Wife in the Fast Lane

by Karen Quinn

  “I haven’t seen her. She didn’t write a bestseller this year. Maybe she didn’t make the list.”

  “They do that? They cut people off the list?”

  “Sure. I heard Teddy Bartlett wasn’t invited the year they indicted him.” Michael grabbed his Davos BlackBerry and scanned for Galit’s photo. “Wait, no, she’s here,” he said.

  “Oh God, last year, Galit snubbed me at the closing party. I don’t know what I did to offend her.”

  “Christy, just stay here and relax. Let me go find out why she wrote the story. Then I’ll beat her up, okay?”

  “No, you can’t fight my battles.” Secretly, she wished he could. “I’ll track her down.”

  “We’ll go together,” Michael said.

  Meet Galit

  Michael and Christy decided to catch Galit by surprise. They walked over to the conference center and took the escalator down to the hospitality area where delegates gathered between sessions. Christy’s face burned as she felt all eyes upon her. There were stacks of free Financial Journals throughout the building. Everyone knew. It was humiliating to be the subject of such damaging press in front of this of all groups. Michael put his arm around her as if to dare anyone to say anything. She glanced at him. He looked more disheveled than usual. His hair was wild, completely negating his finely tailored suit. His shirt looked like it had spent all night on the bathroom floor. That always happened when he was under stress. She found it endearing.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “Love you more.” He smiled.

  They spotted Galit at the same time. There was no missing her. That long black hair topping the oh-so-perfect size-two body. She was wearing the same Marc Jacobs leather miniskirt that Christy owned. How does she afford to dress like that on a reporter’s salary? Christy wondered. As usual, Galit was holding court, surrounded by a gaggle of Forbes 50 billionaires.

  “I’ll take it from here,” Christy told Michael.

  “You sure? You don’t want me for moral support?”

  I do! More than anything in the whole wide world. Don’t make me face this mean lady alone, Christy thought. “No, this is something I have to do.” She knew she’d appear weak if she confronted Galit with Michael at her side. Tapping the reporter on the shoulder, Christy interrupted Galit’s diatribe on the so-called Leftist conspiracy to control the media.

  “Can I help you?” Galit said. She had no clue who Christy was, at least that’s the way it seemed.

  “I’m Christy Hayes. You published an article about me today.”

  The tycoons surrounding Galit shifted uncomfortably and made excuses about why they had to leave.

  “Oh, right. I didn’t realize you were here.”

  “If you’d checked with my office, they would have told you. The thing is, your article’s full of lies. My board didn’t issue an ultimatum.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Galit said.

  “You heard wrong,” Christy countered.

  “I stand behind my story.”

  “How can you? It’s not true.”

  “I beg to differ,” Galit said. “Maybe I know something you don’t.”

  Christy was worried but kept her face neutral. “You think you know more about what’s happening at Baby G than I do?”

  Galit lowered her voice. “Christy, I can’t reveal my source. But if I were you, I’d get my ass back to my office to protect what’s mine. That’s all I’m going to say. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Galit executed a perfect pivot on a pointy croc-leather boot and walked away, leaving Christy standing alone with her mouth agape.

  As if by magic, Michael materialized at his wife’s side. “Honey, close your mouth. You look shell-shocked. C’mon, let’s go back to the hotel.”

  Brownie approached the couple just as they left the conference center. She flashed her stricken expression, the one she reserved for funerals. “Christy, how are you? Fran showed me the article in the Journal. How very terrible for you.”

  “We’re kind of in a hurry, Brownie,” Michael said. Christy just smiled like she had taken one too many Valiums.

  “Don’t let the press rattle you. You’ve done really well for a girl who didn’t go to grad school,” Brownie added, patting Christy’s hand.

  Blowing past Brownie and avoiding eye contact with everyone else, they walked back to the hotel in silence. As soon as they returned to their room, Christy collected herself. “Honey, I have to go back to the States.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll call for the jet and we’ll leave as soon as we pack,” Michael offered.

