Page 29 of Old Money
“Impressive,” she says, picking a cherry tomato off the salad. “You got two, right?”
“Three,” he replies, and points at me. “You haven’t seen her around a Giordano’s salad. She’s a beast.”
I nod, my mouth full of olives.
“I’mhungry,” Simon moans from the dining table.
“Two seconds, buddy!”
“Do you even know what’s in the fire codes?” Jules asks, bent over the silverware drawer.
I take a victorious sip from my sweaty can of Diet Coke.
“No, but there must be something in there about not having that much crap on the floor. Flammable crap, no less.”
Simon hoots from the table.
“Aunt Alice said the c-word!”
I choke on soda.
“Excuseme, I did not!”
Theo slaps his thigh, clutching the counter in silent hysterics.
“ ‘Crap’ ” he murmurs. “ ‘Crap’ is the c-word.”
Pizza nights are usually a once-a-month occasion. Most nights, the whole family cooks dinner together—a ritual established both for budget reasons, and to ensure some guaranteed family time in a household with two parents who work very full-time jobs. Jules is a lawyer too, specializing in environmental policy (“Thank Godoneof us is making the big bucks!” they often joke). In fact, Jules has always been the primary breadwinner, and makes a fairly good living for someone in her field. A few years back, she was poached from her firm by the Fisher King Group—a local organization with worldwide renown, thanks to its clean-water initiatives. It’s often cited as “the group that cleaned up the Hudson,” though, Theo always insists, “it’s Jules whokeepsit clean.”
***
“Cheers,” she says from the end of the table, holding her soda aloft. “To a successful first day.”
The others follow suit, Simon cheering loud as a foghorn, Isaac elbowing him in the ribs. I give Jules a thankful smile and she nods back warmly. Jules, I suspect, is the one who got Theo to mellow out my summer job. She knows all about the murder, of course, and she’s no fan of the club. But she didn’t grow up here, and doesn’t have the baggage Theo and I do, or the WASPish instinct to avoid it. My sister-in-law is a no-bullshit New Yorker, who thinks baggage is something you’re supposed to unpack.
“Seriously though,” Theo says, reaching for another slice of pizza. “Do you really expect to ‘modernize’ Mr. Brody?”
There’s a thud beneath the table.
“Hey.”He looks at Jules, who glares back. “What? I’m not trying to be a party pooper. Simon—okay, enough.”
Simon cackles through a mouthful of pepperoni slices.
“ ‘Pooper,’ ” Jules explains, and turns a look on Simon.
“I’m just saying it’s a big ask,” Theo continues matter-of-factly. “Any change is a big ask at that place. It’s a lot to put on a summer admin.”
He sips his soda, muttering.
“I don’t know what Burger thinks he’s doing over there.”
There’s a bitter undertone in his voice, and it grabs my attention.
“What do you mean?” I ask lightly.
“Nothing.” Theo shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”
It’s the same tone Jamie had in the gallery this morning—that stilted nothingness that’s meant to sound unbothered.
