Wife in the Fast Lane

by Karen Quinn

  “You better get her into therapy.”

  “I was gonna ask about that. Can you recommend someone?”

  “Alex’s therapist is excellent. This is off the record,” Katherine yelled to Skip Heller, who took down every word.

  Christy froze. She kept forgetting that damned reporter was in the room. Then she tried to relax when she saw how casual Katherine was with the guy. She had obviously decided he was okay.

  “She’s Hispanic, right?” Katherine asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Colby’ll like that. Would you be willing to make a big donation? Head a major committee?”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t ask Brownie Rich to help you. Her girls are at Colby.”

  “KAAAATHERINE!” Christy threw a yellow pad at her friend and laughed like she was goofing on her. There was a reporter in the room, for God’s sake. “Skip, would you excuse us for a minute?” Christy asked.

  “Who, me?” he said.

  “Yes, I just need a minute with Katherine one-on-one. You understand?”

  “Oh, sure,” he said, sauntering out in his Nikes.

  When Skip was safely out of earshot, Christy spoke. “Katherine, you have to be more careful with that guy listening. What are you thinking? Anything you say can end up in the article!”

  “Okay, okay,” Katherine said. “But he insisted on watching you operate in your real life. They won’t do the article if all we give them is access to a bunch of photo ops.”

  “I understand. But there’s real and there’s real. He doesn’t need to know I’m asking you to pull strings to get Renata into school.”

  “You’re right. I’ll be more circumspect. In fact, I’ll call Colby after he leaves. Lucky for you they love me. I just made a six-figure pledge.”

  “SIX FIGURES?”

  “This is the time. I need them to get Alex into a good college. After I pledged, they assigned her their best college counselor. Coincidence? I think not.”

  Christy couldn’t get over how complicated parenthood was. The nanny. The driver. Clothes. School. Donations. Decorator. Camp. Therapy. And this was just the beginning. There was bound to be more. She wondered how Maria always managed to make it seem like raising Renata was no trouble at all.

  Renata the Spy

  DEAR DIARY,

  YESTERDAY, WHILE NO ONE WAS HOME AS USUAL, I TOOK NECTER ON A TOUR OF THE APARTMENT. BUT SECRETLY, I WAS STAKING OUT HIDING PLACES. NOBODY TELLS ME ANYTHING AROUND HERE SO MY ONLY CHOICE IS TO SPY. THE BEST PLACE I FOUND WAS BETWEEN THE LIBRARY AND CHRISTY AND MICHAEL’S BEDROOM. THEY SHARE A CLOSET THAT YOU CAN GET INTO FROM EITHER ROOM. YOU CAN HEAR EVERYTHING IF YOU STICK YOUR EAR UNDER THE DOOR TO WHATEVER ROOM WHERE PEOPLE ARE TALKING. AND YOU CAN HEAR EVEN BETTER WHEN YOU USE A GLASS. THIS COULD BE A GOLD MIND!!!!

  AFTER NECTER LEFT YESTERDAY, I VISITED MRS. DAMILL DE MILLE IN HER APARTMENT. GUESS WHAT? SHE IS RUSSIAN PRINCESS ANASTASHA, DECENDED FROM ZARR NICHOLAS. HER BIGGEST REGRET IN LIFE IS THAT SHE CAN’T GO BACK AND RECLAIM THE RUSSIAN THRONE. WE PLAYED WITH HER CAT AND I TALKED ABOUT GRANDMA. SHE TOLD ME THAT EVERYONE SHE’S EVER LOVED HAS DIED. MRS. DE MILLE IS THE ONLY PERSON WHO UNDERSTANDS MY PAIN.

  THANKS FOR LISTENING!

  RENATA

  Coveting Colby

  You two are superlucky,” Mrs. Hitchcock said. “Demi pulled Rumor, Scout, and Tallulah out last month so we just happen to have three extra spots. Very unusual. Demi was heartbroken about leaving, but she’s making a movie in California and doesn’t want to be separated from the girls.”

  “Demi’s such a good mother,” Christy said. “Not that I know her, but from everything I’ve read.”

  If Michael could have rolled his eyes at that moment, he would have. Christy kicked him under the table. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “I hear Bruce is a great father, too,” Michael added.

  “So, Michael, it is truly admirable of you to adopt Renata. What concerns did you have about taking in an eleven-year-old Hispanic orphan?”

