After the Party

Adam was dead, lying on the large table in the private party room. I lay on his chest and sobbed. The ambulance people came and tried to move me. “No, no, no,” I cried.

She spoke softly to me but I couldn’t hear her over the pounding dance beat from the other room, but I felt the kindness. I hiccupped and slid back into the chair to give them space. I looked at his face; it was already grey. His short blond hair and black t-shirt covered in vomit from the overdose.

My sobs quieted. When I wiped my eyes my fingers came away drenched in makeup. My long blond hair was falling out of it’s updo. I looked down. My cocktail dress from the latest hot designer was ruined, covered in vomit too, ugh.

“I’m coming,” I said loudly standing and smoothing my skirt. “I’m his sister.” I tried to ignore the drugs all over the table. Of course, all of our friends had taken off.

I held Adam’s hand in the New York City ambulance and the memories came thick and fast.

Him pushing me on the swing and with helping me with homework.

Introducing me to my first boyfriend, then beating him up when he tried to rape me.

Helping me with my hair and dress for prom.

The more recent memories of so many parties all blurred together.

Then came memory of our younger sister, Diana, asking us as we came home drunk if we plan to die worthless. It still stung.

How would I go on without him in the world? I thought. Not that we saw each other all the time. But I could depend on him.

Two days later I was sitting at mom and dad’s kitchen table with Diana, waiting for a family meeting on the funeral. They had a sprawling colonial style house in Scarsdale. The large kitchen was tastefully done in beiges, taupe and cream. The day outside though was grey and drizzling, reflecting my mood.

Diana was tall, blonde and gorgeous. Just like Adam and I. But she let herself down with department store clothes and no makeup.

“Nova,” Diana said, breaking through my melancholy, “I hope Adam’s death will make you reconsider your lifestyle. How many friends have you lost to drug overdoses? What are your values?”

“Why? What have you been up to lately?” I shot back, mostly because the only value I could think of was having fun. I knew she supported a number of environmental and social causes.

Our parents walked in and mom got everyone coffee or tea.

“Nova,” my dad started, “I hope Adam’s death will make you reconsider your lifestyle. How many friends have you lost to drug overdoses? Come join your mother and I as part of the Global Benevolence Society and do some good in the world.”

Diana snorted.

“You mean the cabal,” I said, meaning the self-selected richest people who ran the world economy. That was my generation’s term for it, at least.

“Indeed,” he said, leaning forward to pat me on the arm.

It felt performative. Neither of them had called me in the last two days. All I got was a calendar invite. At least Diana and I had had a good cry together.

“I’m open to change,” I said and forced a smile.

“Good,” dad and Diana said in unison, then looked askance that they had agreed on anything.

A week after Adam’s funeral Diana came to my condo. It was a two-story penthouse in Manhattan decorated in subtle greys punctuated with jewel-tones and brass accents. Of course, there was no kitchen. On this day there were take out containers and clothes everywhere and the wine bottle container was overflowing.

“Nova!” Diana said, sounding shocked. “I know you’re grieving but you have to take care of your health!”

Sufficiently chastised I helped her clean up. It had been pretty gross. I even found some clean sweats to wear.

“Have any of your friends visited?” She asked

“Cher called, that’s about it.”

“That’s it, you need people, you’re coming with me to a rally for climate action,” she said with a set jaw.

“OK, OK,” I said, hands raised in defeat.

As we walked back and forth in front of the UN, Diana explained how the most vulnerable people in the world are going to pay the highest cost of climate change. And how it would cost less to prevent the problems than it would to deal with them. I asked, “why do you care? We’re rich enough to ride it out.”

Diana sighed, “because there are ‘Adams’ out there to other people who will suffer and die. Because suffering in the world is a real and terrible thing. And I hope to reduce it, even by a little bit.”

“Nova!” Cher said, coming up to us. She was dressed in a sharp black suit, white shirt and 4” Manolos. Then she looked me up and down. “What on earth are you wearing?”

My jaw clenched. I glanced down at my sweats. They were Prada, but a few years old.

“Hi Cher,” I said.

“I’m giving a presentation for the cabal,” she whispered, leaning close with a grin. “That PhD in economics is really coming in handy.”

We both tittered since she was referring to a two-year affair with an economics professor.

“How does someone get to present to the cabal?” My sister asked quietly and I remembered she actually does have a PhD in economics.

Cher chuffed, looking down her nose and walked away.

We walked with our signs some more. “Have you given any more thought to your values?” Diana asked.

