You’ll probably see more advertising people out there in the Hamptons than here in Manhattan. So relax for a few months.”
Anne leaned forward. “I can’t relax. Trip, it’s been months, and I haven’t seen a single check.”
“Be patient.”
“I’ve got bills to pay.”
“That’s what alimony is for.”
“I won’t get alimony.”
“Are you kidding me? What kind of divorce lawyer do you have?”
“A very good one, believe me. It’s a long story.” Somehow her lawyer was managing to get her out of her marriage without any debt and with a custody arrangement that would limit Jenn’s visits with Lyon to four weeks a year.
“I just assumed Lyon was footing the bills.”
“There’s child support, but it won’t cover my expenses.” She didn’t want to tell him that she had taken the train in from Long Island—her car couldn’t be trusted for long trips, it needed transmission work that she couldn’t afford. “Do I have to spell it out for you? I’m broke .”
Trip rolled his eyes. “Love that word, broke . No one is poor anymore, just broke. Oh, honey, don’t get teary on me. Please, anything but that.” He handed her a tissue. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you aren’t alone.”
“Really.”
“You’d be surprised. With the crash last October, a lot of people have it hard. Why do you think some of these jobs are so tough to get? People are taking work they would have raised their noses atjust a year ago. You know who took that pet-food job?” He mock whispered the name of an actress who had starred on a prime-time soap opera in the late seventies. “So that’s the competition that’s out there now. If it makes you feel any better.”
Anne smiled. “Well, it does make me feel better, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m totally broke.”
Trip shook his head. “A woman walks into my office wearing three thousand dollars on her ears and tells me she’s broke.”
Anne fingered the small round diamonds that Lyon had given her on their fifth wedding anniversary. “These aren’t worth three thousand dollars.”
“My family is in the jewelry business. I know what I’m looking at.”
“Well, I can’t exactly sell them.”
“Why not?”
“Because … I don’t know, I just can’t.”
“Sentimental value?”
“Hardly.”
“Have you ever heard the expression ‘estate jewelry’?”
“Of course.”
“And what do you think it means?”
“When someone dies, it’s the jewelry that’s left as part of their estate.”
“And why do you think it ends up for sale?”
“Lots of reasons,” Anne said. “Maybe to pay estate taxes. Or maybe it’s out of fashion. Or maybe the jewelry has been left to a charitable organization, and they get to sell it and use the proceeds.”
“Let me tell you, there’s no such thing as estate jewelry. Just ask your neighbors on Fifth Avenue.”
“Ex-neighbors.”
“It’s divorce jewelry. It’s Chapter Eleven jewelry. It’s my-husband-is-a-compulsive-gambler-and-he-just-spent-the-month-at-Saratogajewelry. Women like you sell their jewelry all the time. We just call it estate jewelry so the customer doesn’t have to think about someone else’s bad luck when he’s writing a check equal to two months’ salary. If you want to hold on to your ice because it reminds you of some wonderful evening when you were Mrs. Lyon Burke and the world was your oyster, fair enough, but please don’t complain to me that you’re broke.”
“Now you’re being cruel.”
Trip leaned back and crossed his hands behind his head. “I’m just being realistic. You want it both ways, Anne.”
“What does that mean.”
“You want to start all over again—let’s call it what it is, we’ve talked about it before, the whole Gillian Girl thing was, like, five centuries ago—you want to start all over and make a career for yourself. And at the same time, you want to hold on to this ‘I’m a lady and we came over on the
Anne leaned forward. “I can’t relax. Trip, it’s been months, and I haven’t seen a single check.”
“Be patient.”
“I’ve got bills to pay.”
“That’s what alimony is for.”
“I won’t get alimony.”
“Are you kidding me? What kind of divorce lawyer do you have?”
“A very good one, believe me. It’s a long story.” Somehow her lawyer was managing to get her out of her marriage without any debt and with a custody arrangement that would limit Jenn’s visits with Lyon to four weeks a year.
“I just assumed Lyon was footing the bills.”
“There’s child support, but it won’t cover my expenses.” She didn’t want to tell him that she had taken the train in from Long Island—her car couldn’t be trusted for long trips, it needed transmission work that she couldn’t afford. “Do I have to spell it out for you? I’m broke .”
Trip rolled his eyes. “Love that word, broke . No one is poor anymore, just broke. Oh, honey, don’t get teary on me. Please, anything but that.” He handed her a tissue. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you aren’t alone.”
“Really.”
“You’d be surprised. With the crash last October, a lot of people have it hard. Why do you think some of these jobs are so tough to get? People are taking work they would have raised their noses atjust a year ago. You know who took that pet-food job?” He mock whispered the name of an actress who had starred on a prime-time soap opera in the late seventies. “So that’s the competition that’s out there now. If it makes you feel any better.”
Anne smiled. “Well, it does make me feel better, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m totally broke.”
Trip shook his head. “A woman walks into my office wearing three thousand dollars on her ears and tells me she’s broke.”
Anne fingered the small round diamonds that Lyon had given her on their fifth wedding anniversary. “These aren’t worth three thousand dollars.”
“My family is in the jewelry business. I know what I’m looking at.”
“Well, I can’t exactly sell them.”
“Why not?”
“Because … I don’t know, I just can’t.”
“Sentimental value?”
“Hardly.”
“Have you ever heard the expression ‘estate jewelry’?”
“Of course.”
“And what do you think it means?”
“When someone dies, it’s the jewelry that’s left as part of their estate.”
“And why do you think it ends up for sale?”
“Lots of reasons,” Anne said. “Maybe to pay estate taxes. Or maybe it’s out of fashion. Or maybe the jewelry has been left to a charitable organization, and they get to sell it and use the proceeds.”
“Let me tell you, there’s no such thing as estate jewelry. Just ask your neighbors on Fifth Avenue.”
“Ex-neighbors.”
“It’s divorce jewelry. It’s Chapter Eleven jewelry. It’s my-husband-is-a-compulsive-gambler-and-he-just-spent-the-month-at-Saratogajewelry. Women like you sell their jewelry all the time. We just call it estate jewelry so the customer doesn’t have to think about someone else’s bad luck when he’s writing a check equal to two months’ salary. If you want to hold on to your ice because it reminds you of some wonderful evening when you were Mrs. Lyon Burke and the world was your oyster, fair enough, but please don’t complain to me that you’re broke.”
“Now you’re being cruel.”
Trip leaned back and crossed his hands behind his head. “I’m just being realistic. You want it both ways, Anne.”
“What does that mean.”
“You want to start all over again—let’s call it what it is, we’ve talked about it before, the whole Gillian Girl thing was, like, five centuries ago—you want to start all over and make a career for yourself. And at the same time, you want to hold on to this ‘I’m a lady and we came over on the
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