The Ex-Mrs. Hedgefund by Jill Kargman Read Free Book Online

Instead she buys her ten-packs of shiny stickers to distract her from the Nutter Butters.”
    â€œI know, I mean I could rake the leaves at my farm with her kid!” Trish laughed.
    â€œMeanwhile, Cassidy looks great,” remarked Posey.
    â€œYeah,” agreed Emilia, looking disappointed. “What’s she doing, South Beach? Atkins? Macrobiotic?”
    â€œI heard she’s big on the Two Finger Diet,” whispered Mary.
    There were a few more sightings: Kincaid and Peach Saunders loudly ordering risotto with “a double helping of white truffles” for everyone at their table of eight; Chip Berlin and his wife,
    Patty, sitting mute, not speaking for their entire dinner; and Mac McMonigle and Kent Quick and their decked-out wives going through four bottles of wine and laughing way too loudly.
    â€œSo sad,” said Emilia, leaning in. “I hear Chip Berlin has a standing high-priced hooker at the Ritz-Carlton every Thursday afternoon!”
    â€œI heard that, too!” exclaimed Mary, flushed with gossip high.
    â€œHow does she not know?” asked Trish, eyes aflame.
    â€œOstrich syndrome, just denial,” said Posey. “Or maybe she does know and doesn’t care. She gets her lifestyle. . . .”
    â€œYeah, I mean, where’s she gonna go?” said Emilia.
    â€œYou always know everything,” I told Mary, who beamed.
    â€œWell, I’ll admit I am privy to a ton of scoop. But let me tell you girls this: For all the stuff that’s going down in this town, we don’t have a thing on the Greenwich hedge fund scene. That place appears perfect, with the lawns and the four blond kids and the golden retrievers, but we were out there this weekend and let me tell you, some of these gals were doing lines in the changing room at Round Hill!”
    â€œNo!” gasped Posey, hand over mouth.
    â€œYes,” continued Mary, leaning in. “And in the bathroom at Polpo, too. The DEA could do a full-on raid, I swear! You know that guy Burke Lockhart from Triton Partners?”
    â€œWait, the guy who has five daughters and won’t let his wife stop until he gets a boy?” asked Trish.
    â€œYes. And while he’s making her into a baby factory, he’s in his Ferrari getting BJs from the wife of Kent Colgate from SaturnRings Capital!”
    â€œYou lie,” I said, stunned.
    â€œI’m telling you, we city rats are tame next to those preppy country mice.”
    â€œHere’s to staying in the city!” said Posey, raising her glass. We all clinked glasses and cheered our sometimes odd but definitely fun urban existence.
    â€œOh, and speaking of BJs, get this,” said, Mary, eyes ablaze. “Corbett walked in yesterday after school and said, ‘Mom, Richie Frank told me where babies come from.’ So I asked him where Richie said babies come from, and he said, ‘The daddy sticks his penis in the mommy’s mouth.’ I said, no, darling, that’s where jewelry comes from!”
    We were all howling. All in all, it was a great (if a bit raunchy) night.
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    I got home and flipped on the television. My other husband was David Letterman, but he wouldn’t be on air in forever. And the barrage of depressing reality TV was too much to bear. I hit the guide button and scrolled down to find—YES!— Sixteen Candles . Jackpot. It was amazing to me that I was now more than double these kids’ age and yet in my head they were still the same age as, or even older than, me, as if frozen in time from when I first saw them in fifth grade. And, oooh, Jake Ryan. Someone spatula me off the carpet now. That last scene, with the cars scooting away in every direction leaving only his red chariot, chills. So many teen movies nowadays have just fast-paced zingers, insta-comebacks, and Teflon-skinned bad-asses who never let anything get to them.
    What I loved about the John Hughes movies was the