by Karen Quinn
Christy looked around the foyer, marveling at the beauty of the interior. The floors and walls were marble. An enormous crystal chandelier hung in the center of the entryway. The grand staircase was lined with important oil paintings of dead Colby headmistresses and trustees. What I would have given to come to a place like this for school every day, Christy thought. She wondered if the girls knew how lucky they were.
“Oh, my goodness gracious,” the woman behind the antique Louis XV desk proclaimed. “You’re the mother who sent her daughter lunch from the Four Seasons, aren’t you?” The marble in the room served as a natural microphone.
Christy felt the other mothers’ eyes boring into her back. She was ashamed, as if sending a child lunch from a five-star restaurant was something a good mother would never do. “Yes, that would be me. I’m here to see Brownie Rich.”
“Oh, she’s expecting you. Her office is at the top of stairs to the right.”
“She has her own office?”
“Yes, well, Brownie’s the only mother who does. She’s so involved with the PTA and, of course, the board. She has one of the best views. You’ll see.”
Christy walked up the stairs, past a Pilates studio where trainers were working with girls on the equipment. She found Brownie’s brass nameplate and knocked on the door.
Brownie’s parent-volunteer secretary stuck her head out. “Can you take a seat? She’ll be with you in a few minutes.” She pointed to the three wooden desk chairs across from the office.
“Sure,” Christy said. She sat down and decided to make use of the time. Dialing Katherine, she was relieved to catch her in person. “Kath, are you with Rick?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you put me on speaker so I can be part of the conversation.”
“Oh, sure. But I have some bad news. The wires picked up the story. By tomorrow, it’ll be in every paper in the country.”
“Every paper? Oh shit, don’t tell me,” Christy cried.
“Excuse me.” A primly dressed woman tapped Christy on the shoulder.
“Just a sec, Katherine. Yes?”
“You’ll have to turn that off and watch your language. We’re a curse-free and a cell-phone-free school,” the woman said.
“I’m sorry,” Christy said. “Can I just have a minute? It’s urgent.”
“If we made an exception for you, we’d have to make it for everyone. Our policy is zero tolerance. Do you know what the effects of hearing curse words are on young, impressionable girls?”
“Oh, no, I don’t want to curse. I just want to finish my call.”
“Ze-ro tol-er-ance,” the woman said, pronouncing every syllable so there could be no misunderstanding. “No exceptions. Turn it off, or I’ll have to summon the headmistress.”
“Katherine, I’ll get back to you,” she said, snapping the phone shut. “See, phone’s off. Sorry. Won’t happen again.” Christy smiled at her.
“Hrmmmph,” the woman snorted as she disappeared down the hall.
Christy waited a few more minutes and checked her watch. Why hadn’t she brought work with her? Surely, that wouldn’t be against the rules. Watching the girls walk by as they changed classes, Christy noticed that there wasn’t an extra pound or pimple in the bunch. Whatever happened to knobby knees, headgears, braces, and geeky glasses? she wondered. Every one of these girls looked like she could star in her own show on the Disney Channel. Christy wondered why that was. Was it the result of some manner of upper-class natural selection? Rich men mating with beautiful women who bear them equally gorgeous children? Maybe this isn’t such a good place for Renata, she thought. She checked her watch. Twenty minutes had passed, so she knocked on Brownie’s door once more.
Parent-volunteer secretary stuck her head out again. “Yes?”
“Do you know how much longer this’ll be?” Christy asked. “I need to get to work.”
“It could be a while,” she said. “We’re having a minor crisis.” She lowered her voice. “A hundred and forty-eighty dollars is missing from the PTA treasury.”
“Gosh, that’s bad,” Christy said.
“Tell me about it.”
“Maybe I should reschedule,” Christy suggested.
“That depends. What’s more important to you, your daughter or your job?”
“Obviously, my child,” Christy said, even though that wasn’t technically true at the moment. “It’s just that I’m in the middle of a crisis today.”
