Eligible

“Are you fermenting the grapes yourself?” someone said then, and both Liz and Darcy turned to see Caroline. “You’ve seriously been in here for twenty minutes,” Caroline said, and beneath her breezy tone, Liz heard an unmistakable territoriality. How convenient, Liz thought, that Caroline’s managerial obligations had brought her to Cincinnati.

“Liz was just telling me that she’s a writer for a magazine,” Darcy said. “Mascara, you said?”

“Oh, that’s funny,” Caroline said. “Do you write articles like ‘Twenty Tips to Be a Tiger in the Sack’?”

“That’s not Mascara,” Liz said.

“I’m over Charades,” Caroline said to Darcy. “Want to get out of here?”

More loudly, Liz said, “I know what magazine you’re thinking of, and it’s not Mascara. We write about sex, of course, but not in a cheesy way.”

Caroline glanced at Liz. “You what?”

“Mascara focuses on serious issues,” Liz said. “I went to Saudi Arabia last year for a feature on gender relations in the Middle East.”

There was something challenging, or weirdly accusatory, in Caroline’s tone as she said, “Did you have to cover your hair?”

“I wore an abaya and a head scarf in public,” Liz said.

Caroline smiled faintly. “Aren’t you the world traveler.” Her focus reverted to Darcy as she said, “Charlotte is talking about ordering food, but I’d rather just leave.”

“We can go,” Darcy said.

Charades hadn’t concluded, Liz was pretty sure, though she wasn’t about to insist on extending the game.

Darcy turned toward her. “I’d suggest that the Cincinnati Chamber of Commerce hire you, but I guess it’d be a long commute.”

He and Caroline were almost out of the kitchen when Liz said, “Did you just make a joke? I hadn’t realized you had a sense of humor.”

Chapter 26 (#ulink_16ad50f3-0aaa-5370-baf2-260fc04f47f7)

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bennet visited the third floor with any regularity, which was why Liz was mildly surprised, while working at her desk, to see her mother standing in the threshold of her room. Mrs. Bennet held out a small brown box, its top flaps sticking up. Her tone was unapologetic as she said, “I thought this was for me.”

Several times a day, the doorbell of the Tudor rang, and it was usually either a family friend bearing a casserole or baked goods intended to bring comfort during Mr. Bennet’s recovery or else a FedEx or UPS delivery. About three-quarters of the deliveries were intended for Mrs. Bennet—they accumulated, often unopened, in the front hall and the dining room—and the rest were assorted products and media kits sent to Liz at Mascara by publicists and forwarded by the magazine: diet protein powder and samples from celebrity sock lines, forthcoming tell-alls, new kinds of lip gloss.

“Thanks.” Liz stood and took the box.

With a certain ostentatiousness, Mrs. Bennet said, “I have no idea who it’s from.” As her mother turned and walked away, Liz saw that the label featured the logo of and address for Sporty, with Jasper’s first and last names above the label in entirely legible handwriting. Reaching into the box, Liz pushed aside tissue paper to reveal a piece of stationery with the Sporty letterhead on which Jasper had scrawled THINKING OF YOU! Beneath the paper were a bright red sheer teddy and thong underwear in a matching hue. The items, which presumably would have been flimsy even if well-made, were clearly cheap, which didn’t preclude them from holding a semi-ridiculous allure offset by the humiliating possibility that they had been examined by her mother. Or, thought Liz, the humiliating certainty. But if Mrs. Bennet was not going to ask Liz about the gift, Liz would not offer any explanation.

She called Jasper on her cellphone, and when he answered, she said, “My mom opened your package. She said to compliment you on your discretion and elegant taste.”

Jasper laughed. “You think she knows that opening someone else’s mail is a federal offense? Hey, word on the street is that Noah Trager is being shit-canned later this week. Don’t you think I’d make a good editor in chief of Dude?”

“Actually, you would.”

“Edward van Pallandt is co-hosting that benefit tonight for the Burmese dissident. The tickets are sold out, but I’ll bet I can get in. You think I’m jumping the gun if I go and mention my interest in Dude to van Pallandt?”

