house, some director who’s going through a divorce,” Gracie said. “Apparently it’s in the water at The Ivy.”
She sat up as a realization reared its ugly head. “He planned this out. You know Kenny. He probably knew he was going to do this years ago. He probably has another family. Maybe he’s leading a double life.”
“This is crazy, it can’t be over, just like that. What about counseling? Have you been to counseling?”
Gracie thought about it; they’d never been to marriage counseling. Gracie had gone to counseling in the beginning of their marriage—there were many personality issues to overcome. More or less her personality issues—the fact that Gracie had too much personality. Gracie said and did pretty much what Gracie pleased, in the beginning. Before Gracie learned The Way of the Wife.
“He just wants out,” Gracie concluded. “He just wantsout.” Without thought, her hand opened, palm up, as though she were freeing a living thing.
“You’re going to need a lawyer.”
“Oh, God, I don’t want lawyers. Lawyers will only make things ugly.”
“Guess what, Princess. Things are as ugly as Tony Soprano in a Wonder Bra. Tell me you don’t have a pre-nup.”
Gracie paused. She and Kenny were to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary in a month. “Oh my—”
“God! You have a pre-nup?!”
“With a ten-year expiration date—”
The pre-nup was about to be annulled. In one month plus change, it would have been null and void.
Instead, her marriage was.
“I’ve been Cruised!” Gracie, slurring, meant being left by one’s spouse before the ten-year anniversary mark. She’d heard that in California, if a couple has been married ten years, the wife is entitled to spousal support for the rest of her life. Allegedly, Tom Cruise had asked for divorce prior to the ten-year mark when he divorced Nicole Kidman.
Gracie burped, which she sometimes did when she was under extreme duress. How attractive. How very attractive. Men like middle-aged, freckly handed alcoholics.
“I can have him killed,” Joan offered. “Pappy knows people. Westside real estate is a very rough business.”
“You say the sweetest things,” Gracie said.
“Seriously, Gracie,” Joan said, “make up your story. Make it up tonight. Before Kenny has a chance to.”
“My story?” Gracie asked.
“Not too many details, keep it on the surface. I’m a little rusty, but I can help you. Include the words: ‘impotence’ and ‘bad investments.’ ”
Gracie kissed Joan good-bye and hung up. When she had handed her valet ticket to the nice young Peruvian boy (single?) at the valet station, she’d still been married. Before she’d answered that call, she’d still been married. What would have happened, Gracie wondered, had she still been in a bad reception area? Or had she had the cell phone on vibrate?
She would still be married. Until the morning, maybe. But at least she would have had a good night’s sleep.
Gracie looked at her ring. She forgot to ask Joan when she was supposed to slip it off her finger. Now, tonight? After the divorce was final? When?
She sat there, alone in her bad-cell-phone-call grief, wondering who else she could burden. Joan was an easy call—she had no children, and her husband, much like an infant, was asleep by eight-thirty. Most of her other friends had kids and marriages held together by duct tape. Gracie wondered at the marriage she’d thought she had. She and Kenny were supposed to be the happily married couple, they were the ones other people talked about in their thrice-weekly therapy sessions, they were the ones who were called The Power Couple in
L.A. Confidential.
How could The Power Couple break up? The Power Couple cannot break up! Gracie thought, mocking herself.We can’t break the hearts of our millions of followers!
In her stupor, Gracie tried thinking back to what she could have done—did she miss a signal? Did Gracie speed through a marital stop sign? A
She sat up as a realization reared its ugly head. “He planned this out. You know Kenny. He probably knew he was going to do this years ago. He probably has another family. Maybe he’s leading a double life.”
“This is crazy, it can’t be over, just like that. What about counseling? Have you been to counseling?”
Gracie thought about it; they’d never been to marriage counseling. Gracie had gone to counseling in the beginning of their marriage—there were many personality issues to overcome. More or less her personality issues—the fact that Gracie had too much personality. Gracie said and did pretty much what Gracie pleased, in the beginning. Before Gracie learned The Way of the Wife.
“He just wants out,” Gracie concluded. “He just wantsout.” Without thought, her hand opened, palm up, as though she were freeing a living thing.
“You’re going to need a lawyer.”
“Oh, God, I don’t want lawyers. Lawyers will only make things ugly.”
“Guess what, Princess. Things are as ugly as Tony Soprano in a Wonder Bra. Tell me you don’t have a pre-nup.”
Gracie paused. She and Kenny were to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary in a month. “Oh my—”
“God! You have a pre-nup?!”
“With a ten-year expiration date—”
The pre-nup was about to be annulled. In one month plus change, it would have been null and void.
Instead, her marriage was.
“I’ve been Cruised!” Gracie, slurring, meant being left by one’s spouse before the ten-year anniversary mark. She’d heard that in California, if a couple has been married ten years, the wife is entitled to spousal support for the rest of her life. Allegedly, Tom Cruise had asked for divorce prior to the ten-year mark when he divorced Nicole Kidman.
Gracie burped, which she sometimes did when she was under extreme duress. How attractive. How very attractive. Men like middle-aged, freckly handed alcoholics.
“I can have him killed,” Joan offered. “Pappy knows people. Westside real estate is a very rough business.”
“You say the sweetest things,” Gracie said.
“Seriously, Gracie,” Joan said, “make up your story. Make it up tonight. Before Kenny has a chance to.”
“My story?” Gracie asked.
“Not too many details, keep it on the surface. I’m a little rusty, but I can help you. Include the words: ‘impotence’ and ‘bad investments.’ ”
Gracie kissed Joan good-bye and hung up. When she had handed her valet ticket to the nice young Peruvian boy (single?) at the valet station, she’d still been married. Before she’d answered that call, she’d still been married. What would have happened, Gracie wondered, had she still been in a bad reception area? Or had she had the cell phone on vibrate?
She would still be married. Until the morning, maybe. But at least she would have had a good night’s sleep.
Gracie looked at her ring. She forgot to ask Joan when she was supposed to slip it off her finger. Now, tonight? After the divorce was final? When?
She sat there, alone in her bad-cell-phone-call grief, wondering who else she could burden. Joan was an easy call—she had no children, and her husband, much like an infant, was asleep by eight-thirty. Most of her other friends had kids and marriages held together by duct tape. Gracie wondered at the marriage she’d thought she had. She and Kenny were supposed to be the happily married couple, they were the ones other people talked about in their thrice-weekly therapy sessions, they were the ones who were called The Power Couple in
L.A. Confidential.
How could The Power Couple break up? The Power Couple cannot break up! Gracie thought, mocking herself.We can’t break the hearts of our millions of followers!
In her stupor, Gracie tried thinking back to what she could have done—did she miss a signal? Did Gracie speed through a marital stop sign? A
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