The woman sighed. “Let me get Brownie’s calendar.” She closed the door, then returned a few minutes later with a black Day-Timer. “I can give you something four weeks from tomorrow, same time.”
“But I’m meeting all the volunteers today. I have to see her first.”
“Brownie’s a busy woman.”
Christy thought for a moment. She reached into her purse and counted out four fifty-dollar bills. “Here. Here’s two hundred dollars for the treasury. Problem solved. Now can I meet with Brownie?”
“Mrs. Drummond, it’s not the money. Any one of us could replace that. It’s the fact that it’s missing. We need to know what happened. Was it stolen? Was it never paid? Was it accounted for incorrectly? Was it lost? That’s what we need to get to the bottom of.”
“And the world can’t go on until this is handled?” Christy asked, amused in spite of the fact that her own world was crashing down.
“I’m afraid it can’t. You just be patient and we’ll get to you as soon as we can. I’ll tell Brownie you’re in a hurry.” She shut the door.
Christy went back to the chair and checked her messages, using her bag to cover her cell phone. Rick Slotnik had called. Alan Hooper from the Financial Journal. Bill Ritter, the business reporter from the New York Times. Michael had called. “Fuuuuck,” Christy moaned.
“Excuse me!”
Christy looked up. Busted again. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
After half an hour, parent-volunteer secretary opened the door and invited Christy to enter Brownie’s magnificent digs. With million-dollar views of Park Avenue, the room was filled with antiques, Oriental rugs, and more oil paintings of important nineteenth-century dead people. Christy could see that the office was a beehive of activity. But as soon as she walked in, Brownie dismissed the other volunteer-workers. They obeyed as though Brownie was the queen.
“Christy, how good to see you.” Even though her suit was yellow, Brownie still gave the impression of being a formidable woman. Surprisingly, her lumpish body and un-made-up face added to her majestic vibe rather than diminished it. You just knew that if you crossed her, she’d come at you with that stinger she kept tucked in her Playtex girdle.
Christy reached out to shake her hand, but Brownie didn’t return the gesture. “May I sit?” she asked, figuring this was appropriate etiquette for meeting the queen.
“Be my guest.”
Christy sat on the needlepoint cushion on the French provincial chair across from Brownie. She pulled a notebook and pen from her bag. “So, we’re here to talk about graduation.”
“Yes,” Brownie said, putting on a pair of power reading glasses. “But before we get into that, there are a few ground rules you need to know about working with the Colby PTA.”
“Of course.”
“As you know, I’m the president. That means I call the shots. Here’s a directory of the PTA representatives and their numbers. That’s where we recruit our army of volunteers.” Brownie handed Christy a thick notebook. “In the back, there’s a highly confidential list of all the Colby families, their ENW, the father’s occupation, the amount they’ve contributed to the school each year, and any major celebrity or professional sports connections we know they have. That should help you with commencement speakers.”
“Why don’t we list the mother’s occupation?” Christy asked.
Brownie scoffed. “In the families that matter, the mother doesn’t work, trust me.”
“Right,” Christy said, her face burning. “And what’s the ENW?”
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br /> “Their estimated net worth.”
“We know that?” Christy opened the book to the page listing her and Michael. It was as though the PTA had seen their tax returns.
“The development office makes it a point to find out what families are worth.”
“Why would a family’s net worth matter? I’m in charge of graduation.”
Brownie gave Christy that what Greyhound bus did you just ride in on look. “Everything we do at Colby is a fundraiser. You’ll solicit donations in honor of each of the twenty-four graduates.”
“Oh, I see,” Christy said.
“Last year’s class raised one hundred and eight thousand dollars for the fifth grade gift. Your goal is to raise one-fifty. Questions?”
“With twenty-four girls in the grade, that’s over six thousand dollars a family. Is that realistic?”
“Of course. The girls are listed in the program from highest donation to lowest, with the amount given in their honor next to their name. Everyone wants her daughter to be at the top of the giving tree.”
