The Futures(49)

“Hi, guys. Let’s see…you’re at table one. No surprise there, I guess.”

“You look great,” Abby said.

“Stop. You look great.” She did, too. I had never seen her so radiant. “Hey, Jake, are your parents here? Laurie is eagerly awaiting them.”

“Yeah,” Jake said, rubbing his chin and looking bored. “They’re outside. My dad got stopped by some reporter.”

Adam, I thought, and my heart fluttered.

“Are we sitting together?” Abby said.

“What? Oh, no. Laurie is probably at your table, though.”

Abby and Jake drifted toward the coat check. There was a lull in the arrivals. I took the chance to scoot out from behind the table and survey the red-carpeted sidewalk. Henry and Dot Fletcher were talking to the reporter, a man in jeans and a parka. He held a recorder up toward Henry Fletcher. The parka man turned, catching the light on his face. It wasn’t Adam. Of course it wasn’t. I went back to the table, smoothed my skirt, and resumed my smile. The Fletchers approached the table. Dot, to her credit, remembered who I was.

“Julia, dear! It’s so wonderful to see you. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you. I’m so—”

She clutched my hand to cut me off. “I was just talking with your mother the other day. You look lovely. So grown up. Doesn’t she, Henry?”

He turned, distracted, rubbing his chin. He and Jake were so much alike.

“Of course. Nice to see you.”

Dot smiled sweetly at me, waving her fingers as they walked away to join the party. Henry, I noticed, had a tan, too.

Eleanor swept through to check on me as the guests started filing into the ballroom for dinner, after the cocktail hour ended.

“What time is it?” she said.

There was a clock on the wall. “Ten past eight.”

“Good. Stay here till eight thirty, in case anyone trickles in.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “Oh, and Julia, I forgot to say. Laurie doesn’t like junior staff to drink at work events. It’s always been her policy. So just be aware of that.”

She emphasized the junior in “junior staff” with particular care. I gave the finger to her back as she walked into the ballroom. The event had started at 6:30. Nobody else was going to show up at this point. This was pure spite—Eleanor wanting to remind me that she was the one in charge.

I texted Adam. How’s the deadline coming?

It was quiet in the entrance hall, just the muted sound of traffic on Park Avenue and the occasional clatter of silverware from the ballroom. I started counting the number of no-shows for the final tally when I felt my phone buzz.

Still trying to get this piece done. I don’t suppose you have any comment on the AIG bailout? Or insight into what the Fed is thinking?

I laughed. No comment. And no insight. Sorry, I’m useless.

A minute later, another buzz. Not useless. You’re my motivation to get this done. Meet me later for a drink?

I found my seat in the back as the waiters were delivering the entrées. Everyone was already paired off in conversation, raising their voices against the echo of the big room. My arrival went unnoticed. I cut my chicken and asparagus into small, careful bites, taking up as much time as I could. I buttered a roll and ate it, then buttered and ate another one.

Thank God, I thought when the waiters cleared our dishes and Henry Fletcher approached the podium on stage. He cleared his throat, and the microphone screeched with feedback. He rattled off a list of thank-yous, then droned on about the importance of supporting young and emerging artists. That during these trying economic times, it was crucial to ensure that arts programs retained funding. It was very dreary. Half the room was checking e-mail by the time he was finished.

At the end of his speech, Mr. Fletcher paused. He folded up the piece of paper he had been reading from, removed his glasses, and returned both to his pocket. Then he cleared his throat again. “And now, before I turn it over to the formidable Laurie Silver, I’d like to make an announcement.”

This was a surprise.

“I’m pleased to say here, for the first time, that Dot and I are making a donation of ten million dollars to the Fletcher Foundation to establish a new series of grants for next year and future years. And for all donations made in the next six months, we will personally match your gifts dollar for dollar.”

The room erupted in applause. Mr. Fletcher smiled a stiff smile.

“We want to show our commitment to the vitality and endurance of the great achievements of the foundation during the past decade, and we hope you’ll join us in doing so. And, without further ado, Laurie Silver, president of the Fletcher Foundation.”

The room rose to its feet, the applause swelling as Laurie ascended the stage. I was relieved. Even if I hated it, I would be able to keep my job until I found something better. Laurie and Mr. Fletcher embraced. She was smiling, but she looked less exuberant than I expected. From the snatches I’d overheard, Laurie had asked for another three or four million to keep things running. Henry Fletcher had just thrown us a lifeline above and beyond what we needed, I was sure of it.

After Laurie’s speech, I found Abby and Jake by the bar. I ordered a double vodka on the rocks. Eleanor’s rule probably wasn’t real, and I didn’t care. Something about the news of the donation, and Laurie’s reaction, had unsettled me. I suspected that I had very little understanding of what was really happening. It was all occurring under the surface, where I couldn’t see. But a minute later, after the drink, I felt better. Calmer.