  “I wasn’t concerned at all. Renata’s a great kid. Very special. I’m looking forward to being the father she never had.”

  “That’s sooooo generous of you,” Mrs. Hitchcock trilled. “At Colby, we specifically look for involved fathers. That’s the number-one predictor of a girl’s success in life.”

  “My dad was a huge factor in my life. He introduced me to running and pushed me to win,” Christy said.

  “Case in point,” Mrs. Hitchcock said. “And Michael, you seem like a wonderful father. Renata is lucky to have you.”

  Michael grimaced. Christy reached over and squeezed his hand.

  “So, Christy, Katherine told me you were interested in heading a major committee at the school. She suggested we put you in charge of fifth-grade graduation. We always celebrate the girls moving on to middle school. It’s such an important rite of passage, don’t you think?”

  “I do, and that’s a wonderful idea. I’ve never chaired a graduation before, but how hard can it be?” Christy said.

  “Well, let’s see, there’s the ceremony itself, the speaker, and soliciting donations for the class gift. With all the volunteers we have, it’ll practically organize itself. Everyone will be thrilled to have a chairwoman with the kind of connections you have,” Mrs. Hitchcock said. “We’ll be looking for a famous woman to make the commencement address. Someone who’s a role model for young girls.”

  “Then this must be kismet,” Michael said, smiling at his wife. “I’ll bet Christy could get LaShaun Mason.”

  “Reee-ally,” Mrs. Hitchcock said, fascinated.

  “No problem,” Christy said. I’m sure the number-one-ranked tennis player in the world would love to speak at a fifth grade graduation right before Wimbledon, she thought.

  Everyone smiled like they thought that was a super idea.

  Mrs. Hitchcock wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to Christy. Here’s the number of our PTA president, Brownie Rich. She’ll supervise you on the graduation.”

  “Honey, isn’t that great? You know her,” Michael said.

  “You’re friends?” Mrs. Hitchcock said. “How wonderful. Tell you what. Brownie’s daughter, Stephanie, will be in Renata’s class. She can be her big sister, you know, take her around and show her the ropes. I’ll call Brownie myself to arrange it.”

  “Thanks,” Christy said in a voice that was half an octave short of hysterical.

  Soon Christy and Michael were at Mrs. Hitchcock’s door, practically genuflecting as they bid her adieu.

  In the car heading back down Park Avenue, Michael wasted no time launching into his tirade. “I pay Ali’s tuition bill every year, and it’s only twenty-eight thousand plus a ten-thousand-dollar annual-fund donation. I thought that was extreme. I can’t believe I let that development guy get two hundred thousand out of me. And how could you let them rope you into running that graduation extravaganza? Believe me, Christy, I’ve headed enough Manhattan events to know how thankless it is to mobilize a pack of terminally privileged volunteers in a public gesture of goodwill.”

  Christy tried to protest, but she couldn’t get a word in.

  “You have no clue what you’re getting yourself into,” Michael said. Suddenly, he stopped himself. “You know, Beegee. I keep forgetting. You’re an Olympic champion. You started your own company. I should never underestimate you.”

  “Right, and I landed you, too!” Christy said. “Don’t forget that.”

  “And you talked me into taking Renata,” Michael added. Then he smiled. “Colby won’t know what hit them.”

  Fifth Avenue Fracas

  Christy and Michael were having their late candlelit dinner, a ritual that began soon after they met. It gave them time to relax and talk freely. Renata had been fed earlier in the kitchen by Yok Wah, who fussed over her and convinced her to eat soba noodles and seaweed despite the child’s insistence that she was allergic. Renata would not be joining them. Christy was de
termined to show Michael that nothing would change with a child in the house. They would still have their special dinners. Tonight they were eating on the terrace, where warming lights surrounded the table. They had views of Central Park and Fifth Avenue. Yok Wah padded out and served the first course, shrimp in lobster sauce.

  “Thank you for what you did today,” Christy said to Michael.

  “I did it for you,” he said.

  “Not for Renata? Not even a little bit?”

  Michael focused on his shrimp.

  “So you didn’t mean what you said today, about being the father she never had?”

  Michael topped off Christy’s wine and poured some for himself. “Not really, Beegee.”

  Christy’s face twitched ever so slightly.

  “Honey, I told you how I felt from the beginning. I’m not letting myself get close to her. I’ll be there when you need me, though.”

  “Thanks for all your help getting her into Colby.”