  “Michael, you don’t have to go.”

  “Of course I do. First of all, I have no interest in being at Davos without you. And second, you may need me when you get back. I want to be there for you.”

  “Thanks,” Christy said, feeling a sense of relief she had never experienced. For the first time in her life, she had someone to lean on. So much for Xena, the Corporate Warrior.

  Katherine Confidential

  Christy rifled through her papers as she waited for Katherine. Where could she be? Christy wondered. It had been well after midnight when she and Michael landed at Teterboro, the city’s private airport. Katherine left a voice mail saying she’d be over first thing. Christy didn’t want to do anything without talking to her. She must have dropped Alexandra at school, Christy thought. Katherine had recently broken up with her second husband, Alex’s father, and he used to make the morning school run. Now that Christy was married, she couldn’t imagine how Katherine managed to be a loving single mother to Alex, a formidable divorce opponent to Malcolm, and a good COO to Baby G, all at the same time. It was a lot to juggle.

  After all these years, Katherine was still the person Christy turned to for advice about running Baby G. There was so much about the tough world of New York business that Christy had yet to master. But it came naturally to Katherine, who had the quiet confidence born into eastern girls whose ancestors hark back to the Mayflower. The only daughter of George Winslow, an older, wealthy financier and Claire Garcia, a former showgirl turned scion of horsey high society, Katherine grew up with multiple homes, each with an important portrait of Claire Garcia Winslow displayed at the top of a grand stairway. Pale-skinned and green-eyed, with her carrot-colored hair brushed straight back behind a black velvet headband, Katherine went to Miss Porter’s School, became a debutante and famous party girl, and then confounded everyone by applying to Harvard Business School.

  When Christy started Baby G, Katherine was one of six people who answered an ad for CFO. The two became best friends immediately. Through the years, Christy and Katherine had worked as a team to build the company. In recognition of her contribution, Christy named her COO. The board was against it because they didn’t think the company needed anyone in that position. But Christy fought hard and won the promotion for her.

  Maria escorted Katherine into the library. Christy hadn’t even heard the doorbell. “I’ll bring breakfast right away,” Maria said.

  “How are you?” Katherine asked, hugging her. “I’ve been so worried about you. What a nightmare.”

  “I’m okay. Upset. Confused. Pissed off. Did you have any luck finding out where the Journal got their story?”

  “I called Galit in Davos, but she wouldn’t disclose her source.”

  “Did you tell her it wasn’t true?”

  “Of course. Then I went to her editor on behalf of the board. The guy offered to print a retraction, but Slotnik recommended against it. He said it would just bring the story out again and it’s better to let it die quietly.” Rick Slotnik was the VP of public relations for Baby G. He had years of experience and both women trusted him implicitly.

  “It makes me so mad. Who would tell such a lie?” Christy said. “Do you think I should hire a detective?”

  “A detective?”

  “Yeah. To find out who’s leaking misinformation to the press. If it’s someone internal, they need to be fired,” Christy said.

 
; “How can it be anyone internal? Everyone worships you. Oh, except…what about Chris Kelly? He went ballistic when you fired him.”

  “The guy was stealing.”

  “If he’d steal, he’d lie to the press,” Katherine said.

  “True,” Christy mused. “What did the board say?”

  Maria brought in a cart of coffee, orange juice, pastries, and fruit. She served and then discreetly disappeared.

  “They’re a hundred percent behind you. They’d never recommend that Bain supervise you. It’s ludicrous.”

  “Rick Slotnik left me a message. He wants to do damage control. There’s a reporter from Wall Street Week who’s been itching to write an article on me and he’s recommending I do it. What do you think?” Christy asked.

  “Sounds like a good idea. Is the reporter friendly? Will the story be positive?”

  “Rick thinks so. Michael says I should do it, but I’m not sure.”

  “What’s your hesitation?”

