by Karen Quinn
“My dad called it. No Trials, no shot at the Olympic team. But it wasn’t only him. The Olympics were my only way out of Glenbrook.”
“So why’d you stop running after Barcelona? You could have competed for at least four more years.”
“Maybe,” Christy said, smoothing her hair with her fingers. “But I got all those commercial deals after I won and they took a lot of energy. Two gold medals were plenty. I decided to go out on top.”
“Hard to imagine you could give up all that glamour.” Michael stepped out of the Jacuzzi and wrapped a towel around his waist. He sat down next to Christy, watching her.
“Running marathons is not glamorous. You must know that. I trained three, four hours a day—endurance work, speed work, drills, weights. When you compete at that level, you become completely one-dimensional. In the end, I wanted more. I thought I could build something lasting for myself. Something no one could take away from me. So I started the company. The funny thing is,” Christy said, trying to seem oblivious to Michael’s obvious attention, “when you become a CEO, there’s no room for anything else, either. Only the most obsessed succeed. Don’t you agree?”
“I do. That’s partly why my marriage fell apart. But look at it this way—your athletic training prepared you to lead a company,” he said.
“It did. It was my MBA,” Christy said, smiling.
“You know, you’re amazing, Christy. You’re beautiful, charming, accomplished. Why do you push so hard?”
“Why do you?” she said, delighted that he thought she was amazing.
“I asked you first.”
“I don’t know. Ever since I started winning medals, I’ve had this terrible fear that someday I’ll wake up and discover I’m ordinary. So I can’t exactly stop and smell the roses, at least not yet. You?”
“I like making decisions, being the guy everyone can count on, especially when it’s all on the line. Which is good, because I’ve never taken orders very well.” Michael smiled in a sort of half-embarrassed, half-proud way.
Christy returned the smile. She couldn’t reconcile Michael’s hard-core reputation with the guy she was sitting with. Maybe it was those dimples. They were so disarming. Silently, she fumbled with the top to the lotion she had picked up in his bathroom.
“Let me help you with that,” Michael said, taking the bottle, squeezing the cream into his palm, rubbing his hands together to warm it up. He positioned himself behind Christy, gently pulling her robe about halfway down her back. Oh my God, she thought, not quite sure what to do. Michael couldn’t see how flushed her face had become.
Moving his hands in a circular motion, he applied the lotion, massaging the kinks out of her neck, working the knots above her shoulder blades. Slowly, gently, with just the right pressure, he moved his hands in parallel lines down Christy’s spine, then up and out across her shoulders. He repeated the motion several times, his fingers conforming to the contours of Christy’s muscles. She closed her eyes as he stroked her, wishing he would reach in front and caress her breasts. She felt his breath against her neck and waited for him to kiss her or lick her or bite her or suck her or anything he wanted to do. She suppressed a moan while his hands moved rhythmically against her skin. Then he spread his fingers, running them down her back like a rake. A shudder went down her spine, and she let out a helpless cry.
“You’re ticklish,” he said quietly. When she turned to face him, he had the look of a guy beating a hasty retreat. She wasn’t sure what had happened.
Christy looked over and took in the gentle light. “Oh God,” she said, “the sun’s rising. We’ve been up all night.” She pulled the back of her robe up.
“Do you want to take the gondola to the top of the mountain and watch it?” Michael whispered.
“No, I…I can’t. I only have stiletto heels and a chiffon gown.”
“I can lend you something.”
Christy smiled at Michael, taking in those deep-set eyes. They were lovely. “I guess I’d better go. My flight’s at one. Thanks for a wonderful night. You’ve restored my faith.” Truth be told, Christy didn’t want to leave. But her midwestern values kept her from saying yes to a man too easily, at least not twice in one week.
Michael shifted his weight and looked away, clearly uncomfortable. This is it, Christy thought. He’s gonna ask me not to leave, to fly back with him on his jet. He’s gonna say he’s crazy about me.
“Christy, I’m happy we met. And I’m glad you want to keep this to a friendship, too. I’ve sworn off serious relationships. That’s over for me. Been there, done that.”
