Our Country Friends(71)

“Where are the Latinx people?” Nat said in the same tone as Dee, her hands also folded beneath her chin. They had recently had a Cinco de Mayo “module” at her school.

“And where are the poor people?” Dee said, ignoring the child, realizing how much she disliked precocity among the elites, and wondering whether she could bring that up as a way of castigating Nat’s parents but not the child herself.

“One can always go right back to the city,” Masha said to Dee. She had been following Dee’s travails on social media like everyone else at the table. “The virus is ebbing there and also there’s plenty of economic diversity if one knows where to look.”

“I think Dee is having a tough day,” Vinod said, “and we should try to help her in a nonconfrontational manner.”

“Oh, I agree,” Dee said. “Let’s be nonconfrontational. And let’s stop with the lying please.” She pitched a quick knowing glance to Senderovsky, the known liar. “I say we do a little exercise. We go back to our rooms, take out our calculators, and come back with a full disclosure of our net worth. That way we know just where we are situated within the system. I would also itemize income taxed at an unfairly low rate, capital gains, for example, and underline inherited wealth. If you need to call your money managers, you can bring us the results at dinner tomorrow.”

They heard a thunderclap and then sustained bleating from the sheep meadow, a reminder of the ovine world beyond. The colonists remained silent.

“Since I can see how scary this idea is to most of you,” Dee said, “I’ll be happy to go first.” She took out a piece of paper and unfolded it. “My total net worth is two hundred thirty-eight thousand three hundred forty-five dollars and twenty-three cents. About nine thousand dollars of that is my car after depreciation, and about twenty thousand is in a retirement account, i.e., invested in the market and taxed accordingly. I own no property.”

    No one spoke. There was but the clanging of cutlery against plates. “Wait a minute,” Karen said, “is that supposed to be a little or a lot?”

“It is what it is,” Dee said. “My goal is to be transparent.”

The laughter they heard was Masha’s. It was rich and theatrical (and historical) and suddenly reminded Senderovsky of why he once loved her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I think Dee is trying to say that she’s poor in comparison to the rest of us. That she’s suffered. That her actions need to be excused on that basis.”

“That’s not it at all!” Dee shouted.

“You’re, what, thirty-one?” Masha said. “When I was your age, after college and med school, I was worth negative two hundred thousand dollars.”

“When I was that age, I was addicted to horse tranquilizer,” Senderovsky said. There was laughter around the table. Masha put her hands over Nat’s ears.

“I have maybe three hundred dollars in the bank,” Vinod said. “My father says he might will me his Buick.”

“Honey,” Karen said to Dee, “that’s actually a lot of money for somebody in their early thirties.” Her voice was lacking in malice. She feels sorry for her, Ed thought.

“Says Karen of White Street!” Dee said. The name Karen had recently become a pejorative for a certain class of white women.

“I’m not that kind of Karen,” Karen said. “I’m the kind that nearly gets mowed down on the street because of how I look. And how do you know where I live? I bought my place with an LLC.”

Dee smiled at her. She realized she had no allies among the women. How predictable. “You take no responsibility for what happened to us, do you?” she said.

“You fucked up,” Karen said, Masha’s hands again on her daughter’s ears. “I have, too. Many times. This is a country full of successful fuckups. No one remembers anything. Just clear the deck and start again.”

    “Maybe you can hide behind your millions,” Dee said.

“And you can hide behind your two hundred thirty-eight thousand.”

Ed felt terrible for Dee. She was not an inherently bad or particularly racist person, he thought, but she had miscalculated terribly. “I’m proud that you’ve earned every single cent of that,” he said to her. “In a way that I couldn’t.” Dee avoided eye contact with Ed, worried that if she saw his solicitude she might, against all of her being, start to cry.

After a few seconds of silence had elapsed, Vinod said to Dee, “I read your book.”

She blinked in surprise. “You have?”

“Yes,” Vinod said. “I guess I was too shy to talk about it with you, since I’m not a published author myself.” Dee, Ed, and the Actor looked at Senderovsky, accusatorily. “It’s very well written.”

“Thank you.”

“I think it’s about this country’s negotiation with white supremacy. You’re trying to understand many contradictions, contradictions that came with your birthright.”

“It wasn’t much of a birthright,” Dee said.

“But, ultimately.” Vinod stopped for a second. The thunder tried to interject, but no one heard it. “Ultimately,” he said, “it’s hard to know which side you’re on.”