Read Online The Starter Wife by Gigi Levangie Grazer - Free Book Online
Authors: Gigi Levangie Grazer
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throbbing. She knew it was because she wanted to wring Kenny’s thick neck.
“I didn’t get any flowers, Raymond.”
“What’s that, Precious?” he squeaked.
Raymond was gay. Gracie wondered if he were single. Gracie wondered if gay, single men would want to go out with her.
Gracie cleared her throat of an enormous, Kenny-hating lump. “I didn’t receive any flowers.”
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
“There must be some mistake,” he finally said, with a droplet of cheer at having tripped upon an appropriate lie. “Oh, yes.” Gracie heard the shuffling of papers.
“Oh, yes,” he repeated. Gracie had known Raymond for seven years and had never heard him, to her knowledge, lie. So Gracie waited, curious and patient.This was her new life, peoplestumbling on their words, and her, with the newfound ability to read their thoughts.
Gracie knew what Raymond was thinking. “Oh, shit” was probably first in his mind, followed in close succession by “Who the hell did Kenny send one hundred roses to?” then “I’m going to kill my assistant,” and finally “Wait till I tell (everyone).”
Gracie watched her girl as she stood, arms over her head, swinging her doll-sized hips, in front of the television set, watching the most famous homosexual revue in the world, The Wiggles. Gracie had tricked her daughter long ago to listen to the television with the sound turned down almost to mute. Thus, only one of her senses could be assaulted by The Wiggles at a time.
Gracie looked at the television set out of the corner of her eye; she could bear only the slimmest glimmer of Wiggle …
Gracie found herself wondering if any of them were single. Gracie wondered, if she married a Wiggle, about their first dance at their wedding. Would Gracie, too, be forced to wag her arms over her head, to wrestle her hips into some sort of rhythmic motion?
“Would it be all right if I called Mr. Kenny’s office?” Raymond asked. The man gave supplicant ass-licker brown-nosers a bad name.
“Raymond,” Gracie said, “we did have a dinner party last week.And the flowers were sensational.”
Gracie heard the gasp just as she hung up. She suddenly realized that if she were getting a divorce, one of the benefits was that she wouldn’t have the need for a florist except for special occasions. Raymond was probably already asking Kenny’s assistant how the recipient liked the roses and giving tips on distilled water and aspirin.
What does one do on the first day of separation? How should Gracie mark it on the calendar? “Today’s Wednesday, so that means Tennis,Toddler Group, and oh, yes, a Trial Separation.”
And why was she still breathing? Why hadn’t Gracie died in the night? And why, why hadn’t Gracie planned for this moment? Why hadn’t she put away the requisite $500 cash per week into her own account, like the other Wives Of? Why hadn’t she purchased more jewelry, like the wife who bought out the Cartier display at Saks two weeks before she served her husband with papers? Why didn’t Gracie know she and Kenny were headed for the destination marked “first marriage”? But Gracie couldn’t even call what they had a first marriage, could she, unless she was already in her second marriage. Damn. Damn. Damn. So many new rules, so many newfangled, meaningless niceties to incorporate into her behavior. Gracie was now a Former Wife Of—a Starter Wife. Performances would have to change.
And just when she had finally grasped all the behavior patterns for a Wife Of. It was akin to telling an Olympic wrestler that he would have to compete in the women’s synchronized swimming event.
Another horrible feeling ran over Gracie, leaving deep tracks on what was left of her psyche. Did other people know this was going to happen? Was Gracie the only one in the dark?
Gracie grabbed at a barstool and slid her body onto it, propping herself up on her elbows on the kitchen counter. The thought of divorce had
“I didn’t get any flowers, Raymond.”
“What’s that, Precious?” he squeaked.
Raymond was gay. Gracie wondered if he were single. Gracie wondered if gay, single men would want to go out with her.
Gracie cleared her throat of an enormous, Kenny-hating lump. “I didn’t receive any flowers.”
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
“There must be some mistake,” he finally said, with a droplet of cheer at having tripped upon an appropriate lie. “Oh, yes.” Gracie heard the shuffling of papers.
“Oh, yes,” he repeated. Gracie had known Raymond for seven years and had never heard him, to her knowledge, lie. So Gracie waited, curious and patient.This was her new life, peoplestumbling on their words, and her, with the newfound ability to read their thoughts.
Gracie knew what Raymond was thinking. “Oh, shit” was probably first in his mind, followed in close succession by “Who the hell did Kenny send one hundred roses to?” then “I’m going to kill my assistant,” and finally “Wait till I tell (everyone).”
Gracie watched her girl as she stood, arms over her head, swinging her doll-sized hips, in front of the television set, watching the most famous homosexual revue in the world, The Wiggles. Gracie had tricked her daughter long ago to listen to the television with the sound turned down almost to mute. Thus, only one of her senses could be assaulted by The Wiggles at a time.
Gracie looked at the television set out of the corner of her eye; she could bear only the slimmest glimmer of Wiggle …
Gracie found herself wondering if any of them were single. Gracie wondered, if she married a Wiggle, about their first dance at their wedding. Would Gracie, too, be forced to wag her arms over her head, to wrestle her hips into some sort of rhythmic motion?
“Would it be all right if I called Mr. Kenny’s office?” Raymond asked. The man gave supplicant ass-licker brown-nosers a bad name.
“Raymond,” Gracie said, “we did have a dinner party last week.And the flowers were sensational.”
Gracie heard the gasp just as she hung up. She suddenly realized that if she were getting a divorce, one of the benefits was that she wouldn’t have the need for a florist except for special occasions. Raymond was probably already asking Kenny’s assistant how the recipient liked the roses and giving tips on distilled water and aspirin.
What does one do on the first day of separation? How should Gracie mark it on the calendar? “Today’s Wednesday, so that means Tennis,Toddler Group, and oh, yes, a Trial Separation.”
And why was she still breathing? Why hadn’t Gracie died in the night? And why, why hadn’t Gracie planned for this moment? Why hadn’t she put away the requisite $500 cash per week into her own account, like the other Wives Of? Why hadn’t she purchased more jewelry, like the wife who bought out the Cartier display at Saks two weeks before she served her husband with papers? Why didn’t Gracie know she and Kenny were headed for the destination marked “first marriage”? But Gracie couldn’t even call what they had a first marriage, could she, unless she was already in her second marriage. Damn. Damn. Damn. So many new rules, so many newfangled, meaningless niceties to incorporate into her behavior. Gracie was now a Former Wife Of—a Starter Wife. Performances would have to change.
And just when she had finally grasped all the behavior patterns for a Wife Of. It was akin to telling an Olympic wrestler that he would have to compete in the women’s synchronized swimming event.
Another horrible feeling ran over Gracie, leaving deep tracks on what was left of her psyche. Did other people know this was going to happen? Was Gracie the only one in the dark?
Gracie grabbed at a barstool and slid her body onto it, propping herself up on her elbows on the kitchen counter. The thought of divorce had
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