The New Life of Hugo Gardner

by Louis Begley

Genres: Family Life; Marriage & Divorce; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

Beloved author Louis Begley returns to the monied halls of the Upper East Side with a sharp new comedy of manners. Divorced after decades of comfortable marriage, retired journalist Hugo Gardner sets out to explore paths not travelled.

After four decades of what he believes to be a happy, healthy partnership, Hugo Gardner's world is overturned when he learns that his wife, Valerie, is not only requesting a divorce but has left him for a younger, more vital man. Hugo, an octogenarian political writer and retired journalist for Time, must rethink the way he's lived, and reassess how he'd like to spend his remaining years.
     Reconsidering past relationships in his mind, with years of distance, Hugo begins to see things in a new light: Valerie, whose youth and ambition eventually came between them; his children, whose support might be more financially than emotionally motivated; and his friends, who, like him are rapidly aging before his very eyes. With an ominous oncologist's report hanging over his head, Hugo decides to get away for a bit, to a conference in Paris. There, a new romance blooms and Hugo finds himself wondering if growing old in Paris might be the perfect antidote to the drama he left behind in New York.
     Unflinching, witty, and urbane as ever, Louis Begley delivers a spot-on satire of the world of New York's aging elite, and uncovers the unexpected delights a late-in-life change can offer.

Release date: March 17, 2020

Publisher: Nan A. Talese

Print pages: 224

Sample

I

The telephone rang just as I was about to go out to lunch. In the caller-­ID window, ny followed by a number I didn’t recognize. I shrugged. To hell with it. I’ll answer.

Is Hugo Gardner available?

A voice hard to classify. Tough, no effort to make himself pleasant. Perhaps a fund-­raiser for retired police chiefs.

Who’s calling?

Attorney William Sweeney. Is Hugo Gardner available?

I admitted I was and asked what I could do for him.

I represent your wife, Mrs. Valerie Gardner. Does an attorney represent you?

I’m not sure I understand, I told him. Why are you asking whether I have a lawyer? What are you representing my wife about?

You’ll understand that I can’t discuss a case with a party who is already represented by an attorney. Anyway, it would be better if I spoke to your attorney.

Well, I replied, you had better tell me what this is all about. Depending on what you say, I may or may not think I need a lawyer. So please go ahead.

All right, Hugo. It’s my understanding that your wife is away for a few days on business. Is that right?

I was about to ask this fellow to address me as Mr. Gardner. Instead, I said, Yes, that’s right.

Mrs. Gardner wishes to obtain a divorce. She has asked me to inform you and to urge you to retain counsel so we can get the work done promptly and smoothly. That’s the reason for my call. Mrs. Gardner told me that your email address is [email protected]. If that’s correct, I’ll send you an email with my contact information as soon as we hang up, so that your attorney can reach out to me.

Wait a moment, please, I said. What do you mean: my wife wants to divorce me? I’ve never heard any such thing.

She thought you might act surprised. She wants a divorce on the grounds of your cruel and inhuman treatment of her, and the irretrievable breakdown in your relationship. You surely recognize that this is so.

Like hell I do.

Let’s not argue, Hugo. You’ll get my email. After that I’ll expect to hear from your attorney.

He hung up.

I was going to have lunch alone at my club and afterward see a photography show at MoMA. All that could wait. Twelve-­fifteen. Therefore nine-­fifteen in San Francisco. I called Valerie’s cell-­phone number. She wasn’t an early riser. I guessed she’d be having breakfast in bed in her room at the Fairmont. Several rings. Was she in the bathroom, or had she decided not to answer, once she saw that the call was from me? But no, she answered. A weary: Yes.

Hello, Valerie, I said, I’ve just had the strangest conversation with a man called Sweeney. He claims he’s your lawyer and you want a divorce. What’s going on?

What’s going on is that it’s just as Bill Sweeney told you. I can’t go on living with you. I’d rather be dead. I want a divorce, le plus vite possible.

Why she should find it useful to insert French into the conversation was beyond me. The whole thing was beyond me.

I must be dreaming, I replied. You left two days ago. On the morning plane. Very affectionate goodbye. We made love the night before. You certainly seemed to enjoy it. I told you I was getting tickets for Eugene Onegin and you said that was a great idea. Tickets for you and me. What happened between then and now? Is this some sort of bad joke?

What happened is that I let you fuck me last Tuesday the way I usually do to get some peace and some rest before going on a trip that’s important to me professionally. Do you understand what that means? Do you ever pay attention? Do you ever notice what goes on around you? Don’t you know that living with you is like living with a corpse? Not even a zombie. An unburied corpse! I can’t stand you, I haven’t been able to stand you for years! You don’t know that, imbecile?

