Columbus, but the girls had gathered in New York to attend the opening of Inez Montoya’s play,
Recognition
. Over dinner afterward in the theater district, the other alumnae shared their own stories of triumph: Several ran their own businesses, one had won a genius grant, another had adopted a pair of Mayan twins, and still another had just celebrated her marriage to a minor member of the English aristocracy.
Eve couldn’t bear to admit she worked for her father—and lived in a condo several doors down from his amid the electric green hills of Rolling Links, a golfing community just outside of Greenwich, Ohio. It was every bit as claustrophobic as it sounded. More so, because most of her relationships were with the sons of Gin’s law partners and golfing buddies, a singularly privileged and feckless set. Especially her most recent boyfriend, Ryan, who ran his father’s company, which involved selling drainage systems to farmers, and who’d lately taken up the topic of marriage.
But Eve had been so deep inside this life for so long, she had no idea that when she surfaced, when she finally had occasion to pop her head out of her little gopher hole, her contemporaries would be so far down the road.
After dinner, Vadis asked if anyone wanted to meet her friends for a nightcap in the Village. Eve, more than ready to drown her sorrows, was the only one who wanted to go. They made their way through a deserted brick courtyard surrounded by weathered tenements to a door in the back. Vadis wrapped her hand around the doorknob and gave it a twist. Eve wondered what on earth was going on; it looked like they were about to barge intosomeone’s private home. But when the door opened, out floated the sounds of a rollicking bar.
“Former speakeasy,” said Vadis over the music. “No sign.”
They claimed a back booth. The sepia walls around them seemed to hold the smoke and secrets of a century, while the names carved into the battered tables hummed with the spirit of countless departed drinkers. A sudden wave of déjà vu made the hairs on Eve’s forearms rise. She’d never been to New York before, let alone this bar, so why did it feel so familiar?
“You missed your turn back at the restaurant. To tell everyone what you’ve been up to,” said Vadis, sipping her wine. “Though I get the feeling that was no accident.”
You never could get anything past Vadis. Eve was tempted to make something up, something about writing a novel or designing clothes, but she decided to come clean. She took a long pull of bourbon and told her friend about living between sand traps on the fairway and working for Gin.
“And now he’s upping the ante,” said Eve. “He wants me to go to law school, and as long as I agree to work for him for five years, he’ll even pay for it.”
“Are you going to take him up on it?” Vadis asked.
“I guess. I mean, I’ve dug myself in a bit of a trench. After twelve years of paralegal, what else am I really cut out for? Plus, it’s not like there are a lot of options in Greenwich.”
Vadis signaled to the waitress for another round of drinks. Then she touched Eve on the arm in a way that indicated she was about to say something important. “Just say no to law school.”
“And yes to …?”
“I dunno. Moving here maybe?”
“What?” said Eve.
“There’s no better place than New York for starting over.”
“What would I do? Where would I live?”
“Do a
job
. Live in an
a-part-ment
.” She strung out the last word as if talking to a child. “Not that hard, you know. Thousandsof people do it every day.” She shrugged out of her leather jacket. “I could help you. You could be my project.”
Eve was about to probe this idea further when Vadis’s friends descended on them: three young men with intricate facial hair and tiny round eyeglasses and two women in long bohemian scarves and ruched suede boots. They piled into the booth and Eve listened with curiosity and not a little
Recognition
. Over dinner afterward in the theater district, the other alumnae shared their own stories of triumph: Several ran their own businesses, one had won a genius grant, another had adopted a pair of Mayan twins, and still another had just celebrated her marriage to a minor member of the English aristocracy.
Eve couldn’t bear to admit she worked for her father—and lived in a condo several doors down from his amid the electric green hills of Rolling Links, a golfing community just outside of Greenwich, Ohio. It was every bit as claustrophobic as it sounded. More so, because most of her relationships were with the sons of Gin’s law partners and golfing buddies, a singularly privileged and feckless set. Especially her most recent boyfriend, Ryan, who ran his father’s company, which involved selling drainage systems to farmers, and who’d lately taken up the topic of marriage.
But Eve had been so deep inside this life for so long, she had no idea that when she surfaced, when she finally had occasion to pop her head out of her little gopher hole, her contemporaries would be so far down the road.
After dinner, Vadis asked if anyone wanted to meet her friends for a nightcap in the Village. Eve, more than ready to drown her sorrows, was the only one who wanted to go. They made their way through a deserted brick courtyard surrounded by weathered tenements to a door in the back. Vadis wrapped her hand around the doorknob and gave it a twist. Eve wondered what on earth was going on; it looked like they were about to barge intosomeone’s private home. But when the door opened, out floated the sounds of a rollicking bar.
“Former speakeasy,” said Vadis over the music. “No sign.”
They claimed a back booth. The sepia walls around them seemed to hold the smoke and secrets of a century, while the names carved into the battered tables hummed with the spirit of countless departed drinkers. A sudden wave of déjà vu made the hairs on Eve’s forearms rise. She’d never been to New York before, let alone this bar, so why did it feel so familiar?
“You missed your turn back at the restaurant. To tell everyone what you’ve been up to,” said Vadis, sipping her wine. “Though I get the feeling that was no accident.”
You never could get anything past Vadis. Eve was tempted to make something up, something about writing a novel or designing clothes, but she decided to come clean. She took a long pull of bourbon and told her friend about living between sand traps on the fairway and working for Gin.
“And now he’s upping the ante,” said Eve. “He wants me to go to law school, and as long as I agree to work for him for five years, he’ll even pay for it.”
“Are you going to take him up on it?” Vadis asked.
“I guess. I mean, I’ve dug myself in a bit of a trench. After twelve years of paralegal, what else am I really cut out for? Plus, it’s not like there are a lot of options in Greenwich.”
Vadis signaled to the waitress for another round of drinks. Then she touched Eve on the arm in a way that indicated she was about to say something important. “Just say no to law school.”
“And yes to …?”
“I dunno. Moving here maybe?”
“What?” said Eve.
“There’s no better place than New York for starting over.”
“What would I do? Where would I live?”
“Do a
job
. Live in an
a-part-ment
.” She strung out the last word as if talking to a child. “Not that hard, you know. Thousandsof people do it every day.” She shrugged out of her leather jacket. “I could help you. You could be my project.”
Eve was about to probe this idea further when Vadis’s friends descended on them: three young men with intricate facial hair and tiny round eyeglasses and two women in long bohemian scarves and ruched suede boots. They piled into the booth and Eve listened with curiosity and not a little
Similar Books