“Shopping, design and fashion, I guess. I enjoy finding new designers and posting about them. My Insta account is up to 26 million followers and TikTok isn’t far behind.”

“Are you free Wednesday?” She asked with a rare smile, so I had to say yes.

Diana picked me up Wednesday morning and we drove to a horrible looking area where all the buildings were large boxes without even windows and few doors.

“What are we doing?”

“Shopping,” she said. “We’re going to a food bank where people who don’t have enough to eat can come and get help. You’re going to take a grocery cart, pick up the food for them and deliver it to them in their cars. They’re usually very appreciative.” She pulled into a parking spot.

Shopping, I can do that, I thought and I smiled at her. She squeezed my hand. We entered a huge warehouse full of activity and towering racks of boxes marked with names like Campbell’s or Post. Diana introduced me to a guy and he showed me what to do. Other volunteers must be clueless – I at least, know how to shop.

I picked up the order ticket and went around to the produce area. Hmm it says two boxes for a family of four, for two weeks? I thought. Impossible. I threw in an extra box.

Dairy, it said four gallons of milk. Seemed like a lot but OK.

In the protein area it said one dozen chicken thighs and six breasts. Well, that wouldn’t do, so I added another six chicken breasts. I took it out to the parking lot, and waited for someone to take it from me. One of the supervisors came over and showed me the license plate on the ticket and then shooed me away. How rude.

The mom spoke little English but looked amazing in a traditional sari. She thanked me seven times! I felt… a little glow, as she drove away. Never got that buzz from drugs.

“Nova!” The supervisor called, “get back to work, the cars are stacking up out their and blocking the road!”

I glared at him and was going to tell him to shove it but he’d already turned away to help another volunteer. With a huff I started again.

I was waiting for Diana after the end of my shift, a bright, unusual glow in my core. I had helped thirty families today. Suddenly there was a commotion in the shopping area.

“What do you mean we’re out of chicken?” The supervisor yelled at a volunteer. I could see him count to 10 silently. “Sorry, sorry, explain it to me please,” he said calmly.

I couldn’t hear the volunteer but she was clearly shaking as she replied.

Diana walked up. I smirked at her, “someone’s in trouble.” She tilted her head and then walked over to the dust up so I joined them.

“What’s up Jim?” Diana asked the supervisor.

“Someone filled the orders a bit too generously and we don’t have enough ready for the next shift.”

I looked around and saw the parking lot was filling up with more people wanting food.

I turned back and saw Diana, the supervisor and other shoppers staring at me.

“Nova, I know you have a generous soul, so did you fill the orders exactly? Or maybe throw in some extras?” Diana asked, head tilted.

“Damn right I threw in some extras, there’s no way I could live on those rations, forget a family,” I said flipping my hair with one hand while putting my other on a cocked hip.

“Rations is a good term,” Diana said, “because these families coming in now won’t get even those meager rations. The Food Bank only has so much to give away and they try to spread it out.”

My jaw hit the floor. “What do you mean there’s not enough? I’ll, I’ll just buy more.”

The supervisor glared at me. “We need to replace the extra you gave away within the next hour or people will be getting no chicken and little produce.”

I squared my shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Tell me what you need.” Then I got on the phone and paid more than my latest bag is worth in bribes to get the food replaced on time.

Diana stuck around to help sort out my mess. Not the first time.

I slouched in the car as she drove back to the city.

“When I first started volunteering, I went to a place that gives decent clothes to women who want to work in a professional job but don’t look the part.” Diana started. “You’d given me a great education in clothes, hair, and makeup. So, I thought it would be a great fit, you know? And for the first while I had a lot of fun giving them mini-makeovers. But the clothes were bland, boring, predictable.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

“So, I contacted some of the designers who had benefited from your recommending them.”

I sat up, “you did what?”

“Yes, well, most didn’t seem to mind, given that it was for a charity. They gave the clothes from previous collections that probably wouldn’t sell anyway, or would but at a steep discount. I was thrilled. But after I delivered a truckload to the charity, I got a call. She said thank you, of course, but suggested I not repeat the effort in the future.”

“Why not? That seems like a great idea.”

“Most of their clients are not size zero, but size ten. I was so humiliated I never went back,” she said, jaw tight.

We swept into the bright lights and chaotic sounds of the city.

A couple weeks later, mom and dad met me at a new, hot restaurant for dinner. Bar Shelia was a riverfront raw bar with oysters, wagyu beef, with an unobstructed view of the Williamsburg Bridge. I wore a new Khaite dress in cream.