No, I don’t know any such thing. Why didn’t you speak to me about it before sending Mr. Sweeney?

Are you joking? And have you lecture me for three hours about how I’m wrong? This was the only way to do it.

Really, I said. Do the kids know how you feel? Do they know about the divorce idea?

Barbara sure knows how I feel. Do you think she’s feebleminded? I haven’t told her yet that I’m definitely leaving you, but Roddy’s probably clued her in. He recommended Bill Sweeney.

I see, I said, pulled out a stool from under the kitchen counter, and sat down.

I see, I repeated. And what will be your next steps?

It was a stupid question, I realized, but I’d spoken as though on some sort of autopilot.

I’m returning to the city next Wednesday. I want to come by the apartment on Thursday around eleven to take some of my clothes and other things. It would be better if you weren’t there. Mrs. Perez can make sure I don’t steal the Gardner family silver. You’d better put your lawyer in touch with Bill Sweeney. I suppose you’ll use that idiot Weinstein.

Larry Weinstein became the lawyer who took care of my will and the trusts I’d set up for the kids after the law firm that my father and later I had used decided to shut down its trusts and estate department. Larry had been recommended by my tax accountant, and he turned out to be just fine, in fact a good deal brighter than his predecessor, a giggly squash-­playing Yalie. Mrs. Perez was our housekeeper. As it happened, she’d informed me some hours earlier that she had her period and wouldn’t be coming to work. This was Thursday. Mrs. Perez’s periods had a way of going on and on, but really, till next Thursday . . . If she was still out on some new pretext, I’d wait for Valerie at the apartment. Perhaps I’d be there in any case. That depended on what Larry said.

I managed to croak goodbye and hung up. There was nothing else to say.

No kidding was what Larry said after he’d heard my story.

I’d gone to see him that very afternoon, directly from my favorite neighborhood hamburger joint where I had a thousand-­plus-­calorie Cobb salad, a draft beer, and a double espresso. To hell with the calories. Even if I put on a pound or two or three, I’d still be plenty thin. Anyway, who was there to care about my waistline? It had been my plan to lunch at the club, but the thought of sitting down at the members’ table and being obliged to talk to my neighbors repelled me. I drank my coffee, paid the bill, and made my way to Larry’s office.

I didn’t reply, so he said it again: No kidding. And you had no inkling of any of this?

I shook my head.

Does she have someone else?

I have no idea, I replied. It’s a bolt out of the blue. If she has someone, she hasn’t let on. I should add that I’m not suspicious. I’d probably be the last to know. Let me ask you something. You know my son, Rod. I remember having you go over my will and my trust with him.

Larry nodded.

Do you find what he has done natural? Believable? Getting a divorce lawyer for his mother without telling me? Without insisting that she let him tell me?

It’s strange, Larry replied. I’m not surprised it upsets you. In his defense, he probably thought he was doing you both a favor by steering his mother to Bill Sweeney. Bill comes across as rough, but he is competent and on the whole reasonable. She might have picked someone much, much worse.

I see. So, what happens now?

She’s a very forceful person. It sounds to me as though her mind is made up, so there’s no point in trying conciliation or mediation. Sweeney will ask you to agree to a separation. Once you sign the agreement, it will be possible, if you don’t object—­and why would you?—­to file for an uncontested divorce. The decree will come through pretty quick.

Without my having given her any cause?

Larry laughed. New York is a no-­fault-­divorce state. You told me what Sweeney said: inhuman treatment—­he means you’re mistreating her—­and breakdown in your relationship. Under New York law, that’s good enough, or bad enough. As you like. I told you that they’ll want to go to a separation agreement. That’s when you’ll hear about how much money she wants, furniture, art, and so forth. The rest of that stuff, who’s at fault, are you really a monster, and so forth, will all become irrelevant.

Money?

She’ll surely ask for money. Perhaps alimony, perhaps a sum of money, perhaps both.

Even though it’s her idea, and I haven’t done anything like—­I don’t know what—­adultery? Or even beaten her, hell, hit her, or yelled at her? I’m not a yeller.

He nodded.

And I have to agree to this?

No, but if your wife is determined, and Sweeney doesn’t discourage her, you’ll end up agreeing to some significant percentage of what she wants or getting into a catfight that may have to be resolved in court.

I don’t think I’d want that. Would she?

Hard to tell. You say you had no warning. That may well mean she has somebody, and that somebody is calling the shots. Whatever she asks for will be negotiable to some extent, but I doubt she and Sweeney will accept a flat no.

I thought it over and told him he was probably right.

Are you able to represent me in a case against her? I asked. And is this the sort of work you do?