by Min Jin Lee
“I love him so much. He’s a very good person. You know?”
“His mother, however. . .” Casey rolled her eyes.
“Oh, she’s not so bad. Dad said she’s a yuh-oo.”
“Yeah, he nailed that one.” Casey laughed. “Can you believe the shitty presents yesterday?” She laughed again. “What did Dad say about them? Probably nothing.”
“They didn’t say a word,” Tina replied. She exhaled loudly. “I felt so bad for—”
“Fuck ’em. They’re snobs and cheapskates. Did you notice how flat-chested that mother is? I was feeling rather full-figured in comparison.” Casey stuck out her 34B chest.
“Chul’s not like that.” Tina giggled.
“He’s chesty?” Casey winked.
“No.” Tina made her “little sister worried” face. “He’s very generous. I haven’t talked to him about it. I don’t even know if I will. But I think he felt bad about the disparity between the gifts—” She looked at her hands and noticed her wedding band and engagement ring.
“They’re just tight, I guess.” Casey checked her reflection in the mirror, tucking the stray hairs into her updo.
“But what’s funny is that they’re not tight,” Tina said, trying not to say the obvious thing.
“They think we’re shit because we’re poor. They thought they didn’t need to go through the trouble—”
Tina said nothing. Casey always said what she saw, but it wasn’t as if everyone wanted to hear it.
“Makes you want to be rich, doesn’t it?” Casey pulled out her compact and powdered Tina’s nose.
“No,” Tina replied instantly. “Makes you feel rich to not behave that way.”
Casey stopped unscrewing the lid for the lip gloss and looked directly at Tina. “You always get it right, don’t you?” She smiled at her younger sister. “Dr. Han, you amaze me.”
“Oh, shut up,” Tina said, grinning.
They left the bathroom together, but when they reached the bottom of the basement steps, they ran into Ted holding an unlit cigarette. He was heading out for a smoke.
“Hey, the sisters,” he said, acting as if nothing had happened before. That was classic Ted. He could not be ruffled.
“Hi, Ted,” Tina said. She noticed Chul waving her over from the other side of the basement. “My husband beckons.” Tina went to him.
Casey stood there for a moment, trying to figure out where to go. She tried to pass him, but he blocked her with a sidestep.
“Listen,” he said.
“I don’t have to listen to you. You’re a fucking clown.”
“She knows.”
“Who knows?”
“Ella knows.”
“Right,” Casey said, and looked into his eyes and saw that he was serious.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be married and to fall in love with someone else.”
“You’re right. I don’t know.” Casey stood there, not wanting to judge him.
“I love Ella, but I am in love with Delia. And Delia is the person who—”
“Listen, pal, you don’t need to sing their praises. I like both these women. I respect both these women, despite whatever positive feelings they could have for a pathetic piece of shit like—”
“Casey, you’re such a hard person. And you’ve no right to condemn me.”
“Don’t give me this relativist crap. I don’t buy it. Why shouldn’t I judge you? You hurt Ella. She took you back after—”
“You don’t understand.” Ted wanted to explain how Delia was someone he felt he was meant to be with, and how Ella, who was ideal, was just that—an ideal, but not someone he wanted to love. “You don’t—”
“And I don’t want to understand. What the hell do people mean when they say they love? What the hell does it mean, anyway?” Casey stared at him.
“Delia and I are going to get married—”
“But you are married!” she cried. A Michael Jackson song was playing, and the dance floor was full.
“Ella wants a divorce. I’m only here because Ella asked me to do this last thing, and I said I would.” Ted said all this rapidly, as if he had to spit it out of his body. When Ella had asked him last night, what she’d said was “I need to keep my word. I said we’d both be there.”
“Okay, then.” Casey could hardly believe him. Was he waiting for a pat on the head for being such an agreeable husband? His sense of entitlement and worldview were impossible to challenge. “Listen, it’s none of my—” She put her hand on the banister. She felt physically weaker—her anger was giving way to a kind of coldness. She didn’t feel like talking to him anymore. “Whatever, Ted. Bye,” she said, and walked away.
Ted watched her go. It was strange, even to him, how much he wanted her to understand his decision. He climbed the stairs.
