by Karen Quinn
“I hope my wife is listening,” Robert said. “San Antonio, Texas, hello!”
“Hi, there. Love your show, Robert. Christy, I was wondering what kind of staff you have now that you’re a stay-at-home mom.”
“Well, we have a housekeeper, a driver, a cook, a nanny, an assistant, that sort of thing.”
“So if you have staff to wash your family’s clothes, clean the house, cook, and drive your child to school and lessons, then what do you do?”
“A lot. I make cupcakes with my daughter. I volunteer at her school. I pick her up.”
“Sorry, hon—that doesn’t cut it. You’re nothing like the rest of us. I’m sure it’s really grueling having to juggle your stylist, your interviews, and your daughter’s nanny all at the same time. Why don’t you tell the rest of us, how do you do it?”
“Well, I never said I had a stylist—”
“New York City for Christy Hayes Drummond, hello.”
“Hi, Robert. Christy, I read that article in the Times about you on Sunday. And nothing personal, but I think you’re full of bull ca-ca. Can I say that on the air? You’ve been a mother for what, five minutes? I’ll bet you’ve never washed your husband’s laundry. In fact, I’ll bet you don’t know how to use a washing machine.”
Christy took a deep breath. Busted. “I’ll grant you that I’m not your typical wife and mother. But having worked and stayed at home, I can say with authority that the stay-at-home life is the harder choice.” Okay, Christy thought. Good answer.
“Christy, you’re not telling us anything we don’t already know. You act like you discovered motherhood. I hate to break it to you, girlfriend, but a lot of us have been doing it for years, and without help, I might add.”
“Sacramento, California, hello.”
“Hi, Robert. I loved your show with Suzanne Somers yesterday.”
“Thanks, what’s your question?”
“Yes. Christy, I’m wondering if the fur you were wearing when you met your husband’s plane was real? And if it was, do you know how inhumanely animals that are bred for their hides are treated?”
“My fur was fake,” she lied. Uh-oh, bad turn. Christy wondered if anyone would notice if she exited stage right. How many more minutes were left? Thirty. Ooooooh.
“Bridgehampton, New York, hello. Bridgehampton, are you there?”
“I’m here, Robert. Hello, Christy. You know, I read the article in the Times on Sunday and I found it so ironic that while you complained that there’s no recognition for women who stay home, no awards, no profile in People magazine, you’re all over the newspapers and TV. And imagine my surprise when I saw a profile of you in this week’s People. I can’t tell if you really want this domestic life or if it’s just a publicity stunt to keep you in the news.”
“You’re awfully cynical,” Christy said. If she could have made herself melt like the Wicked Witch of the West at that moment, she would have.
“New York, New York, you’re on with Christy Hayes,” Robert said.
“Christy Hayes, don’t you think it’s time to come clean with Robert’s audience?”
Christy froze. That was Katherine’s voice. Her heart pounded so hard, she felt certain her mike was picking up the beat. Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke, she silently chanted. This can’t be happening. Why would Katherine call? Hasn’t she hurt me enough? I can’t think. Air. I need air.
“What do you mean by ‘come clean,’ Caller?” Robert asked.
“Christy didn’t choose to become a reborn domestic goddess. She was forced out of her company because she wasn’t up to the job,” Katherine said. “Tell them, Christy.”
“Those are some pretty serious charges, Caller. Do you want to answer the accusation, Christy?”
“Yes, yes I do, Robert. But first, let’s go to commercial because I’m going to throw up.” Christy urgently whispered those last few words.
“I’m sorry,” Robert said. “What did you say?”
“I think I’m going to puke,” Christy wrote on a piece of paper.
“Aaaaaand cut,” the director yelled.
Another Day, Another Daughter
Michael was in L.A. again. An FCC investigation of his West Coast radio stations required his presence, followed by more meetings with his animation company. He’s so stressed out, Christy thought. I’m glad it’s him dealing with business problems and not me. Renata was at school. Christy was in the library sorting bills for the accountant, a job that she had taken over after leaving Baby G. She found it amusing to see a bill for $54.95 instead of something like $5,495,000, which she was used to seeing at Baby G. Secretly, she loved this low-level finance. There was a tentative knock at the door. “Christy, I think you’d better come to the foyer,” Cynthia said.
