Kim thanks God that among the long list of things at which Brad did not succeed, one of them was knocking her up.
He didn’t succeed at taking over his father’s car dealership, didn’t succeed at investments, didn’t succeed at the club, didn’t succeed in the bedroom. He did succeed at getting blow jobs from his receptionist, that was one thing. (My God, if he had failed at that.)
He did succeed at being her Starter Husband, providing her with a good divorce settlement and enough income to live, as they say, the life to which she had become accustomed.
And on which she wants an upgrade.
She thinks now of quitting therapy, it doesn’t seem to be doing her any good and she sniffs a scent of condescension in Diane’s tone these days, as if Kim’s problems are not sufficiently compelling to warrant her full attention.
No, she decides, the money would be better spent on improving her nose, which, let’s be honest, is somewhat less than perfect
Twenty-three now, the body requires maintenance, as it will soon be reentering a very competitive market. The next husband will have to be a
Stockbroker
Real estate developer
Better yet
Old money.
And for that, the nose must be perfect, the boobs perfect, the stomach flat and taut, and, thank God, again No stretch marks.
Sometimes terror strikes her like a blow to the chest.
She feels like she can’t breathe.
This existential fear.
Of the nothingness of herself.