone Ella, who’d certainly know how to reach him. People like Ella knew how to get in touch with others; no one was ever mad at them. She wasn’t stupid enough to torch bridges. But the last time they’d spoken, Casey had heard the judgment in her voice. Ella must’ve heard about Hugh, and though Casey could have imagined it, it sounded as if Ella doubted that she’d even bother to show up at her own mother’s hospital bedside. Whatever good opinion Ella might’ve once had of her had been lost.

She drummed her fingers on the polished conference table. On the credenza beside the wall sat a tray of glasses and a stainless carafe of ice water, stacks of fresh notepads, and two phones with video-conferencing capabilities. The door closed, she felt safe, private. Just a few yards away, more than a dozen interns in the shared office toiled, seeking to edge out the inferiors in the pack. At least five, if not more, would have to go back to school with no offer letter in hand. The people Casey had worked with in the past eight weeks had been perfectly nice, bright, and interesting. They had been uniformly attractive people. They were also out to beat her, so she them—it wasn’t personal.