“Oh, right. I knew that.”
“Uh-huh,” she said dubiously. “Back to the gym? Or you can start doing Cindy Crawford?”
“There’s only one way I wanna do Cindy Crawford,” he said, “and it doesn’t involve a videotape.” He thought about it. “Then again, maybe we could make one of those movies. Ow! Ow! I take it back. Stop!”
Wren glared playfully and made another pinching motion.
“I’ll go back to the gym,” he promised.
“Good. Now, let’s order. Then we’ll tell you what we’re thinking.” She raised her eyes. Everyone who worked at the restaurant knew who she was, and she’d barely begun to scan the room before the waiter appeared.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Will you please bring us a bottle of Rémy XO? Four glasses, and coffee for my husband. He still has to drive.”
“Of course.”
She nodded toward Christy, who beamed in anticipation. My little Sunshine could light up a room when she was in a good mood. And she was always in a good mood when food was involved.
“…sautéed mushrooms,” Wren was saying, “the haricots verts, and a piece of peanut butter pie. The rest of us will share a molten chocolate lava cake.”
“Right away, ma’am. Anything else?”
Christy cleared her throat softly.
“Yes?” Wren chuckled.
“Um… you said I could have two. Desserts, I mean.”
“Of course!” She gestured for Christy to order.
“May I have a chocolate lava cake too?”
The waiter didn’t even bat an eye, although he clearly wondered where Christy planned to put it all.
“Oh, my love…,” Wren sighed in amusement.
“What?” Christy complained. “You said it’s a restaurant. You said they’ll keep—”
“I know, I know! And they will. I just wish I had your metabolism.” She nodded to the waiter, who turned and headed toward the bar.
“Okay,” I said into the vacuum left by his departure, “tell us about these plans of yours.”
Wren took a moment to compose her thoughts, and Christy couldn’t hide her excitement.
“Well, I’ve been talking to a headhunter,” Wren said. She added quickly, “I didn’t call him. He called me.”
“Go on,” Trip said.
“Well, it seems that a certain sporting goods company is looking for someone to handle PR and athlete endorsements. My name came up, and they…”
* * *
I celebrated my thirtieth birthday in a mild funk. I felt middle-aged, even though I wasn’t. Still, I wasn’t in the same physical condition as the twenty-year-olds at the gym, and I didn’t recover as quickly after a hard workout.
In the career department, I’d been forced to close a successful business and had lost a lot of money because of poor decisions. Granted, we’d been scammed by a con man, but that didn’t make it any easier to stomach. Also, I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. We had a plan, but it wasn’t what I thought I’d be doing at thirty.
On the plus side, my sex life was better than ever. Christy and I had more distractions in our lives, but we hadn’t lost the spark in the bedroom. Our little swinging group was fun too, especially when Brooke, Erin, or Renée came to visit. Christy herself was more beautiful than the day we’d met, and a couple of children had filled out her slender curves. She was still petite, but no one would ever mistake her for a teenage boy.
And finally, I had two beautiful daughters. Laurie was an absolute joy. She was bright and cheerful, and she had Christy’s physical grace. Emily was a joy in a different way. She was more like me, in that she analyzed the world around her. She was far more stubborn, but I loved her determination as much as Laurie’s easygoing nature.
All in all, I couldn’t have asked for better children or a lovelier wife. I even decided that our business troubles and career setbacks were temporary. We would learn from our mistakes and come back better than ever.
So, maybe thirty wasn’t so bad after all.
Part 3: Jul 1993 – Jun 1996
We officially closed our company doors on July 31, 1993, three years after we’d opened them. We didn’t have any unpaid creditors, and our office lease was up, so we didn’t even have to declare bankruptcy. Our attorney simply filed the forms to dissolve the company. It was depressingly simple.
We managed to salvage more money than we thought, but not enough to maintain our current lifestyles. Fortunately, we didn’t need to. We had other plans.
Wren had accepted the job with the big sporting goods company. It was a huge step and an opportunity to work for a national brand. Trip was proud of her, which was understandable (we all were), but he was proud of himself too.
“Hey,” he boasted, “I’m putting my own career on hold for my wife’s.”
I didn’t point out that it was our own fault that our careers were on hold, or that the next few years would actually advance them quite a bit. But in a way he was right. We had decided on the current plan because of Wren’s job offer. Christy had been all for it, of course. She was excited to live near her nana.
* * *
We sold our houses and three of our cars in the summer of 1993. Trip was sorry to part with his fancy BMW, but we kept Wren’s smaller one. It was paid for and more practical. Besides, she’d be doing most of the driving after we moved. We sold or gave away a bunch of furniture, too, since we wouldn’t have room for everything. We stored some art and other things in the garage at my parents’ house, but not enough to inconvenience them. Then we packed the rest of our belongings into a single U-Haul truck and moved to Boston.
Wren started her job with the big company and loved everything about it. She came home after the first week and announced that she’d be working with a Who’s Who list of professional athletes. Even I recognized most of the names. And Trip nearly wet himself when she told him that sometimes her duties would include public appearances with said athletes.
“I might need you to tag along,” she said to Trip, almost casually, “if your schedule allows.”
I didn’t need the Psychic Friends Network to know that his schedule would definitely allow.
He and I started new jobs as well. Laszlo had made a few calls on our behalf, and his name still opened a lot of doors in Boston. We went to work for a midsize A&E firm that needed experienced architects for several short-term contracts.
We’d only be doing project management, not design, but a job was a job. Besides, we didn’t intend to stay forever. We simply needed something to pay the bills until we could put phase two of our plan into action.
* * *
Christy spent most of her days being a full-time mom to our kids and a nanny to Wren and Trip’s. The two older ones went to preschool in the mornings, while Christy and the younger girls had adventures at home and around the neighborhood.
They spent afternoons in the apartment. Christy picked up Laurie and Davis, fed everyone snacks, and put them all down for a nap. Then she went to work.
She didn’t have a proper studio, but we’d created one in the corner of the living room. She couldn’t work in metals or stone like she wanted, but her sketchbooks were full of designs and ideas.
Then she found a local artist collective with a kiln, and she began sculpting porcelain figurines, everything from cute little animals to larger statuettes of dancers. The collective sold them in its gallery, and they practically flew out the door.
She even started taking commissions. One sweet little old lady paid her to sculpt a life-size statue of her favorite terrier, long since deceased. Another lady wanted a series of custom dolls for her grandchildren, not deceased.
She even did a nude statuette for a woman about our age who wanted a gift for her very rich and much older boyfriend. He liked it so much that he made a couple of cautious inquiries and then commissioned several erotic pieces.