Wife in the Fast Lane

by Karen Quinn

  Soon, Dina and Wolf were saying good-bye. “Go easy on me,” Christy shouted in jest (but not really) as they walked out.

  The Best News Possible

  DEAR DIARY,

  I VISITED MRS. DE MILLE YESTERDAY. SHE’S BEEN SICK. ME AND MR. KOODLES SNUGGLED UP IN BED WITH HER. SHE TOLD ME THE STORY OF MRS. KOODLES (MR. KOODLES’ WIFE CAT) WHO DIED A FEW YEARS AGO. SHE COULD TURN BACKWARD FLIPS LIKE A CIRCUS CAT. WHAT A FINE ANIMAL SHE MUST HAVE BEEN. MRS. DE MILLE ASKED ME IF I’D BE MR. KOODLES’ GUARDIAN IF ANYTHING HAPPENED TO HER (LIKE IF SHE DIED). I TOLD HER IT WOULD BE MY HONOR.

  BREAKING NEWS ON THE HOME FRONT! NECTAR DECIDED TO STAY! IT’S A MIRACLE. SHE SAYS CHRISTY’S NOT READY TO PRACTICE MOTHERHOOD WITHOUT SUPRAVISION. HELLO! THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING ALL ALONG. CHRISTY HAD A GOOD IDEA TO MAKE THE GIRLS AT SCHOOL BE NICER TO ME. FOR MY BIRTHDAY, WE’RE INVITING MY CLASS TO THE GWEN STEFANI CONCERT AT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN. I’M GOING TO SURPRISE EVERYONE WITH CUPCAKES AND STICK THE PARTY INVITATIONS ON TOP. IF THAT DOESN’T MAKE THEM LIKE ME, NOTHING WILL. YAY ME!!!

  XXXOOO,

  RENATA RUIZ HAYES

  Cupcake Catastrophe

  As Renata poured cake mix into the cupcake papers, Christy licked the beaters clean. No point letting all that mix go to waste.

  “Aren’t we supposed to use a special cupcake pan?” Renata asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Christy said. “As long as you pour the batter in those paper things, it’ll be fine.”

  “Grandma always used a muffin tin.”

  “Ah, well, to each her own. I prefer to set my cupcake papers on a flat cookie sheet.”

  Renata stuck the cupcakes in the oven while Christy put the ingredients together for vanilla frosting. Then she let Renata mix it all up.

  “Stop for just a second,” Christy said. She poured in a few drops of yellow and blue food coloring. Then Renata stirred until the colors blended. “The perfect shade of green for frosting.”

  Renata flipped the oven light on to check the cupcakes. “Oh no,” she said. “Look.”

  Christy glanced in the oven and saw the cupcakes had flattened into pancakes. Just as Renata had feared, the papers weren’t strong enough to maintain their proper shape without a muffin pan. Everything had run together to make one big cake with a lot of papers stuck underneath. Christy started to laugh. “Have you ever met a worse cook than me? Next time, remind me to listen to you.”

  The phone rang, and Christy picked up. It was Brownie calling about the seating chart for tomorrow’s luncheon. “Well, there’s a problem, Brownie. Your assistant told me that only half the women RSVP’d.” Christy prayed they weren’t boycotting her lunch for some unintentional social crime she had committed.

  “And you didn’t think to call the ones who didn’t respond to see if they were coming?” Brownie said.

  “Well, I called to ask you if I could call them, since I’m not allowed to contact people without your permission, and you didn’t call me back.”

  “I did call you back. That incompetent maid of yours didn’t give you the message.”

  “Right. Well, even if I knew who was coming, don’t you think you should make the seating chart? I haven’t met most of these women. I wouldn’t know who to seat together and who to keep apart.”

  Brownie let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” She slammed down the phone as usual.

  Yay! I don’t have to do it. I don’t have to do it, Christy sang to herself. She made horns with one hand and a tail with the phone.

  Renata cracked up. “Yeah, she’s kind of a—”

  “Renaaaata…” Christy stopped her from saying it, though she couldn’t have agreed more.

  As Renata took the cupcakes out of the oven, she announced, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Mrs. Rich called this afternoon.”

  “Thanks for the message.”

