The Ex-Mrs. Hedgefund (32 page)

When I got home, my red face and full head wound struck a sound of alarm in my doorman, whom I quietly assured I was fine. I landed on my floor and opened the door. I just hoped and prayed that Kiki, the only person I felt I could turn to, was not in on this.

“I had no idea. NONE,” swore Kiki. She was shaking her head in shock. “Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

“It's the makeup from the show,” I said, wiping a tear and sitting down.

“Lyle just called and said Elliot is despondent and said he never told me because Elliot made him cover for him and then it just dragged out. I'm so pissed. I ripped him a new one, if you want to know the truth. I'm ripshit.”

“I don't know what the truth is anymore,” I sputtered in a sad daze.

“Listen, Holly,” Kiki said, kneeling down next to me. “It was a shitty thing to do. Elliot lied, they both lied. But . . . the feelings that were there are true.”

“I have to go to bed. This is, was between me and Elliot, so I don't want you and Lyle mired in this—”

“Hey, I've got news for you: I am mired in it. You are like my sister, and if you want me to never see him again—”

“No, that's ridiculous, we're adults here. I don't need high school-style solidarity.”

Kiki followed me to my room, where I put on my pajamas and climbed into bed. She sat beside me on the comforter. “Holly. It was an assholic thing for him to do. Lying is always bad. But in his defense, you wouldn't have even given him a chance if he'd told the truth, right?”

“I don't know. I don't know. I'm just tired. Of dating. Of men. Everything. I have to go to sleep.”

Kiki leaned down and gave me a hug. “Call me in the morning.”

 

 

 

After dropping Miles off at school, I took the train, zombie-like, downtown to work. I was amused that all the craziness of the awful previous night had played out with wounds all over my face. How perfect: an outward manifestation of what was now bleeding on the inside.

At work, Randy and Tristin immediately asked me if I was okay due to my sullen demeanor, but I shrugged everything off and just said I was tired and hit my desk, where I jammed in a trance for hours straight without a break. The one silver lining was that I was in a deep groove with the writing, and every e-mail I got back from Noah and Randy was a cyber thumbs-up.

I felt distant not only from the world I'd been in as Tim's wife, but also from the new self I'd forged in my time alone. The only thing I could do was throw myself into quality time with Miles and kicking absolute ass at work, which I did, arriving early, right after Miles's school started, and staying late when he had soccer after school. When I saw Elliot's number on the called ID, I blew it off. When I got a voice mail from him, I deleted it before I could even hear what he had to say. I couldn't let myself be open to heartbreak again. I was almost a robot; that's how much my grief and surprise about his revelation rocked me. I couldn't imagine that someone I had bonded with that deeply had a whole other life than the one presented to me.

I stayed home and made dinner for Miles every night, or took him ice-skating or to a museum. I did everything that I had been meaning to do, and got into a good solid routine with work, Miles, and his school. One night I came home and found a delivery at my doorstep. It was a Kermit the Frog felt muppet with a little sign that simply said, “I miss you.” I took the sign off, threw it in the trash, gave the toy to Miles, and flushed thoughts of Elliot out of my mind as hard as I could.

I tried to focus on myself. I did things I loved. I finally made a dent in the leaning-tower-of-Pisa-style stack of books to be read on my bedside table. The more I disappeared into the stories of other people in other eras, the more I melted in dreams of faraway lives not my own. I watched countless movies, took long walks to and from Miles's school, and worked up a storm. I was fully immersed in the writing and the music. Sometimes, when I heard an amazing song, it would trigger thoughts of Elliot. But even though I was subdued as the weeks passed, I felt that eventually things would all be okay. I wasn't ready to get back out there just yet, but when the time came, I knew I'd be all right. My defenses would be up this time.

 

 

 

About two months after the fateful night in the financial district, Kiki came over to cook dinner with Miles and me. I had seen her for lunch two weeks before, and she had attempted to make a plea on Elliot's behalf, but I shut her down so quickly, she knew not to mention his name. So when she walked in and said she had to tell me something, I swiftly replied, “It better not have to do with Elliot.”

