Free Food for Millionaires (6 page)

Crystal sconces brightened the peach-colored dressing room with a flattering light. Casey slipped off her street clothes and let the suit cover her pale figure.

There was a large-size pair of high heels kept in the room to try on with the clothes. Her hat off, but her sunglasses still on, Casey saw an impenetrable young woman in her mirror reflection, utterly shockproof. She crossed her silver-cuffed arms with her hands fisted tightly against her chest to make an X, taking her Wonder Woman stance. This used to make Tina crack up, but Casey didn’t feel like smiling now.

The other pieces fit perfectly. Normally, she made a discard pile when she tried things on, but this time there was nothing on the dressing room floor. Each piece of clothing felt essential to her new life, whatever it would be. The least expensive of all was the shirt, and that was three hundred dollars.

With exquisite care, Casey hung each piece on its hanger, taking the most time with the brown suit, and she tallied the figures in her head. Not including tax: four thousand dollars. Among retail salespeople, of which Casey was a member in good standing, it was a point of honor never to pay retail—that was for the customers. The salesgirls at Sabine’s termed those kinds of customers “Wilmas,” short for willing mamas. You were supposed to look down on Wilma. You gave her your best advice, took her commissions, yet you hoped if you were ever in her situation, you would not be so foolish. But there wasn’t a girl working the floor who didn’t want to have Wilma’s choices.

Casey sat on the plush tufted ottoman. She couldn’t imagine starting her new life without these beautiful clothes—they were made for her. In the past, she had put items on hold, never to claim them. As she’d exit the shop, she’d think of who she was—the daughter of people who cleaned clothes for a living. She had no business at Bayard’s. Maud rapped on the door quietly. Casey put on her hat.

“Would you hold these things for me?” she asked.

Maud kept her expression blank, knowing what was up. “Your name and number?” she asked with a courteous smile.

Casey gave her name, then sputtered, “The Carlyle. . . Hotel.” She was looking through her handbag for the hotel room key—thinking there might be a phone number on the key folder—when she felt the tap on her shoulder. It was Ella Shim.

Ella was a girl she knew from her parents’ church. She and Casey were born almost a year apart, but they were in the same grade. Ella’s father, Dr. Shim, was an ophthalmologist at Manhattan Eye, Ear & Throat and a founding member of Casey’s parents’ church in Woodside. Once a month, Dr. Shim and Joseph Han, both elders, and Leah, a deaconess, served on the hospitality committee and visited bedridden and ailing congregants. Ella and her widowed father lived in a grand Tudor house on Dartmouth Avenue in Forest Hills. They played tennis Saturday mornings at the Westside Tennis Club, where he was its first Korean member. Ella had gone to Brearley with Virginia Craft, who thought Ella’s dullness was proportional to her exceeding beauty. Casey disliked Ella for no good reason and resented how she was always popping up. Ella had a bone white complexion, small, unpierced ears, Asian eyes with the desired double fold, dark curving eyelashes, and a deep pink mouth. She had a charming left dimple and the innocence of an infant. Years ago, during Sunday school classes, Casey used to stare at Ella’s long, tapered fingers. Ella’s hair was jet colored, and she was often compared with the Chinese actress Gong Li.

The women at church pitied Ella since her mother died in childbirth, and they admired Dr. Shim, who never remarried after his wife’s death—to them, he was a romantic ideal. At church, the mothers of sons rubbed their hands in anticipation of Ella’s graduation from Wellesley—hoping that the pretty, reserved doctor’s daughter might one day be theirs. But the sons did not feel comfortable around the silent beauty; in fact, few people sought her out. Hers was a beauty that alienated—she was not cold exactly, but she did not offer warmth or ease. She possessed a kind of eerie solitude.

“Hey,” Casey said.

“Shopping?” Ella said, her voice breaking. Casey’s face looked worse than it had from a distance.

“Seems that way.”

“That’s pretty.” Ella pointed to the suit on top of Casey’s hold pile.

“Yeah,” Casey replied. She drew a quick breath. If it were a bar, she would have lit a cigarette. “What are you doing here?” she asked curtly.

