Wife in the Fast Lane

by Karen Quinn

  “Christy, what is it?”

  “Well, um…there was one thing…”

  A Lucky Game of Rock, Paper, Scissors

  An hour later, they sat at the airport TGI Friday’s, chowing down on Philly cheese steaks. Ever since they began their money-raising trek, they found themselves eating as much red meat as they could—steak sandwiches, bloody sirloin, prime rib. Gone were the dainty salads of watercress, red peppers, cucumbers, and carrots. They were warriors who needed meat.

  After two beers, the women were still handicapping the outcome. Katherine was sure they were screwed. A proud alpha male like David Baum would never let pass a chance to even the score. Christy tried to be optimistic. Certainly we were all grown-ups here, able to separate love and money, she said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Katherine howled. As usual, she regaled Christy with three sordid stories proving her point. The Harvard professor who gave her a B on her business ethics exam because she’d said no to a blow job the night before. The senior partner of a major consulting firm who offered her a plum position, if she’d become his lover, which she did—but as soon as he tired of her, the firm gave her a promotion to their Korean office, which amounted to firing her. The jilted boyfriend who happened to be a client of the next consulting company Katherine joined. He refused to do business with them unless she was taken off the team.

  Christy had heard such stories about Katherine from others in New York, but she ignored the gossip. Katherine was a loyal second in command who was excellent at her job. Wasn’t that all that mattered? Until today, she couldn’t imagine how Katherine’s sex life could come back to haunt them. Now she wasn’t so sure. Even her own tepid past might cost them everything.

  “There’s just one seat left in first class,” the ticket agent said, looking at her computer.

  “I’ll take it,” Katherine volunteered.

  “Kath, c’mon. That’s not how we make decisions at Baby G,” Christy said, wagging her finger and laughing despite total exhaustion.

  “Fine,” Katherine said. “Ready. Rock, paper, scissors says shoot.” Katherine beamed when she saw that her scissors beat Christy’s paper. “I won!” She looked at Christy, who appeared to be at breaking point. “Take it, Christy. You deserve it.”

  “Thanks, Kath,” Christy said, giving her a hug. “Okay, I’ll see you in New York. They’re boarding first class.”

  Christy’s phone rang as she stood in line to take her upgraded seat. She jumped for the cell, accidentally elbowing the next traveler, a stoop-shouldered road warrior who looked even worse than she felt. Christy apologized, but he swore at her anyway.

  She cupped the phone to her ear and tried to hear over the gate announcements. It was Bill Roche. The moment he started talking, she could tell it was “no.” He was kind, but said that his firm was very collegial and any partner could veto a deal. Apparently David didn’t feel comfortable. Bill said he was sorry, that he was sure they would find their money. Christy’s face crumpled. She wanted to start begging, “No, no, you were our last chance, pleeeaase…”

  She didn’t know how she managed to get off with her dignity intact, but as soon as she clicked off the phone, tears began to splosh down her cheeks. It was over. Three years of her life, all her money, people who would have to be fired.

  Christy was pissed off. But mostly she was humiliated. How could her sex life, which had seemed almost nonexistent, have hurt the company so badly? People she loved would lose their jobs because she had been too busy to end her relationship like a grown-up. It was unforgivable. Dear God, she prayed, if you could somehow find it in your heart to help me rescue my company, I promise I will never mix business and pleasure again. I’ll devote my life to Baby G and all the employees who depend on me. I’ll swear off men completely. Just please help me save what I worked so hard to build.

  Taking her seat, Christy willed herself to stop crying after noticing the stares she was getting from fellow first-class travelers. The iPod-absorbed rapper wearing pounds of bling. The rumpled salesman rushing home for the weekend. The tanned matron with dramatic black hair who probably paid full price for her ticket. Christy felt the force of their collective sneaky glances. Turning to the passenger next to her, who looked like the fatherly type, she smiled bravely.