  After the flattened cakes cooled, Christy and Renata cut them apart, peeled off the paper, and iced them anyway. “No sense letting these go to waste, don’t you think? I mean, they’re still cupcakes.”

  “And we need something to eat while we watch TV,” Renata agreed.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll have Yok Wah whip up a new batch tomorrow. You can decorate them yourself and take them to school with your invitations.”

  Renata smiled as they settled in to watch back-to-back episodes of The Cosby Show. By the time Rudy gave Cliff that “all’s well that ends well” hug at the end of the second episode, the cupcakes were gone.

  Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

  There was a major snowstorm on the day of Christy’s honorary luncheon. But Christy wasn’t worried. All she had to do was get the flowers there. Brownie was in charge of the rest. Still, she felt more trepidation about this event than she used to feel about business meetings with real stakes.

  “It’s at Fifth Avenue between Seventy-eighth and Seventy-ninth, the limestone building with gargoyles in the front,” Christy said. She was determined to do her part perfectly.

  “We can find the building,” the floral clerk said. “We just don’t think we can get there in this weather. Our van just had a collision because the streets are so slick.”

  “But the flowers have to be delivered. If they aren’t, I’ll be ruined,” Christy whined.

  “No, our driver was fine. Thank you for caring,” the clerk said.

  “I’m really sorry,” Christy said. “For reasons you’ll never understand because I don’t, these flowers have taken on a ridiculous level of importance.”

  Christy called five other florists in the city, ordering four arrangements of blue hydrangeas mixed with white peonies and a spray of yellow delphinium from each. No one would guarantee delivery. Conditions were so unsafe that the mayor had declared a state of emergency. Schools were closed. Businesses shut down. People were told to stay indoors unless it was a medical necessity. Brownie called her luncheon guests to say that they could ignore that directive. She said she had personally asked the mayor to make an exception for their lunch. What a show off, Christy thought.

  The flowers arrived just as the guests did. The hydrangeas were pink instead of blue, but Christy was relieved. She tipped the driver handsomely for coming out in this weather, then quietly placed a centerpiece on each table, the dais, and the buffet line.

  Christy sat at the head of the table with Brownie and her two minions. She didn’t know their names, nor could she tell them apart. They were the efficient gatekeepers who kept Christy waiting outside Brownie’s office for hours at a time. On other occasions, she had seen them walking two steps behind Brownie taking notes, carrying her stuff, or sucking up in assorted and pathetic ways. You can’t tell where Brownie’s butt ends and their noses begin, Christy thought, right before complimenting Brownie on her vintage Pucci dickie. “Someone’s been shopping in Palm Bee-each,” she said, giving her a playful finger wag. Ugh. Tell me I didn’t just do that.

  The other two tables were filled with fifth-grade moms, most of whom Christy had met at the assembly when the mothers and daughters read their tributes to each other. At least Andrea was there. Christy gave her a friendly wave. Andrea made the thumbs-up sign.

  As lunch was being served, there was a knock at the door and a man entered with four vases brimming with yellow roses. Oh Lord, Christy thought. She quietly intercepted him and placed each arrangement on any flat surface she could find. “Thanks for making the delivery,” she whispered, handing the guy twenty bucks.

  Brownie stood to welcome everyone and introduce Christy. “Ladies, thank you all so much for coming today in such nasty weather. It is a tribute to all of you as mothers that you would risk life and limb to attend a school function supporting such an important cause, our fifth graders’ graduation. And—”

  A rapping sound interrupted Brownie’s speech. The door to the room burst open and two flower-delivery men in Arctic parkas walked in, each carrying multiple centerpieces—pink and white chrysanthemums, purple irises, peach lilies. Everyone t
urned to see who it was. Christy discreetly directed each man to line the back wall with his flowers. She reached into her wallet for a tip, but was out of cash.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the two men. “I don’t have any money. If you’ll write your names here, I’ll mail you a tip.” She offered up a paper napkin and a pen.

  “I don’t think so, lady. If I don’t collect now, I don’t collect,” the first man said, a wee bit loudly.

  “Is there a problem?” Brownie asked from the podium, her right eyelid twitching in burning rage.

  Christy looked sheepishly toward the podium. Her burgeoning career as a Colby Mommy was disintegrating before her eyes.

