“Private equity,” Oliver replies. “Some property development, and so on.”
“Smart.” Todd taps his nose. “Fingers in lots of pies. That’s the way to go.”
“Are you renovating?” Muffy asks next, doing that game show–hand thing again. “Not that this isn’t a very beautiful suite.”
“Thank you,” Oliver replies. “We’re not staying at the hotel. We live here.”
Muffy looks confused. She’d probably frown but for her last (lightly done) facelift. “You live in a hotel?”
I almost laugh because the shock oflive in a hotelhas negated the inclusion ofwe.
“Yes. Well, I own it.”
I can see Mother dearest is thinking that’s some bougie bullshit. Or maybe she’s running through her mental Rolodex of people who’ve chosen this lifestyle. Will she recount to her bridge partners how it was good enough for Tennessee Williams, Byron,andSalvador Dalí?Cynthia, dear, Evelyn’s young man is a billionaire, after all!
The poor get labeled crazy. The rich, meanwhile, are just eccentric.
“It’s really quite convenient.” I curl my hand around Oliver’s knee, and his fingers cover mine.
“I like to think so.”
She’s shook—so shook she forgets to have her drink refreshed. Then talk turns to dinner plans, and Oliver insists they must stay and dine with us.
“We couldn’t possibly impose. A busy man like you must have plans.”
No mention of me, of course. My profession registers only as a weak blip.
“I insist. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll call down and arrange things.” Oliver stands, leaving us to ourselves for a few minutes.
“Evelyn, he is justlovely.” Muffy folds her hands in her lap, her expression flushed. “Such beautiful manners.” My mother is concerned with status and culture, which I guess makes Oliver look like the jackpot. “Oliver told us you recently dined at Kensington Palace!”
“With at least three hundred other people. It was a thing. An event.”
“Patronized by the royal family, no doubt.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Wouldn’t care. And I’m not about to tell her I’m playing tennis with an elderly peer of the realm next month. I can’t wait to meet the lions again. At a suitable distance, of course.
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?”
“Dressing to dine at home is a little tooDownton Abbey, don’t you think?”
“But in a restaurant, Evelyn.”
“I guess I wasn’t planning on dining in Adidas.” I really wasn’t, until it became an issue.
“Oh, good.” She smiles, relieved.
“What’s he worth?”
“What?” I turn to Todd, returning his rudeness easily.
“Money,” he grunts. “What’s his net worth?” I guess Mom hasn’t shared her findings.
“I don’t know. I don’t care,” I say as I stand with more dignity than I feel.
“Honey, Todd is just looking out for your welfare,” Mom says. “We both want to make sure you’re well taken care of.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I have a job and a decent income.” I ignore Todd’s derisory huff. “I have money in the bank and more than enough to live on. I’m content with my life.”
