Feminine Governance

Sunday Morning

Sunday MorningNow I truly must act.

‘My husband Reggie is gone!’

I must maintain my feigned distress for hours, reporting first to the Coast Guard then enduring interviews with a coterie of government types. There seems to be discussion over jurisdiction. And obviously when the financial stature of Reginald Augustus Bouvier comes to light, erring on the side of thoroughness appears to be the modus operandi.

No one wishes to lose his or her job when Bouvier family attorneys contact high level politicians and allege less than modest efforts.

Thus helicopters and boats search the surrounding waters for a form I know by now to be safely tucked away hundreds of miles from the search area. Driving all night, a text message from Monica suggested at dawn husband Reggie was well bound and beginning his new life. It was then that I carefully deleted the message and frantically contacted the Coast Guard to proclaim that my beloved Reggie had apparently fallen overboard while I slept through the night.

I divulged his sickness, describing his disorientation as I helped him into the cabin the night before.

“The water is cold, Mrs. Bouvier. Survival time is limited. But he may have lost sight of the boat and swum to shore.”

The officer plays into the ingenuity of my plot. Not only is there water to search, but Fishers Island is only a few hundred yards from where we moored. An easy swim in season, a more difficult challenge in the cold water of Spring, it is feasible that a man could make it before succumbing to hypothermia.

And why do I term it ingenious? Because there can be no presumption that Reggie drowned. And therefore there will be no rush to assume his demise and certainly no one calloused enough to issue a death certificate while the grieving wife maintains hope.

So there are dual searches. The island and the surrounding sound. And though certain trust lawyers will choke in having to assure all those trust distributions continue, the milk will flow nevertheless... to me as Mrs. Reginald Augustus Bouvier... and to the accounts of Mr. Reginald Augustus Bouvier as well.

Yes, the iron clad agreements covered death, divorce and even disability... but not disappearance. No death certificate... no curtailment of funds. And whereas I could comfortably live on my own monies, keeping Reggie in the Adirondacks, transforming him to the husband I desire, will cost money.

Peggy, Ling and Monica did not come cheaply.

As the noon hour approaches my feigned distress turns to feigned exhaustion. Having carefully cleansed the boat of all evidence, my continued presence can only lead to a slip up.

“I think I need to lie down,” I dramatically declare.

The Coast Guard will graciously tow the yawl back to Pelham. I get a helicopter ride back to Manhattan.