  “Um, we received some extra flowers, and I’m out of cash for tips. Can I borrow a couple of twenties from anyone?” Christy asked.

  The ladies started digging in their purses. Three women got up and pressed twenties into Christy’s hands. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  Brownie was red-faced, but she went on with her speech. “As you know, our fifth-grade graduation is a huge celebration for us all. The commencement exercises and address. The honorary donations. The graduation tea. This year, our goal is to raise one hundred fifty thousand dollars. Lucky for us, a brand-new Colby mother volunteered to oversee the festivities…a-choo…ah-CHOO. Fortunately, because of certain events that I’m sure you’ve all read about, she now has full time to devote to our cause.” One of the minions appeared at Brownie’s side with a handkerchief. “Thank you. Let us all welcome Christy Hayes Drummond, who will tell us what she has planned for the event.” Brownie started clapping and others politely followed suit.

  “Thank you all,” Christy said. “I’m honored to be here. It was so generous of Brownie to offer her home for this event. And for her to convince the mayor to let us come out today. Well, that’s power, let me tell you.”

  Brownie stuck her chest out and nodded her head a few times like Queen Elizabeth.

  “Anyway, I want to thank you all for volunteering to help with the fifth-grade-graduation extravaganza. This year’s event promises to be better than any ever given. Just yesterday, tennis-great LaShaun Mason agreed to speak at the commencement exercises. Ah…ahh…choo! Excuse me, but does anyone have any Benadryl or Claritin?”

  “Oh, I do,” Bunny Pratt’s mother offered.

  “Can I have one?” Jada Shiff’s mom asked, walking over to her table.

  “Me, too,” said a woman wearing dark glasses and a chin girdle. Christy didn’t know her name.

  “I have nondrowsy Allegra if…ha-choo…anyone wants it,” Andrea offered.

  “I have some Flonase,” one of the minions said. Brownie gave her a searing stare. The luncheon was disintegrating into an antihistamine swap meet.

  Yanna Sevigny’s mother pulled out her asthma inhaler and pumped vigorously. Then she left the room with a friend helping her walk. Dear God, don’t let me kill anyone, Christy thought.

  “Ladies, ladies,” Christy said, getting everyone’s attention. “I’m so sorry about all these flowers. Ahh-CHOO! All the florists said they couldn’t deliver because of the weather. So, I ordered extra arrangements thinking that maybe one of them would get through. And wouldn’t you know it, they all showed up. Anyway, I promise, the fifth-grade graduation will be more organized than this. And I apologize to anyone who’s having an allergy attack. The good news is, there is at least one bouquet for each of you to take home. Thank you.”

  Christy started back to the dais and then remembered one more thing. “Oh, for those of you who tipped deliverymen for me, I appreciate it. If you’ll give me your name and address, I’ll send you your money back along with Knicks tickets as a token of my thanks.”

  The mothers clapped enthusiastically. Every mom at the event took home a basket of flowers and gave Christy her engraved personal card for the return of her tip and the thank-you Knicks tickets. Christy knew that most of these ladies hadn’t tipped anyone, but what the hell.

  “You just couldn’t get it right, could you?” Brownie said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I gave you one simple job, and you with your big career and your Olympic gold medals—you couldn’t even get the colors right. And your delphiniums, they weren’t even fresh!” Brownie accused.

  Christy stiffened. Well, maybe if you’d stick them up your airtight butt, they would be. She didn’t think she said that out loud. Christy was determined to find the reasonable person who had to be hiding somewhere beneath that unbearable exterior. “Wait a minute, Brownie,” she said. “I’m sorry about the flowers. We’ll probably laugh about it next year…”

  Brownie appeared to have been struck dumb by the audacity of the remark. “Christy,” she said evenly, “this is no laughing matter.” Then she executed a perfect pivot and made her exit, minions in tow, leaving Christy to find her own way out.

  Christy immediately dictated her thank-you notes in the car on the way home. Leaving instructions for Eve to handwrite the notes and include a twenty-dollar bill plus four Knicks tickets with each letter, she tried to think of something personal and complimentary to say to each woman who had come. That seemed to be the protocol, based on the thank-you letters Christy herself had received. The problem was, she barely remembered anything other than Brownie’s steely gaze.

