The Ex-Mrs. Hedgefund Read Online Free PDF Page A

hon,” he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
    It was a very hefty gift to the charity, and I must say, I was secretly ecstatic. Buffett Schmuffet—this was the best lot by far. There I’d be: amidst the staccato, menacing doink-doink sound, which I’d read was originally designed to echo a jail cell slamming shut. Camera crews would shut down a city block for the shoot as a makeup person would make me look extra-pallid and cadavery. It would be the coolest cameo ever. But in the midst of my prime-time reverie of trench-coated detectives hovering over me with the flashes of faux-forensic photographers, I had to wonder: Had Tim been generous so that his beloved wife could be a chalk outline on national television, or so he could beat out MajesticMount? Tim loved a lot of things. I knew he loved me. But he also loved being number one.

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    â€œMy husband and I separated for religious reasons. He thought he was God and I didn’t.”
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    â€œ W hat do you mean you met someone ?” I bellowed, not even a month after our lunch at Sant Ambroeus. I blurted it out so loud in Orsay that I had to re-ask in a low-key murmur, as if taking back my bellowed indignation.
    â€œShhhh! Holl , Jesus! Why don’t you broadcast to the whole fucking place? I think those anorexic moms sharing one tea sandwich over there didn’t hear you! My God.”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œListen, you know we had issues for so long now and I was bursting. We met a few months ago. I almost told you at the Lancelot auction last month, but it was too crazy. I had hit my breaking point in a loveless marriage. And now there’s no turning back because I knew I wouldn’t have the balls to leave Hal unless I left him with my body. I didn’t sleep with this guy before I filed the papers, I swear. We just kissed. But I knew that if I betrayed Hal, there would be zero possibility of reconciliation on his end, and I would be free.”
    â€œI can’t believe this . . . ,” I trailed off, staring at the cookie plate but too paralyzed to reach for one.
    â€œWhy? I mean, it’s not like I’m even in love with Gustave or gonna marry him or anything.”
    â€œGustave?” I asked. “You cheated on Hal with a guy named Gustave? What, is he a poet? Massage therapist? His name might as well be Thor! I can’t believe our family is splintering. . . .”
    â€œHello? It was just a kiss! And if I wanted judgments, I’d have laid this on Sherry Von.”
    She was right. I shouldn’t judge her. While they were extremely close brothers, Hal and Tim were not the same person, and I had no idea what Kiki and Hal had gone through behind closed doors.
    Sherry was Sherry Von Hapsburg Talbott and we called her Sherry Von because she always used her whole name, lest plebians forget she was of aristocratic ilk on the Continent, whence her illustrious crested-blazer ancestry hailed. Even her weekend L.L. Bean bag was monogrammed “S. Von H. T.” I mean, everything was Von this, Von that, Von yawn . She was a raging ice queen and made family gatherings so unbearable with her snobbish yammering and pronouncements from on high that one begged for an ejector seat, Dr. Evil-style, that would suck her through the Oriental rug into the chasms of darkness. Was I being harsh? No. She really was that bad. Her sons tuned it out, talking business the whole time, while Kiki and I were stuck with her running commentary on everything from “unsightly” Oscar dresses to those “godawful Democrats.” Being with her was like having that incessant crawl at the bottom of your TV screen. But in an oversized font. In fluorescent yellow.
    It was Kiki who got me through every family dinner we had to endure. Selfishly, my first thought now was how I could possibly handle Sherry Von without Kiki by my side. And while I’d sometimes feel bad for Sherry Von, who was widowed at fifty-three