Christy heard the key turning in the lock, signaling that Michael was home. “Fine,” she said to Ali, “we’ll have this out right here and now.”
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner
Michael walked in, followed by Brownie and Fran. “Look who I found in the lobby,” he said.
Shit. Was it that time already? Christy hadn’t even put her jewelry on. The discussion with Ali would have to wait. The child slunk off to her room, relieved to be off the hook.
Fran took Christy’s hand in his. He looked her straight in the breasts and told her how good it was to see her again. Christy caught Michael glaring at him as if he wanted to pummel the man. Brownie, on the other hand, didn’t find the situation the least bit awkward. She was the sort of wife who moved into her own bedroom as soon as her last child was born. Sex wouldn’t even be on her radar screen were it not for all those tabloid reports of her husband screwing this one or that one. As she said to Christy, the fact that Fran cheated didn’t bother her. The fact that his indiscretions hit the papers did.
“Brownie, you look very pretty tonight,” Christy said, breaking the awkward silence. Brownie was wearing a pale green suit and a matching silk blouse, with wide-heeled khaki pumps. Brownie never felt dressed unless she was wearing some khaki.
“Thanks,” Brownie said, inspecting Christy as if she were a bitch in the Westminster Dog Show.
“Would you like a tour of the house?” Christy asked, wondering if she had gotten too fat to wear her Helmut Lang stretch dress.
“Oh, no thanks,” Brownie said. “We lived in this building when we were just starting out.”
“Right,” Christy said.
“Did you know there was an article about you in the Journal today?” Brownie asked.
“How about some drinks?” Michael offered, changing the subject. The group retired to the living room, where a bartender made cocktails to order. Christy had a double martini. Michael told her to slow down.
The doorbell rang and Michael answered it, greeting Scottie and her husband, Johnny. Christy walked up behind Michael and introduced herself. She had seen Scottie on television, she had watched her from afar in Davos, but she wasn’t prepared for the three-dimensional manifestation of this living legend standing in her entryway. Scottie was smaller than Christy had imagined. Her smile was warm and radiant, surrounding her like a bright aura. At the same time, Christy sensed what a tough and determined woman she was. She had to be, to get where she was in life. Just being in her presence made Christy feel like a quitter. One hard knock and she’d gotten out of the game.
Johnny, an athetic-looking six-foot-six skyscraper of a man, introduced himself to Christy. He said he was looking forward to talking with Fran Rich, whom he’d never had the pleasure of meeting. Christy almost told him not to get his hopes up. It occurred to her that she and Johnny had a lot in common. He was with one of the most accomplished partners on the planet, as was Christy. But Johnny had found his niche in life as a hedge-fund manager. She decided to sit next to him at dinner and get pointers on how to find happiness as a high-class appendage. She wondered if it would be rude to ask.
Brownie and Fran stood side by side as Michael introduced them. Brownie actually curtsied when she met Scottie, which surprised Christy, knowing what a stickler she was for proper etiquette. Hello-ow, she’s the queen of daytime TV, not of England.
Yok Wah announced that dinner was served and that everyone should move to the dining room. Christy grabbed another drink on the way in.
Michael proposed a toast to their famous dinner guests and thanked them for coming. As Italian salad was placed at each person’s place, Brownie turned to Scottie. “So, did Michael tell you what was behind this dinner invitation?” Brownie didn’t believe in waiting for just the right moment.
“Why no, he didn’t.” Scottie glanced at Michael, who smiled his guilty smile. Christy knew it well.
“I’d like to tell you about a wonderful opportunity to become the spokesperson for one of the world’s most important children’s charities,” Brownie said.
“I’m all ears,” Scottie said politely.
“Are you aware of how many New York City children of means come home to an empty apartment every day?” Brownie asked.
“No, I’m not,” Scottie said.
“Thousands. Unlike my children, whose mother is entirely devoted to their welfare, many wealthy parents are so busy jet-setting around the world, they ignore their offspring.”
“No,” Scottie said.
“Yes,” Brownie said. “Even the most exquisitely decorated penthouse can be lonely for a child who has only her nanny to keep her company. These kids develop profound psychological problems. Some of them lie. Others steal. Many turn to drugs. The girls develop eating disorders. Most people think that being a child of wealth and privilege is one big party. They never see the dark side.”
“That is so tragic,” Christy said.
“Yes, it is. In order to save these children, we’ve started the Golden Latchkey Foundation. I’m the president,” Brownie said.
“Of course you are,” Christy added. Spare me.
“As president, I’d like to ask you to serve as our spokesperson,” Brownie said to Scottie.
“I’m honored,” Scottie said, looking pointedly at Michael.
“Yes, the board originally asked me to be the face of the charity, but I’m willing to step aside to let you have that honor,” said Brownie nobly.
“Uhm, I’m just wondering,” Scottie asked, “if these children have such wealthy parents, can’t they afford their own psychological counseling?”
“They could if their parents were paying attention to their children long enough to notice the problem.”
“I have an idea,” Christy said. “Why don’t you start an exchange program between the Latchkey kids and the hungry children of the third-world countries who truly deserve Scottie’s help? I’ll bet one week living in Africa or El Salvador would cure those ungrateful
