“Did it have something to do with my gaining weight?” Christy asked, feeling disgusted by her lack of discipline.
“Right. Yes, of course. That’s it. Henny left me for a skinnier girl in 1952. But God punished the son of a bitch. He collapsed on top of her after a night of mattress mambo, if you know what I mean. Suffocated the whore. She was too damn weak to push him off. He did five years in Sing Sing for involuntary manslaughter. That rat bastard adulterer,” Mrs. De Mille said, shaking her head in disgust. “Pardon my French, sweetheart,” she added to Renata.
Christy smiled. “Mrs. De Mille, is that a joke?”
“No, it’s the God’s honest truth. Nurse Ratched,” she shouted. “I need you.”
The nurse stuck her head in. “My name is Hatcher, not Ratched,” she said.
“Hatched, Ratched, Bastard, whatever. Bring me my orange photo album,” Mrs. De Mille said.
“I can’t find it,” the nurse screamed after less than a minute of looking.
“It’s in the freezer,” Mrs. De Mille yelled back.
The nurse brought the ice-cold album along with a Dixie cup full of colorful pills. Mrs. De Mille shooed her away when she tried to get her to take them. She began turning the book’s pages. It was filled with yellowed newspaper clippings. “See, see,” she said, pointing to an article that looked like it had come from the Times. The headline read, LOVE TRYST TURNS DEADLY.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Christy said.
“It is rather funny. Now. It wasn’t then. Anyway, the point is, watch yourself, girlie. You don’t want that husband of yours trading you in for a skinnier dame.”
“You are so wise, Mrs. De Mille,” Renata said reverently.
“I’m not just another pair of perfect cheekbones, Dolly,” the old lady said.
Christy knew what was coming next.
“‘Compare her face with some that I shall show, and I will make thee think thy swan a crow,’” Nectar recited with fervor. “That’s from Romeo and Juli-ett.”
Christy just stared at the three of them and tried to reconstruct exactly how many cupcakes she had consumed.
Things Are Looking Down
DEAR DIARY,
MICHAEL TRAVELS ALL THE TIME. SOMETIMES CHRISTY GOES WITH HIM. SOMETIMES THIS REPORTER NAMED GALEET GOES. SHE’S WRITING A BOOK ABOUT MICHAEL. SHE INTERVIEWED ME ABOUT HIM. I TOLD HER WE EAT DINNER TOGETHER EVERY NIGHT AND PLAY BASEBALL ON SATURDAYS. IT’S A LIE BUT I WANTED MICHAEL TO LOOK GOOD. WE ARE GOING ICE SKATING ON FRIDAY NIGHT SO THEY CAN TAKE PICTURES OF ME AND MICHAEL HAVING FUN TOGETHER FOR THE BOOK. ONCE AGAIN, WE ARE PRETENDING TO BE A NORMAL FAMILY FOR THE PRESS. I PRAY FOR THE DAY WE CAN STOP LIVING A LIE SO THIS HOUSE OF CARDS KNOWN AS OUR FAMILY DOESN’T COLLAPSE IN MORTAL DECAY.
UNTIL TOMORROW,
RENATA
“So, Brownie tells me that I have to clear my thank-you notes with her before I can send them out. Can you believe that?” Christy said.
“Unbelievable,” Michael agreed, breathing hard. Christy was sitting next to him as he worked out on the elliptical trainer.
“I can’t stand her. I’m thinking of quitting the graduation committee. Do you think I should?”
“Maybe you should,” he said.
“No, I can’t. Heading the committee was the quid pro quo for getting Renata admitted. I made a commitment.”
“Then you shouldn’t,” he agreed, flicking sweat off his face with his hand.
“And what’s your take on the cupcake incident?” Christy asked. She had sent him a BlackBerry message about it when he was coming home from the airport.
“Shocking,” Michael said. “Maybe we should put Renata in public school.”
“Michael! We can’t disrupt her life again. Besides, she’s getting a wonderful education at Colby, no matter how crazy the place is for grown-ups. Here, use this towel.”
“Thanks. She may be getting a good education, but what kind of values will she learn at a place that doesn’t approve of children making their own cupcakes?” he asked.
“Oh, that reminds me. I didn’t even tell you about the bulletin-board committee. Wait’ll you hear this.” Christy went on to tell him how the committee was meeting eight times to make the board even though they were having it professionally designed and constructed by an advertising agency.
Michael shook his head in wonder. “Hon, why don’t you work out with me anymore?” he asked.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m gonna start running again. First thing tomorrow morning. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
“You think I’m looking fat, don’t you?”
“No, I like a woman with a little extra meat on her bones.”
Since when, Christy thought in a panic. “Honey, I know I’ve put on a few pounds. It’s the stress associated with all this school business. But I’ll take it off, don’t worry.”
“Speaking of school business, did you hear from Eve?”
“No, not yet. You?” Christy asked.
“Yeah. Three times today. There were a bunch of sticking points she needed my advice about. But they seemed to be close.” Michael had sent Eve to L.A. to negotiate with Scottie’s people over the terms of the dinner invitation he had extended.
“If she makes it happen, you should do something really special for her as a thank-you,” Christy said.
“I will,” he said. “And you should do something really special for me,” Michael added.
“Oh, don’t worry, I will, you sexy thing,” she said making the bedroom face Renata had taught her.
Michael got off the machine, dripping with sweat. “Come here, you,” he said. “Kiss me.”
Christy screamed and ran out of the room with Michael on her tail.
Christy Hayes—New and Improved
Early Sunday morning, Eve knocked on Michael and Christy’s door. The Times had arrived, and in it, Dina’s story. Christy brought it into bed where she and Michael snuggled together to read:
WHERE IS SHE NOW? CHRISTY HAYES
by Dina Gladwell
Olympian tycoon trades glamour for family life
A year ago, the last place you’d