  “You’re welcome. But…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Don’t depend on me to be there for her. I don’t think I can do that.”

  “I won’t, I know.” Christy went over and kissed Michael. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Christy decided to change the subject. “God, it feels good to be back at the office. I never appreciated my job the way I do now that we…I…have Renata. I used to be able to focus on the company. Now, I have to worry about her care, too.”

  “Children are a lot of work,” Michael said. “There’s no way around that.”

  “I know, and I’m off-loading as much as I can. Everything’s being outsourced. Nanny, driver, cook, decorator, therapist. They’re reporting to Eve. I made her president of the Renata division.”

  “What about you? Weren’t you supposed to nurture her? Isn’t that why we didn’t send her to boarding school?”

  “Nectar’s the primary nurturer, but I do my share. Eve schedules bonding activities into my calendar. I think Renata’s feeling secure. We’ll know for sure after she meets with Dr. Perlmutter, the psychiatrist Katherine recommended.”

  Michael nodded thoughtfully. “Whoever heard of raising a kid this way? Reminds me of how Suzanna managed my hospital stay. But you’ll figure it out, you always do.” He pushed his chair back, then leaned over and gave Christy a kiss, conversation closed. “I’ll be in the library going over the contracts on seven-seven-seven.” Michael was referring to 777 Madison, his new corporate headquarters.

  “I can’t believe you’re closing tomorrow. I’ve been so busy I lost track of the days.”

  “We took your advice and hired Tai Beck Long for the design. It was a great recommendation, Beeg.”

  “Glad I could help. They’re amazing.” Christy gave Michael a long, tender kiss. “Marla will be here at eight-thirty. Don’t forget.” Marla had been Christy’s masseuse for more than ten years. Since then, she had garnered clients like Ron Perlman and Michael Bloomberg, and had even been flown to an island off the coast of Africa by Georgio Armani. Christy joked with her that if she hadn’t married Michael she might not have continued to make the cut. Marla always laughed, but Christy wondered. All the support people she knew in Manhattan seemed to rank themselves on their clientele. And there were so many big shots in the city; it was tough to keep your place on the list. In the old days, Marla would screen boyfriends for Christy. She had a mean deep massage, and if a guy wimped out, Marla let Christy know he hadn’t passed the test. Marla discounted a few of them on basic grounds of aura. With Michael, Christy didn’t even need to ask.

  Back in the library, Michael was muttering to himself as he read through the documents for the next day’s meeting. “I should have gone to law school,” he said as he tried to digest the dense legalese.

  “Mr. Drummond, Mr. Drummond, come quickly, hurry!”

  Michael put his papers down and turned his attention to Renata, who was jumping up and down in the library doorway. She appeared to be having some kind of fit. “Renata, you’re really not supposed to be in this part of the house.”

  “I know, but this is an emergency!” she yelled.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked calmly.

  “Come now, NOW. It’s life or death,” she said.

  “Is it Christy?”

  “No, it’s Mr. Ng. He’s kidnapped Mrs. De Mille’s cat, you know, Mr. Koodles. He’s threatening to kill him. Mrs. De Mille is crying.”

  “Of course,” Michael said. “Mr. Koodles.”

  “Come on, Mrs. De Mille needs you.”

  “Can’t you get Christy or Neck…Necklace, Necktie, Nectar? I’m working here…”

  “Mr. Drummond, we need a MAN,” Renata said. “This is a kidnapping. HURRY.”

  Michael stood up and languished behind the child as she dashed through the apartment, her long black curls trailing behind. He looked around for Christy, but she had disappeared.

  They took the stairs down one floor. Mrs. De Mille stood outside of Mr. Ng’s apartment in a thin blue cotton housecoat, the kind ladies wore in 1955. Her salmon-colored hair was up in pink sponge rollers. There was a bald spot on the top of her head that looked like a peach-colored yarmulke with liver spots. Mr. Ng’s door was open, chain on, to protect himself from this ninety-five-year-old biddie.

  “Please, Mr. Ng, please give Mr. Koodles back. I love him,” Mrs. De Mille begged in her gravelly chain-smoker’s voice.

  “No! His incessant meowing is killing me. I told you to have him de-meowed.”

  “The vet said he was too old for the operation. I tried.”

  “For God’s sake,” Michael said. “Mrs. De Mille, allow me.”