“Right,” Christy said with a forced smile. “Of course.”
“Maybe we can go to some track meets together,” he said.
“Maybe,” she said.
His chauffeur drove them back to her lodge. Michael walked her to the door. After kissing her on the cheek, he said good-bye. Watching him leave, Christy realized that she had fallen head over heels for a man who trusted her to ask nothing more from him than his friendship. Well, at least she hadn’t made a fool of herself again.
Love Has No Pride
For God’s sake, Christy, I’ve gotten calls from a dozen shareholders. I’ve had to defend you to all of them. But, frankly, I have the same question. Red wine? What were you thinking?”
Normally undone by criticism from Katherine, Christy just threw herself back into the work she loved while she waited for the phone to ring. The quarter was ending and there was plenty to do getting ready for the analyst’s call and trying to close a few deals before the end of the period. She was spending a lot of time with Katherine on the numbers, which were looking good. For their young public company, every quarter mattered doubly now as they proved themselves in this new league.
A week went by. Two. Three. Four. Christy felt like she’d slammed against a brick wall. If Michael had felt even a tenth of the connection she had, he wouldn’t be able to keep his vow of a friendship. So why hadn’t he called?
On a Friday, Katherine took Christy out for a peace lunch. She couldn’t stay mad at her friend for long, especially watching her slide into this state over Michael Drummond, a man who obviously didn’t care for her. They headed for the Trattoria Dell’Arte, their favorite local bistro. They were deep in conversation about a key employee who had recently threatened to quit.
Suddenly, Christy felt Katherine tense up. She looked over to see Michael Drummond holding the door to the bistro for a lanky twenty-something brunette. Katherine gently took Christy’s arm and led her away. They passed the restaurant staring straight ahead. Katherine kept saying, “Breathe.”
Katherine stole a look back. Michael was staring at Christy’s back as though willing her to turn around. His date leaned in to touch his face, but he didn’t respond. He was watching Christy. He caught Katherine’s eye for a split second, and then turned back to his date.
Christy and Katherine walked to Three Guys Coffee Shop a block away.
“Chris, you have to get a grip.”
“There has to be a way to bring him ’round,” she insisted.
“In my experience, even men who say they want to commit usually don’t. I have never been warned off and had it not be real. The guy’s been through one of those nasty society divorces. Trust me, Michael Drummond will spend the rest of his life with beautiful, young bimbos whom he’ll dump the minute they ask for the order.”
“But you have to understand, he wasn’t like that in Davos.”
“Christy, anyone can seem real for one perfect night in a quaint Swiss village.”
“But…” Christy wondered for a minute if Katherine knew about Fran.
“Christy, bury it. You’re the CEO, for God’s sake. Move on. You’re supposed to be our inspiration. The way you’ve been mooning around the office lately, you’re not inspiring anyone.”
Feeling guilty, Christy spent the afternoon visiting everyone’s desk at Baby G, asking questions, being cheerful. She worked late on the end-of-the-quarter present
ation and tried to decide how she could best position their successes.
That night, Maria was waiting for her with a bowl of hot soup and all the time in the world. Christy poured her heart out, telling her everything about Fran, Michael, the weeks of waiting, the Trattoria Dell’Arte. Maria held Christy for a long time, saying nothing. Finally Christy spoke again. “I know I need to listen to Katherine. She’s always stood by me. Remember when she put her own savings into the company, when my endorsement money ran out and we couldn’t make payroll? Katherine says he’ll never call. I should listen to her, right? She’s a pro when it comes to men.”
Maria looked at her a long time, and then she spoke. “Honey, I know you love that woman, but there are times you can’t pay attention to anyone else. I loved someone once, Renata’s grandfather, and I let him get away by listening to other people telling me to be reasonable. I’ve never forgiven myself.”
“You talk about him like it just happened. Wasn’t that a long time ago?”
“It was, and it still haunts me. That’s what I’m saying to you. Katherine may be a pro, but not at the real thing. If I hadn’t listened to other people, maybe I could have gotten Juan to stay, to help me raise our daughter. If he’d been there, things might have been different; maybe she’d be alive today.”
