“Okay,” Christy said, sounding only slightly less needy than she felt. “Would you want to go to bed with Scottie?”
“Christy! Enough. Jeez, what has happened to you? You used to be so beautiful and confident. Where’s the girl I married?”
Christy swallowed hard. “Michael,” she said, barely breaking a whisper. “I’m confused. First you say you still love me with a few extra pounds. Then you say I’m not beautiful anymore. Which is it?”
Michael threw his hands into the air in frustration. “You know, Christy, when you think you’re a loser, people around you pick up on that vibe. Don’t think I haven’t. I’ve been really patient with you until now. Did I stand behind you when the Journal made those sexual accusations? Yes. Was it hard for me to do that? You bet your sweet ass it was. You wanted the kid. You got the kid. You said that wouldn’t change anything, but it did. You stopped exercising. You started eating too much. You don’t travel with me anymore. You can’t have a lucid conversation about anything but Renata and her goddamn school. You’re turning into my ex-wife, and I gotta tell you, hon, that’s not attractive.”
Christy stared at him with her mouth open. She threw her remaining cookies into the sink in anger.
Michael started toward the kitchen door, then turned back and faced his wife. “You keep telling the press that you want to win a gold medal as wife and mother. Well, now you’ve got two kids to take care of. So why don’t you just be what you told the world you wanted to be, and let’s get on with our lives?”
“Michael, how can you expect me to be a mother to Ali when you won’t be a father to Renata?” Christy was raising her voice, but she couldn’t help it. She was sick of pretending that she was okay with the way he treated Renata.
“That’s different. Ali’s my real child. As long as you’re not working, I’m asking you to pay attention to her while I’m not around.”
Christy shook her head. “Your kid’s impossible. The few times I’ve tried to mother her by setting limits, which she desperately needs, by the way, you just give in to her.”
“Well, I think you’ve made some wrong decisions. Like today. Ali wanted hair extensions. Why not let her have them? She needs to know that I’m in her corner right now, that I’ll support her. She’s just come from a home where her stepfather wanted nothing to do with her. Can you imagine how that made her feel?”
Christy stared at Michael in disbelief. “No, I can’t imagine how that must have made her feel, but I’ll bet Renata can. Why don’t we ask her?”
“And that’s another thing,” he said, ignoring Christy’s valid point. “I don’t think Ali should be sleeping in the maid’s room. She shouldn’t feel like a second-class citizen in her own house. She is my real daughter.”
“And Renata’s not my real daughter?”
“No. You know she isn’t.”
Christy looked at Michael, who had turned into a ragged mess between the time Scottie left and now. For the first time, his scruffiness wasn’t endearing to her. “Funny, I don’t know that at all.”
Michael, for his part, slammed his fist into the wall and walked out. That night, he slept in the library.
MY DEAREST DIARY,
MICHAEL BLEW A CASKET AT CHRISTY TONIGHT. DON’T QUOTE ME, DIARY, BUT I FEAR THEY WILL GET DIVORCED. WHO WOULD TAKE ME IF THEY BREAK UP? WHERE WOULD I LIVE? AND WHAT ABOUT SCHOOL? HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED. ALI WAS IN HER ROOM LISTENING TO HER IPOD AS USUAL. ME AND CHRISTY WERE JUST SITTING AROUND WATCHING THE SIMPSONS. THEN MICHAEL CAME HOME FROM WORK AND ASKED WHERE DINNER WAS. CHRISTY TOLD HIM SHE FIRED YOK WAH AND WANTS US TO EAT TOGETHER AS A FAMILY EVERY NIGHT (YAY I THOUGHT!!!). SHE WOULD COOK FROM NOW ON. NECTAR SPENT ALL AFTERNOON TEACHING CHRISTY HOW TO MAKE THIS SOUTHERN DISH SHE GREW UP ON—SHRIMP AND LOBSTER GUMBO. SO WE SAT DOWN TO EAT AND MICHAEL SAID, YOU KNOW I HATE SHELLFISH. SHE SAID NO, THAT HE ATE IT ALL THE TIME. HE SAID SHE WAS WRONG AND HE DIDN’T AND WOULD SHE PLEASE MAKE HIM A STEAK. THEN SHE DUMPED THE WHOLE BOWL OF GUMBO IN HIS LAP. SHE’S GONE MENTAL AND THAT’S A PROBLEM. I’VE NEVER SEEN MICHAEL THIS ANGRY. HE PACKED HIS SUITCASE FOR ASPEN TO WORK ON HIS BOOK WITH GALEET. CHRISTY SAID FINE! GO TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND! MICHAEL SAID MY GIRLFRIEND!!!! YOU’RE DREAMING, CHRISTY! THEN HE RAN OUT AND SLAMMED THE DOOR. ALI LAUGHED WHEN HE LEFT BUT IT WASN’T FUNNY. I’M WORRIED SICK ABOUT THOSE TWO. I WAS PLANNING TO ANNOUNCE MY NEW NICKNAME TONIGHT (FRECKLES) BUT I’M PUTTING THAT OFF UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
YOURS,
RENATA RUIZ HAYES
Thanks for the Memories
The next morning, as was the custom in New York, two thank-you notes with gifts were waiting for Christy with the building’s doorman. First there was the obligatory flower arrangement sent by Brownie Rich. It came from Petals, the florist of choice for ladies of the 10028 zip code. The second, an antique silver compact, was sent by Scottie and Johnny, who did not feel compelled to follow the gift-code conventions of well-heeled New Yorkers.
Dear Christy,
Thank you for last night. As instrumental as I have been in helping you find acceptance in the Colby community, I was still moved that you would host a dinner in my honor. And how very clever of you to think of inviting Scottie and Johnny Childs. I’m so looking forward to Scottie’s involvement in the Golden Latchkey Foundation. Wouldn’t it be excellent if Scottie would devote a whole show to the unique problems faced by these children who are so rich and yet so poor? At your convenience, please call me with her