  Cupcake Catastrophe…(Continued)

  After the bulletin-board meeting broke up, Andrea and Christy walked out together. “Can you believe that? Eight meetings for one bulletin board,” Andrea said, rolling her eyes and laughing. “I’m sorry I got you into this. Say, why don’t you come over for lunch?”

  “Sure,” Christy said. “I’m starved.” As they walked toward the front door, Christy heard someone calling her name. It was Mrs. Smart, Renata’s teacher. She ran after the two mothers.

  “Mrs. Drummond, I’m so glad I caught you. We need to speak about the cupcakes Renata brought in today.” Mrs. Smart was winded from running in her half-inch heels.

  “There weren’t any nuts in them,” Christy said.

  “No, nuts weren’t the problem,” she said. “The thing is, the cupcakes were entirely too much. First, chocolate cake. Then green icing, at least twice as much as was necessary. Topped with all those M&M’s, plus that envelope stuck in the center. You went way too far, Mrs. Drummond,” Mrs. Smart said in a grave tone.

  “You mean, they were gaudy or there was too much sugar?” Christy asked.

  “Both. You have to understand, Mrs. Drummond. This is Colby. We’re all about understatement.”

  “I see. But Renata decorated them herself. If they were overdone, it was out of a little girl’s enthusiasm. She wanted to surprise everyone.”

  “That’s another thing: Cupcakes should never be a surprise. We must plaaaaaan for them. I talked to Renata about it this morning. She’ll be taking them home.”

  “You didn’t let her serve them?” Christy asked, her heart aching for the little girl who just wanted her classmates to give her a second chance.

  “How could I?” Mrs. Smart said.

  “Right, how could you?” Christy said, her annoyance breaking through, as Andrea signaled “cut” behind Mrs. Smart’s back.

  “She obviously couldn’t,” Andrea piped in, to give Christy time to calm down.

  “Did Renata hand out the party invitations, at least?” Christy asked.

  “No,” Mrs. Smart said. “They were part of the overall cupcake problem.”

  “Right, overstated.” Christy said.

  “Ex-aaaaaactly.”

  “Well, thanks for letting us know. Christy’ll be more careful in the future,” Andrea said.

  “Soul murderer,” Christy mumbled, as Mrs. Smart walked away.

  Andrea shook her head. “Colby is one hard place to understand, but don’t worry. We’ll crack this nut.”

  “No, we won’t,” Christy said. “Didn’t you know? Colby is a nut-free school.”

  Tawdry Tales

  The phone rang while Christy was waiting for Renata
to come home. It was Brownie.

  “Christy,” she said, “Your thank-you note arrived today.”

  “Oh, I’m glad you got it,” Christy said. Finally, she thought, I did something right. Lovely thank-you notes, personal messages, mailed immediately, on perfect stationery, containing much-appreciated Knicks tickets.

  “The other ladies also got notes. Why weren’t they sent to me for vetting?”

  Christy started to laugh and then covered it up with a cough. “You need to approve my thank-you notes?”

  “They were written to the graduation committee, were they not?”

  “Well, yes,” Christy said.

  “Have you forgotten our conversation? I told you I had to see and approve all communications to the committee, that I needed three days’ notice. Is this not a communication?”

  “It’s a thank-you note.”

  “A thank-you note is a communication. If you ever pull a stunt like that again, you’ll be fired,” Brownie said.

  Christy didn’t understand how she could be fired from a nonpaying job, but she kept her mouth shut. She now considered it a personal challenge to keep her cool with this woman.

  “Have you made progress on my dinner with Scottie?” Brownie asked.

  It amazed Christy that Brownie could bawl her out in one breath, then ask for a favor in another. “Michael’s working on it,” she said noncommitally.

  The front door opened. Renata and Nectar came in. Nectar was holding the Tupperware box of cupcakes. The invitations had been removed and stuffed inside the container.

  “Gotta run, Brownie,” she said, happy for an excuse to hang up.

  “Can you believe Renata’s teacher wouldn’t serve these beautiful cupcakes?” Nectar said. “Now what kind of teacher would tell a child that her cupcakes were overdone?” She tilted her chin up to snob level and stuck out her bottom jaw. “‘We’re all about understatement here at Colby,’” Nectar said, capturing Mrs. Smart’s upper-crust tone perfectly. Christy cracked up.