They both stood up to give me a peck on the check when I arrived.

“Darling, I’m so happy to see you out and about again,” my mom said.

“Why would you think otherwise?” I said, coming through my long hair. I hadn’t talked to either of them since the funeral.

“Well, your mother just means that we haven’t seen you since…” my dad took a drink to cover his slip.

“Right, ahem,” my dad said while straightening his tie and taking a sip of wine. “Your mother and I would like to formally offer an invitation to join the GBS. We think your youthful perspective on global policies and economics would be useful.

“What about Diana and her PhD in Economics?” I asked.

“She’s too radical, practically a communist. Expecting workers to have national standards!” They both laughed at that.

“It would just be two days a week, 250K per year, and you just have to show up, listen to some presentations and tell us what you think,” mom said. “We think it would be good for us.”

“Meeting with both of you?” I asked with a catch in my throat. ? They nodded. Wow, they really think I can help? That I’m worth more than fashion? Diana wouldn’t understand, but Adam would have. “Sounds great,” I said, my stomach doing flip-flops.

The weeks flew by. Everyone at work was so lovely, bringing me whatever I needed, listening to all my feedback. I watched every presentation looking for the downside Diana had described, but all of their policies seemed to be great for Americans. But she hadn’t texted since I told her I was working here.

Then Diana was hurt. There was a protest against the supposedly super-secret GBS cabal right in front of our offices, a brutalist concrete tower downtown. It was all over the news because Diana was there, the daughter of political movers and shakers and sister of famous me. They locked themselves to the front doors and my parents got a court order against them. The cops moved in and beat the protestors before dragging them away.

Diana was badly hurt. I wasn’t there; I couldn’t help. Mom and dad had told me to stay away.

In the hospital I saw Diana’s one eye was swollen almost shut and there was a bandage around her head and left wrist. “Hey Diana,” I said, holding her good hand.

She woke up, said “hey”. But went right back to sleep. So, I sat down, although not sure why. I started shaking. Tears blurred the room. It was just like Adam. The memories came thick and fast.

Diana and me arguing over who got to use the one car motor in the lego set.

Me trying to do her hair but getting the comb so stuck in it the hair had to be cut.

Helping her with her dress and hair for prom.

Her holding me after Steven broke off our engagement.

I cried, but was distracted by Diana’s notification kept going off. I picked up her phone to silence it and read some of the messages.

Many of her friends were surprisingly triumphant about protest against the cabal. I thought it had gone crappy but I guess more people know about it now.

I read about people without health care in our own country. That people with good jobs are sharing apartments, if they can find them. And that Adam wasn’t the first or last overdose.

Was this real?

I brought up the latest cabal presentation on my phone: “Lowering the minimum wage will make people work harder.” They showed over ninety-seven slides that lowering wages would make people get second or third jobs. I didn’t know much about it, but what if people already didn’t have enough money for food? I started doing my own research. The nurse kicked me out six hours later. But now I knew who was lying.

The spring party circuit was starting up and I had the latest Milan fashions on and a fresh cryotherapy boost to my face. At every party I whirled and twirled from person to person selling my idea for a shadow cabal that would have a more humanitarian set of values. Most laughed in my face – pointing out that I had benefited from the cabal’s focus on serving the 1% my whole life.

It didn’t matter. The conversations started and I made sure Diana, after a makeover, was part of them. By the summer break, when most rich people left the city, we had enough.

Seventeen of the most connected people in New York. We, well, Diana, really, decided our first goal would be to raise minimum wage in the US. Our main talking point was that people who had enough money to survive would be more productive. They would spend less energy on going to food banks, searching for housing, and have fewer missed work days if they had medication to treat illnesses. All of that adds up to more productivity.

We lobbied the cabal members and launched a social media campaign to change hearts, or at least minds.

In the fall I arranged for Diana to give a presentation to the cabal. We did a lot of practicing because she kept wanting to show charts and numbers. But she did awesome.

We voted for an increase of one dollar for the US Federal and all State minimum wages. And even better, they will be tied to inflation so will go up every year. Now we just have to make the politicians fall in line. No sweat.

Diana and I were sitting in the break room at the food bank. She raised her water bottle to me, “congratulations!”

“For what?”

“Our victory!” She said.

“You mean the one no one will know was ours but changes everything?” I asked.

“Ya, that one,” she smiled.