  “Boyfriend troubles?” he asked kindly.

  “No, worse. It’s my company.” Christy went on to tell the gray-headed stranger what happened. She had to talk to someone. And odds were, this elegantly dressed executive wearing a gold Rolex and traveling first class would appreciate her plight. “After all that work and sacrifice, it’s come to this. I just…I refuse to believe it,” she said.

  “You did your best. Eight out of ten new businesses don’t make it.”

  “That’s what my board said when I presented our worse-case scenario. The fact that they accepted defeat so easily just made me try harder. I was so sure I could win this one.”

  “I’ve been in business a long time. You gotta know when to walk away. It sounds like you have great experience you can parlay into a job; don’t worry.”

  “But that’s the thing, I don’t want a job. I’ve put everything into this.” Her eyes started to well up again, but thankfully, a flight attendant came by and offered water, orange juice, and champagne. Christy helped herself to a glass of bubbly and slugged it down. By the time she turned back to her seatmate, she was in control.

  “The frustrating thing is, we were so close. We would have been in the black in two years. The Olympic Committee is considering us for the official shoe of the Games. They’re tired of the sports shoe giants who are always throwing their weight around; they want to give one of the little guys a chance. You know, send a message. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We were gonna use the money we raised to pay the sponsorship fee.”

  “When was all this supposed to happen?”

  “In the next month. The deal hasn’t been approved for sure, but they said we’re a shoe-in. Ha-ha.” The champagne was starting to kick in.

  “I see you’ve kept your sense of humor,” the man said, smiling. “By the way, I’m Niles Raines.”

  “Niles Raines? Raines Partners?”

  “That’s the one. Tell you what, after we take off, why don’t you give me your pitch? Our firm represents sophisticated high-net-worth clients who look for unusual investment opportunities. Maybe we can syndicate the deal for you.”

  If Christy had been Katherine, she would have offered the man a blow job right then and there.

  Ten days later, they presented to five of Raines Partners’ clients, offering them two points in the company for every four-million-dollar unit purchased. The five investors committed to four million each, contingent on the Olympic opportunity coming through. They insisted on that point, believing that the sponsorship would ensure the company’s success. Without it, they weren’t willing to take the risk.

  While Christy waited for word from the Olympic Committee, she ate chocolate. Lots of chocolate. She ran around the Central Park Reservoir three times every morning, then three more times in the evening. She turned her cell phone off so she wouldn’t jump every time it rang. And when she spoke to the Olympic guys, she tried not to sound desperate.

  Finally, she got a call from the sponsorship director. He was wavering. There was so much pressure to play it safe. They were worried about backing a company that might not be around in two more years. He said it might be better for everyone if they waited until next time, let Baby G build its track record.

  Christy played it cool. If she let him know how much she needed this, it would prove his point. She managed to find out that it was his boss who was against it. Christy got on a plane the next day, determined to change the man’s mind.

  On a Monday, two weeks later, she made an announcement to the whole company at once. They had to rent an indoor basketball court from a nearby high school in order to accommodate all three hundred employees. She’d decided to tell them the truth. Katherine felt that total
candor was a mistake; that employees couldn’t understand all the complexities of the business. Christy almost always took Katherine’s advice, but on this, she knew she was right. The reason her people trusted her was because she always leveled with them.

  The gym was set up with bleachers, three hundred chairs, and an old floor-stand mike. She stepped out in front of her people and began to talk.

  “Well, we’re still here, all of us. After so many close calls. This one was maybe the closest, guys, and I’m glad that now I can tell you about it.” She talked about the events of the last month, the road trip, the Niles Raines meeting, the Olympic deal. She left out only the part about how a tall sexy banker almost cost all of them their jobs.

  “When we started, we knew we were going up against the Big Boys, and everyone said we had no chance. There were lots of times I thought they were right, that I had led you all on a fool’s mission.