  Renata was excited to be in the midst of all this drama. She couldn’t wait to write about it in her diary. Mr. Drummond was about to be a hero. She thought something like this happened on Family Affair once. But it was Buffy who was kidnapped and Mr. French who saved the day. Or, maybe it was her doll, Mrs. Beasley, who disappeared and Uncle Bill who came to the rescue. She couldn’t remember for sure.

  “Mr. Ng, please, open the door. You’ve already kidnapped the cat. You don’t want to add murder to your crime.”

  “The cat’s a nuisance. It deserves to die. I’ve called the pound. They’re on their way.”

  “Nooooo,” Mrs. De Mille gasped. She leaned against the wall like she was about to faint. Renata fanned her with a Chinese food menu she found on the floor.

  “Mr. Ng, Mrs. De Mille is ninety-five. Look at her. How can you disrespect your elderly neighbor like this?”

  “I don’t care if she’s a hundred. She deserves it for not shutting up the damn cat.”

  “Mr. Ng, take the chain off. At least let me come in and talk to you. Man-to-man. Come on.”

  Mr. Ng hesitated, then unlocked the door. Michael stepped inside while Renata stayed with Mrs. De Mille, fanning and comforting her. A few minutes later, Michael walked out holding a huge orange tabby cat out in front of him like it was a bomb about to explode.

  Renata squealed and Mrs. De Mille let out a cry of relief. “Thank you, thank you. You saved my Mr. Koodles!” Michael hustled the two back to Mrs. De Mille’s apartment.

  Once inside, he asked, “Are you okay, Mrs. De Mille? Can I get you some water?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you again,” she said. “What did you say to him?”

  “I promised we’d take the cat to our apartment so he wouldn’t hear it meowing anymore.”

  “What! Never!” Mrs. De Mille said, holding Mr. Koodles tightly.

  “Don’t worry.” Michael smiled. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “You lied?” Renata said, her eyes wide. “On purpose?”

  “I did, but I shouldn’t have, Renata. It’s not right to lie, but in this case, Mr. Ng was a thief, a kidnapper, and a possible cat murderer. I had to do something drastic.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t start lying. Unless it’s an emergency,” Renata said solemnly.

  “Mrs. De Mille, you
better be careful. Mr. Ng is crazy.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been a city girl my whole life. I know how to handle nut jobs like him.” Mrs. De Mille hugged Mr. Koodles tightly.

  “You’re my hero,” Renata whispered to Michael, batting her eyes.

  “No big deal,” he said, as they started back upstairs.

  Mrs. De Mille cracked open the door again. “Mr. Drummond, would you consider buying my apartment and then leasing it back to me for life?”

  “Well, I’ll definitely give it some thought,” Michael said in an interested voice. “But why would you want to do that? Do you need money to live on?”

  “No, it’s not that. Mr. Ng has been scheming to buy my apartment for years. I’ll be Goddamned if I’ll have my money-grubbing heirs selling my home to that fucking cat snatcher.” She smiled at Renata. “Pardon my French, dear.”

  DEAR DIARY,

  I’LL NEVER FORGET LAST NIGHT AS LONG AS I LIVE. MICHAEL SAVED MR. KOODLES FROM CERTAIN DEATH AT THE HANDS OF AN EVIL MANIAC. IT WAS A HORROWING EXPERIENCE THAT BROUGHT ME AND MICHAEL TOGETHER AS FATHER AND DAUGHTER. NOTHING CAN TEAR US APART NOW.

  YOUR HOPEFUL FRIEND,

  R. E. RUIZ

  Renata Spies While Christy Shops

  DEAR DIARY,

  THIS MORNING I HID INSIDE THE PANTRY WHILE YOK WAH MADE BREAKFAST. NOTHING OF INTEREST HAPPENED. BUT I GOT IN AND OUT OF THE PANTRY WITHOUT HER SEEING ME. IT WAS GOOD PRACTICE.

  LOVE,

  RENATA THE SPY

  Christy slipped on the red double-breasted jacket and admired herself in the mirror. “So, what do you think?”

  “It’s not quite right,” Katherine mused. “You need something a little more feminine. Too bad Ophelia went out of business. Their jackets were so beautiful.”

  “What about something vintage?” Ava suggested. Ava was Christy’s stylist, usually called in for big photo shoots for Fortune, Wired, the Wall Street Journal.

  “No, not vintage. I want to go with a current designer. These are the Matrix Awards. I can’t get too funky. I’ll wear an antique brooch or something,” Christy said.