Estelle told her the story of how she’d waited until Antony had gone away with his family to Palermo for a fortnight then took a jar of emergency cash she had literally buried in their back garden, went to a woman in Koreatown and had her tubes tied in secret.
Life didn’t offer you constantly expanding opportunities. You were born with the potential to pivot any which way, and then one by one avenues were sealed off.
Dirty money making beautiful, clean, distinguished money, and it all just circle-jerked back to the same tiny, narrow, limited idea of what constituted good art.
According to Estelle, Antony never hit her. It didn’t matter to Lally whether or not this was true, because if you’re afraid your husband is going to hit you, and you’re shrinking yourself down to a pinprick, does it matter whether or not the blow lands?