“What about the girls on scholarship?”
“They’ll be at the bottom, of course.”
“Naturally,” Christy said. She silently vowed to make anonymous donations in the name of each girl receiving aid.
“In fact,” Brownie said, “you can put me down for twenty thousand dollars. If anyone gives a bigger pledge, let me know immediately and I’ll better it. We really can’t do enough for our daughters’ school.” Of course you can’t, Christy thought, as she got her first real taste of competitive mothering.
“If you’ll turn to page eight, there’s a listing of the fifth-grade-graduation committee members. You’ll be seeing them today. If you schedule a meeting, I need to be included. Should you arrange a conference call, make sure it’s on my calendar. If you want to send a note or e-mail, clear it through me first. I need three days’ notice.”
“I can’t send e-mails on my own?” Christy wondered if this woman was for real.
“Not without my approval.” She handed Christy a thick accordion file. “Here’s the documentation from the last graduation. All the communications are filed in date order, including the e-mails the last committee chairwoman sent. They were approved by me, so I suggest you use them as models.”
“If I send e-mails you’ve already approved from this file, do I need to get your approval again?”
“Of course. When you make the changes I suggest, send me the revised communication and I’ll approve it within two days.”
She has got to be kidding. “That seems so inefficient. Can I suggest another approach?”
“No, this is how we do things at Colby.”
“Can I at least call members of the committee without first getting your approval of what I plan to say?”
“That’s a great idea. The more you include me, the better.”
Damn, why did I ask that? Christy thought.
“I suggest you read the file before your meeting this afternoon. You’ll need to be prepared if you want to win the respect of the committee. They’re going to be skeptical of you. You know, working mom, face on billboards, the way you look. That’s three strikes.”
Christy wondered what was the matter with the way she looked. “Uh, sure, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And Christy, one more thing,” she said.
“What?”
“Don’t make a mistake. The parents at Colby have long memories.”
Boardroom Brouhaha
On the way to the office, Steven and Christy swung by the apartment to pick up Eve for her afternoon briefing. Christy wondered if this day could get any worse. But she relaxed when she saw Eve. The cavalry had arrived.
“I brought you some food,” Eve said, handing her a box lunch from Yok Wah. “Soba noodles, miso soup, hijiki. Yok Wah says you have to eat it all.” Christy had the feeling the staff had held their own powwow about her crisis and were now executing an action plan.
“That was sweet of her, but I don’t feel hungry.” She knew she would have to pour it all out and return the bowls empty or she would get one of Yok Wah’s Confucian lectures.
“Eve’s right,” Steven shouted from the front seat. “How do you expect to perform on an empty stomach?”
Christy’s cell phone rang. It was Michael, wanting to know how she was holding up. He told her to hang in there and that he loved her. There was a lump in her throat when they hung up. She was so lucky to have him. Most husbands would come unhinged after seeing the sordid accusations the Financial Journal had leveled at Christy. Not Michael. He’d read enough half truths about himself through the years to mistrust the press implicitly.
Christy took a few bites of her noodles, and then stuffed the leftovers back in the box. They turned onto Thirty-seventh, where Baby G had its offices. Eve was taking down Christy’s to-do list. “Can you pick up a gift for the Godfreys? We’re having dinner with them on Friday. Michael has an important deal heating up with Samuel, so pick something really nice. Also, I left some questions from the adoption lawyer on the kitchen table. They want proof that we exhausted every avenue for finding Renata’s next of kin. And the number for the terrace landscaper is on the fridge. You just need to set up time for us to meet. Oh my God, I just realized—Eve, you have to do me a huge favor while I’m in with the board.”
“Name it.”
“I’m supposed to meet with the graduation committee at four. I can’t be in both places. Here’s the file. Will you read through it and handle Colby for me?”
“Is that okay?”
