The Starter Wife (30 page)

“Swear!” he yelled back.

“We don’t own any porn,” Cricket said apologetically.

“Do I have to draw you a map?” Will said. “Run. Drop by your local adult video store and pick up, I don’t know, something cheesy—
Girls Gone Wild
or something.”

“What am I doing?” Cricket said, suddenly up on her feet. “I’ve got work to do—I’ve got a husband on a steep learning curve.”

“Steep but swift,” Will said.

Cricket smiled and kissed Will all over his face. “Please,” Will said, pushing her away. “I don’t even like my mother kissing me.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Cricket called as she
ran out the door, clutching her purse and smoky clothes to her chest.

Gracie looked at Will after she’d gone.

“Do you think I’ll ever get those pajamas back?” Gracie asked.

“No,” Will said, shaking his head. “But please, if you’re planning on getting laid by men with unusually symbolic names for the rest of your life, you will never settle for flannel again.”

“But they’re Oprah’s favorite,” Gracie said.

“So save them for when you sleep with Oprah.”

Gracie thought for a moment, sipping her coffee, which tasted especially good since her sexual awakening the night before. How, she thought, did groping affect one’s taste buds? Is this why teenagers ate so much?

She looked at Will.

“Do you think you could have saved my marriage to Kenny?” she asked.

“Honey, your marriage was doomed from day one,” Will said. “That’s what you get for marrying a man who insists on displaying his high school baseball trophies in the living room.”

Gracie nodded, a little sad.

“I bet he used to wear his collars up, right?” Will asked, flipping his collar up so the lapel hit his cheeks.

“Just all the time,” Gracie said.

“Oh, honey, you are so much better off without him,” Will said. “Just stick to this Sam person. At least until I know his particulars.”

At that moment, the front door opened. Will and Gracie looked at each other.

“She’s bringing back the pajamas,” Gracie said.

“I’m throwing myself in front of her body—” Will said, getting up.

Instead, standing in front of them was Joan, lugging two Louis Vuitton suitcases. (Gracie, after ten years, had learned to recognize the logo. But only after ten years.)

Her sunglasses were on top of her head. She looked thin. Her face was pale behind the clusters of freckles. Her hair had seen better days.

“Joan!” Will yelled. “Thank God!”

He ran over to her, lifting her up and spinning her around.

“Joan?” Gracie asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Gracie,” Joan said in an unfamiliar, quivering voice. Joan didn’t quiver, Gracie thought. Joan proclaimed.

“Lou,” she said.

Again with the quiver.

WIFE NUMBER EIGHT

Found out that her television-network-chief husband was cheating on her with a supermodel one morning. Who told her?

Page Six.

19
 
DEATH OF THE KING

G
RACIE HAD
totally forgotten about Lou’s imminent planned demise. And who could blame her? She was a middle-aged woman who only just recorded the best make-out session of her life the night before.

“Gracie?” Joan asked. “Did you hear me? Are you okay?”

“He’s dead,” Gracie said.

“Drowned,” Joan said. “Last night. He left his clothes right out on the beach—and walked into the water, and …”

She groped for a chair and sat down.

“Not the new Prada sandals, I hope,” Will said.

“Shut up, Will,” Joan said. “Don’t you have any respect at all?”

“I’m not good at tragedy,” he admitted. “I’m more like a … fair-weather boy.”

Gracie stood there, unable to comfort Joan or admonish Will. She didn’t know what to do—Lou had placed her in a terrible position—should she tell them that Lou was alive? That
rumors of his demise were premature and greatly exaggerated?

Instead, Gracie said, “I just can’t believe it.”

“Do you think he killed himself?” Joan asked. “Why would he kill himself?”

“Too much young pussy?” Will asked.

Gracie and Joan looked at him.

“Is this really a time to be joking?” Joan asked.

“Eight o’clock in the morning?” Will asked, looking at his watch.

That comment made Joan smile.

“I knew I could get you,” Will said. “Tragedy is comedy plus twenty minutes. Or the inverse.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the inverse,” Gracie said.

