The Futures(50)

“That was nice, right?” Abby said to Jake. “It’s great that your parents are doing that.”

Jake shrugged. “Yeah. It’s good.”

“Did you have fun?” Abby asked me.

“Sure. It was fine.” I tipped back my drink, the ice rattling in my glass.

“Let’s get you another one of those.” She waved at the bartender.

“We’re going out after this, right?”

“Not me. My alarm is going off tomorrow at six whether I like it or not.”

“What? Abby!”

“Do you know what it’s like teaching kindergarten with a hangover? Fucking miserable is what. I learned my lesson the first time. Sorry, Jules, I can’t.”

“It’s just been so long since we went out together.” I sounded whiny.

Jake faked a yawn, slipping his arm around Abby’s waist. “Yeah. I’ve got an early day tomorrow, too. Should we go get a cab?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Abby hugged me. “You look great, though, you really do.”

When the bartender came over, I ordered another drink. The ballroom was emptying fast, the guests bolting for the coat check and their black cars. I noticed Laurie and Dot Fletcher by the side of the stage. The vodka emboldened me. I ought to go and thank Mrs. Fletcher for the donation. Laurie sometimes seemed to forget that I was a real person, equipped to handle more than the most basic administrative work. This—a chance to sound articulate and thoughtful—might help remind her of that. I was smart, I was interesting, I was capable of intelligent conversation. I deserved more than I was getting. Maybe I just had to take it for myself.

I touched Mrs. Fletcher on the elbow. She looked startled to see me. “Oh, hello, Julia. Laurie’s speech was wonderful, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. Mrs. Fletcher,” I said, glancing over at Laurie. Her lips were drawn in a tight line. “I just wanted to say thank you, so much, for your and Mr. Fletcher’s show of support tonight. It was inspiring, really.”

Dot and Laurie made brief eye contact, something passing between them. “There’s no need to thank us, dear. We see this foundation as our responsibility. It bears our name, after all.”

“Of course. Well, I thought it was very nice.”

“Yes,” Laurie said. “In fact, we were just talking about what this donation is going to allow us to do in the upcoming year.”

Laurie looked more annoyed than anything else. She and Dot tilted their shoulders to indicate I was no longer welcome. But I was distracted anyway by the sight, behind them and out of their field of vision, of Henry and Eleanor.

It looked innocuous enough. Their heads were awfully close together, but it was noisy in the ballroom. I stepped aside and took my phone out, pretending to check something. Then I glanced back up at Henry and Eleanor. He slipped his hand to the small of her back, leaning in closer. She looked over her shoulder, then nodded. From my pretending-to-be-on-the-phone post a few feet away, I heard Mr. Fletcher approach Laurie and Dot. “Honey,” he said to Dot. “I just got a call from the office. I need to go in tonight. Something urgent’s come up.”

“Now? Henry, it’s so late.”

“Turmoil in the Asian markets. I should only be a few hours. You take the car, and I’ll see you back at the hotel.” He exited the ballroom with long and loping strides. Eleanor had already disappeared.

Outside, the sidewalk held a few lingering couples. It was a little after 10:00 p.m. I was less than twenty blocks from our apartment. I could go home, wash my face, put on my pajamas, and wake up early and fresh the next morning. Be responsible. It didn’t sound so bad. I started walking north on Park, past the empty office lobbies strung through the night like square golden beads. Some of the lobbies had oversize sculptures in the center, like exotic flowers suspended in a high-ceilinged terrarium. They looked so strange, alone in the night, on display for no one.

I was getting closer to home, and Park had gradually turned residential, the big glass lobbies replaced by solid limestone and brick. I felt my phone buzzing and saw Adam’s name on the screen.

“Hey. Where are you?”

“Walking home. I just left the gala.”

“I’m only going to be a few more minutes. Meet me at my place?”

“Well…I really am almost home. It’s getting kind of late.”

“I have a good bottle of wine. I’ve been saving it. In the cabinet next to the fridge. The doorman will let you in. I’ll be right behind you.”

This was my fourth visit to Adam’s apartment in as many days. Upstairs, I flipped the lights on and wandered through the living room, running my fingertips along the spines of the books on his bookshelf. It was the first time I’d been alone with Adam’s things. I went into the bedroom. He had a desk at one end of the room. I noticed the bookshelf next to his desk was filled with books on finance. Histories, economic theory, Barbarians at the Gate, When Genius Failed, Liar’s Poker. Curious. It was his beat at the Observer, but he’d always described it as a way station. Not something he was genuinely interested in. I pulled the copy of When Genius Failed from the shelf. The pages were dog-eared and bristling with Post-it notes. I fanned through it. There were pencil marks and underlines on nearly every page. It had the look of something obsessive.