  “And at those times, you were the ones who still believed, and who kept me going. Well, today, the Big Boys have seen us do what we’ve known we could do all along. That we are the future, and that their best days are behind them.” There were cheers as the group became rowdier.

  “Now we’re playing a new game. We aren’t the company out on the fringe that no one worries about. Now we’ve taken a piece of their action. Now they’ll come after us with everything they have.

  “All of us will have to step up our game. And I’ll be standing behind each of you as you do, so that we can create the next worldwide brand.”

  As she came to a close, no one made a sound. But then the whole crowd was on their feet, clapping and stomping and whooping. Christy looked around. Okay, that’s it. My life belongs to Baby G now.

  Fifth Avenue Freeze-out

  Eight years later…

  After Baby G went public, Katherine insisted that Christy shape up and live like a New York City power woman. Though Katherine never came out and said it, it was obvious she found Christy’s early sense of style to be just short of tragic. First she led her to Bergdorf’s for wardrobe, John Barrett for hair, and Mimi Amurri for makeup lessons. Then she introduced her to manicures, pedicures, facials, and wraps. She found her a personal shopper, a presentation coach, a publicist, and a therapist. Katherine helped Christy understand that success in Manhattan carried an obligation to look and live the part.

  On a flight to Mexico to visit their manufacturing plant, Christy suggested that they share their new wealth with the employees, even the secretaries. “I’m thinking we give everyone in management two thousand dollars, and five hundred to support staff. That leaves a hundred thousand for each of us. Sounds fair, right?”

  “More than fair,” Katherine said. “It’s so you to be generous like that, but maybe we should hold back just a little. What if next year isn’t as profitable? Everyone will expect at least the same amount. That’s three hundred thousand dollars. It might be more prudent to set the bar a little lower, give us time for some growth.”

  The pilot interrupted with an announcement. “Ah, ladies and gentlemen, the control tower has put us in a holding pattern due to weather. We’re expecting some light chop, so I’ve put the seat-belt sign on. If everyone could please stay in their seats, we’d sure appreciate it.”

  “So you think a thousand for managers and two-fifty for the support staff would be about right?” Christy asked, tightening her belt.

  “Better, definitely better,” Katherine said. “Although, that leaves less than two hundred thousand for each of us. I don’t think anyone would begrudge you and me taking a bit more than that. We’ve sacrificed for this company in ways no one else has. Think about what we’ve been through—the late nights, the road shows, my marriage breaking up. Geez, you haven’t even had time to start a relationship. Maybe we should think about two twenty-five for each of us and split the last fifty among the staff. It’s not like they’re expecting a bonus. And they all got stock in the public offering.”

  “Well, that’s true,” Christy said, “but I think they deserve something now that we’ve come so far. They’ve worked hard, too.”

  “And I totally agree,” Katherine said, gripping her armrest as the plane weathered the turbulence. “They’ve earned a reward. But at the same time, now that we’re public, it’s important to the company that you and I finally buy our own apartments. We need places to entertain and to show the world that we’re part of the Manhattan power scene. Nothing says you’ve arrived like an apartment in the right building.”

  Christy sighed. “What do you have in mind?”

  A flight attendant walked by, checking to see that everyone was wearing a seat belt.

  “We’re buckled,” Katherine told her as she whizzed past. “I really think, and I mean this for the good of the company, that you and I should split the entire five-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus pool. If we each cash in five percent of our stock, we’d have enough for down payments on apartments. We can do something very generous for our people, like throw them a big party. They’d love that.”

  “You think it’s that important for us to have our own apartments?” Christy asked. “More important than giving bonuses to our people?”

  “It is, Chris,” Katherine said. “Trust me on this. Personally, I couldn’t care less about owning, but Wall Street notices senior management who live in rental buildings. And believe me, it’s not helping our reputations.”

  “I’d like to do more for the staff than just give a party,” Christy said.

  “And we can,” Katherine said. “In fact, why don’t we give everyone an extra free pair of our shoes? They’d flip over that.”