“You knew him well, right, Gracie?” Joan asked.

“She not only knew him,” Will said, “she went on a date with him last weekend.”

“Not a date,” Gracie corrected. “Just a friendly dinner.”

“Friendly with tongue served on the side,” Will said.

“No tongue,” Gracie corrected. “Not even a real kiss. Just here.” She pointed to her cheek.

Joan was staring at her.

“How did you know?” she asked Gracie. “How did you know he was dead?”

Gracie stammered. “It wasn’t very difficult,” she replied. “First of all, you look like someone ran over your dog, if you had one.”

Joan nodded, not following her windy trail of logic.

“Secondly,” Gracie said, “the way you said his name. I’m very intuitive. You know that.”

“No, you’re not,” said Will.

“No, you’re not,” Joan said. “You seem very calm about his death. Are you all right? Are you on something?” She turned to Will. “Did you give her something?”

“Do I look like a dealer?” Will asked, looking from Joan to Gracie. “I couldn’t hang out on corners—too drafty.” He looked at Joan. “Gracie came
this
close,” he said, pinching his forefinger and thumb together, “to getting laid last night.”

Joan screamed and clapped her hands. “Who?!” she demanded. “Get this,” Will said, “his name is—”

“Not for public consumption! Yet!” Gracie said, turning to Joan. “What happened to France? What happened to the Du Cap and boatloads of Haut-Brion?”

Joan looked at her. “You’re never going to believe this,” she said.

“Hold on,” Will said, “I have to check myself. I may just be on gossip overload. It’s never happened before, but …” He stood there for a moment, thinking. Finally he said, “Okay, I think I can handle it.”

“It’s Pappy,” Joan said.

“Not Pappy!” Will yelled. “Dear God, please don’t take our Pappy! Where will we stay on the weekends?”

“He’s not dead,” Joan said. “Unfortunately.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Gracie said.

“He wants a divorce,” Joan said.

“Grampa wants a divorce?!” Will asked.

Joan just shook her head. “He met someone.”

Will and Gracie exchanged a look that lasted not more than one-tenth of a second but was overflowing with opinions of a particularly cynical bearing.

“Oh, honey,” Gracie said, going to Joan and wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

“Who knew? Pappy is a chick magnet,” Will said.

“Someone older,” Joan said, choking.

“How much older?” Gracie asked.

“She’s seventy,” Joan said. “How’m I supposed to compete with that?”

Joan cried soft tears as Gracie held her and admonished Will with a look so severe it would have stopped Genghis Khan in his tracks.

Will zipped his lip but appeared dangerously close to exploding.

“Will,” Gracie said, “you can probably go now. I’ll handle everything from here.”

Will nodded his relief. “Thank you,” he said, mouthing the words.

Gracie thought she heard him guffaw at twenty paces.

G
RACIE WALKED
Joan upstairs and then went down to make her a cup of tea, which she brought back upstairs on a platter, with a couple pieces of toast and jam.

Joan was all tucked in by the time Gracie had made it back upstairs, her body turned toward the picture window.

“Bird shit is good luck, right?” Joan asked. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

Gracie looked at the window, streaked at the top with white and green bird poop stalactites.

“So why don’t I feel very lucky?” Joan asked.

She turned back to face Gracie, who was still thinking about whether bird shit could be construed as good luck.

“I think it’s good luck if it’s on your shoulder,” Gracie said in conclusion.

“Ah,” Joan said. “I guess I am lucky. I have you, don’t I?”

Gracie sat down. “Eat,” she said.

“One step at a time,” Joan said. “The first step is I can stand to look at food without throwing up.”

Gracie nodded. She understood. “The divorce diet,” she
said. “I don’t know why someone hasn’t written a book.”

“It’s much better than South Beach,” Joan said. “But maybe not as lasting as the Zone.”

They sat for a moment. Joan slid her hand over to Gracie’s and held it.

