She needed this job, and no one understood that better than Ted. He predicted that eventually, with her qualifications, she could have gotten a far better position than sales assistant from one of the letters she’d sent out, but few companies hired a person based on sheer résumé, and it was nearly the end of July—a dead time for hiring. The girl had no cash left and no backup plans. The most hilarious thing about this girl was that she was too proud to use whatever connections she might have made. Her arrogance stunned him; he almost admired it. She was one of those Korean girls who thought she was as good as white and that the world was fair, and it tickled him to see her reduced to this position—to have to ask a member of the immigrant tribe for a patch of floor to sleep on and to ask another member to pull a favor on her behalf. Where are all of your little white friends now? he wanted to say to her. She was acting like a rich white girl, and Ted knew that life did not let you lie to yourself for very long. In that way, you had to admit, life was quite fair.
“Excited?” Ted faced her. “Or nervous?” He grinned.
“Let’s play ball,” she answered him. Ted Kim was sadistically illustrating that she’d only gone to Princeton, she was not of Princeton. As if she hadn’t figured this out yet. She had exactly four dollars in her pocket, and after this demoralizing experience, wearing someone else’s high heels, she’d walk thirty blocks to an apartment that wasn’t hers, either. An Ivy League degree wouldn’t get her on the subway, and she tried not to think of Virginia, who was in Bologna by now, taking a course or two for her master’s degree in art history and filling out her afternoons flirting with the rich clients at her uncle’s art gallery a brisk walk from the university.
Ted did not pay any mind to Casey’s pout. He spotted Walter nearly half a city block from the elevator and instructed her to remain there. Casey held her back erect and her shoulders square like an athlete. This was no different from all the other times she’d pretended that she wasn’t a visitor but in fact an honored guest. “Baby, when you’re scared, walk round like you own the joint,” Jay had once advised her, sounding more Trenton than Princeton. What the hell was he doing in Texas? And she wanted to know if he was thinking of her at all. She felt foolish and angry. And alone.
Ted’s gait appeared confident and his carriage loose, but she could tell how he, too, hid his determination and anxiety about his future. She was more like Ted than Ella. He tried hard, and so did she; the difference between them was that he’d already figured out what he wanted in this life—money, status, and power—and she wasn’t so sure about the things she wanted, preferring pride, control, and influence. Yet what each sought was related, much like first cousins.
Ted patted Walter on the back, and Walter looked pleased to see him. When he smiled broadly, Walter’s small eyes looked shut. The two HBS alums chatted amiably, with Ted leaning his backside against an empty desk; then, a few minutes later, Walter told the men sitting on the sales desk that Ted had brought someone to interview for the assistant job. The way they talked seemed theatrical, almost funny, and Ted raised his head to look at her, his eyes still scrutinizing. He pointed to where he’d left her, and Casey smiled at them on cue. He made no other indication, so Casey didn’t move. Then Walter waved her over, and she read his lips: “Come by.” Grateful for his invitation, she went to the men, her head down, gaze averted. Then, like a blessing, she recalled Jay’s words about acting as if you owned the joint, so she straightened her neck and looked straight ahead, trying very hard to appear more entitled.
9 WORTH
KEVIN JENNINGS, THE ANTSY HEAD OF THE ASIAN equities sales desk, had a rectangular face and the height and build of a former college basketball player. The Irish Catholic boy from the Bronx went to Georgetown, married a blond marathon runner, and now had a house in New Canaan, Connecticut, and three towheaded kids.
He trained his bright green eyes on the computer monitor, refusing to say good-bye to Ted Kim as he left. As a rule, he hated investment bankers, and as far as he was concerned, Ted would always be Walter Chin’s foppy friend from HBS. This was Kevin’s public sentiment: Guys who went to business school were assholes, and guys who went to HBS, bigger assholes. Walter, an American-born Chinese salesman on Kevin’s desk, was a good guy—the exceptions to Kevin’s rule of B schools in general and of HBS in particular.
Casey was directed to the empty chair between Kevin Jennings and Walter Chin. Ted had made the introductions briefly and then run off, saying he had a meeting across town. The desk head, Kevin, had snubbed Ted throughout—Casey noticed this, and in a way, his dislike of Ted went in his favor, but then she grew worried that she might be tainted by the association. After Ted left, Walter shared that Ted had been the presiding winner at HBS—the one to watch in section E. Casey nodded politely at this bit of Ted’s biography, feeling at once annoyed and impressed. She was busy watching Kevin flick the cap of his blue Paper Mate pen. Pale freckled skin stretched across his long, bony fingers. The desk head continued to study his monitor, then abruptly started talking.