Free Food for Millionaires (13 page)

She looked adoringly at Dr. Benjamin, which Casey found sort of amusing. The minister was middle-aged, no wrinkles—anywhere between forty-five and fifty-five. He kept his curly dark hair short and tidy. Silver-rimmed glasses covered his mink brown eyes. He wore a modest accountant-style suit with a crisp white shirt and mid-level banker’s red necktie. No black robes. His look was more shrewd than sober. Ella had mentioned before that it was impossible to be married by him because Dr. Benjamin was booked solid. Like everything else in New York, a good minister’s services required reservations and waiting. So Ella was going to be married by her father’s Korean minister in Queens—a very nice man who yelled a lot about hell.

Dr. Benjamin read the gospel verse from the book of Matthew: “Jesus answered, ‘It is written: Man does not live by bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”

It was a curious consequence that from Casey’s years of private reading and Sunday school, she knew the Bible cold. In that selection, the devil tempts Jesus, hungry after forty days of fasting, by saying that if he is in fact the Son of God, he could command the stones to become bread. Jesus replies by quoting Deuteronomy 8:3: “He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your fathers had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.” The Bible was endlessly referring to itself, and in college, this peculiar knowledge—peculiar, since no one she knew at Princeton read the Bible—had been helpful academically, since most of Western writings referred to it, too.

Ella nodded incessantly at Dr. Benjamin as she took meticulous notes on the sermon. Casey found Ella’s devotion grating. When the sermon ended, the offering was collected by the ushers. A basket lined with gray sponge passed through. Casey opened her wallet and spotted two twenties—money Ella had loaned her to cover her till payday on Friday. Her Sunday school teacher Mrs. Novak used to say, “Test providence, give sacrificially.” She dropped one of the twenties into the basket. Ted dropped in a folded check for fifty dollars that he’d prepared earlier. Ella dropped in a folded check for two hundred dollars—this amount representing twenty-five percent of her weekly salary.

Dr. Benjamin gave the benediction and dismissed them. Ella put away her Bible and notebook. Then she leaned over the balcony railing in search of her cousin. Casey had been observing the crowds, and Ella said assuringly, “He’s supposed to meet us outside anyway.”

Once they were on the street, opposite the college building, Ted and Ella discussed the brunch options: dim sum or Sarabeth’s. Casey, who’d been half listening, shifted when she felt the light pressure of a hand on her upper arm. Ted’s expression changed to surprise, and Casey spotted the hand first with its short blond hairs across its knuckles, then recognized Jay. With her right fist, she swung. Ella covered her mouth with her hands to stifle herself, and Ted burst out laughing, saying, “Ooooh.”

Unu Shim gasped along with everyone else milling about who’d witnessed this. Then he realized it was Ella standing next to the woman who’d just hit the tall white guy so hard that blood trickled toward his lips.

11
COVENANT

I
DESERVED THAT,”
Jay said, tasting the blood on his upper lip. In his entire life, he had never once been hit; somehow, he’d managed to avoid having a fistfight even as he attended an all-boys’ school, and at home, he had wisely refused to tangle with his older brother, Ethan, who had an unforgettable temper. Casey had clocked him. Even as Jay swept blood from the patch of skin beneath his nose, he couldn’t believe it.

Feeling somewhat responsible, Ted moved closer to Casey, ready to pull her back in case she started swinging—nevertheless, he was amused by the possibility. Unu Shim had by this point managed to break through the crowd to get to his cousin Ella, who was herself so visibly stunned by this that she couldn’t speak.

“Ella? Are you okay?” Unu asked. They hadn’t seen each other since his wedding in Seoul three years before.

“Unu. . .” Ella stared at him in disbelief. “Hi. I’m so glad to see you.”

Unu folded his arm around Ella’s shoulders and patted her back gently, the way his father greeted people.

Ella rested her fingers lightly on Unu’s forearm, then reflexively she thought to grab a Kleenex from her makeup bag and she offered it to Jay.

Casey watched this interaction as if she were seeing it on TV. What was Ella doing handing Jay tissues? Then Jay took the tissue from Ella, mumbling a shy “Thank you.” He stopped up his nose with it. Casey put her hands behind her back, suddenly appreciating what she had done. She was the one who’d made Jay bleed. It was as if her hand had been angry for her, formed a fist, and couldn’t resist the act. Casey had never intended to hit him.

