Ella looked at him and inhaled before saying, “You have no reason to dislike her.”
“I don’t dislike her,” he said. “I’m merely being rational, Ella. Applying to just one program shows nerve and a sense of overentitlement. These Ivy League girls,” he muttered. “And it shows a lack of seriousness.” He folded the newspaper lengthwise, then stared her down, half smiling. He was impressed by Ella’s insistence. Normally she gave up fairly quickly, but Ted preferred challenges.
“Listen, sweetheart. . .” His voice dropped a pitch, and he sounded sincere. “I know you’re trying to help. But, you know, I’ve worked hard for my good name. You can’t expect me to risk my reputation by giving my word on an individual I don’t know well and who seems to me preternaturally unable to stick it out.”
Ella tilted her head and exhaled through her thin nostrils. Ted didn’t believe in yielding any advantage unless he had to. Two years ago, he’d spotted her at the Au Bon Pain near the Citicorp building in midtown and had pursued her single-mindedly. His colleagues and HBS friends treated her as though she were a coveted prize, and she felt afraid to speak to them.
But what Ted didn’t understand was that Ella had been pursued and flattered before. She loved him because he was a boy, anxious and hungry, running from Alaska. He was the son of immigrant cannery workers and had an older brother working as a mailman in Anchorage. His sister was a former professional bodybuilder who taught aerobics, and she was raising two sons as a single mother. Ella would have loved Ted if he’d had nothing but his desire. She was attracted to him because he was so clear and because he was so unflappable. But beneath all that, she saw the self-doubts that he could not concede to her or to himself—his terrors drove him. She liked all of that, too.
Ted and Ella heard the pipes shutting down as Casey’s shower ended, and Ella lowered her voice. She appealed to him again, because she felt he, more than anyone else, ought to understand Casey’s situation.
“She’s been sending out résumés all month, and she hasn’t heard a thing.”
“The economy, Ella. I know you feel sorry for your friend. . .”
“Her father hits her. She can’t go back home. You have to help her. She has no money, and she won’t take any from me.”
“You offered her money?” Ted made a face of incomprehension. “What is it with you, princess? You think the stuff grows on trees?”
“Ted. . .” Ella shut her cookbook.
“Tell her to get any job.”
“That’s what she’s trying to do.”
“Any job. Sell lipsticks or gloves, or whatever it is that she used to do in college.”
“She might. But it’s one thing to work in retail while you’re in college, and another thing to do it full-time after.” She stopped herself. “Her parents don’t have any money, and her sister’s applying to med school next year. Her boyfriend cheated on her.”
Ted snorted. “That’s what you get for dating white guys.”
Ella ignored this. “But her family can’t help her. And what’s the point of succeeding, Ted, if you can’t help others with your power?”
“I help plenty of people.”
Ted sent money to his parents each month, and last year, with his enormous bonus, he bought his brother and sister their condos in Anchorage.
“I didn’t mean that you don’t help anyone.”
“Casey and her family are not my problems, Ella. And they’re not yours, either. Her sister can’t take out loans for med school?” With his right hand, he pointed to his heart. He had just paid off the last of his education loans and was now putting aside money for his nephews.
“Not everyone is like you.”
She gathered the cookbooks, stacking them alphabetically, and returned them to the shelf. She had no desire now to make the lamb dish. They would just go out for his birthday.
Casey entered the living room, dressed in a narrow black skirt and an ironed white shirt. Her bruises were no longer visible, and she looked pretty with her wet hair combed back sleekly, a fresh coat of red lipstick on her mouth. She hadn’t put on her shoes yet, and Ted glanced at her bare feet. For a thin girl, her calves and ankles were a little thick. Moo-dari, he thought, legs shaped like daikon radishes.
Naturally, Casey noticed his glance and immediately crossed her ankles.
“Good evening,” she said with a kind of mock cheer. She’d heard enough of the conversation and decided to pretend otherwise. Ted Kim was not the helping kind. Why couldn’t poor Ella see that?