Isn't That Rich?: Life Among the 1 Percent by Richard Kirshenbaum, Michael Gross Read Free Book Online Page B

Charleston, South Carolina.
    “So do you ever see each other?” I asked.
    “Hardly ever,” she said, amused.
    “Did you ever consider getting a divorce?”
    “Why would I?” she asked without irony. “That’s the beauty of it. He lives there, and I live all over. It’s the only way to do it, dear. I call it Marriage 3.0.”
    “So you never see each other?”
    “No. We do speak and collaborate over Charlotte (their grown daughter), and he sends flowers on my birthday and anniversary. Who wants to get divorced? Why disrupt your life? I see this as a new trend,” she said, munching on a flaky brioche that apparently had no effect on her rail-thin figure.
    “How so?” I raised my hand for more coffee.
    “In the old days,” she said, smiling, “people had the good grace to drop dead. Now everyone works out, eats well, and their cholesterol is under control. The men are living so much longer. So when the kids are grown, one is confronted with one’s spouse.”
    “Did you actually sit down and work it all out?”
    “There’s no need to,” she said, twirling her wedding band. “It just is .”
    “Do your friends have deals?”
    “Some do and some don’t. The really successful ones tend to. We don’t need a man for anything.”
    “Then why be married?” I knew I was pushing Lily’s white buttons.
    “It’s part of the fear that women have about not having ‘Mrs.’ in front of their names. Today, one has a choice. Marriage is a choice but not a mandate. Many women went charging into the workforce in my day and then bailed. If the husband lets them go spinning and lunching and shopping, many women would rather take that option.
    “For me and my friends, speaking on the phone to our husbands and going off to the South of France or Siena for the summer couldn’t be more wonderful. Brioche, dear?”
    With Memorial Day fast approaching and the pleasures of seersucker and linen beckoning, I received a call from a Southern Gentleman I know through the squash circuit. He is going through a War of the Roses– style divorce.
    “Up for a game and a martini afterward?” I asked.
    “I’ll take the martini but I haven’t been playing lately. Things have been extremely difficult. We’re actually going to trial next week,” he said in a shell-shocked tone.
    “Why don’t you just split it down the middle and call it a day?” I asked.
    “She’s getting all sorts of bad advice from people who are telling her she should be getting more than I have. It’s been disastrous. The only people who are winning are the lawyers.”
    “Yes, I have heard that before,” I sympathized.
    “These divorce lawyers are undertakers for the living,“ he moaned. “You lose a loved one and all your money. Not to mention I hardly see my children anymore.”
    “I am so sorry to hear that. Let’s make plans for drinks at the club,” I offered.
    “That would be great,” he said before hanging up. “If I could have martinis by intravenous, I would.”

6. NEVER MIND THE NANNIES, DRIVERS ARE THE NEW DADS
    LIVING ON THE UPPER EAST SIDE , one gets accustomed to seeing ridiculous things, from $300 plates of truffle pasta to couture dog collars. But this one was a first. The other evening, I was walking off the leaden canapés after another deadly fund-raiser in someone’s “aerie.” As I was passing a venerable Park Avenue residential building, a black SUV came to a halt.
    A Dwayne Johnson–proportioned driver got out, lifted a supine teenager from the backseat like a bag of golf clubs, and lugged him to the door. “I’ve taken away your cell phone,” he said. “You’ll get it back when your parents return.” He then deposited the drunken youth in the lobby. “Sleep next to a garbage can,” he cautioned before leaving his charge in the custody of the doormen.
    The New York Post recently wrote about parents who were passing off their classroom volunteer duties to nannies, much to the dismay of their private schools,