“Not really, but we don’t have a choice. I’ll need you to assist me with the project anyway, so this’ll give you a chance to meet everyone who’ll be working with us. It should be fun. Steven’ll drive you there.”
“I can hardly wait,” Eve said. “I think I’d rather face your board.”
Oddly enough, Christy agreed.
Steven chuckled from the front seat. He pulled the car in front of the office building and opened the door.
“Wish me luck with the board.”
“Luck,” Steven and Eve yelled in unison.
“The two other CEOs who were accused of offering sexual favors for investments have already issued denials,” Christy explained to the board. “The men mentioned in association with me called the accusations ‘ridiculous.’ We’re about to do the same.”
“There’s no truth to this, is there?” Karl Lehmann asked. “If we deny it and they come back with proof, you know, like one of those Paris Hilton videos or something, we’ll look like idiots.” Karl had been one of Baby G’s first directors. Usually, he was easygoing and supportive. Today, he was a pain in the ass. Obviously, he was stressed out by this. He had stuck his neck out on their investment in the company, and with the stock down, Christy knew he was getting a lot of heat from his fellow sheep.
“No,” Christy said. “I never slept with anyone we were pitching.” Of course, our COO did, but that’s not what we were accused of, she thought. She was hoping that Katherine would do the right thing and come clean on her own with the board. But her longtime partner was just giving her a concerned and supportive look.
“I’d like to say that Christy was entirely professional during all our dealings with her. And, at the time, she was desperate for our infusion of funds. There was never a hint of impropriety,” Niles Raines said.
“We have similar statements from other first-round investors who don’t have seats on the board,” Rick Slotnik said. “They’re entirely objective and completely outraged by the accusations.”
“I find the whole thing disgusting,” Katherine added. “Even if the story were true, which it isn’t, so what? It hasn’t affected Christy’s ability to lead the company.”
“Yes, but it says something really bad about my character, so we have to deny it,” Christy said, wishing Katherine had a clue that there was a connection between sexual forays and character.
“The stock dropped two points when the
story broke. It’ll probably drop some more on news of your denial,” Richard Bender said. Richard was their most pessimistic director.
“I’m not so sure,” Niles said. “The market may have already reacted as much as it’s going to.”
“It was just reported on the wire that the chairman of UVA and his entire management team were killed today when their plane crashed near Jackson Hole. That’ll pull attention away from this story,” Rick said.
“That was a lucky break,” Karl said, cheered by the news.
“I’ve always said you and I shouldn’t travel together,” Katherine said to Christy. “Now do you see why?”
A temp who was covering for Randi interrupted. “Excuse me, Christy, there’s an urgent phone call on line two.”
“Ah, must be Joe Navarrato,” Christy said. He’s giving the Journal our statement. I’ll put him on speaker.” Christy pressed line two.
But it was Brownie Rich. “Christy Hayes, in all the years I’ve worked on the PTA, and I’ve worked on the PTA for many years, I have never seen anything this disrespectful. Every single graduation committee member took the time to come to our meeting today. And are we women with time to spare? NO. We’re active, busy wives, mothers, and volunteers. Here we sit in the Gloria Vanderbilt PTA Conference Room waiting for our committee chairperson to kick off our fifth-grade-graduation extravaganza and who walks in? Our committee chairperson’s assistant. Are you unable to lead this committee, Christy Hayes, because if you can’t do it, say so now.”
Christy lunged for the phone to take the call privately. There was no headset. The phone worked only on speaker.
“Brownie, can I call you back in a few minutes? I’m in the middle of something right now.”
“NO YOU CAN’T CALL ME BACK. I’m here with a room full of dedicated volunteers who have no leader. Your daughter’s admission to Colby was predicated on your overseeing a major committee. If you can’t fulfill your part of the bargain, I’m sure you’ll understand that Colby will need to revisit whether or not your family belongs here. You have twenty minutes to get to this meeting.” Brownie slammed down her end of the phone. At least that’s what it sounded like on speaker.