  “His angle is personal. You know, what makes Christy Hayes tick. From my midwestern roots to the Olympics to Baby G to Prince Charming.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “There’s stuff I’d rather not publicize. My schooling, or lack thereof. My love life before Michael. Do you want a cinnamon bun? Some coffee?”

  “Thanks. I’ll pour it myself.” Katherine made herself a cup, then took half a bun. She was always dieting. “You know,” she said chewing daintily, “they can spin the education into a positive. Seriously, you could be an inspiration to kids who don’t love academics. You know, don’t worry if you struggle in school. You can still start a company and become fabulously successful. It makes great copy. And who’s to criticize your love life? You weren’t married,” Katherine said.

  “Katherine”—Christy lowered her voice even though she was in her own house—“remember last year when I was photographed with Fran Rich, that investment banker from Farrar? I slept with him.”

  “Fran Rich?”

  “Yeah. I thought he was separated from his wife at the time, but he wasn’t.”

  “And you didn’t tell me? How could you keep something like this a secret from moi?” Katherine giggled. “Was that why you threw wine in his face?”

  “How’d you guess? I wasn’t proud of myself, so I didn’t talk about it. Never told Michael, either. You don’t think the reporter could find out?”

  “Not unless you or Fran admit it. And there’s no danger of that.” Katherine thought for a moment. “Christy, I think Rick’s right. Let them do the profile. It’ll repair your image and give shareholders more confidence. The risk is minimal. Just have Rick manage the story closely.”

  Christy sighed as she took the other half of Katherine’s cinnamon bun. “Did you ever think, when we started our tiny company, we’d have to deal with crap like this? It used to be so much fun, didn’t it?”

  “Christy, you’re totally romanticizing the start-up. Remember that tiny office? No money. No publicity. We shared a computer. Schlepping around the country, begging investors to fund us. Remember when we tried to make that Times reporter think we were so cost-conscious that we took the subway everywhere?” Katherine laughed.

  “Yeah, we took him with us to the agency and got on the wrong train. I seem to recall that we ended up in the Bronx instead of Union Square. So embarrassing.”

  “And he had to mention it in his article, commandeered by the bimbos. The first of many mean-spirited pieces,” Katherine pointed out.

  “Not as mean as this one,” Christy said.

  “It’ll be okay,” Katherine said. “Why don’t you invite the executive committee for lunch? Let Rick present his recommendations. Make them comfortable with the way you’re handling this. Now that I’m on the committee, I’ll be there. You’ll be in a room full of supporters.”

  “You’re right, as always. It’s a plan,” Christy said, hugging her friend. “How’s Alex doing? She okay?”

  “She’s great. Did I tell you we moved her to Colby?” Katherine said. “The boys at Dalton were too much of a distraction. She was caught skipping school with a senior last April. But now that she’s at Colby, her grades are better and she’s more confident. They just elected her to student council, and it’s only her first year. The teenage years are tough. Let’s hope I survive them,” Katherine said.

  “I don’t envy you.”

  “I just got her one of those Nextel phones with the satellite tracking device, the kind we have at the office.”

  “Our phones have tracking devices?” Christy asked, pouring herself another cup of coffee.

  “You didn’t know? Yeah, they connect to a satellite. You just go to their website, type in the number, and a map comes up showing the phone’s location. It’s a safety thing so you can find a child if she’s in trouble. But I use it every day to make sure Alex isn’t lying to me about where she’s going and what she’s doing.”

  “Smart,” Christy said. “And if she gets kidnapped, that’ll just be a bonus.”

  “Exactly.”

  A Morning Canoodle

  Christy cuddled against Michael’s back, engaged in a bit of postcoital neck nibbling. There was nothing she enjoyed more than making love with Michael. Morning, noon, night—it didn’t matter. He made her feel safe and adored.

  “That tickles,” he laughed.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she teased. “Should I stop?”

  “No, that’s okay,” he said, as Christy took a playful bite.