“It doesn't. It has to do with his brother,” she said, smiling as she took my hand. “Lyle proposed to me last night,” she said, clearly trying to hold back her excitement. “We're getting married.”

“Oh my gosh!” I screamed, getting up to hug her, despite my utter and complete shock. “Are you sure?! You've only known each other five months. . . .”

“I know. If I were you, I'd tell me not to. It's crazy, but Holly, I've never been so sure of anything. This guy is . . . everything to me. With you and Miles and my family, of course. I just love him so much.”

“I've never seen you so happy.”

We hugged again and cried.

“Can you believe it?” she asked, wiping a tear. “Me? The one who never wanted to remarry. And now I can't imagine not being with Lyle forever. It's so weird.”

“I'm elated for you, really.”

“Will you be my maid of honor?”

“I'd be honored.”

 

 

 

T
he small wedding was set for two months away. Between total work immersion and spending all my free time with Miles, I helped Kiki gear up for her intimate nuptials. While she regularly planned events for a living, her own wedding was much more of a challenge to be original. Plus, she was so busy with her clients that I decided to repay the favor of her being my social quarterback by taking over some elements of the wedding, for example, all the paper: invitations, table cards, place cards, and menus. I'd found a hundred-year-old letterpress by South Street Seaport years back during my jury duty break, and when I showed Kiki the proofs, she ran her finger over the delicate grooves of the embossed lettering and got dewy-eyed.

“Holly, this is beyond anything I could have imagined. I remember when Sherry Von insisted on her Dempsey & Carroll engraving and the invitation looked like everyone else, and this is so . . . me.”

Next she enlisted me to be the sole judge and jury on her dress.

“I'm thinking Vera is so omni,” she said as we hit the Seventy-eighth Street salon last after a tour of every other bridal atelier in town. And yet, the second we walked upstairs and Kiki saw what would be The Dress, she knew she had to have it. She disappeared into the dressing room, and I almost burst into tears when the bride emerged. She was so transcendently beautiful in her ethereal lace gown, I thought she'd float away. I knew that Lyle would melt into a Wicked Witch of the West-style puddle on the floor when he saw her.

I just hoped I could hold it together seeing Elliot, whom I hadn't laid eyes on since confronting him. Whenever I thought of him, I got a pressing sadness in my chest, but I strongly forced it all out of my mind. Only when I was straightening up Miles's room and caught a glimpse of that smiling green froggie did I occasionally wonder if maybe he was truly a good person despite that lie.

“Holl, you okay?” she asked, looking concerned. I nodded; I didn't want to ruin the sparkling moment with glum selfish thoughts on her big night, mixing my blue state with her shining white.

“You're stressed about seeing Elliot, aren't you?”

As usual, she nailed it, but we were adults and I had to suck it up and be strong. I'd gotten over a marriage, I could get through this. Or so I thought . . . why was it so hard to flush thoughts of our time together out of my mind when it had all been such a brief whirlwind? Well, I figured, a real tornado takes only a few seconds too and ravages all those homes, taking eons to rebuild.

“Okay, I know I said we wouldn't talk about this,” Kiki said, taking my hand. “But he's a great guy, like heart of fucking gold, he feels awful about lying to you, but he knew you wouldn't give him the time of day after your monologues against the Wall Street Boys Club.”

I looked down, comforted at least that he felt guilt, something Tim was lacking during our demise.

“Holly, listen to me: Elliot's
amazing
. You were onto something. Remember when you told me he felt so familiar to you? Well, that was the tip of the iceberg: He
is
you.”

“How do you know he's me?”

“Where do I start?” Kiki laughed. “He uses red felt-tip pens just like you. He quotes Woody Allen. He bounds up a flight of stairs two at a time. At the movies, he holds up the Jujubes against the screen to see the color and then chucks the black ones.”

“Oh my God, I do that!” I marveled. “I never trusted anyone who liked licorice.”

“Give him another chance,” begged Kiki, squeezing my hand.

“And I guess I climb stairs like that?” I thought aloud.

“Holl: he is your mirror.”

I was just so gun-shy after Tim that I was too freaked out; I'd sealed myself off emotionally and wasn't sure I could feel vulnerable again for a while.