“It must be tough to live with regrets like that,” Christy said.
“It is. I should have followed my heart back then. At least I have my granddaughter. She’s all that’s left of the two people I loved most in the world.”
After two more weeks and still no word, Christy decided on a course of action that she shared with no one except Maria. She worked until six one night, then grabbed a cab across town. Entering a sleek modern office tower on Madison, she told the security guard she had a late meeting with Michael Drummond. The guard, who recognized Christy from her billboards, picked up the phone to announce her. Christy had to stop him.
“You know, Michael is a good friend, and I wanted to surprise him with a gift.” She held up the coffee-table book—Olympic Facts and Fables—that she’d brought along. The guard, a tall, handsome black man in his fifties, looked her over carefully. He figured that she was a well-known person, probably not a stalker or a terrorist, too old to be one of Michael’s girlfriends. So he let her up. Christy surprised him with a peck on the cheek.
When she reached the top floor, she stepped into a reception area as original as Michael. It was an open room with a huge aquarium in the middle, filled with quirky, colorful fish. There were bowls of snacks on a counter, including packs of M&M’s, which Christy took as a sign. She grabbed a bag and ripped into it to calm her nerves. The receptionist, who was young and hip-looking, gave Christy a smile of recognition. For once, she was glad to be well known. When she asked for Michael, the girl looked quizzical.
“Is he expecting you?”
“Not really,” Christy said. “I’m surprising him.”
“I don’t think you want to do that,” she whispered.
“Is he in a meeting?”
“No, not quite,” she hesitated, waiting for Christy to catch on.
“Oh, you mean he’s with someone.”
The receptionist was already dialing and giving Michael her name. It was too late to bolt. About three minutes later, a willowy brunette, a younger version of herself, charged out the door of his office suite, her lips tight, her eyes narrow. She gave Christy the once-over, then turned on the heel of one of her knee-high boots and disappeared into the elevator.
Michael stood at the door, red-faced and flustered. “Hi, Christy. Long time no see.” Christy wanted to kill him. All the emotions she had been feeling since their first meeting rose to the surface. She could easily have collapsed into tears, but she refused. She held herself together and managed only to look Michael in the eyes without saying a word. He stared back at her in waiting silence. It was nothing like the reunion Christy had envisioned. Michael finally led her into his office, then closed the door behind them, gathered her into his arms, and hugged her tightly.
Christy broke away from his embrace. She had to face this man who was making her so crazy. “Michael, I know I…I promised to be your friend,” she started. “But I can’t do it. I’m thirty-nine years old and I’ve never…I mean never…felt this way about anyone. I can’t…can’t eat, I can’t focus on my work, I can’t even run…”
Michael started to say something, but she motioned for him not to interrupt. Christy had the courage to do this only once, right this minute, and she was determined to get the words out.
“The thing is, I can’t believe you don’t feel the same way. It doesn’t seem possible that this is a one-sided connection. We’re perfect for each other. I’m sure of it. And despite your disappearance since we met, you know it, too.” She looked at him with defiance, daring him to deny it.
Michael regarded her closely for what seemed, to Christy, like an eternity. She stood tall, her hands on her hips, boldly meeting his eyes, the picture of sweet, unbridled determination. Michael lowered his eyes and then spoke.
“I’m not going to say I don’t have feelings for you, Christy. I do. But I can’t act on them. I wasted fifteen years of my life in a marriage, and most of it was a nightmare. I can’t…no, I won’t put anyone in a position to hurt me like that again. Not even you. I’m sorry.”
Christy felt like she’d been slapped. Until now, she believed that if she could get up the nerve to bare her soul to him, he would open his heart and do the same. She felt her emotions slam shut, as they always did when she lost. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. If that’s how you want it.” She turned around and walked out. He didn’t stop her.