  “Do you really have to go today?” Christy whispered into his ear. She had been single for so many years. Now that she had Michael, she hated it when he left.

  “I do, but I wish I didn’t. I’d rather stay here with you.”

  “Call your office and tell them you’re laid up.”

  “You are so hilarious,” he said, turning to his wife. “You should think about doing stand-up.”

  Christy punched him in the arm playfully. Then she settled into his shoulder, pulling the covers up. The bed was warm from the heat of their bodies and she was as relaxed as a cat napping in the sun.

  “I hate it when you go,” she said with a sigh.

  “Me, too. But I’m only going to Denver. I’ll be back soon enough.” He kissed her again. “Phil’s supposed to drop off the blueprints later. Can you have Eve FedEx them to me?” Eve was their personal assistant.

  “Okay,” Christy said, yawning. Christy and Michael were embarking on a gut renovation—a New Yorker’s worst nightmare. They’d been living in Michael’s penthouse, which sat high above the city but was decorated in that wealthy-caveman style so favored by recently divorced Manhattan alpha males. Lots of marble and glass, clean lines, and no soft spaces. The one exception was a dark-blue velvet reading chair, the only piece of furniture that Christy took when her father died. It stuck out like a bad accident in Michael’s grand master bedroom, but to Christy it was a cozy refuge. She hadn’t noticed how shabby it looked until Michael gently pointed it out, but he assured her it had a home with them as long as she wanted it. She’d been too busy with work to take on a decorating project, but now she was going to try.

  “Oh, and also, Orrick Herrington’s messengering over a bunch of papers for me to sign. Would you ask Eve to put those in the package?”

  “Sure, what are they?”

  “Well, now that Suzanna’s remarried, I’m petitioning to cut off her alimony.”

  “She’s not gonna liiiiiike that,” Christy said.

  “I know, but I think it’s time that her Argentinean polo-playing husband supports her. We’ll save eighteen thousand a month.”

  “Sounds like monopoly money to me. Want to go for a run?” Christy asked.

  Michael glanced at the clock by their bed. “I can’t. I’m getting picked up in forty-five minutes. Are you nervous about your board meeting today?” he asked.

  Christy stiffened. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

  “Don’t worry. Just walk them through your response to the story
,” Michael said. “They’ll be satisfied. What else do you have going on?”

  “Wednesday I’m flying to Mexico City to meet with the Olympic Committee. If I have time, I’ll visit our factories outside town.”

  “When’ll you be back?”

  “Friday night, like you.”

  “Want to go to Aspen this weekend? A little helicopter skiing to make you forget your troubles?” Michael proposed.

  “Sure. That sounds so glamorous!”

  “That’s what I love about you, Beegee. You’re not jaded.” Michael gave Christy one last kiss before getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Don’t fly back to New York; just go to Aspen. I’ll meet you at the house.”

  “You got it, sweetheart,” Christy said, throwing the covers over her head to postpone the inevitable for a few more minutes. Denial is such a good defense mechanism, she thought. She heard the water turn on in the bathroom and decided to get up and go for a quick run. As she reached for her shorts, Michael started singing “Hey Jude” in the shower. He is so damn cute, she thought. I can’t stand it. Giggling, Christy ditched the shorts and joined her husband in the shower.

  Staying Alive

  Christy jumped into the backseat of her car and directed Steven to take her to the John Barrett Salon. While there, she outlined her presentation on all the good news in the business to offset this Financial Journal mess.

  While Christy was out, Maria would make sure that preparations for the lunch meeting went off without a hitch. Christy felt guilty over not insisting that Maria take the day off to go to Renata’s concert. There was other staff who could handle the luncheon. But Maria knew that her boss felt stronger knowing she was hovering in the background. And today of all days, she understood that Christy needed her there. She wouldn’t hear of taking the day off, but it nagged at Christy just the same.

  With her presentation, hair, and makeup as perfect as possible, she got back into the car. Steven headed for home.