She looked upward at the cloudless sky. It was a perfect August morning without a trace of humidity; it could have been a clear day in May. In her life, she’d never struck another person, and she didn’t think she’d ever do so again. Having been hit herself, she knew what that felt like: You felt dumb, ugly, and unlovable. Now that she’d hit Jay, she saw that she had diminished him. And herself. He had gotten bigger than life to her, and she’d had to punish him. Her body was shaky with feeling. The people leaving the church kept looking her way.

“Casey, can’t I talk to you?” Jay asked. The woman who’d given him the tissue tapped her chin, telling him to lean his head back. She must have been Ted’s fiancée, Ella.

Ted interjected, “Hey, man,” and Jay nodded, smiling weakly. Ted Kim was in charge of his most recent deal and had a say in his bonus.

Casey ignored this. She looked at Jay. “I want my things.” Each morning when she dressed at Ella’s, she remembered something else at his apartment—a tube of expensive mascara, hosiery, her favorite lace brassieres, even drugstore-brand deodorant—items she couldn’t afford to replace.

“You have things that are mine. I need them back.” Casey started to cry.

Ella’s eyes stung, and she could not look away.

Unu felt hot in the noon sun. The guy standing beside Ella, who was probably Ted, wore a black polo shirt and chinos. Certain no one cared now, Unu unwound his grape-colored print necktie, folded it, and socked it into his jacket pocket. Then he removed his suit jacket.

“Ella, you okay?” Unu asked. Ella nodded. “Maybe brunch is not such a good idea. Do you want me to call you later?”

“No, no, don’t go.” Ella grabbed his arm. “I am so sorry. This. . . this is Ted,” she said, her head turning left to right as though she were watching a tennis match. Ted shook Unu’s hand.

Ella didn’t know if and how she should introduce Casey to Unu. Casey couldn’t seem to stop sobbing. Ella felt livid. Ted had made this happen. She moved closer to Casey, drew her arm around her friend’s torso like a protective wing. “Are you all right? Should we ask Jay to go?”

Jay looked at Ella, more surprised that the woman knew his name than at her suggestion that he should leave.

Casey sniffled and leveled her gaze at Jay. They stood a few paces from each other. “You disappointed me,” she said calmly.

Jay exhaled, unable to respond. He reached over to take her hand.

“Don’t touch me, you son of a bitch.” As she said this, Casey realized that Mary Ellen had told him how to find her. “You prick.”

Casey’s harsh words were thrown like quiet punches, and Ella found herself wincing.

Ted smiled at Unu and all the while felt sorry for Jay for this dressing-down. Ted grabbed Ella’s hand, thinking that she shouldn’t be listening to this kind of speech, and he patted Unu on the arm, motioning for them to leave. Unu agreed, feeling like an intruder. Ella refused to budge from Casey’s side.

Unu peered at the lingering crowd. Using the voice of a college fraternity president—a position he’d once held at Dartmouth—he dismissed the onlookers: “Come on, folks, show’s over. Go on home, now. Go on.” He pulled up the Texas lilt in his voice, aware how a twang could soften a hard word.

Yes, Ella thought. That was kind. She then asked Casey, “Do you want us to go?”

Ella waited for Casey’s word.

“I’ll be okay. You should go to brunch.” Casey wanted everyone to go. She herself wanted to disappear, to vanish.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

At this, Ella nodded to Ted and Unu, and the three of them walked away. Every few steps, Ella turned to check on Casey. After two blocks, she lost sight of her friend.

They were all gone. Casey stood there on the empty sidewalk with Jay.

The picture of the night with those girls came upon her again; and as before, she felt truncated—no arms, no body. Her quiet sobbing wouldn’t end, no matter how many breaths she took.

Jay held Ella’s tissue against his nose, the bloodstained paper shadowing his long face. He felt terrible, and having seen the rebuke in Casey’s friend’s face, he felt confirmed as a louse.

“If you really want me to go, I’ll go, but I came by to apologize. I’ve been trying to see you for almost two months now. Your sister wouldn’t tell me where you were because you wouldn’t let her. I. . . I’ve been so worried. When you left, you looked—” And Jay stammered, “And I love you, Casey. . . I know—I know I hurt you. I am sorry.”