“Who’s there?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but you better come.”
Christy walked to the front door, which was wide open, and saw a teenage girl lying in the hallway. Her blond hair was as limp and lifeless as her whisper of a body. She wore a bloodstained Juicy sweat suit. She had two black eyes, and her lips were swollen. Bandages were peeking out from under her top. The girl half opened her eyes and then shut them.
“Are you okay?” Christy asked. “Who did this to you? Should I call nine-one-one? Who are you?”
“Ali Drummond. Where’s my dad?”
Christy was taken aback. She had seen pictures of the girl, but the photos looked nothing like this beaten-up child in front of her. Who had attacked her?
“Ali, your dad’s not here right now. I’m calling emergency. You need a doctor. What happened to you?”
“Nothing. I had surgery. My nose got fixed and they added cheekbones and made my jaw stronger. I got my boobs done, too. And collagen in my lips.”
“What? How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen? Does your mother know about this?”
“She arranged it.”
“My God,” Christy said. “You’re too young for that.”
“No, I’m not,” Ali mumbled. “All the girls are doing it. Can I have a glass of water?”
“Yes. Sure.” Christy helped the girl stand up and walked her into the apartment. Cynthia brought her Prada backpack inside. After making Ali comfortable on the couch and giving her a glass of water, Christy asked why she had come.
“It’s that awful guy my mom married,” she said. Then she began to weep. Christy sat next to her and held her hand until her tears slowed down. “I can’t stand him. He just wants her money. It’s so obvious. Plus he hates me. He never even talks to me.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.”
“Yes, he does. He and my mom are always going away without me. They say it’s because I have to go to school, but I know it’s because he doesn’t want me. Mom says I have to be more understanding. Enrique’s her future. I’m gonna grow up and move away.” The girl started crying again, and Christy hugged her, rubbing her back.
When Ali’s staccato breaths finally slowed, Christy gently wiped the girl’s runny nose with a Kleenex. It had to be sore.
“It’s my sixteenth birthday today. I asked my mom to stay with me as a special treat. But she wanted to go upstate to look at some racehorse with Enrique. She says I’m selfish. That I don’t appreciate that she got me all this plastic surgery. I hate them both. I want to live with my dad. He wants me, doesn’t he?”
“Of course he does. He talks about you all the time,” Christy said. “Your mom left town when you were in this condition?”
“I have a private nurse. Do you have any codeine?”
“Sorry, we don’t keep drugs like that in the house.”
Ali’s eyes widened. “No pain meds in the house? That frightens me,” she said.
“I have Advil. You want that?”
“If that’s all you have,” the girl said.
“Tell you what, why don’t you go lie down for a while? Cynthia’ll make you comfortable in the extra bedroom we have
by the kitchen.”
“Are you Christy?” she asked.
“Oh, sorry, we haven’t been formally introduced, have we? Yes, I’m Christy.”
“Funny, you don’t seem like a bitch,” Ali said.
Christy just smiled. Suzanna must be a real charmer, she thought.
Christy checked her watch. It had been almost two hours. This was as nerve-racking as waiting outside Brownie’s office.
“Oh, there she is,” the doorman said, pointing to the middle-aged Barbie type who was emerging from the backseat of a black sedan. She was carrying large shopping bags from Bergdorf’s, Bottega Veneta, and Versace. Call me a cynic, Christy thought, but last time I looked, they weren’t selling racehorses at Bergdorf’s. Christy stood between the front door and the elevator, intent on intercepting Michael’s ex before she got upstairs. “Excuse me. Suzanna?”
Suzanna looked askance at Christy. “And you are…”
“I’m Christy, Michael’s wife.”
“I’m sorry, I have nothing to say to you,” Suzanna said, trying to walk past her.
“Oh, but I have something to say to you. Ali showed up at our doorstep today,” Christy explained. “I wanted you to know that she was safe, so you wouldn’t worry.”
