The Corporate Wife

Not bad, I thought as I poured my first cup of coffee for the day and considered my total transformation from high school dropout to domestic goddess, wife of a successful, corporate executive. Together we have worked his way up the ladder, moved into a custom-built McMansion, and had two wonderful children, a son and a daughter.

My husband, Todd, had been in middle management at an international accounting firm when we first met. My best friend was his temporary secretary and I saw his potential the minute we were introduced. At the time, I was demonstrating perfume in a local department store, sharing an apartment with three other women, and tired of being broke. Todd took me out to dinner, concerts, and on trips to Las Vegas.  I think I fell in love with him at a Kelly Clarkson concert, and it was then I began to use my patience and people-pleasing skills to win him over. I dog sat for him when he was away on business, accompanied him to company parties, picked up his dry cleaning, cooked for him, gave him back rubs, and otherwise made myself indispensable.

We reached a turning point when he was offered a promotion halfway across the country, and asked me to go with him. There was no talk of marriage, but it was a risk I was willing to take. That was the first of many moves I organized for us over the years. Much to my delight, following him from promotion to promotion left me no time to work. I was busy playing tennis with his boss’s wives, working on the right charities, keeping up my appearance, and taking care of the daily grind of living. I decorated our home with finds from antique shops from both here and abroad, kept it clean, pored over recipes and learned to cook meals that would hold up well if he was late coming home. It never dawned on me to complain about his long hours or weekend golf dates. I was the understanding partner, grateful for the time to shop and read. I was relieved not to have to worry about money, and felt relatively secure even though I was in limbo and silently hoped for a wedding ring.

That happened when he was transferred overseas for two years. It was one thing to move within the USA and another to move to Switzerland. He sensed this too, and finally popped the question. Our wedding day was beautiful, with me looking radiant in a sophisticated white designer gown, and him looking handsome in his tuxedo. Surrounded by family and close friends, we celebrated our love and commitment. Then it was off to Europe.

Separated from our immediate family and community, we became even closer. We had to rely on each other completely for companionship as well as sustenance. We both wanted children and I soon became pregnant. Our love for our first born son, Ryan, increased our sense of union and our love for each other. Todd was a great father and a thoughtful husband. Life was good, but I was glad when we finally returned stateside, even though the move was taxing due to my second pregnancy.

We barely got settled into our new home when my daughter, Ava, entered the world and completed our family. We’re more stable now that Todd’s at corporate headquarters and we can stay in one place. The permanence is good for the kids. I’ve become friendly with the other mom’s in the neighborhood and gladly chauffer my kids to school, play dates, karate, dance, and swimming. I’m as likely to throw a neighborhood barbecue as an elegant dinner party and must admit to enjoying both.

I find time to volunteer as the room mom one day a week in each of my children’s private school classrooms. I still manage to work out and still play tennis once a week with Todd’s boss’s wife. Ever cognizant of my husband’s position as vice president, I donate my time to committees of acceptable charities and make sure we attend the right galas. I never give my views on controversial issues and am careful not to express a political opinion. Defiantly, I speak with my checkbook, making it possible for others to carry the torch.

I really do live large and on days like today, I still marvel at my good fortune. I’ve come a long way since I was spritzing people with perfume. And I am happy. I love my children with my whole heart and am grateful that Todd is the total package – a good husband, father, and provider.

Now that the kids are in school, I can have the luxury of taking an hour for myself every day. Sometimes I just sit and listen to music, or soak in a bubble bath, or go for a walk in the woods surrounding our home. Most days I read. I’ve read all the books on both the New York Times Best Seller List and in Oprah’s Book Club. Sometimes I become interested in a subject and focus on it for months. Lately, I’ve been learning about first ladies and completely understand Michelle Obama’s feeling like an accessory to her husband during his presidency. I love to expand my knowledge and feel my reading makes me a more interesting conversationalist.

I do, however, have one long term interest that I keep to myself – I am obsessed with sociopaths and serial killers. I read everything I can find on them, whether the author is an FBI profiler, true crime writer, criminal psychologist or reporter. I follow ongoing trials in the newspapers and on Court TV, and I’ve enrolled in a secret Facebook group that discusses serial killers. I am even one of the many people who write to convicted killers, and I’ve even rented a mailbox under an assumed name in case one of them writes back. It’s not that I want a love affair with one of them, or even necessarily want to meet them. But they fascinate me. I can’t comprehend hurting a dog or cat, let alone killing a stranger. But I can relate to their appearing to fit seamlessly into society while harboring a secret self. Maybe my secret self doesn’t want to take a life, but it would like to throw over the norms once in a while and do something wild – like pole dancing in a gentleman’s club, or speaking my mind to my husband’s business associates. One is as unthinkable as the other.