How was he saying all this? Casey wondered, shaking her head. “I never imagined that you could, that you were even capable, interested in such—”

“I’m not,” he nearly shouted. “It isn’t what you think. I love you, Casey.”

“Your mother broke her promise.” It was too hard to hear Jay talk about love. “She promised not to.” Casey looked at his face, and seeing him with the tissue wadded up his nose, she said, “Jay. You look ridiculous.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said, sounding nasal, and they both laughed out loud.

Mary Ellen hadn’t told him where she was. It had been Ted, and that morning when Jay had gone to Ella’s apartment to bring over a four-page letter saying how sorry he was, the doorman had mentioned that it wouldn’t be long before they came back because Miss Shim and her friend Casey had gone to church, pointing to the block-long city college building. The services would let out in ten minutes, the doorman said. So Jay had gone to the church and waited for her to come out.

When they reached Jay’s apartment, he unlocked his dead bolt, and Casey followed him in. She’d been letting him talk while they walked to his place, and she’d said almost nothing. She marched into the kitchen to grab garbage bags that she’d bought and felt entitled to, and as Jay continued to explain himself, she selected her novels and compact discs from the shelves in his black glass entertainment unit. She listened to him tell his whole story without interrupting his flow. He was the English major and she was the econ girl—always, she had admired his beautiful diction, but for the first time, she noticed that he sounded priggish and show-offy. When he was done, she said, “I don’t give a goddamn shit if some sorority girls wanted to bang you. Frankly. I just don’t give a flying fuck. You think I can’t get laid whenever I want? Fuck you. I’m done. You’re done. You can take your Trenton-converted-Princeton ass and shove it.”

Jay raised his eyebrows. It was going to be harder to recover than he’d thought.

Casey went to the linen closet and pulled out two towels of hers, then headed to the bathroom. All of her things in the medicine cabinet were as she’d left them. Jay came and sat on the covered toilet and watched her take away her whitening toothpaste, perfume, and cinnamon floss. The middle glass shelf was now empty.

From the mirrored bathroom wall, he checked his nose. It was no longer bleeding.

Half jokingly, he muttered, “I thought Christians were supposed to forgive and all that.” From her chilled expression, he instantly regretted what he’d just said. “I mean, I know you’re an agnostic and. . . I was just kidding.”

Casey was more angry than she thought humanly possible. “Why do atheists constantly harp on Christian hypocrisies? Why don’t you fucking dodgers just get your own set of beliefs to critique yourselves against? I never said I was a good person or a good Christian, Jay. I never even acted like I was. I just fucking went to church this morning, for chrissakes. We’re all fucking imperfect, you motherfucker. That’s the whole absurd point of salvation through grace. I don’t even know if I believe this. Got it, genius?” For the moment, he’d become the dumbest person alive.

“I wasn’t calling you a hypocr—” Jay stopped himself. “I didn’t really mean anything by that.”

“‘That’ being what? Fucking two girls or prodding me to do the Jesus thing and forgive your sorry ass?” Casey walked swiftly to the bedroom and pulled out the top two drawers, where she kept her lingerie and clothes. Nothing had been touched, and she stuffed the contents into the garbage bag. She stiffened her back, focusing on the rolled-up balls of socks and tights. She had missed her things.

Jay came up from behind and put his arms around her. Casey dropped her head to her chest, her chin touching her collarbone, and she breathed in. Paco Rabanne—it was the aftershave she’d bought him for his birthday. She turned around, not knowing if she’d slap him or walk away and never see him again—his soft cheeks, the ocean-colored eyes with their sparkle of black and gold, and the slight droop of his lower lids. She could imagine his face when he grew older, the receding hairline, the pouches under his eyes that would certainly grow heavier, even the blond hairs that would surely sprout from his ears. He’d resemble one of her history professors at Princeton. And at one point, she had loved that about him. His face over the years had become familiar to her—with all its expressions she found so dear; he was her lover and kin—like an older brother, a young uncle, a cousin, and a husband.

He kissed her on the mouth, and she did not pull away.

At four-thirty in the morning, she carried three half-filled garbage bags down to the lobby, where the doorman hailed her a taxi. Casey gave the doorman a buck for his service and spent eight dollars on her fare. At Ella’s, she took a shower, then went to work. It was Monday again.