Sincerely,
Brownie Rich
Dear Christy,
Many thanks for the lovely dinner you hosted. Johnny and I enjoyed getting to know you and Michael better. Don’t worry, I will not hold that beastly Mrs. Golden Latchkey against you. Michael told me how much torture she has inflicted on you as you’ve tried to do the right thing by your daughter’s school. Just don’t ever send her my way again, or I will have to choke you with a tomato wedge (only kidding, NOT).
It was terrific talking to Michael. You are a lucky woman to have a husband who loves you so much. No matter what subject we talked about, the conversation always came back to you. Johnny mentioned that you feel you’re living in the shadow of Michael, who is so very accomplished. But from what I observed, you are the light of his life. How fortunate you are to have had it all in athletics, business, and love. Not many of us can make that claim.
With appreciation,
Scottie Childs
The New Trophy Wife
On Thursday, Christy pulled herself together to go with Andrea to hear Dr. Mindy Harris speak about the “New Trophy Wife” at the Yale Club for a Mount Sinai Medical Center benefit. At the last minute, Andrea canceled because Heinz’s enlarged prostate had gotten even larger. Christy wore Gucci, Pucci, and Prada in order to blend in with the crowd. And blend in she did. The room was filled with designer-clad trophy wives.
Christy sat at a table of women who seemed to know one another. An elegant brunette suggested that everyone introduce herself. They went around the table. “Hi, I’m Chappy Reeves. I’m married to Henry Reeves.”
“I’m Christy Hayes, married to Michael Drummond.”
“Hi there. I’m Susan Gilbert, married to Jack Gilbert.”
“Hi, Tiffany Underberg, married to Saul Underberg.”
“Carter Jaeger, Jack Jaeger’s second wife, although I really don’t consider myself a trophy.”
“Kathleen Stowers. I’m not a trophy wife yet, but I’d very much like to become one.”
“Lilian Underberg. I’m an ex–trophy wife. I used to be married to Saul Underberg.” She and Tiffany gave each other polite head nods.
A waiter came by with salads. Everyone took one, with dressing on the side. Nobody but Christy wanted the mimosas they were offering. The ladies chatted as they nibbled.
As Christy drenched her arugula-and-endive salad with dressing, she noticed that Lilian was pushing her greens around on the plate like a waifish model. “Not hungry?” she asked her.
“Nothing tastes as good as thin feels. That’s my motto,” Lilian said.
Christy put her fork down.
The waiters came by and replaced everyone’s salads with white poached fish and steamed veggies.
The conversation turned to which charity committees everyone was on. Christy wasn’t sure what to say when it was her turn to speak. Luckily, she wasn’t the only one not involved in that endeavor.
“You know,” Tiffany Underberg said, “I’ve been looking for a pet cause. Maybe you all can help me find a good one.”
“There are so many wonderful organizations to support, dear,” Susan Gilbert said. “Would you like me to take you under my wing, maybe mentor you through the charity circuit?”
“Would you?” Tiffany asked.
Lilian looked at Christy and rolled her eyes. “She’s the same age as Saul’s granddaughter.”
“It must be hard,” Christy said sympathetically. Okay, this is one weird scene.
“You don’t know the half of it. The day I turned forty, Saul dumped me. Then he stopped financing my makeup line. That was the end of my career. These people”—she pointed to the women in the room—“used to be my friends. Now they avoid me. They all went to Saul’s wedding. I hate them.”
“I can see that you’re bitter,” Christy said.
“I’ll be back. Don’t you worry,” Lilian said, fire in her eyes.
“No doubt,” Christy agreed.
Before the charity conversation got around to Christy, the waiters picked up everyone’s plates and offered coffee and chocolate cake. Most everyone said yes to coffee (with skim milk) and no to cake. Knowing this crowd, Christy wondered if the Yale Club had even bothered to bake the cake.
“…and here she is, Dr. Mindy Harris,” a beautifully dressed woman was saying. Everyone applauded. Christy turned her attention to the podium.
“Do you think she’s had work done?” Lilian whispered. Christy just shrugged.
“When Kitty asked me to come speak about the ‘New Trophy Wife,’ I was happy to do it, because it’s time to put that image to rest. You know the image about which I speak—the grotesque frog of a CEO married to the ravishing young bubblehead as a testament to his manliness. Well, let me be the first to tell you that the old-school trophy wife has been traded in for a newer model, no pun intended.”
The trophy wives applauded nervously at the news. Most of them hailed from the old school.
“Yes, brain candy has replaced arm candy,” Dr. Harris said. “Not that today’s trophy wife isn’t gorgeous—she is. But she is also accomplished, intelligent, well bred, and busy pursuing her own work. As I look around this room, I see women who personify exactly what I’m talking about. There’s Chappy Reeves, Henry’s wife. Chappy has a master’s degree in political science, she’s a writer, a senior fellow at Columbia, she serves on a variety of boards. At the same time, she is beautiful, entertains lavishly, loves her jewelry, has an extensive Impressionist art collection, never misses the opera. Who did you say you were married to, Chappy?”
Everyone laughed, including Chappy.
“And over there, I see Christy Hayes Drummond,” Dr. Harris said.
Oh my God, she’s talking about me, Christy thought. Please don’t do that.
“Christy is an Olympic champion, an entrepreneur, a face we have seen on billboards across the country, a champion for women who choose family over work. She’s also a mother. Christy Hayes Drummond is a wonderful example of the new trophy wife—a beautiful woman who has the perfect combination of brains, glamour, confidence, and achievements. She epitomizes what the powerful
