would Verna make of all this? Would she hesitate? Would she think it too much?
As soon as Evelyn had received the call from Fanning's secretary last week saying he wanted to meet, she'd expected a snow job. But a doubling of her salary? A position in management? The only other black woman in the upper ranks of the company was Carolyn Greene, a light-skinned Princeton grad, whose parents had a house on the Vineyard. At Evelyn's first minority-employee luncheon, Carolyn had asked her whose secretary she was. From the position Fanning had offered her, Evelyn could move to any bank in the country or into another line of business altogether. She could buy the house she'd long been saving for. And about one thing at least Fanning had been right: she would be better at the job than her boss.
You dream of such things with your brother fresh in the grave?
She could hear her mother's voice. Yes, she thought. I do.
Feeling a trickle of cooler air on her feet, she moved back along the tent's edge and passed inside. A giant chandelier had been dropped to encircle the main pole. Floral arrangements three feet high, bursting with red and blue, rose from the center of tables still being laid by a crew of waiters.
Nearby an older couple sat facing Evelyn, having taken refuge from the drinks tent opposite. He looked familiar, the gentleman, in his rumpled gray suit, his white hair neatly parted, his hands folded in his lap, a kindly look about him. Where was it, Evelyn wondered, that she had seen him before? And then she remembered. It had been back in the spring at the payment systems conference she'd attended down in Florida. He was the man from the Federal Reserve who had given the keynote address. She remembered it because such things were usually dull as all get-out. But toward the end of his review of the progress in securing commercial payments, this man had taken a step back from the specifics to describe to the audience the importance of their work, reminding them that while the business of keeping money flowing was a technical one, it supported and allowed millions of daily acts from the purchase of food to the paying of rent or salaries or medical bills. "Politicians argue over relative distributions," he'd said. "The market fiddles with the price of goods and labor. But all of it relies on you. You're the invisible medium. Not the hand of the market but the conduit. You touch virtually everything you see. Most of you work for private corporations. But the trust, it's public."
An old-schooler, she could remember thinking at the time. A man who sounded as if he meant what he said.
His wife - could that be the wife? - caught Evelyn's eye and smiled at her in a knowing fashion, as if they had just shared in some rarefied private joke.
Before Evelyn could say hello, the gentleman volunteered an apology if they were in her seats; she assured them that they weren't, explaining briefly about having heard him speak.
"Ah," he said. "I hope I didn't bore you. I can become rather self-important at times."
"That, at least, is the truth," the woman observed.
"This is my sister, Charlotte."
"How do you do?"
"All right, I suppose," she said. "Are you a banker, too?"
"I work for Atlantic Securities."
"Well then, you're in good hands," Mr. Graves said, with an open-faced smile, apparently not the least imposed upon by her approach. "This is quite a gathering," he added.
"It sure is. Not sure I really fit in," she said, chastising herself as soon as the words left her mouth. Why should she offer such an admission?
"For which you should count yourself lucky," Charlotte rejoined.
After Fanning's visit, Brenda Hilliard from compliance had phoned Evelyn back to ask what the issue was that she had wanted to discuss; Evelyn had prevaricated, saying there had been a mix-up, that the problem had been resolved. She had gone along with Fanning's scheme. That's what she had done.
"I didn't mean to interrupt you both," she said. "I just wanted to say I enjoyed your talk."
Mr. Graves smiled again. "You're very kind to say so. Enjoy the party."
___________
THROUGH THE FRENZY of the day's preparations, Nate and the others had sheltered around the Hollands' pool on the far side of the house. As usual on such idle summer afternoons, they'd gotten high and entertained themselves by playing bring-me-down, a game wherein the last things you wanted to think of