“The doorman,” she said. If George had seen Hugh kissing her in the taxi, he wouldn’t say anything to Unu, she imagined, but he’d think less of her.
Hugh turned away and went into the car. From inside, he blew her a kiss. No one could tell him what to do. He screwed up his eyes when he looked at her, as though he were trying to make out a sign from far away. “Good night, Casey Cat.”
“Good night, Hugh Edgar,” she said, then turned toward the building.
George had kept a respectful distance, but he had missed nothing. He took the golf bag from her. “Thanks, George,” she said without making eye contact.
The doorman nodded, the line of his lips drawn thin and straight. The guy in the cab had looked over Unu’s girlfriend as though he wanted to eat her. He was not a good guy—that bit was obvious. George pulled the bag strap closer to his neck and followed behind Casey. He helped her with the elevator and let her get upstairs.
Unu was home. He’d been playing solitaire with a fresh deck of cards. The deliberate act of laying out the rows of cards, their faces down, was refreshing. That evening he’d come home, having forgotten that Casey would be out at her dinner, and the empty apartment felt keenly lonely to him. Things were not going well at work. His last calls on a few stocks had bombed, and Frank, his boss, in an act of kindness surely, had been giving him signs that his year-end bonus would be flat or even down this year. If his bonus was down, then it might as well be a Dear John letter. And the week before, he’d gone to Foxwoods when Casey was at Sabine’s and lost eight thousand dollars. He owed his bookie two grand.
Casey let herself in, took off her shoes, and scanned the table surfaces for a packet of cigarettes. Unu was playing cards and didn’t hear her come in. His concentration was hard to break. When he was reading, she had to physically tap him to get his attention.
“Hey there,” Casey said, unloading the bag of clubs near the door. The parquet floor needed mopping, she noticed.
Unu peeled off another card from his stack and turned it over. A two of spades. He looked up from his neat lines.
“Whoa. A little shopping?” he said, staring at the clubs.
“My gold watch for being a good girl Friday.”
“Check it out,” he said, getting up from his seat. “Nice.”
“Yes. Very.” Casey tried to be dignified about her disappointment.
Unu pulled out two irons, one with each hand. He whistled, exactly the same way the guys had at Kuriya. “Gor-geous,” he said.
“I have to sell them.”
“What?” Unu looked hurt. “You can’t do that. That’s a gift.” He seemed shocked by her statement.
They were Koreans, both educated in good private colleges, but he was the son of millionaires, grew up in an affluent suburb, private school from kindergarten on. On either side of his parents’ family, there wasn’t a single person who didn’t graduate from Seoul National, Yonsei, or Ewha University. Her folks never went to college. She’d grown up in a tacky apartment building bracketed by the Maspeth gas tanks and Queens Boulevard. Her parents still lived in a rental, and their only asset had just burned down. Could he ever understand her?
“Listen up, rich boy, I need some dough. I can’t afford two sets of clubs. You get me? Get real,” she said, scowling.
“Rich boy?” Unu said. His eyes shrank, as if he were trying to hide them.
Normally, she’d have apologized, but Casey didn’t feel like it. She spotted the Camels on the console. There was a lighter in her skirt pocket.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.
“I’m just up to my ears in debt again. I can’t stop thinking about my school loans and this idea of compounding interest. And of course, of course. . . there’s always my credit card bills.” Casey sealed her lips. “I know. It’s my fault. I blame myself for this mess. Okay?” Her voice sounded more defensive than she’d have liked. But Unu hadn’t accused her of anything. “And you are trying to help me on that score. I do appreciate it. Really.” She shook her head, feeling angrier by the second. She hated explaining her problems. Money made her feel ashamed, angry, and afraid. And she had done it to herself. She’d dug the grave, one handful of dirt at a time. Her debts made her want to disappear in the hole.
“I’m going up. To have a cigarette.” She picked up the Camels.
“Hey,” he shouted, trying to keep her from walking out the door. “And how was your day, Unu?” he said sarcastically. It wasn’t his nature to fight. Besides, common wisdom in the frat house held that it was worthless fighting girls because they couldn’t be wrong. Their grudges became tattoos. But Casey was being unfair.