Noah Trager was the current editor in chief of Dude, a men’s magazine; Edward van Pallandt was its publisher’s creative director, a bon vivant who had, in one of the great moments of Liz’s entire life, complimented her shoes as they were riding the elevator together. (The shoes were beige suede caged booties, and, most gloriously of all, Liz had purchased them for thirty dollars at TJ Maxx in Cincinnati.) As for the Burmese dissident, Liz didn’t know who that was.

She said, “How certain is it that Noah is being fired? Who told you?”

“I’ve heard it from a couple people.”

“I think it’s fine to go to the benefit and talk to Edward van Pallandt, to remind him who you are, but I wouldn’t mention Dude specifically. That seems vulturish. Is your résumé updated?”

“I’ll send it to you, and you can take a gander. You know what you should send me? A picture of you in the lingerie.”

“With or without my mom in the background?”

Jasper chuckled. “She knows you’re an adult, Nin.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Liz propped her feet on her desk and leaned her chair back on two legs. “Who’s the Burmese dissident?” she asked. “An artist?”

“Hmm,” Jasper said. “Maybe I should learn the answer to that question before I go tonight.”

Chapter 27 (#ulink_89844b2c-216a-5a25-aa5d-cb3f2ba63126)

Aunt Margo and Cousin Willie arrived at the Tudor in time for cocktails on Tuesday; also, unprecedentedly, Chip Bingley would be joining the Bennets for dinner. “I think it’s good Aunt Margo and Willie are here, because they’ll distract Mom,” Liz said to Jane in the kitchen as she poured almonds into a bowl. “Maybe she won’t get in Chip’s face as much.”

“Shouldn’t it take the pressure off that Dad and Mom both met him at the Lucases’?” Jane said. “That’s what I’ve been telling myself.”

“Oh, the question isn’t whether they’ll approve of him. But if he wasn’t scared off by Lydia and Kitty at Charades, then I bet you’re in the clear.” Liz folded over the top of the almond bag and clipped it shut. “By the way, I feel like Willie has hired a stylist. He looks a lot better.”

Jane smiled. “You don’t think he could have spruced up on his own?”

“Not to be uncharitable, but no. Those are extremely trendy pants he has on.” And yet—even more uncharitably—from the moment of their clumsy hug outside the airport terminal, where she’d picked up the visitors, Liz had also been sure that, wardrobe notwithstanding, Willie’s essential awkwardness remained intact. In her head, Liz thought of him as either the most confident awkward person she’d ever known or the awkwardest confident person. Of medium height, with a chubby build and puffy red hair, he continued to show a fondness for speaking at length about his professional pursuits that was tempered only slightly by his listeners’ inability to follow.

When Liz and Jane entered the living room where their sisters, parents, aunt, and cousin were gathered, Willie appeared to be in mid-monologue. “We get thirty million unique visitors per month,” he was saying, and as Liz made eye contact with her father, who was seated just a few feet from Willie, Mr. Bennet let his eyelids droop. Liz looked away. “If you want to compare that to the competition, it’s not even close,” Willie said. “Jig-Jig gets ten million, maybe twelve. Once the kinks are worked out, we’ll leave everyone else in the dust.”

“I don’t suppose you have cheese and crackers,” Aunt Margo said.

Simultaneously, Mrs. Bennet said, “Mary, put out the Vermont cheddar,” and Lydia said, “The casomorphins in cheese are as addictive as opium.”

In a peevish tone, Mrs. Bennet said, “Everyone has very strong opinions about what we eat these days.”

“Lizzy,” Willie said, “I saw in the airport that they’re still printing dead-tree issues of your magazine.”

“That’s how some people prefer to read,” Liz said. “I realize you’re not one of them.”

Mrs. Bennet said, “Willie, if there’s anything special you’d like to do in Cincinnati, Liz has the most open schedule. Jane is tied up now with her new beau, who’ll be joining us for dinner.” Mrs. Bennet turned to her sister-in-law. “His name is Chip Bingley, and he moved here to work at Christ Hospital. He went to Harvard Medical School.”

“Bingley, did you say?” Willie squinted. “That name sounds familiar.”

With pleasure, Mrs. Bennet said, “It was his great-great-grandfather who started Bingley Manufacturing, which of course has made sinks and such for years and years.”

“And by sinks, Mom means toilets,” Lydia said. “We’re all crossing our fingers that Jane becomes the crapper queen.”

Mildly, Jane said, “Chip and I have only gone out a few times.”