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constantly rotated between CNN, CNN Headline
    News, C-SPAN, and MSNBC, perpetrators of what Will referred to
    as "The Liberal Conspiracy." A handwritten sign sat atop the second
    TV. It read: KNOW YOI;R ENEMY.
    On CNN, Aaron Brown was interviewing Frank Rich about the
    media coverage surrounding the last election. "Aaron Brown is a
    lily-livered milquetoast pantywaist!" Will snarled as he put down
    his crystal tumbler and hurled one of his Belgian shoes at the TV.
    "Hi, Will," I said, helping myself to a handful of the chocolatecovered
    raisins he always kept in an Orrefors bowl on his desk.
    "Of all the people qualified to discuss politics in this country,
    to offer some insight or an intelligent opinion on how media coverage
    did or did not affect these elections, and these idiots have to
    interview someone from TJje New York Times? The whole place is
    more bleeding than a rare steak, and I need to sit here and listen
    to their opinion on this?"
    "Well, not really, Will. You could turn it off, you know." I suppressed
    a smile as his eyes stayed riveted ahead. I silently debated
    with myself how long it would take for him to refer to The New
    York Times as Izvestia, or to bring up the Jayson Blair debacle as
    further proof that the paper's trash at best and a conspiracy against
    honest, hardworking Americans at worst.
    "What, and miss Mr. Aaron Brown's blatantly opinionated coverage
    of Mr. Frank Rich's blatantly opinionated coverage of whatever
    the hell they're talking about? Seriously, Bette, let us not forget that
    this is the very same paper whose reporters simply create stories
    when deadline looms." He took a swig and jabbed at the remote to silence
    both televisions simultaneously. Only fifteen seconds tonight—
    a record.
    "Enough for now," he said, hugging me and giving me a quick
    peck on the cheek. "You look great, honey, as always, but would it
    kill you to wear a dress once in a while?"
    He'd not so deftly moved to discussing his second-favorite
    topic, my life. Uncle Will was nine years older than my mom and
    both swore they'd been born to the very same set of parents, but it
    seemed impossible to comprehend. My mother was horrified I'd
    taken a corporate job that required me to wear something other
    than caftans and espadrilles, and my uncle thought the travesty
    was the suit as uniform instead of some killer Valentino gown or a
    fabulous pair of strappy Louboutins.
    "Will, it's just what they do at investment banks, you know?"
    "So I've gathered. I just didn't think you'd end up in banking."
    That again.
    "Your people, like, love capitalism, don't they?" I teased. "The
    Republicans, I mean—not so much the gays."
    He raised his bushy gray eyebrows and peered at me from
    across the couch. "Cute. Very cute. It's nothing against banking,
    darling, I think you know that. It's a fine, respectable career—I'd
    rather see you doing that than any of those hippie-dippy-save-theworld
    jobs your parents would recommend—but you just seem so
    young to lock yourself into something so boring. You should be
    out there meeting people, going to parties, enjoying being young
    and single in New York, not tied down to a desk in a bank. What
    do you want to do?"
    As many times as he'd asked me this, I'd never come around to
    a great—or even decent—answer. It was certainly a fair question.
    In high school I'd always thought I'd join the Peace Corps. My parents
    had taught me that that was the natural step following a college
    degree. But then I went to Emory and met Penelope. She
    liked that I couldn't name every private school in Manhattan and
    knew nothing about Martha's Vineyard, and I, of course, loved that
    she could and did. We were inseparable by Christmas break, and
    by the end of freshman year, I had discarded my favorite Dead
    T-shirts. Jerry was long dead, anyway. And it was fun going to basketball
    games and keg parties and joining the coed touch-football
    league with a whole group of people who didn't