“I. . .” Ella hesitated. How was she supposed to talk to Casey, the girl she’d most wanted to befriend at church? “I. . . just ordered my wedding dress.” She cast her eyes down, not knowing what Casey’s reaction would be. Her fiancé, Ted, had convinced her that they should get married after her graduation, and she’d been swept up in his enthusiasm for their future. He was very convincing, and Ella loved him. She had never loved anyone else. Her father wasn’t against it but appeared annoyed—a look flickered across his eyes—whenever Ted expressed his ambition and well-laid plans. Ted had already written up a draft of their announcement to submit to
The New York Times
and to his alumni magazines at Exeter and Harvard.

“You’re getting married?” Casey sighed. “With whom, may I ask?” She smiled as if Ella were a customer.

“Ted Kim.” Ella shrugged. “I don’t think you’d know him. He’s from Alaska.”

“Alaska?” Casey exclaimed.

“Uh-huh.” Ella nodded.

“And where did he go to school?” It was prying and vulgar to ask, but Casey couldn’t help herself.

“Harvard,” Ella said nervously. “I mean, he’s not our age. He finished business school a couple of years ago.”

“Where?” Casey said.

“Harvard.”

“Right.” Casey nodded. “How old is. . . ?”

“Thirty.”

“Of course.” It was no way to behave. Casey ordinarily prided herself on her manners.

Ella looked down at her sandals. “Everyone’s invited. Your parents, you. . . I mean. . . if you want to come. It’s at the church. You know, like the other weddings.”

“God almighty. You’re having it at the church. You are amazing, Ella.” Casey had vowed never to have the typical Korean church wedding with about five hundred guests who showed up without having been invited, the reception with a groaning buffet of Korean food served by a team of lady volunteers in the church basement, no alcohol in sight.

Ella heard Casey’s contempt and concealed her hurt feelings. She had come down the escalator and spotted Casey’s bruised face beneath the khaki beach hat and had taken it as a kind of sign. She had forced herself to see if Casey was all right and if there was something she could do for her. Ella bit her lower lip, trying to figure out how to leave, sensing Casey wanted her to go away.

Casey saw the pain she’d caused and felt crummy. She smiled. “Ella, I’m in a shitty mood. Nothing related to you. I’m sorry if I sounded like a bitch. Congratulations on your wedding. Really.”

“No, no, I’m sorry. I’m fine. You didn’t do anything,” Ella said.

“Well. . .” Casey glanced at her drugstore Timex. “I’m sure he’s wonderful. Ted, right? Lucky bastard. We should celebrate sometime. Do lunch. Something.” She felt sickened by her words. She despised lying.

Maud stood patiently watching this curious exchange between the two Asian women. At a pause, she asked Casey to spell out her name for the hold ticket.

“Never mind,” Casey said.

Maud didn’t understand.

“I want to take them. Here.” Casey opened her wallet and handed Maud her credit card.

Maud keyed in the SKU numbers for the clothes, then swiped the card.

The total was forty-three hundred plus change. The hotel room would be four hundred or so. She had managed to max out her first credit card in one day. Maud handed her the receipt, and Casey signed it. She was now a Wilma.

Ella made no move to leave Casey’s side. In all their years, they had never been alone in this way. She stared at Casey’s lost expression.

“Are you free now?” Ella asked. “For lunch?”

Casey checked the girl’s face, unable to believe Ella’s relentlessness.

She gave Ella a brief, discouraged nod, and without missing a beat, Ella asked her the question her father asked her whenever she met him at his office after work: “Tell me, what would you like to eat?”

Their steaks and creamed spinach arrived right away, and the girls ate quietly. Casey wasn’t hungry, but the idea of going to a dark steakhouse had made sense to her somehow. Thankfully, Ella didn’t pry about her face. She just kept smiling, and Casey felt bad for having such a rotten attitude. She asked about Ella’s work.

Ella was the associate development director of an all-boys’ private school on the Upper East Side, where she also lived. “I believe in education. So I can raise money for that. You know, for scholarships and the endowment,” Ella said, parroting her young boss, David Greene. “To help children who couldn’t otherwise—” She stopped herself, feeling stupid suddenly. No doubt Casey had been a scholarship student. David would have known not to say that. He was natural at talking to different kinds of people and always thoughtful about a person’s background. “Anyway. It’s a very pleasant job. I love going to the office. And I have a great boss. He’s a good friend, really.”

Casey observed Ella’s retreat. She wouldn’t take the rich girl’s philanthropic comments personally. After all, she had been the grateful recipient of Princeton’s largesse. Someone with these lofty ideals had passed the hat on her behalf. She and Jay had been the equivalents of amusing and tolerated peasants whose enrollment reflected the university’s noblesse oblige. She asked Ella about the wedding. The idea of marrying at the age of twenty-one seemed nutty to Casey.