“Thank you, God!” Suzanna said, waving her arms and packages. “Don’t you worry about me. I won’t worry about Ali. I’m sure you’ll take good care of her.” Suzanna pressed the elevator button.
“Suzanna, she says she wants to live with Michael. Don’t you want to talk to her?”
“That’s okay. Write to me when she graduates from college, or, better yet, when she marries her first husband.” The elevator door opened, and Suzanna stepped inside.
Christy snatched the shopping bags out of Suzanna’s hands. “Don’t walk away from me,” she said sharply. “We’re talking about your child.”
Suzanna stepped out of the elevator. “She’s Michael’s child, too. I’ve taken care of her for sixteen years. She’s more than I can handle right now. Let Michael do it for a change.”
“How can you turn your back on your own daughter?” Christy asked, aghast.
“You’ve obviously never raised a teenage girl or you’d understand,” she said.
“No, I’ll never understand abandoning your own child.”
“Look, Christy, I’m a newlywed, okay? My husband has no interest in being Ali’s stepfather. I’m not going to risk my new marriage over a daughter who doesn’t appreciate anything I do for her.”
Suzanna turned and stepped into the elevator. Christy started to follow. “Don’t!” Suzanna commanded. “I’ll send her things tomorrow.” The door shut in Christy’s face.
Christy stood in front of the elevator, in shock that a mother could so cavalierly dispose of her child. She had to admit that there had been a few dark days when she secretly wished Renata had never come into her life. That she and Michael could have their old carefree lives back. But she’d never abandon Renata. Never.
Christy left Suzanna’s building and started to run across Central Park. “Shit,” she said, stopping short when she realized she was still carrying Suzanna’s shopping bags. She walked over to a bench and set them down. What is all this, she wondered, digging through the tissue paper. A cashmere sweater. Luscious Tasmanian woolen pants. A black fur jacket. She’d spent a fortune on herself, and on Ali’s birthday no less. Christy shook her head.
A thin homeless woman approached her. “Excuse me, ma’am, spare some change? A quarter, a nickel, even a penny?”
Christy looked at the small weather-beaten woman. Her hard life had given her naturally what Suzanna probably paid trainers and surgeons thousands of dollars a year to achieve—a slender body and strong muscles. How ironic, Christy thought. “Here,” she said, handing her the bags. “Wear it in good health.”
DEAR DIARY,
LOTS OF NEWS!!! MICHAEL’S DAUGHTER ALI IS LIVING WITH US NOW. HER STEPFATHER DOESN’T LOVE HER SO SHE MOVED IN WITH US. THAT IS SO SAD. MICHAEL HAS BEEN DOING LOTS OF STUFF WITH HER SINCE SHE CAME. I’M THINKING MAYBE HE’LL START SPENDING TIME WITH ME TOO. ALI IS RECOVERING FROM PLASTIC SURGERY AND SAYS SHES GOING TO LOOK JUST LIKE CHRISTINA AGULARI WHEN THEY TAKE HER BANDAGES OFF. THAT IS SO COOL. I’M GETTING PLASTIC SURGERY WHEN I’M 16 TOO.
CHRISTY WAS ON THE ROBERT BECK SHOW THE OTHER NIGHT. WHEN I TOLD HER HOW GOOD SHE DID, SHE CRIED. SHE’S BEEN REAL UPSET SINCE SHE DID THAT SHOW. I’M NOT SURE IF ITS BECAUSE ALI SHOWED UP OR BECAUSE OF THAT STUPID TALK SHOW. THE TRUTH IS, THE TV CALLERS WERE MEAN TO HER. NECTAR SAYS IF YOU CAN’T SAY ANYTHING NICE YOU SHOULD KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND I AGREE.
AND THERE’S MORE!!! SCOTTIE CHILDS AND HER HUSBAND ARE COMING TO DINNER TOMMORROW. STEPHANIE’S PARENTS ARE COMING TOO. HER MOTHER IS SUCH A BICH (PARDON MY FRENCH).
