“My brown Valentino pants with a Dior leopard-print chiffon shirt. Miu Miu moccasins.”
“Put on heels—something sexy,” he advised.
“Don’t you think it would be more realistic if I looked comfy, like she just happened to catch me on a normal day?”
“This isn’t about what’s real, dear. It’s about repackaging you from a tough corporate warrior to a glamorous housewife who finally got her priorities straight. The article will describe how you look and what you’re wearing. Put on spiky shoes right now. That’s an order.”
As she waited for Dina, Christy wondered, could she do this? She knew how to handle a business interview, but this would be personal.
The doorbell rang. Christy ran to answer it. It was the first time she’d answered her own door in months. I should start doing more chores around the house, she thought. When did I turn into a person who needs ten people to help her put on her pants in the morning?
“Hello-ow!” Christy said, greeting her visitors. “So nice to finally meet you in person. I’ve been reading your byline for years. Let me take your coat.” Christy tried to remember where the maid usually hung the coats. That’s it, she vowed, I’m cutting my staff in half. She laid Dina’s coat over a chair in the living room.
“You have a lovely home,” Dina said graciously. She was trailed by a hunky photographer, who was introduced as Wolf. He was already shooting pictures of the place.
“Would you like the grand tour?” Christy asked. Of course she would. No one passes on a chance to see a semi-celebrity’s Manhattan apartment. Christy explained that they were planning a complete renovation.
Dina made herself at home at their glass dining room table. Yok Wah had done a beautiful job with the place settings. After Christy brought the tray of soup, salad, and salmon to the table, she went back for the tomatoes and a cutting board. Then she carefully sliced them into wedges, mixing them into the already dressed salad.
“So,” Dina said, “do you mind if we go ahead and start?”
“No, not at all. Fire away,” Christy said, serving the greens and fish on two small plates, pouring sauce over the salmon.
Dina set a tape recorder on the table and hit the record button. “What made you decide to leave Baby G?”
“I’d been there for almost fifteen years. And to tell you the truth, I’d had my fill of all that responsibility. Then last year, I married Michael. A few months ago, we took in Renata after her grandmother died. I realized that I just couldn’t do everything well. More than anything, I wanted to be a good wife to Michael and a mother to Renata. I came face-to-face with the rule of two and had to choose.”
“The rule of two?”
“Yes. Love, career, children: pick two. A very smart person taught me that,” Christy said.
“Ahh, how true that is,” Dina said, nodding wisely. “After I had children, I kept working fourteen-hour days. That’s when my marriage fell apart.”
“I’m so sorry,” Christy said sympathetically, pleased that she and Dina were starting to bond. Biting into the salmon, Christy’s cheeks puckered. The sauce was sour. Damn, she thought, I forgot to add the oil.
Dina took a bite of her fish and chewed it slowly. Christy took another bite, smiled at her, and pretended it tasted just fine. Wolf took pictures of the two women as they chatted and chewed.
“But most women aren’t lucky enough to make the choice you made,” Dina said. “Let’s face it. You lead a privileged life.”
“I do now, Dina. But I didn’t always. I grew up in a midwestern family, and my mom didn’t work. My dad was a high school coach. We weren’t rich. Our house was small, and we never took vacations. The whole family sacrificed so Mom could be home for me.” Christy decided to skip the part about her mom dying when she was ten.
“Your salmon is delicious, by the way,” Dina said. “Can I have the recipe? Maybe I could put it in the article.”
Is she making fun of me? Christy wondered. “I wish I could share it, but it’s from an old family recipe. Top secret, you understand,” Christy said, since she had no idea how to make the sauce, and, even if she did, she wouldn’t know whether to give the recipe with or without the oil. She immediately vowed to take a cooking class.
“Of course. Here’s what I wonder, Christy. You used to be such an extraordinary person. Now you’re an ordinary wife and mother. Don’t you miss the limelight?”
How would I know? Christy thought. I left work a month ago and here I am doing an interview with the Times. “Oh God, no. I consciously chose this path. I’m putting the same energy into being Michael’s wife and Renata’s mother that I put into being an Olympic runner. We have a beautiful life together.”
“So you advocate traditional roles for women?”
“I believe it’s a choice as valid as working. At the end of the day, there’s no right way to go,” Christy said. “When I was an Olympian, high school athletes constantly told me how they wanted my life. They didn’t see the hours of training behind the glory—how much I’d given up to be a champion. I ate, slept, and ran. That was it. Later, when I was a CEO, young women would come up to me and say they wanted to be me. Again, all they saw was the glamour. They didn’t know that my whole life was about working. No relationships. No fun. Then I married Michael. Now powerful, independent women in their thirties and forties tell me they want to be me. Once again, they don’t see the effort I put into keeping our marriage alive and exciting. But you know what? I’ve never been happier. When I was an Olympian or a businesswoman, I jetted around the world, had lunch with business leaders, and knew all the
