“Right, I’m sure you were.”
As Michael and Christy argued, Galit reached into her purse, pulled out a cigarette, and lit up a smoke, acting annoyed by the interruption. Christy looked at her rival’s perfect body, and then glimpsed her newly expanded self in the mirror. That made the situation all the more tragic. Galit sucked on her cigarette, looked up at the ceiling, half closed her eyes, and blew smoke out her nostrils like the evil fire-breathing dragon that she was.
“YOU bitch!” Christy screamed, lunging at her.
Big mistake. Acting by reflex, Galit performed some manner of Bruce Lee–James Bond karate chop on Christy, sending her flying out the door. She had forgotten about Galit’s stint in the Israeli elite commando forces. Her body hit the wall across from the dressing room. Then Galit jumped her, pinning her to the carpet like an Olympic wrestler.
A few shoppers, already pressed together in the tiny shop, heard the commotion and sidled over.
“Michael, get her off of me,” Christy pleaded.
Michael grabbed Galit, who had Christy in some manner of Israeli Ramboesque stranglehold. Somehow, he separated the women.
“I’m calling the police,” the saleslady announced.
“No, don’t,” all three of them yelled. On that they agreed.
In pain, Christy picked herself up and staggered back into her dressing room.
Michael followed. “Christy, let me explain.”
She turned around, gesturing to her sexy ensemble, which was now ripped. “This was for you, Michael. For you!”
“Please, hear me out,” he said.
“There’s nothing to say. I heard everything,” she snapped.
“Galit has come on to me a few times, that’s true. But we came to Aspen to work. I told her I wanted to buy you something after we had that terrible fight. She offered to help me. We ended up here. While I shopped for you, she went in the back to try something on. She called me to take a look. And then she tried to seduce me, but nothing happened…” he trailed off, aware of just how lame he sounded.
“So, it’s all her fault, is it?” Christy said, buttoning her shirt. “And anyway, even if nothing happened, you wanted something to happen, didn’t you?”
“No, of course not,” Michael said sheepishly.
“Don’t deny it, Michael. If I hadn’t walked in, you’d be screwing her right now,” Christy hissed as she zipped her jeans.
“Well, I—”
“I would never have pegged you for a cheater, Michael. Never.”
Christy craved air. Michael followed her through the store.
The bell rang as she opened the door. “Wait! Who’s going to pay for the merchandise you ruined?” the saleslady demanded.
“He’ll pay,” Christy shouted, then slammed the door behind her.
You Can Run but You Can’t Hide
As Andrea spoke, her New York Post was open to Page Six, where a picture of Michael and Galit looking all chummy on the slopes was front and center. “Christy,” she said, “you can’t come home. Not yet.” Andrea didn’t think Christy could handle the press that was exploding in New York.
Christy was at the Aspen airport, about to board Michael’s jet back to New York. She’d called her friend for moral support. “What should I do, Andrea? I can’t very well stay here.”
“You must go somewhere to heal,” she suggested.
“You mean like a spa? Will you meet me? God, I could so use a friend right now.”
“I’m not thinking of a regular spa, Christy. There’s a place, a sanctuary, for high-profile people like you who are in emotional pain. It’s called Moonview. Heinz belongs. He was so burned out last year. The program was a lifesaver for him. You must go to Santa Monica immediately and check yourself in.”
“What, is this like Betty Ford or something?”
“No. It’s a mental-health clinic for executives and movie stars. Moonview understands the special issues faced by people in the public eye. They’ll take care of you, mend your soul, and other than their staff, you won’t see another person while you’re there. It’s completely private. Jerry Levin started it, you know, the guy from AOL/Time Warner. Trust me on this. Go. Heal.”
Christy pulled away from Moonview’s gate into the perfect luminous asphalt of the highway and took in the backdrop of black clouds. Rain and thunder hung in the air. The sky was as dark and gloomy as she felt.
Moonview was a bust. She should have asked Andrea a few more questions before flying all the way to California. The facility was beautiful. The atmosphere was peaceful and supportive, just like Andrea had said. The combination of Eastern and Western healing practices to promote harmony of mind, body, and spirit was made to order for a heartbroken wife who’d caught her famous husband cheating. But there was the small matter of the $175,000 fee (not including food and hotel). Christy couldn’t bring herself to spend such an enormous sum on her self-esteem. To her, this fell into the same category as spending $3,500 on hair extensions for Ali’s self-esteem. “But we have equine therapy,” the counselor had said, as though that explained everything. “Do I get to keep the horse?” Christy had asked. No, Christy’s midwestern values precluded her from dropping the cost of a small house in Glenbrook, Illinios, for a two-week psyche cleansing. It didn’t matter that Michael could afford it.
Luckily, the concierge at her hotel recommended an ashram down the road for a little silent meditation therapy. At $500 for the weekend, it sounded like a bargain.
Christy turned onto a windy road and followed the sign to Dharmadhan Wilderness Center. After pulling up to the lodge and registering, she was directed to her monastic suite, which was more like a cell with its own tiny bath. A green cotton meditation outfit was laid out for her on the bed. No, outfit was too kind a word. It was more like a doctor’s scrubs or a prison uniform. Think positively, Christy admonished herself. This is just like being issued a bathrobe at Canyon Ranch, she thought, hoping that the food here was just as good.
After dressing, Christy
