“Not as mind-boggling as you winning the indoor 3k title while training for the marathon.”
Christy almost spilled her drink. “Are you a big track fan?”
“Huge,” Michael said. “I was the fastest quarter-miler at Andover. There were no black kids in the prep schools then, so I was unstoppable.”
“No way.”
“Way,” he laughed. “Of course, when I got to college, I didn’t even make the team. Now I’m one of those track groupies who goes to all the meets.”
“So do I. Will you be at the Millrose Games next weekend?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Do you still run?” Christy asked. He seemed awfully normal for a Master of the Universe.
“Yeah. I’m competing in the Empire State Building Run-Up when we get back.”
Christy and Michael talked about their passion for running and soon abandoned the hotel bar in favor of the Jacuzzi on Michael’s terrace. Christy was grateful to have a place to hide.
To avoid any misunderstanding, Christy made her intentions clear. “You probably have women falling all over you, but I’ve sworn off romance for the second time this decade, so you don’t have to worry about me…”
“Or me. I’m a harmless middle-aged workaholic,” he said with a grin.
Since Christy didn’t have a swimsuit, she kicked off her shoes, hiked up her gown, and dangled her legs in the bubbling hot water.
Michael changed into his trunks and got in. “This feels so good in the cold air. Let me give you one of my bathing suits,” he offered.
“Kind of a half solution, don’t you think?”
“I can lend you a shirt. They’re in the closet.”
“I’ll be right back.” Christy went into Michael’s bathroom and took off her clothes. She put on one of his T-shirts, which came down to her thighs. Feeling safely unprovocative, she returned to the Jacuzzi and slipped into the water, sitting carefully on the bottom of his shirt.
The two spent the night drinking champagne and talking about everything. The pecking order at Davos. Their favorite cities. Foods they couldn’t stand. Theater. Books. People they knew in common. Their worst fears. Their first loves. It was a relief to have romance off the table. Christy hadn’t realized how much of a strain she’d been under, representing Baby G eighteen hours a day.
Michael talked about his childhood. “It was dull. We lived in Paris.”
“Paris? Dull?” Christy said.
“Paris, Texas. Dad was a fireman and Mom a housewife. In high school, I was the only Texan at Andover, on scholarship of course. Summers, I earned my college tuition cooking Mexican food at La Fonda’s in Frog Hop.”
“Frog Hop?” Christy asked.
“The next town over. Couldn’t get a girlfriend to save my life. I always smelled like enchiladas, no matter how often I bathed.”
Christy laughed. She liked Michael’s energy. He was warm and open. “I love Mexican food, especially Tex-Mex,” she said.
“I can’t even stand the smell of it anymore.” Michael went on to tell Christy how he started his business after college. She knew the story, but wanted to hear every word again from him. Listening gave her a chance to take him in, his droopy eyelids, the laugh lines around his eyes, his messy hair. He was sitting with a kind of formidable grace, unaware of his own magnetism. Christy thought he was the kind of guy you’d instinctively want by your side if anyone tried to give you trouble. She liked that.
When he talked about his daughter, who was in junior high school, and his divorce, his tone changed. His body tensed up, his hands were clenched, and he sounded older, almost bitter. It was a different Michael. He was a little scary.
“Suzanna was a college girlfriend. Things were good. Then we had Ali, and everything changed.”
Michael paused, looking away. “Suzanna became so possessive of her, never let Ali spend time with me. She seemed to be worried that I would somehow compete with her. Ali came to think of me as someone just to get money from. Suzanna threw herself into motherhood and society events.”
“You don’t strike me as a society-ball kind of guy.”
“Yeah, it used to make Suzanna crazy. Whenever she’d drag me to a benefit, my hair would be a mess and my tuxedo shirt would look slept-in five minutes after I put it on. Couldn’t help it. It just happens. Suzanna used to yell at me that she didn’t spend thousands on gowns, jewels, hair, and makeup to be escorted by a guy who looks like the Unabomber in a tuxedo.”
“I like your tousled look. It reminds me of Al Pacino,” Christy said.
“Oh no, come on, really?”
Christy smiled. “Can I pour you another glass of champagne?”
“Absolutely,” Michael said, holding out his glass. “So, do I remind you of Al in The Godfather?”
“Mmm, noooo…I’d have to say Scarface.”
He laughed, reached over, and touched her cheek. “You’re funny, you know that? Anyway, the year Suzanna became PTA president, I was in a ski accident—almost died.”
“I think I read about that.”
“She used to visit me in the hospital, when it wasn’t clear whether or not I’d make it. But once I was on the mend, she and Ali didn’t stop by anymore. They were busy again with their own lives.”
“Who took care of you?”
“She hired staff for that. As devoted as they were, a nurse, a chef, a maid, an assistant, and a massage therapist couldn’t replace a wife. In fairness, I realized I had left them alone at times the same way when I was building my company. I wanted to start over, to make amends. But it was too late. They’d moved on. Suzanna served me with papers while I was still in the hospital.”
“Ouch,” Christy said.
“I’ll say. After that, all I wanted was to build a relationship with my daughter. But things got worse. Suzanna turned Ali against me, even accused me of molesting her. She had me thrown in jail overnight, thinking I’d settle faster if it all hit the press.”
Christy’s eyes