Casey went to her table and found Unu talking with Dr. Shim. Ella was seated beside them, her dark eyes looking drowsy. With her right hand, she was pushing the stroller back and forth steadily. Irene was still sleeping. The loud disco music didn’t seem to affect her. The cake was cut, but over half of the three hundred guests lingered. They were having a wonderful time. Tina and Chul were dancing, too, and Casey couldn’t help smiling at her sister.
Casey sat on the empty chair near Ella, who barely seemed to notice her.
“Hi,” she said.
Ella glanced at Casey. “Oh, hiya, Casey.” She reached over to give Casey a hug, her expression a little moony. “Where were you?”
Casey took a breath. “Ted—”
“I’m getting a divorce, Casey. Whaddya know?” Ella giggled.
“You don’t look right,” Casey said. “Are you drunk?” She checked the wineglass in front of Ella. It was full of red wine.
“You know, Casey? I really like my new job. Mr. Fitzsimmons is such a great guy!”
“Ella? You okay?”
“Ted got fired yesterday, and I’m leaving him. I’m leaving him. He’s not leaving me. Nope,” Ella said cheerfully.
Casey looked over at Dr. Shim to see if he could hear any of this, but he was talking with Unu and it was difficult even for her to hear Ella over the loud music.
“What do you mean, he was fired?”
“Well, he resigned. But basically, he was fired. Ted Kim was fired from the great Kearn Davis. Having sex with Delia on the trading floor. She had to ‘resign,’ too. Ha! Security had tapes of them. Isn’t that hilarious?” Ella guffawed unnaturally.
“What?” Casey blinked. There were security cameras throughout the trading floor. Everybody who worked on the trading floor knew that. Why was Ted even on the trading floor? “Wait—what happened?”
“They were having sex, Casey. S-e-x. I didn’t see the tapes, though. Don’t need to. But I can guess what happened. I know how Ted likes it. He likes for me to sit on his lap. I read in Cosmopolitan magazine that men who are bossy like to be dominated in bed. Did you know that, Casey? But I don’t want to dominate anyone in bed. I can’t even imagine. . . But I’m sure Delia knows how to please a man.”
“Ella?” Casey shouted. Ella was crying now. Who was this person talking? She didn’t even sound like Ella. “Hey, hey, what’s going on? How much wine did you have?”
“None. I’m not supposed to drink when I’m taking Tylenol.”
“Are you taking Tylenol?” Casey looked closely into Ella’s eyes but didn’t know what to be looking for. When you were stoned, your eyes looked darker because your pupils were dilated, but she couldn’t imagine Ella getting high. Tylenol wouldn’t make you sound as though you were drunk. “Ella? How much Tylenol did you take?”
“Yes!” Ella answered, closing her eyes, then opening them abruptly. “I’m taking lots of Tylenol.”
“Ella, how much Tylenol did you take?” Casey spoke very slowly. Tylenol couldn’t kill you, she tried to tell herself.
“I don’t remember.” Ella smiled like a child and leaned into Casey. “Hi, Casey!” Her expression was growing more blank, and she n
o longer looked awake, although her eyes were wide open. Her left hand flopped off the stroller handle like a doll’s. Reflexively, her hand returned to the stroller. “Ted said he’ll get something else. These things die down, apparently.” She sounded as if she were parroting something he’d told her.
“What are you talking about?” Casey glanced over at Dr. Shim, wondering when she should pull him over, but she didn’t want to upset Ella.
“His job. Ted said he’ll get a new job.” Her voice grew singsong. “He said we have lots of money in the bank. I mean, he has lots of money in the bank. I don’t have any money of my—” Ella slumped over, her hand jerking the stroller away. Irene woke up with a scream.
“Dr. Shim!” Casey cried, moving toward Ella. “Dr. Shim!” Ella’s head fell heavy on Casey’s shoulder.
Unu grabbed the stroller as it wheeled past him and pulled Irene out. “It’s okay, Irene-y, it’s okay. . .” The baby settled down quickly, returning to sleep on Unu’s shoulder. He patted her small back, not understanding what had happened to Ella.