SINCERELY,
RENATA
Ouch, She Did It Again
There was a sharp knock on the bedroom door Friday morning. Christy dragged herself out of bed to open it. Eve stood outside, looking nervous.
“What is it?” Christy asked.
“Here,” she said, shoving the Financial Journal into her hand. “There’s an article about Katherine and Baby G that you might want to see.”
“Thanks.” Christy walked over to her stuffed chair and sat down to read.
BABY G SOARS UNDER NEW LEADERSHIP
by Dan Edwards
Christy Hayes may have founded Baby G, but the company is doing very well without her, thank you very much. In the short time since she left, the stock price is up 25 percent.
Since the day she took over, Katherine Kilborn, the new CEO, has shaken things up. The company has moved all its manufacturing to India. In announcing the relocation, Ms. Kilborn said that the move will allow the company to lower their cost for goods by 15 percent. “It should have happened years ago,” says Jeremy Moran, a Goldman Sachs retail analyst. A smashing new advertising campaign was initiated, using fresh Olympic hopefuls instead of their former in-house Olympian, Hayes. Yesterday, the company announced that it was purchasing Rocky Mountain Wellness, a $60 million chain of health clubs located throughout the western United States.
Rumors abound that Baby G is ripe for a takeover. Should that happen, Ms. Kilborn stands to make a fortune given the options she has accumulated since the company went public and the large stock position she has taken in the weeks since she was named CEO. While Christy Hayes Drummond can be seen on every talk show evangelizing about her resurrection as a born-again housewife, Katherine Kilborn has focused her Harvard-trained, razor-sharp mind on turning around the company that some doubt her predecessor was ever qualified to lead. Katherine Kilborn is one CEO who is going places.
Christy threw the newspaper across the room. She looked at her husband, who was still asleep. “Damn,” she said, pounding the arm of the chair over and over. “Damn, damn, damn.” Instantly, Michael was up and by her side.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Christy looked at him and started to speak, but words wouldn’t come. She wanted to trash her bedroom like an out-of-control rock star. To break the Tiffany lamps, smash the Venetian mirrors, throw the vase of roses against the wall.
“Did someone die?” he asked.
Christy shook her head. “No, no!” She retrieved the newspaper that she’d just thrown on the floor and brought it to Michael, poking angrily at the offensive story. He read the piece.
Closing the paper, he reached for his wife and held her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You know Katherine is behind this.”
Christy nodded but did not speak. She was so furious, she couldn’t.
“Should I have her killed for you?” Michael said.
Christy nodded. Michael continued to hold her, comforting his wife as if she were a child. “Come on now,” he said. “Cheer up. Scottie’s coming for dinner tonight, remember?”
This got Christy’s attention. She pulled away from Michael. “Nooooo! I can’t face Scottie after this.”
“Of cours
e you can,” he said. “Scottie knows what it’s like to be criticized by the press. She won’t judge you.”
“Brownie will.”
“Who gives a shit what Brownie thinks?”
“I do,” Christy said.
“Well, you shouldn’t.”
Christy crumpled up the paper and stuffed it into the trash. “Oh, Michael, what am I going to do now? My turnaround has been a disaster. I don’t know which was worse, losing my company or losing my dignity trying to be the Fifth Avenue housewife spokeswoman for the masses. It’s an oxymoron. What was I thinking?”
“Why don’t you just be yourself for a while? Be Christy Hayes without all the bells and whistles. What do you need with all that publicity? Be my wife. Take care of Renata. Ali needs you, too. Relax and enjoy yourself for a change.”
“I don’t know how to be myself. I only know how to be special.”
Michael laughed. “Well, I think it’s time you learn.”
The Joy of Stepmotherhood
No, absolutely not. That’s ridiculous,” Christy said to Ali later that morning. Both girls were home on spring break.
“It is not. Everyone at my school has hair extensions. And anyway, you’re supposed to change your hair after cosmetic surgery. Then no one notices you had work done. That’s, like, a total plastic surgery rule.”
“Ali, hair extensions won’t hide what you did,” Christy said. “Your nose is different. Your boobs are bigger. You have cheekbones, a longer chin, luscious lips. Trust me, people will notice.”