Weekly Address September 25, 2006 (Trophy Wives)

The events of the last 8 days have convinced me that something has gone terribly wrong in the universe. Some sort of karmic mishap is surely responsible for the tragic mistake that kept me from being born independently wealthy.

We've always known that Olivia was clearly meant to be a Rockefeller. Her lust for expensive handbags and shoes is a dead giveaway. Travel is my craving, the more luxe the better. And fine bed linens. Also, I like to sleep in till at least noon and I never clean my house. So it seems obvious to me that I was meant to be rich.

Then there's Ivy, our little changeling. From birth Ivy has been, well...how can I put this without sounding mean? Weird. That's it. And I truly mean that in the nicest way possible. Ivy has always eschewed that which is popular, or typical. Normal is a bad word in Ivy's world.

And yet. And yet....last weekend Ivy and I took a weekend trip to the Sonoma Mission Inn, located in Sonoma obviously. This is an understated luxury hotel, with an emphasis on peace and quiet and spa treatments.

We had massages, and herbal wraps and lavender bubble baths. We padded around the grounds in our fluffy bathrobes. We visited the bathhouse everyday for the "bathing ritual." (A series of hot tubs, warm pools, steam rooms, everything designed to make you melt.) We took a meditation class (pretty much what you'd expect, by the way. You sit there, quietly.) We lounged by the pool and ate of our $17 turkey wrap. Life was good. The sun was shining, the atmosphere was relaxed. And Ivy, my little anti-establishment daughter, sighed "I want to be a trophy wife."

We spent much of the rest of the weekend talking about the advantages and disadvantages of being trophy wives.

Advantages: endless cash flow, no housework, weekends at fancy spas.

Disadvantages: None we could come up with. Let me know if you can think of any. Unless you're Eric, and then I know he can come up with a few. I think he may be nursing a bit of a grudge since I came home and told him he better "step it up" on the whole wealthy indulgent husband scene.

So now I will seque into Olivia's upcoming headshot photo shoot. (It will seem incongruous but trust me, it'll all tie in nicely at the end.)

In the world of acting and modeling, a good headshot is key. It is ALL about your look. So it's time for Olivia to get new headshots. It's been two years since her last bunch, and also her agent has FINALLY made the move from black and white to color. We set up the shoot and schedule a "talent review" with Marla so she can tell us what kind of look she's wanting for Olivia. Marla's sick, but her underlings provide us with the following input:

• They see Olivia as "earthy girl"
• They want to see her in plums, greens and browns
• They don't want anything "high fashion", they want everything to be strictly "commercial"
• The photographer they recommend is prone to asking people to wear short skirts with tall boots and they DON'T want that in these photos. I am specifically told to ignore him if he tells us to bring boots.
• They want photos that are "all-American Noxema girl"
• Her hair wants cutting (reminds me of Alice in Wonderland)
• Hey brows are okay, but need to fill in a bit

Luckily Olivia has learned by now to take nothing personally in this business.

Then I talk to Billy the photographer and his only advice is to purchase high-end clothing and return it after the shoot.

Moral discussion: is it okay to purchase clothing that you KNOW you will be returning?

I decide that no, it's not okay but head out to do just that, which I guess makes me a bad person. I know it's wrong, but I still do it. See, already I'm acting like a trophy wife.

So Olivia and I go shopping. Olivia and I drop $1600 in 2 1/2 hours. Don't pictures loads and loads of garments here. Remember, we're shopping "high-end", so we walk away with 11 items, including a dress that cost $300 and $175 jeans.

We go home, reassure Eric that all the items will be returned, (but then immediately take the tags off of the $300 dress because Olivia wants to keep it for winter formal. ) Take snapshots of Olivia in all the different items and send them off to Marla for review.

Marla HATES every single thing. Violent hatred of our selections. Marla proceeds to review what she would like to see in the photos. Marla offers the following input:

• She also sees Olivia as an "earthy girl", BUT...
• she thinks that Olivia is also an "Abercrombie" girl. (I think this is actually valid. Everytime we go in that store, employees try to recruit Olivia to work there.)
• The browns, plums and greens are drab. She wants bright colors
• She would really like to see Olivia in a short skirt with high boots
• The clothes we picked out aren't "high fashion" enough, they are "too commercial"

Oh, and this is communicated to me less than 24 hours before the actual shoot date. It's 7:30 p.m., Olivia has hours of homework and so I have to run to the mall and re-shop, without Olivia there to try anything on.

Which I do. Brilliantly. I spend $800 in an hour and a half. Abercrombie and Fitch. Nordstroms, GAP...I rush into these stores and basically grab sales people and make them my slaves. Entire outfits are removed from mannequins. The Nordstrom shoe guy is in heaven, because I say "give me a pair of tan flats and a pair of tall brown boots in size 8.5. I don't care how much they cost and I don't need to try them on." I shed all pretense of being a real shopper, telling the salespeople that the clothes are for a photo shoot and I'm going to return them all anyway. No one cares.

I head home with bags and bags of stuff. It's now 9:30 at night. We pull out a chintzy clothes rack from the garage and hang up all the stuff I just purchased, plus all the stuff Marla hated, plus anything else of Olivia's that we think might work. Our entryway looks like a clothing store. Accessories are piled up on the piano. Shoes are everywhere. We snap photos of all the new options and email them to Marla...

And Marla hates everything. She reschedules our photo shoot.

So it's all very frustrating. It's clear that my definition of "earthy girl" and Marla's definition are very different. However, in this process I discovered that it is really cool to shop without looking at price tags. Knowing that we were returning everthing made shopping REALLY simple. "Do you like this? Okay." Olivia and I were alarmingly good at this. We started out with reasonably priced skirts and went directly to a $285 sweater without blinking an eye. It kinda reminded me of when Kathy C. and I went to Palm Springs and stayed in the home of one of our millionaire acquaintances. (Lee Iacocoa lived next door to this guy.) The first day we were there, we hid Wispride cheese spread and triscuits in our suitcases, and cleaned up after ourselves. Two days later we were helping ourselves to $500 bottles of wine and our favorite saying was "don't worry about the mess. The maid will clean up." By the end of the trip, one of us (and it wasn't me) was dancing in her underwear on the bar.

I think I could get used to living this way. (Not the dancing in my underwear part. Unless I got major plastic surgery, whichI guess I could do if I were rich.) It's suprisingly easy. How come I'm not rich? I'm clearly up to the challenge...as are Olivia (duh) and (surprise, surprise) Ivy.

I know my whining here isn't terribly attractive. We are doing just fine financially, nobody is starving in our house. We have cars, a daughter at a private high school, one in college. We're not hurting or anything. I just think that given my god-given ability to live the high life, I should have a chance to actually HAVE one.