“Ella?. . . Ella?” Dr. Shim repeated calmly. He pulled back Ella’s eyelids. “Call 911,” he said. “Right now. Someone call 911 right now. Right now. Right now.”
11 SOUVENIRS
AND HOW IS B SCHOOL?” Kevin Jennings asked. “Is it all that you expected?” He chuckled.
“I love school, Kevin. Of course, it isn’t thrilling like working on a trading floor, and I miss you guys. So very, very much.” Hands clasped over her heart, Casey bowed her head in a gesture of remorse.
A chorus of “Aaawww” rose from the men.
Casey was seated at the head of the table as the guest of honor. Her belated send-off dinner was being held at the private room of Kuriya on Fifty-sixth Street—a steakhouse known for cooking Kobe beef on hot stones. It hadn’t been easy to get both the Asian and Japan equities sales teams together, but Walter Chin had arranged for eight institutional salesmen, five traders, and two assistants to attend Casey’s farewell party.
Kuriya was Casey’s favorite expense account restaurant in New York—a place where dinner cost approximately two hundred and fifty dollars a person. Her favorite item on the menu was the shiso rice, which you had to order separately because nothing came with your steak. The price tag for a scoop of rice tossed with Japanese mint and black sesame seeds: six dollars. She’d never been there on her own coin and didn’t expect to anytime soon after tonight. There were sixteen people there including herself. It didn’t help to think like this, because expensive meals were part of Wall Street culture, but it was hard for Casey to get used to despite having been served by waiters at eating clubs at Princeton and going to Virginia’s house for dinner, where her mother pressed a bell under the table with her foot for the maid to bring the next course. Tonight’s dinner would cost four thousand dollars, with the salesmen and traders splitting the tab (they never asked the assistants to pay), and of course, Casey couldn’t help but do the math of equivalents: the tab for this send-off dinner would have wiped out a quarter of her credit card debts, more than three months of rent for her old studio apartment, more than ten months of groceries for her and Unu, four new suits from Sabine’s, one month’s salary for her father, and so on.
Living with Unu reduced her expenses enormously, because she didn’t pay the rent or utilities, but she was always thinking about money, because she still had to pay for everything else. Casey had refused Sabine’s offer to pay for business school, and Sabine, not wishing to offend Casey, hadn’t pressed the issue. To pay for Stern, she’d borrowed almost forty thousand dollars from Citibank for tuition and living expenses. There were also credit card minimums to be made for her fifteen-thousand-plus consumer debts, as of late, nearly eight grand having already been paid down. She missed the guys—all of them seated around the table like grown-up boys, full of teasing and competition, and she also felt the loss of the Kearn Davis paychecks. On Saturdays and Sundays, she worked the hat counter at Sabine’s, but her earnings there were just enough to give her walking-around money for carfare and lunches.
Last night, she’d been unable to sleep because she was so worried about her growing deficit. How would she pay all her bills? Her education loans would double invariably because B school was two years. What kind of job would she have to get next summer? After graduation? Interviews for summer internships would start next month. She’d watched Unu sleep, envying his calm, even breathing, then gotten out of bed and pulled out nearly all of her credit cards from her red plastic wallet emblazoned with the picture of Lynda Carter in her stars-and-stripes Wonder Woman suit. She’d dropped the cards into a Ziploc bag and tucked the sealed bag in the freezer right below the ice-cube tray. This idea had come from a personal finance magazine she’d been flipping through at the gynecologist’s office. She’d decided to reserve a single Visa card in her main wallet for emergencies. Afterward, she’d returned to bed, feeling just a tiny bit less anxious.
As with other four-star restaurants Casey had been to—more free food courtesy of Kearn Davis—Kuriya had layers and layers of silent service people. The entrée dishes were cleared away swiftly, then the white-jacketed waiters pulled out silver tools from their breast pockets to sweep the crumbs of food off the linen tablecloth. Moments later, the waiters passed out menu cards listing desserts and after-dinner drinks. On the back, there were paragraph-long descriptions of cigars for sale. In lieu of dessert, most of the brokers ordered cognac or Sauternes. When the waiter asked Casey, she requested a pear eau-de-vie. This was Virginia’s grandmother’s drink, and Casey had always wanted to try it.
