Class(36)
To Karen’s relief, one of the Krugs, of the Krug real estate empire, was at that very moment kicking back gin and tonics beneath a gilt-framed portrait of a long-forgotten elder statesman. But to her disappointment, a certain first-generation Googler was so far a no-show. There was still no sign of Clay Phipps either. Karen found herself checking every few minutes. But since he’d not just RSVP’d but purchased an entire table, Karen was confident that he’d eventually arrive. And then he did.
At the first glimpse of him—he was wearing a slightly rumpled white button-down and a pin-striped navy-blue suit—Karen felt as if her stomach were a pincushion pierced with hundreds of tiny holes. He was accompanied by a coterie of slightly younger, square-jawed Asian and Caucasian men (maybe his employees at Buzzard?), as well as a sleek, tawny-skinned woman of unclear age and ethnicity to whom he was walking close enough to suggest a spousal relationship. The woman was wearing a red dress with a scooped-out neck and a simple gold choker. Karen knew she shouldn’t be surprised to find that Clay was married to a woman of color. Why shouldn’t he have been? But she was surprised—surprised and impressed and somehow even more nervous. Countering fear with alacrity and leaving Troy in conversation with Cary Ann about next week’s menu, Karen bounded over to where Clay and his wife stood. “Hello there,” she chirped, addressing them both.
“Well, hello there, Karen Kipple,” Clay replied in his endlessly cheeky way.
“So glad you could come,” said Karen, leaning in for an air kiss. He smelled of citrus and cedarwood.
“The pleasure is mine.”
Since no introduction was immediately forthcoming, Karen extended a hand to the woman at his side and said, “I’m Karen, the development director of Hungry Kids.”
“Hello,” she said, with the faintest of smiles.
“My bad manners—this is my wife, Verdun,” said Clay, laying his hand on her shoulder.
Was it Karen’s imagination or did she shrink slightly at the gesture? “Verdun, it’s so nice to meet you,” she said, wondering how the woman had ended up with the same name as a famous battlefield in World War I. “And what a beautiful name.”
“Thank you,” said Verdun. But again she offered no conversational opening.
“Well, I’ll let you guys mingle,” said Karen. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable in her skin, she turned away and scurried back toward Troy.
“What was that about?” he said, one eyebrow raised.
“Don’t ask,” she answered.
Troy never missed anything.
At seven forty-five, Barbara the Event Planner ushered the crowd into the main hall. Beneath a coffered ceiling inlaid with intricate mosaics were scores of circular tables laid with crisp white cloths. At eight, guests began to take their seats. Karen smiled gamely as she sat down at a table with the Jesse James Foundation people—they were Hungry Kids’ largest source of funding—even as she dreaded the thought of spending the next hour and a half making small talk with them. Jesse James modeled itself after a corporation, using metrics to analyze the efficacy of the programs it sponsored, and its employees tended to have all the spontaneity of spreadsheets. “I hope you all found something to drink!” said Karen, lifting a second glass of pinot to her lips.
“We did, thank you,” replied a man in a light blue button-down. After consulting his fitness watch, he reached for his seltzer.
“Great,” said Karen, realizing she’d already run out of conversation.
Every year at the gala, Karen was aware of a disconnect between the rich people who got dressed up in fancy clothes and ate salmon tartare and pumpkin soup with sage cream and the cause she and her colleagues were promoting. That evening, the divide felt especially vast. At table 1 sat the film actress Nava Gresham and at table 2, the everyman comic Dan Greene alongside TV chef Francoise Roy, who was famous for making huge messes in the kitchen and calling everything “Supreme!” Every now and then, Karen would glance over at table 12, where Clay and Verdun were seated with their entourage, but he had his back to her. And Verdun’s impassive facial expression remained unaltered.
Between dinner and dessert, the film actress glided to the podium, her head held high. She was wearing a short-sleeved black turtleneck and sequined miniskirt that showcased her insect-like legs. “I’m Nava Gresham,” she began—as if everyone in the audience didn’t already know. “And I want to talk to you about the important issue of child hunger.” Her hair was skinned back into a tight bun clearly meant to connote a seriousness of purpose, and she spoke in a dramatic and impassioned way about the shame of the city’s starving children, which she claimed to take personally. “I mean, here we are in one of the great cities of the world. And there are children in it who are going to bed hungry at night. It’s just plain wrong, and it breaks my heart, as I know it breaks yours. I’ve never been very religious but there is one phrase I learned in Sunday school as a child that has stayed with me all these years: There but for the grace of God go I. Because these children who go to bed hungry—they are part of our family too, the human family.
“In the past year and a half,” Nava continued, “in order to prepare for my next film role, I had the opportunity to accompany Molly and the other amazing staff at Hungry Kids as they visited families for whom hunger is a daily reality. In the film, I play a single mother named Clara who can’t afford to feed her son, who suffers from gigantism. In desperation, Clara turns to prostitution. The film won’t change the world, but with any luck, it will bring attention to an issue that it’s in our power to solve. The film is called Feast and Famine. Earlier this year, it was at the Berlin Film Festival, where I’m humbled to say it received the Alfred Bauer Prize, which is given to a feature that opens new perspectives. It’s being released in the U.S. next month, and I would be honored if you went to see it. I also hope you will continue to support Hungry Kids, a heroic organization doing heroic things.”