“When exactly?”
“I’m not sure.” Alice smiles. Her nonchalance is probably making Tish sweat.
Tish clears her throat. “As I’m sure you know, Alice, I am very proud of the ASC and its history.”
Alice rolls her eyes. All Almanacs know the story of the Alma Social Club—and every time Alice hears it, she has the urge to call bullshit. The ASC was founded almost one hundred years ago, close to when Alma Boots began manufacturing what later became known as its signature winter boots, introduced to the market during World War I—a time when sales had been so low, Backer Dewar had considered closing the shoe shop he had opened at the beginning of the century.
But then, a miracle!
In the early 1920s, Backer received dozens of orders from across the country. That’s when everything changed: the shop turned into a small factory. Women’s shoes were added to the catalogue. Some fifty men had to be hired from out of town. Backer made it a point to employ married men only, as he believed they made superior workers. But that practice resulted in several women—the wives of the new employees—feeling isolated in a new, unfamiliar town, far away from their friends and family. That was when Hildegard Dewar, Backer’s wife, decided to start a club for the wives to meet, bond, and help keep the Alma spirit alive.
(Again: it’s as tacky as it sounds.)
Tish loves telling tales of the days when Alma Boots was a small company, and not the billion-dollar corporation it is now, pointing out that it is still a family business at heart. “And the soul of Alma Boots is the ASC,” Tish likes to say. But this is what Tish conveniently leaves out of the allegory: the real reason behind Alma Boots’ success had been Prohibition. After the Eighteenth Amendment to the Constitution passed, Backer Dewar began smuggling alcohol inside the boxes of his famous pairs of sheepskin footwear. Alma Boots sold because of its craftsmanship and high quality, but it only managed to raise capital and reach window displays all over the country because of good old-fashioned bootlegging. The ASC is a club founded on—and funded by—crime.
“Alice?” Tish says, her tone growing more impatient. “Are you still there?”
Alice hears the rustling of keys coming from the front door. (She’s probably the only person in Alma who keeps the front door locked. Yet another measure to keep Tish away.) She gets up quickly, gently patting her bun to ensure it’s in place.
“Tish, I went to Wharton for my MBA. I’m quite sure I can manage greeting new neighbors. I have to go.” She feels a trill of delight as she hangs up the phone. “Honey,” Alice calls out, walking towards Nick. “How was your day?”
Alice takes one look at her husband and feels her stomach sink. One of the astonishing things about Nick is that he arrives home as fresh-faced and unperturbed as he leaves in the morning (it’s been years since Alice has held a full-time job, but she remembers feeling exhausted at the end of the day: stiff neck, aching feet). But now he looks harried, stressed. It’s a first for Nick.
“Want me to fix you a gin and tonic?” This is a first for Alice, too. Greeting one’s husband at the door and offering him a drink is the quintessential humdrum housewife move. But all’s fair in love and war—and in plotting to escape Alma.
“Sure,” Nick says. And then, as an afterthought, “You look nice. Do we have an appointment with Cassie tonight?”
The question bothers Alice. It’s not like she only dresses up for their Skype session with their couples therapist. She always looks put together.
She walks over to the bar cart in the corner of the room. “Thank you, and no. Cassie is away on her book tour, remember?” It’s the downside of having a famous marriage counselor. Alice tries not to let it bother her. “I hope you’re hungry. I asked Yolanda to make your favorite risotto.”
“What’s the occasion?” There’s a note of unease in his voice.
Alice feels her cheeks grow hot. Is it possible he’s found out about her plan? Could Ryan have called him? Or maybe her eagerness has given her away? She should’ve taken two oxy, not one.
“No occasion.” She hands him his drink and takes a seat on the white sectional. “But I do want to talk to you about something.” She pats the cushion next to her.
“Oh?” Nick sits beside her.
This is it.
“Poorva Miller called me today. She and Ryan are spending Christmas at Interlaken,” Alice says, referring to Nick’s best friend from NYU and his wife of eight years. “They’ve invited us. Ryan is starting a new company. Poorva mentioned that he’d love to talk to you about coming in as an investor.”
“With what money?” Nick’s voice is thin, defensive. His usual tone when discussing finances. He leans back and takes a sip of his drink.
Alice had anticipated this reaction. She is prepared.
“Well, it might not be very much. Poorva didn’t get into specifics. I was thinking this might be an opportunity for me, too. To get back in the job market. And with the headquarters being in Europe, I won’t have to worry about, you know, the rumors following me.”
Nick’s face softens. It always does when she brings up her failed career. At twenty-nine, Alice holds a BA from Yale and has two years’ experience working the grueling hours of the private equity sector. She should also have an MBA from Wharton, but she’d dropped out after the administration failed to take her account of what happened with Professor Keyes seriously—she’d been two months shy of graduation. Alice should be working at a bank right now or a multinational, preferably LVMH or Souliers. But her life was derailed because of her gender. It’s more complicated than that, but it also isn’t. If she were a man, none of it would’ve happened. If she were a man, she wouldn’t be stuck in Alma.
“Maybe you could talk to Ryan?” Alice continues, resting a hand on Nick’s knee. “I can book the tickets—”
Nick swivels to the left, setting his highball on the glass side table. He cups her hand with his. “What about Allegra?”
Alice blinks. “What about her?”
“Traveling with a two-year-old isn’t exactly easy.”
“I’m sure we’ll manage. But if you prefer, she can stay here. With Malaika and your mom. Or Malaika could come with us, she’s from Switzerland, after all.”
“That’s not Malaika’s job.” He lets go of her hand.
“That is literally her job.”
“You’re overly reliant on her, Alice,” Nick says. His tone is not unkind, which makes it all the more patronizing.
Alice feels her mouth tighten. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation. Usually, Alice shuts it down with a simple, yet effective sentiment: Nick is welcome to quit his job and spend his days caring for Allegra. Alice will not be shamed for needing help, for welcoming it. But today, Alice is willing to ignore his unsolicited opinion.
“This could be good for us,” Alice continues. “And Cassie would approve. She’s always encouraging us to try new things as a couple.”
“Don’t bring our celebrity therapist into this.” Nick says celebrity like it’s a bad word. A hypocritical stance: Nick had been thrilled when Alice had snagged an appointment with Cassie Meyers.