Anna Pitoniak - Necessary People

“Stop,” I said, putting my hand over Stella’s. “The window. Everything’s getting wet.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s it to you?” Then she opened it again.

I met the driver’s gaze in the mirror. Sorry, I mouthed. He frowned.

“Why couldn’t they have the party on—I don’t know—a Tuesday? Don’t old people love throwing parties during the week? And I can’t believe you agreed to come to this.” Stella glared at me. She was in a bad mood, bored in this moment and bored in general. “I mean, they’re my parents. I have to be there. But if Anne hadn’t literally given birth to me? Forget it.”

The cab dropped us off at Rockefeller Center. Stella paid, but she left a stingy tip. I wanted to slip the driver something, but I only had a twenty-dollar bill in my wallet, which I couldn’t afford to part with. The windows on the ground floor of 30 Rock were lined with posters of NBC’s biggest stars: the anchors, the morning-show hosts, the late-night comedians, looming beneficently over the sidewalks. We were inside the atrium, shaking the rain from our umbrellas, when Stella said abruptly, “She’s not that pretty.”

“Who?” I said.

“That woman, what’s her name.” She gestured vaguely. “The lady on the news. I mean, she’s okay. But she’s very plain-looking.”

“Believe it or not,” I said, as we stepped into the elevator that would whisk us up to the Rainbow Room. “It’s not entirely about looks.”

Stella snorted. “Oh, please. Then why don’t you see any ugly women on TV? I read somewhere that, like, half of all the women on TV started off as beauty pageant winners.”

“Well, the other half went to law school.” I frowned. “And where did you read that?”

“Who cares?” Stella said. “You’re just annoyed because I know something about the TV business that you don’t know.”

When we arrived, Anne was frustrated. “This is awful!” she said, pointing at the rain-streaked windows and thick gray clouds. “Of course the one day it rains this month is during our party. I timed this whole thing around sunset. But it seems like the weather had other plans.” She spat out the word like the weather was an uncooperative vendor who was violating their contract.

“It still looks beautiful,” I said. The room sparkled, like a jewel nestled in the gray cottony clouds. “And so do you, Mrs. Bradley,” I added.

“Well, thanks, Violet. You’re sweet. Do you mind terribly getting me a martini? The waiters seem to be neglecting this corner of the room.”

“Oh, sure. Of course.”

“Stella, sweetie, do you want Violet to get you anything from the bar?”

Stella looked up from her phone. Anne often dispatched me for her little tasks, treating me like a hybrid of family friend and hired help. But if this was what it took to keep my rent at $750 a month, so be it. “Vodka soda,” Stella said, then went back to texting.

By the bar, I found Oliver with a whiskey in one hand and his phone in the other. “You and your sister are exactly alike,” I said, bumping my shoulder against him.

“Violet!” He kissed me on the cheek. “So nice to see you.”

“Although I’m guessing you’re attending to more serious matters.” I nodded at his phone. “Not texting your dealer, like Stella.”

Oliver looked horrified.

“I’m just joking!” I said. “Completely joking.” I wasn’t, though. It continued to surprise me, how little Stella’s family knew about her life.

“Oh. Well.” He smiled tightly.

I ordered three drinks from the bartender, and said, “Don’t worry, they’re not all for me.”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you,” Oliver said.

“You know, you and Stella might think these parties are boring, but I’m pretty impressed.”

He smiled, this time more genuine. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said. “Remember that thing you called me about? It was a long time ago. You had some question about NDAs at—Danner Pharmaceuticals, right?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised you remembered,” I said.

“So what happened with that?”

“I got in touch with some of the people they sued, a few janitors and security guards, but they didn’t want to talk. I mean, they couldn’t. That’s why they’d been sued in the first place.”

“Aren’t you curious, though?”

“Of course. But you can’t overthink it. You’ll start convincing yourself there’s a story when there isn’t.” I shrugged. “In Danner’s case, an overly litigious company that takes itself too seriously? Annoying, maybe, but not a capital crime.”

Oliver lifted his glass toward me. “I heard about your promotion, by the way.”

“Stella told you?”

“She told my mom, and my mom told me. Congratulations.”

“Oh—well, thank you.”

“We’re proud of you, Violet,” Oliver said. “You’re a credit to the Bradley name.”

It was delicate work, maneuvering through the crowd with three drinks in hand. I supposed it was nice to hear that from Oliver. The Bradleys’ affection was contingent and changeable, and I liked knowing where I stood with them. The music, the laughter, the tuxedos and gowns and glittering lights: this world was hard to earn, easy to fall in love with. But sometimes I wanted to run in the opposite direction. What if I didn’t want to be a credit to the Bradley name? What if I wanted to be a credit to my own name?

“ There you are,” Anne said. “Thank you, Violet. I’m parched.”

Anne was holding court with a group of women who looked just like her: moisturized, fastidiously slender, impeccably preserved from the disappointments of middle age. In a low voice, Stella said to me, “I’m dying, Violet. Literally dying.”

I laughed. “Should I call 9-1-1?”

“Honestly, I’d rather ride around New York in an ambulance than stay here all night. At least that’s exciting. Do you realize we’re the youngest people in this room by twenty years?”

“Except for Oliver,” I said.

Stella snorted. “Oliver’s the oldest person here. Look. He’s turning into our father.”

Oliver and Thomas Bradley were standing together at the bar, surveying the room. And it was true: they had the same serious mien, the same aristocratic height, like an English peer and the son who would someday inherit his title. Although if you looked at Stella and Anne side by side, you might say the same thing. Stella maintained that she was the black sheep, but with each passing year she grew into the family resemblance, like a tree bending to the sun.

“How long do you think we have to stay?” Stella said.

“No idea. Your family, not mine.”

“Can you pretend to be sick? Say you have to go to the hospital and I’ll come—”

“Wait a second, is that Ginny Grass?” I said, spotting a familiar face across the room.

Stella swatted me on the arm. “ Rude. Don’t interrupt.”

“See that woman in the blue dress? Is she friends with your parents?”

Stella squinted. “Oh yeah,” she said. “Ginny. She’s an old family friend. She has a place down the road from my grandparents, in Maine. How do you know her?”

“She’s the president of KCN. My boss’s boss’s boss.”

“Huh.” Stella tilted her head. Gears seemed to be turning. “You wanna go say hi?”

“Oh God, no. I have no idea what I’d say.”

But Stella had already started pulling me across the room. “What are you so scared of? She’s just a normal person.”

“To you, maybe.”

“Ginny!” Stella said loudly, from a dozen feet away.

Ginny turned, and exclaimed, “Stella!” She kissed her on the cheek. “You look beautiful, my dear. You never change.”