“I don’t get it,” Casey said. “Why now?”

Ella stated Ted’s refrain: “When you love someone, you make a commitment.”

“Forever?” Casey raised her eyebrows.

“Uh-huh,” Ella answered.

Ted had forced something of a gentle ultimatum with Ella. The primary gist of his campaign was: “If you love me, you will marry me.” He’d employed the same tactics about their having sex. He’d said to Ella, “I love you, and I want to be closer to you. If we make love, we will know each other even better. I want to know you completely, Ella. Don’t you want that, too? Don’t you want to know me?” What could the girl say? He wanted, so Ella gave.

“I guess he makes you happy, then.” Casey nodded, trying to sound as though she believed this might be a good thing.

“Yes,” Ella said, searching Casey’s face, wondering why she was so cynical about love.

Casey saw the question in Ella’s face. “I just found my college boyfriend in bed with two girls.”

“What?” Ella said.

The shock value alone of saying such a thing made the humiliation almost worthwhile.

“They were great-looking girls,” Casey admitted. They really were. She couldn’t let go of just how pretty they were. “Never mind.” Somehow, it wasn’t funny anymore.

Ella refrained from asking anything but kept nodding. She was still aghast that such a thing could happen.

“You’re looking at my bruises,” Casey said.

“It must hurt.”

“I had a fight with my father.” Casey laughed. “You should see how he looks.”

Ella smiled painfully. It was impossible to think of her father ever striking her. “Are you really staying at the Carlyle?”

“Does that surprise you? Because my parents manage a dry cleaner?”

Ella shook her head. “No. No. That isn’t what I meant. Casey, that’s not fair.”

“You’re right. My inner bitch is just having a field day with you.” The brown liquid around the sirloin congealed—streaks of white fat marbled the plate.

“You have found me at the wrong time, Ella. And to be honest, you’re like the last person I want to look this pathetic in front of.”

“Why?” Ella was surprised by this.

“Because. Forget it.” Casey picked up her fork and knife and cut into the meat. She wanted Tabasco.

“I’m sure you have lots of money and. . . ,” Ella said, feeling exasperated by Casey’s persistent hostility.

“No, I don’t, actually. I just maxed out my credit card because I was so pissed at you.”

“Me?”

“No. Not you.” Casey checked herself. “Me.”

Ella looked confused.

“I’m a failure. And you’re like a goddamn success parade. God. I hate myself.” Casey started to cry. “I’m sorry. As you can see, I’m not very good company. I better get going.” She looked at her watch and picked up her things. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Where? Where are you going? You can’t go back home. I mean. . .” Ella didn’t know how to say that right. She didn’t actually know if Casey could go home or not.

Casey sighed and looked up at the tin ceiling painted a verdigris color. How did this happen to her? Then she knew: She made it happen. It was her own fault.

“And you have no money. Can I give you money? Do you have another place to stay? I mean. . . may I call someone for you? Can you—”

“Stop with the questions. I’ll figure something out. This isn’t your problem. I don’t want your help.”

“What did I ever do to you?” Ella raised her voice.

“Nothing. You’ve done nothing. I’m just a very small person.” Casey smiled. “Trapped in a very big frame.”

“You could stay with me. I have an extra bedroom. Until you sort things out.”

“You have an extra bedroom?”

“Yes, you can hate me for that, too,” Ella said, laughing. “All right?”

Ella was making a joke, Casey thought. Ella Shim could be sarcastic. Who knew? She smiled, then color rushed to her face and her eyes stung. “Please don’t be nice to me. It’s really. . .” She took a deep breath.

“I don’t want anything from you, Casey. I want to help.” Ella tried to think of a new way to explain this to Casey, who obviously didn’t trust anyone at all. Ted was like this. He always thought everyone had an ulterior motive—that there could never be pure altruism.

“Maybe if I were in your situation, I could ask you for the same,” Ella said. She reasoned that if Casey were like Ted—an argument based on exchange principles might be persuasive.

“You’d never be in this situation, Ella.”

Ella narrowed her eyes, confounded by Casey’s reply. “You are so arrogant, Casey. Anyone could be in your situation.” She said this calmly. “Anyone at all.”