By Susan Isaacs
Name her superficial, yet Susie B Anthony Rabinowitz Gersten assumed her marriage used to be great—and why no longer? Jonah Gersten, MD, a Park street plastic doctor, sincerely loved her. He was once good-looking, profitable, and a doting dad to their four-year-old triplets. but if Jonah is located useless within the higher East part condominium of second-rate “escort” Dorinda Dillon, Susie is beaten with questions left unanswered. It’s undesirable sufficient to grasp your husband’s been murdered, yet even worse whilst you’re universally pitied (and quietly mocked) end result of the sleaze issue. None of it is smart to Susie—not a sexual liaison with an individual like Dorinda, now not the “better to not talk about it” reaction from Jonah’s companions. With aid from her tough-talking, high-style grandma Ethel, who flies in from Miami, she takes on her snooty in-laws, her husband’s companions, the NYPD, and the DA as she attempts to turn out that her significant lifestyles with Jonah was once no lie.
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Extra info for As Husbands Go
You didn't see it, but you could feel its back angled in a bizarre way. Instead of sitting straight, you felt pitched slightly forward, as if you were examining your knees. " Also a decent investment. But there was more: I could feel the chair's power over him. It made him feel not just well-off--Hey, I can afford this exquisite objet--but incredibly refined. If George the Whatever had needed a court plastic surgeon, Jonah knew he would have been tapped. In a flash of marital ESP, I caught all this in under a second.
Gersten," Ida finished. They divided a lot of what they said into halves. I once told Jonah I worried the boys would assume this was some practice of multiples, and they'd wind up splitting whatever they had to say into thirds. If they went off to separate colleges, they wouldn't be able to complete a sentence until Thanksgiving vacation. The triplets were eyeing me, probably hoping what they feared--Mommy thought something bad was happening--wasn't true. They wanted Mommy to be okay and everything to be wonderful.
Feh. Sure, sure: Sentiment proves you're human. Feelings are good, blah, blah, blah. But sentimentality, anything that could go on a minivan bumper sticker, makes me cringe. , me) was never a Long Island madonna, one of those moms who carries on about baby Jonathan as if he were Baby Jesus. What kind of mother was I on that particular night? A happy one. Still, it wouldn't have taken a psychologist to read my emotional pie chart and determine that the sum of my parts equaled one shallow (though contented) human being.
As Husbands Go by Susan Isaacs