 

 

 

A few weeks later, I connected with Kiki's closest friend from college, Eliza, to throw her an over-the-top girls' bachelorette party, per Kiki's request. It would be tiny: Me, Eliza, Kiki's awesome cousins Marina and Lauren from L.A., and her two gay best friends, Stan and Andy, whom Kiki called “Standy.” Eliza and I labored to get the itinerary just right, and the night before the wedding, in lieu of a rehearsal dinner, we gathered in Kiki's apartment (which had basically become just a clothes locker since she'd met Lyle) to kick off our friend's last twenty-four hours as a single gal. I couldn't believe she was getting remarried. She'd been split from Hal for two years and yet the whole unraveling all seemed so recent. But because her marriage to my ex-brother-in-law had been so difficult and so dead for so long, I knew she was ready for the real thing, despite her original claims to have wanted sexy romps with young studs.

Just then, the gang burst in the door and Stan shrieked.

“Girl, are you trying to have guys try and do you tonight?” he asked. “ 'Cause they will be all over you like hair on a weasel.”

“Hey, I'll be married, not dead! Ain't no crime to turn some heads while I'm still unattached, right?” Kiki joked, excited for her romp on the town. “So what's on the naughty agenda?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Well,” said Eliza, shooting me a look, “First we thought we'd have some COCKtails ...”

We went in the kitchen and I almost dropped the tray I was laughing so hard. It was filled with Andy's attempt to knock off Rosa Mexicano's orgasmic frozen pomegranate margarita. But in each was a straw with a penis head at the top with a hole that you suck through.

“AHHHH!” screamed Kiki when we emerged with the cock-topped cocktails. “NO WAY!”

We all died laughing, Stan turned up some vintage Madonna, and Andy took out a shopping bag from Ricky's filled with X-rated adornments.

“Okay, girls,” said Andy. “As we all know, any good virgin bride must have a veil . . .”

He produced a long white tulle veil with flowers at the top. It looked like any other veil except that it had about fifty little plastic penises sewn all over it.

“That is hy-fucking-sterical,” Kiki snorted between sips of her indecent beverage.

Kiki's cousins could not contain themselves; they were riotous hyenas, though the dick veil may have thrown semiprim Marina for a loop. We gathered the gang and headed downstairs where our vehicle awaited us; we had booked the Party Hen—a mobile trailer that was covered entirely in feathers with a giant chicken head on the front. It was a rager on wheels. We climbed in and the interior had a disco globe, couches, and a full bar.

“We can just drive around and pick up cuties as we go!” screamed Andy, blissing out.

“Talk about Mobile Party Unit!” said Stan. “I feel like we're rappers. This is awesome.”

We all piled in and took off, cruising downtown to Tortilla Flats, a restaurant where everyone got hammered and chowed quesadillas, and then rolled on to karaoke at Winnie's in Chinatown. Everywhere we went people howled laughing as Kiki walked by with her dick-covered tulle. Between drunken Koreans singing unintelligible lyrics, we took turns belting out vintage Bon Jovi and Springsteen, and Stan made us do shots, which I never have been able to do. At about 11:00, we went to Culture Club, the eighties cheesefest. It was packed with hordes including two rival bachelorette bashes, and we all danced up a storm. In the middle of “Safety Dance” I noticed wasted Kiki start to cry.

“What's wrong, Keeks?” I yelled over the music.

“I just—”

Everyone else started to notice her welling eyes.

“I just love you guys so much!” she cried. We all encircled her and hugged and then danced as a gang of football players in a group huddle, faces to the floor, loving our bride and loving the night.

At 12:45, the Hen lay us all home like eggs dropped all over the city, and I got in bed and stared at the ceiling. Despite my fun twentysomething-esque night on the town, over the disco ball and mobile party there hung a little shadow. It grew to a gray little cloud that didn't rain, but certainly hung ominously over my yelps of “Cheers!” Over my best Pat Benatar pipes, it cast a subtle pall of fear. I couldn't believe I would have to summon the strength to see Elliot again, but it was upon me the next day and I'd have to armor up. As I'd sung into the crowded bar,
Love is a battlefield
. I hugged the pillow, remembering when it was him beside me in that very bed, and drifted off to sleep.