was that they couldn’t conceive. He couldn’t have felt more stupid. He put the birth control pills back, keeping her secret for her. He didn’t even understand why he was doing it, except that he didn’t want her to be unhappy.
Happy wife, happy life.
Larry grabbed his Dopp kit, toothbrush, and razor, and left the bathroom. He stuffed the toiletries in his backpack, zipped it up, then picked up his bags, loped his backpack over one shoulder, and left the bedroom without looking back. He didn’t want to cry anymore. He just wanted to end his marriage. He wanted to put himself out of his misery. He climbed down the stairs, picked up his keys and messenger bag, and left the house, slamming the door behind him. When one door closes, another one opens, his mother used to say.
He walked down the front stoop and headed down the street. He’d always loved Davidson Street, one of the most charming streets in Center City, right near Fitler Square. It was lined with three-story townhouses, all authentically two hundred years old, their marble stoops worn with use and their red brick façades soft and saggy in places. He and Allie had been lucky to buy here, and Larry assumed Allie would stay. She could have the house. He’d give her whatever she wanted. He was done.
Ginkgo trees lined the block, their leaves fluttering in the breeze, pretty in summer. In autumn, they shed stinky berries that Larry would usually end up tracking into the house, to Allie’s consternation.
There’s a bootscrape out front for a reason, his beloved wife would say.
Larry sighed, hoping that going forward, his every thought would not concern Allie. He beelined toward his car, an Acura he’d been lucky enough to get a spot for, so he could park indefinitely with his resident sticker. He was no longer a resident. He chirped open the trunk, put his gear inside, got in the car, and started the engine.
He drove away, feeling something inside him turn off, like a big switch had been thrown. The love switch. He wasn’t in love anymore. He had maxed out. Her reserve, her secrecy. Now her lies. He was done. He was fresh out of luck, and maybe finally out of love. The two things that had always defined him.
Larry turned right, then took another right, driving north toward the center of town, thinking about where to go. One of his favorite hotels was the Rittenhouse, so he headed in that direction. They had a great restaurant where he took clients and a great bar in the lobby, with a happy hour. He was determined to get happy.
He navigated the one-way streets of Center City, traveling west on Walnut, along Rittenhouse Square, which was beautiful this time of year, its old-school wrought-iron fencing surrounding shrubbery, flowers, fountains, and a wacky statue of a goat. Larry found himself thinking of dumb stuff like that, instead of his wife’s birth control pills. Ex-wife’s.
He took a left around the square, then a right into the entrance to the Rittenhouse, pulling up in front. A tall doorman in a classy gray uniform approached him with a professional grin, and Larry remembered his name was Joe. Larry was the kind of guy who remembered names. Allie, on the other hand, could meet somebody five times and never remember their name. He’d been the one at the cocktail party, whispering in her ear, like her assistant.
“Hey, Joe,” Larry said, getting out of the car. “Good to see you again. How are you?”
“Terrific, you going to be an hour or two?”
“No, a couple days. You don’t need to leave it out front.”
“You got it!” Joe said, and Larry handed him the key with a twenty. Another doorman held open the glass door, and Larry went to the desk and checked in, giving his Amex and ID to the young clerk, who, if she was surprised to see an address only five minutes away, was professional enough not to say anything.
“Miss, if somebody could unpack the car and take the stuff to my room, that would be terrific. I’m going to grab a drink.”
“You got it, Mr. Rucci,” the clerk said, smiling, and Larry thanked her, turned around, and headed to the bar off the lobby. He opened the doors, realizing that he was entering the bar as a single man, a first in recent memory. He plastered on a smile and reminded himself that he was a litigation partner with a trim waistline,