Walter, two seats away from her, had left the table earlier and now returned carrying a blue canvas golf bag filled with clubs. He propped the bag against Casey’s chair.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“For you, my dear,” Hugh said. He was sitting to her left.
“For me?” Casey said shyly, smiling. She wanted to look happy about the gift. “You guys. . . thank you so much. You’re the best.” Casey nodded. She was moved by their generosity.
The men aaaawwwed again. One of the sales traders called out, “Well, we figure you might want to whack some balls in business school.” He made a leering face.
With her right hand, Casey made an okay sign.
The gift was incredibly generous, but she felt terrible. What was the saying—Don’t buy a Rolls-Royce if you can’t afford the gas? She already had a very nice set of clubs from Jay, and she almost never played. It seemed like some sort of cosmic joke for her to have two sets of clubs, no club membership, and no time to play.
“And where did you get this amazing set of clubs?” she asked. Her eyes searched for tags, some telltale sign that they could be traded in for cash. “This is incredibly nice,” she said. “You guys. Wow. Thank you so much. Thank you.”
“I picked them out,” Hugh said. Excited, he plucked out the fanciest clubs and held them up for show like an auctioneer. He’d taken off his gray suit jacket, and his white shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing the light tan on his forearms from a recent trip to Bali. The men at the table whistled at the clubs, as if the titanium-head, graphite-shaft woods were beautiful girls.
When everyone had a drink in his hand, Kevin Jennings, who could tell already that Casey’s replacement, Hector Breed, a Cornell grad from Louisiana, would not work out, raised his glass and cleared his throat. Casey picked up her cordial glass of pear brandy, the color of water with the viscosity of thin cough syrup.
“On behalf of the Asian sales desk, Kearn Davis, and these jokers”—he gestured with his glass toward the Japan sales team—“we congratulate you on your foolish and misguided decision to attend B school.” Everyone laughed. Kevin coughed again, his glass still raised. “And yet. . .” He smiled at Casey. “We look forward to your one day becoming a client. Do not forget us, Casey Han. Send us your trades.”
Several men shouted, “Hear, hear!”
Casey clinked her glass with the people near her
.
Hugh elbowed Kevin. “Kevin, man, are you crying?” He pulled out a white handkerchief from his pants pocket and waved it in the direction of his boss.
Kevin squinted at Hugh, accepted the proffered handkerchief, and dabbed his eyes playfully. He tossed it at Casey, and she, too, touched the corners of her eyes, placing the back of her right hand over her forehead as if she were swooning. Everyone returned to their drinking. Casey was praying that no one would send her shots of tequila—she had to go to Sabine’s in the morning. The talk soon reverted to what brokers cared about: upgrades in airlines and hotels and Relais & Châteaux in America and Europe. Casey felt she could write a guidebook on the places she’d visited as a corporate flunky and from the conversations she’d overheard.
The brandy made her feel warm inside, its sweet taste coating her throat. She opened Hugh’s handkerchief to fold it back properly. The act of concentrating on getting the corners right when she had a good buzz going in her head was somehow pleasurable. On a corner was his monogram, HEU, in block letters.
“Hugh E. Underhill,” Casey said out loud.
Hugh turned to her. “Hmm?” He was also a little gone, having had a good-size bottle of cold sake by himself.
“What’s the E for?”
“Edgar.”
“After three years of sitting next to a person,” Casey said, “there are still things I don’t know about you, dear.” The tone of her voice was mocking. She looked at his face. He was truly a handsome man. He’d been a good friend to her over the years, not to mention the hundreds of lunches he’d bought for her. Whenever she’d try to pay him, he’d say, “I’m a good-looking and successful stockbroker, and you are a poorly paid gofer who went to a far better college than I did. And to think I almost never did my homework at Groton. Isn’t that rich?” Of course, he said all this in this way to make sure she never paid. Hugh was a hound, for certain, but he was a kind person. He was also a hedonist and, naturally, never made her feel bad about her spending habits. Hugh believed in pleasure and luxury like a religion. He despised abstemiousness.