“I wouldn’t have missed it, my dear,” Enid said. “Your first big charity event. And the head of the committee. Are you giving a speech? The head of the committee always gives a speech.”
“Yes. I wrote something this afternoon.”
“Good girl,” Enid said. “Are you nervous? You shouldn’t be. You’ve met the president, remember?”
Annalisa took Enid’s arm and walked her to the edge of the room. “Paul did something terrible. He just told me. It slipped out while we were getting dressed—”
Enid cut her off. “Whatever it is, you must forget it. Put it out of your mind. You must behave as if everything is wonderful, no matter what you’re feeling. People expect it of you now.”
“But—”
“Billy Litchfield would have told you the same thing,” Enid said. Seeing the look of terror on Annalisa’s face, Enid patted her arm reassuringly. “Rearrange your expression, my dear. That’s better. Now go on. You have a roomful of people wanting to talk to you.”
“Thank you, Enid,” Annalisa said. She walked off, and Enid moved into the room. Several long tables covered in white cloth were set up along the walls, displaying the wares of a silent auction. Enid stopped in front of a large color photograph of an enormous yacht. Below was a description of the yacht, and a sign-up sheet on which bidders could write down their offer. “The Impressor,” it read. “Two-hundred-and-fifty-foot super-yacht. Four master staterooms with king-size beds. Twelve staff members, including yoga and scuba-diving instructors. Available in July. Bidding starts at two hundred and fifty thousand a week.”
Enid looked up and found Paul Rice by her side. “You should bid on this,” Enid said.
Paul, for some reason, glared at her, although Enid thought this was probably his usual reaction to being greeted by relative strangers. “Really?” Paul said. “Why?”
“We all know about your aquarium, dear,” Enid said. “You obviously like fish. There’s a scuba-diving instructor on board. The ocean is like a giant aquarium, I suppose. Have you ever scuba-dived?”
“No,” Paul said.
“I’ve heard it’s very easy to learn,” Enid said, and moved away.
The gong sounded for dinner. “Nini!” Philip exclaimed, having just found her in the crowd. “I’ve been looking for you all night. Where were you?”
“I was having a little chat with Paul Rice.”
“Why on earth would you do that? Especially after all the trouble he’s caused in the building.”
“I like his wife,” Enid declared. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if something happened to Paul, and Annalisa ended up in the apartment without him?”
“Plotting a murder?” Philip asked, and laughed.
“Of course not, dear,” Enid replied. “But it’s happened before.”
“Murder?” Philip said, shaking his head.
“No, dear,” Enid replied. “Accidents.”
Philip rolled his eyes and led her to the head table. They were seated with Annalisa and Paul, and Schiffer, of course, and a few other people whom Enid didn’t know, but who appeared to be business associates of Paul’s. Schiffer was seated next to Paul with Philip next to her, followed by Enid. “This is a wonderful event,” Schiffer said to Paul, trying to make conversation.
“It’s good for business. That’s all,” Paul replied.
Philip put his arm across Schiffer’s back, touching the nape of her neck. Schiffer leaned toward him, and they kissed briefly. On the other side of the table, Annalisa watched with a pang of envy. She and Paul would never have that now, she thought. Standing up to give her speech, she wondered what they would have.
She made her way to the podium. On a monitor in front of her was a copy of her speech. Annalisa looked out at the sea of faces. Some people looked expectant, while others sat back in their chairs, looking smug. Well, why shouldn’t they be smug? she thought. They were all rich. They had helicopters and planes and country houses. And art. Lots and lots of art. Just like her and Paul. She glanced over at him. He was drumming his fingers on the table as if he couldn’t wait for the evening to be over.
She took a breath and, veering from her prepared remarks, said, “I’d like to dedicate this evening to Billy Litchfield.”
Paul jerked his head up, but Annalisa went on, “Billy lived his life in the pursuit of art as opposed to money, which probably sounds like a horrifying idea to those of you in the financial world. But Billy knew the real value of art—that it wasn’t in the price of a painting but in what art gave to the soul. Tonight all of your donations go to children who don’t have the privilege of having art in their lives. But with the King David Foundation, we can change that.”
Annalisa smiled, took a breath, and continued, “Last year we raised over twenty million dollars in pledges. Tonight we want to raise more. Who’s willing to stand up and make the first pledge?”
“I will,” said a man in the front. “Half a million dollars.”
“A half million over here,” said another.