  Christy thought about it for a moment. She had really looked forward to giving everyone their first bonus checks. But if Wall Street actually cared where she lived, she supposed she had better live in the right place. “All right,” Christy said. “This year, we buy homes. Next year, everyone gets cash.”

  “Absolutely,” Katherine said.

  “So, it says here that you’re not married,” said Mr. Gibbons, the board president. “Are you seeing anyone?” Mr. Gibbons resembled your basic Bowery bum. People were always shocked to learn that he lived on Fifth Avenue and employed a manservant named Pierre.

  “Oh no,” Christy said. “I live a quiet life. Between starting my company, taking it public, growing it the way we have, it’s a wonder I have time to work out anymore.” She took a sip of water to wet her parched throat.

  “When you do work out, do you walk through your lobby in your exercise clothes?” Mrs. Rich asked in an accusing tone. She was the type of woman who believed nice girls shouldn’t sweat.

  “Of course not,” Christy said, trying not to sound defensive, as Meris Blumstein, her real estate agent, had advised her. “I belong to a gym and I change there.”

  Christy was on the receiving end of one of Manhattan’s most reviled rituals—the co-op board interview. She had told Meris to find her a condo so she could avoid this humiliation, but then an apartment at 830 Fifth Avenue came up. The place was exactly what she had been looking for, except that it was a co-op, which meant that she’d have to pass inspection by board members who probably couldn’t get in themselves if they were applying today. Christy sat at the round walnut table in the building’s airless boardroom. She couldn’t have felt more exposed if she were lying on her gynecologist’s examining table covered by a thin paper gown.

  “It says here that you’re only putting down fifty percent. Is there a reason you need to take out such a big mortgage?” Mr. Crackstone asked, squinting as he read Christy’s board package. Manny Crackstone prided himself on his good head for numbers. Feet in the stirrups, young lady. This instrument may feel a little cold.

  “Well, after my company went public, I sold a million dollars’ worth of founder’s shares. The money will be applied to this down payment. But the bank has no problem giving me the mortgage. I’m pledging my stock options as collateral.”

  “And what if your stock goes down?” Mr. Crackstone
pressed. “Then how will you cover your mortgage payments? You don’t have much in savings. We like to see three times the value of the apartment in the bank at a minimum.” I’ll just be taking a few cells here for your Pap smear.

  “Well, as you can see on line six,” Christy said, pointing her clammy finger at the financial statement he was holding, “I have a generous salary. And I’ll be able to exercise more options in a year to bolster my liquidity.” Christy would have liked to ask Mr. Crackstone if he had three times the value of his apartment in the bank.

  “I don’t kno-o-ow,” Mrs. Rich said, clucking her tongue. “This seems risky to me.” Right now I’m just feeling for your ovaries. Try to relax.

  “Mrs. Rich, on paper, I’m worth almost twenty million dollars. That should give you some sense of security.” Christy felt obnoxious saying those words aloud. But she had to defend herself.

  Mrs. Rich raised her eyebrows. “Ms. Hayes, we’re more interested in real worth. Paper worth means nothing to us.” Oh, did that hurt? Sorry about that.

  I’m screwed, Christy thought.

  “Do you have any pets?” Mr. Gibbons asked.

  “No, and I don’t plan to have any.”

  “How about children?” Mrs. Rich asked. “Your biological clock is ticking. Tell me, are you the kind of woman who would have a child without a husband?”

  “Mrs. Rich, I have no plans to marry or have a child. I work twelve, fourteen hours a day. You’ll hardly notice I’m here.”

  Mr. Crackstone held up copies of sign-in sheets. “According to the doorman’s records, you’ve been up to see apartment 9G eleven times. Is that true?” Now I’ll be giving you a rectal exam.

  Christy scratched her head. She had no idea. “Maybe. I don’t remember. I did visit a lot because I needed to bring my architect up.”