Christy began the task of trying to forget Michael in earnest. A week later, she started to sleep somewhat normally again. She got up at five A.M. to go over the daily sales reports. She ran miles and miles every morning, attempting to dull the pain she felt. Two weeks later, just as she was getting the smallest bit of traction on the rest of her life, she received a delivery at her apartment. She opened the package without thinking, and inside was a pair of old running shoes. She fumbled for the note, which read:
Beegee, I can marry you or never see you again, but I can’t go on a second date. I really don’t want a prenup because if you ever leave me I will jump off my building. I have only a few needs: take my calls, even if you’re in a meeting with half of Wall Street, visit me if I’m ever in the hospital, and no kids. Just you and me to the end.
Love
Michael
Christy jumped into the air and screamed. She knew it. She knew he was The One and now they were going to be together. She threw on a pair of sweats and ran to his office. This time she didn’t even wait for security. She leaped over the turnstile before anyone could say a word.
Renata the Great
In a studio apartment in the Flushing section of Queens, eleven-year-old Renata Ruiz prepared dinner in a tiny kitchen for her grandmother Maria. She took the chicken out of the fridge, rinsed off the salmonella, and sprayed the pan with Pam. After carefully placing the chicken breasts into the preheated oven, Renata chopped up two tomatoes and an onion. Then she combed through the cabinet, looking for the Ortega taco kit. Renata loved making chicken taco casserole. The recipe was so complicated that she felt like one of those professional chefs on the Cooking Channel when it was all done. I am such a good chef, Renata thought. I can make macaroni and cheese, Shake ’n Bake chicken or pork, Chef Boyardee spaghetti. Vegetables were a cinch. She and Grandma preferred the frozen kind, and those just needed heating up in a saucepan.
Renata was in charge of making dinner for the family, which consisted of herself and Grandma. She had no memories of her mama, who had lived with them until Renata was three. Then she died of drugs. Daddy, well, people didn’t talk about him. Nobody told her this, but Renata was sure Mama drove him away. She liked to imagine that he went on to a big career in television.
Renata had no other family in the United States. Grandma
’s parents passed on when she was little. Her brother was a carpenter and her sister a goatherd. Both lived deep in the Mexican jungle. They hadn’t spoken in years. Not having relatives is the price you pay to live in the land of opportunity. That’s what Grandma always said. She intended for her granddaughter to go to a fine Ivy League college so that someday Renata could buy the two of them a house on Long Island. She planned to raise Renata right, not like she did with Mama. Grandma was stricter this time around. She insisted on chores, good grades, and no back talk.
When Renata came home from school, she spent her first hour visiting with the old people who sat in their lawn chairs in front of the building. They fawned over Renata, and on Thursdays, Mrs. Alvarez made her Rice Krispie treats. If it was cold or rainy and her friends weren’t outside, she’d do her assignments right away. After homework, Renata did housework. Monday was laundry and sheet changing. Tuesday was vacuuming. Wednesday was grocery shopping. Thursday was bathroom cleaning. Friday was dusting and polishing. Making dinner came after the daily job. They lived in a studio apartment in subsidized housing. Grandma could afford a bigger place, but she was putting money away for a down payment on a house. With such a small space, no task was ever too hard. Renata liked doing chores. They made her feel important. After all her work was done, she watched TV and waited for Grandma.
Grandma took care of a much grander apartment that belonged to Christy Hayes, the sports lady who was on all the billboards. When Grandma first went to work for her, she did everything—the cooking, cleaning, and shopping. Last year, after Christy married Michael, Grandma was promoted to be the boss of all the other cleaners and cooks at their Fifth Avenue apartment. The place had more rooms than Uncle Bill’s penthouse on Family Affair. That was one of Renata’s favorite shows on TV Land, the best channel on cable because it showed all the great sitcoms from the olden days. On school holidays, Renata usually stayed home alone and read or watched old shows and the Cooking Channel or Home Shopping Network. Sometimes, Grandma took Renata to work with her. A few times, Christy was there. She was a pretty lady and would always ask Renata questions about herself, which made sense to Renata because naturally Christy would want to get to know such a likable and gifted child. Christy always sent Renata presents for Christmas and birthdays, really big ones like an iPod and a computer. She even funded her college account because she didn’t want Grandma to worry about saving for higher education. The reason Christy could afford to do all that was because she was working real hard at the kind of job Grandma aspired for Renata to have someday. Not a domestic job, a professional job.