“Distract me. Tell me about him,” Joan said. “Your mystery man.”

“It’s not important,” Gracie said. And then she smiled. “Except that I think I’m in love.”

“Madly?” Joan asked.

“Mama’s got it bad,” Gracie admitted.

“When can I meet him?”

“He seems a little shy.”

“Bullshit,” Joan said. “I’m going to have a dinner party and he’s going to come because you’re going to tell him I’m despondent over my spouse
ancien,
and he needs to entertain me.”

“That seems like a tall order for anyone,” Gracie said.

“This Saturday,” Joan said. “I need to be cheered up.”

Gracie smiled. And nodded. “I’ll tell him. After all, he handled Will under difficult, semi-naked circumstances. He can handle anything.”

“Where does he live?” Joan asked.

“In the Colony,” Gracie said.

“Ooh,” Joan said. “He has money.”

Gracie shrugged.

“What does he do?” Joan asked. “Besides making out with lonely divorcées?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Gracie asked. “What’s with all the questions?”

“I have to know who my daughter’s going to marry.”

“I don’t know what he does for a living.”

“I’ll bet it’s something unusual—like that man who used to
live here who made shoe boxes for a living. The guy was a gazillionaire. Shoe boxes!” Joan exclaimed. “You know, he always took up more than his share of parking spaces.”

“Not a great trait,” Gracie agreed.

Joan thought about it, then looked at Gracie. “Leave it to me, I’ll find out everything.”

“You won’t scare him off?” Gracie asked. “I really want to keep him, Mommy.”

“I won’t scare him off,” Joan said. “Just make sure he eats meat. I’ll put some steaks on the grill, which won’t be my grill after the summer. We’ll have some wine, we’ll have a great time.”

Joan loved to plan a party, even under dire circumstances.

“All right, all right,” Gracie said. “I’ll tell him today.”

They watched as a triangle of pelicans flew past, diving like feathered kamikazes in the water in front of the house.

“Who told you?” Gracie asked nonchalantly. “Who told you about Lou?”

“Lavender at the gate,” Joan said. “She was pretty upset.”

Joan smoothed the sheet over her body. Her throat made a gargling sound. She looked up at Gracie, the sheen of tears in her eyes.

“They found his body this morning,” she said.

G
RACIE FLEW,
flew on her bike to see Lavender. She didn’t remember running down the stairs and spinning out the front door; she didn’t even remember jumping on her bike.

“Lou, Lou, Lou,” Gracie murmured to herself. And then, louder, until she was screaming—“Lou! LOU!”

She soared over the speed bumps and turned the corner toward the security gate, narrowly missing a black Range Rover that seemed to speed up as they closed in on each other.

Gracie slowed down and let the Range Rover pass. She tried to catch her breath and started hiccupping instead. Gracie made a mental note, scoring her reaction: “Handling bad news—C-minus at best.”

She got off the bike, left it by the side of the road, on its side, the wheels spinning. She walked toward the security quarters, a small white structure, just big enough for two people with pleasant personalities, three people if one happened to bring enough food for all of them.

“Lavender!” Gracie called out. “Lavender!” She was leaning against the outside wall.

Lavender was directing someone in a red Ferrari on the other side of the white structure, holding a clipboard in her hand.

Lavender turned and looked at her.

Her eyes were pink underneath the black-rimmed glasses. Her light cocoa skin was ashen. This gave the effect of making her look blond all over.

She waved the car past without looking back, then walked around the structure, meeting Gracie at the back.

They looked at each other.

“Is it true?” Gracie whispered. Then, “It can’t be true.”

Lavender just looked at her, the wrinkles in her forehead showing the sense of stress and anguish.

Gracie grabbed her by her arms, jerking her body.

“Lavender, it’s not true.”

“He’s dead,” Lavender said. She sighed and Gracie could feel the rattle in her chest.

“Not Lou,” Gracie said. “It’s someone else.” Her head shook back and forth, the word “NO” repeating itself inside her brain. NO NO NO NO NO NO!