“Okay,” Christy said, yawning. Christy and Michael were embarking on a gut renovation—a New Yorker’s worst nightmare. They’d been living in Michael’s penthouse, which sat high above the city but was decorated in that wealthy-caveman style so favored by recently divorced Manhattan alpha males. Lots of marble and glass, clean lines, and no soft spaces. The one exception was a dark-blue velvet reading chair, the only piece of furniture that Christy took when her father died. It stuck out like a bad accident in Michael’s grand master bedroom, but to Christy it was a cozy refuge. She hadn’t noticed how shabby it looked until Michael gently pointed it out, but he assured her it had a home with them as long as she wanted it. She’d been too busy with work to take on a decorating project, but now she was going to try.
“Oh, and also, Orrick Herrington’s messengering over a bunch of papers for me to sign. Would you ask Eve to put those in the package?”
“Sure, what are they?”
“Well, now that Suzanna’s remarried, I’m petitioning to cut off her alimony.”
“She’s not gonna liiiiiike that,” Christy said.
“I know, but I think it’s time that her Argentinean polo-playing husband supports her. We’ll save eighteen thousand a month.”
“Sounds like monopoly money to me. Want to go for a run?” Christy asked.
Michael glanced at the clock by their bed. “I can’t. I’m getting picked up in forty-five minutes. Are you nervous about your board meeting today?” he asked.
Christy stiffened. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”
“Don’t worry. Just walk them through your response to the story,” Michael said. “They’ll be satisfied. What else do you have going on?”
“Wednesday I’m flying to Mexico City to meet with the Olympic Committee. If I have time, I’ll visit our factories outside town.”
“When’ll you be back?”
“Friday night, like you.”
“Want to go to Aspen this weekend? A little helicopter skiing to make you forget your troubles?” Michael proposed.
“Sure. That sounds so glamorous!”
“That’s what I love about you, Beegee. You’re not jaded.” Michael gave Christy one last kiss before getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Don’t fly back to New York; just go to Aspen. I’ll meet you at the house.”
“You got it, sweetheart,” Christy said, throwing the covers over her head to postpone the inevitable for a few more minutes. Denial is such a good defense mechanism, she thought. She heard the water turn on in the bathroom and decided to get up and go for a quick run. As she reached for her shorts, Michael started singing “Hey Jude” in the shower. He is so damn cute, she thought. I can’t stand it. Giggling, Christy ditched the shorts and joined her husband in the shower.
Staying Alive
Christy jumped into the backseat of her car and directed Steven to take her to the John Barrett Salon. While there, she outlined her presentation on all the good news in the business to offset this Financial Journal mess.
While Christy was out, Maria would make sure that preparations for the lunch meeting went off without a hitch. Christy felt guilty over not insisting that Maria take the day off to go to Renata’s concert. There was other staff who could handle the luncheon. But Maria knew that her boss felt stronger knowing she was hovering in the background. And today of all days, she understood that Christy needed her there. She wouldn’t hear of taking the day off, but it nagged at Christy just the same.
With her presentation, hair, and makeup as perfect as possible, she got back into the car. Steven headed for home.
“You look very nice, Christy,” Steven said, giving her the once-over in the rearview mirror. “Important meeting?”
“Yeah, with the board.” Christy studied her presentation quietly as Steven drove.
“Whoops, look. Can’t stop in front,” Steven pointed out. An ambulance blocked the way.
“That’s okay. Just pull up beside it. I’ll bet it’s Mrs. De Mille,” Christy said.
“Gotta be,” Steven said, shaking his head. “And she just celebrated her ninety-fifth last weekend. What a damn shame. You know, she’s been in the building since it opened.”
“At least she lived a good life,” Christy said sadly. “She had her faculties to the end. She walked to the reservoir and back every day. We should all be blessed with a long life like that. Can you see if there’s anything we can do to help? Find out where the services are. I’ll send some flowers. Well, wish me luck.”
“Luck,” Steven shouted, as Christy barely dodged a kamikaze pizza-delivery guy on a bike that swerved between the ambulance and her Mercedes. They seemed to be the only remaining entity in New York that bowed to no law, wreaking havoc on the well-ordered world of Fifth Avenue.
Christy made a mental note to call Michael as soon as her meeting ended. More than once, he’d mentioned wanting to make a bid for Mrs. De Mille’s apartment after she died. Michael’s penthouse was small and they were desperate for more room. Combining Mrs. De Mille’s space with theirs would make a fabulous duplex. Christy felt terrible about acquiring it this way. But if she and Michael didn’t act now, the woman’s next-door neighbors certainly would. Someone would buy it. It was this kind of thing that made Christy uncomfortable about living in New York. You had to be tougher than everyone around you or you’d lose.
When Christy arrived upstairs, her front door was open. Walking inside, she spotted three uniformed people hovering over someone lying on the floor. Christy couldn’t see the face, but she saw the shoes. They were Maria’s navy blue Easy Spirit pumps. Yok Wah, the cook, and Cynthia, the maid, stood in the corner looking stricken.
“What happened?” Christy screamed.
“Stroke,” the female attendant said quickly.
One of the paramedics was
