Prologue

A man reaches out, grasping the final, sharp-cornered stone with bleeding hands and fingers. Exhausted, urging forth his last reserve of strength, willing himself up and over the final obstacle, he pulls his weary legs under him, thrusts up the aching body, pressing skyward. A hot, dry wind stings across his face—he does not care. He surveys what he has conquered: the view of the ground below, the spent bodies of competitors, impaled on lower tiers along the way, and those few sharing the view with him. He has struggled to the top of the pyramid, realizing his dreams and promise.

He is exhilarated, yet a bit self-conscious. As he can see all from his lofty perch, so too, can he be observed. He straightens himself, adjusting his appearance in every way, for whatever is seen says something of him. All must know how he has risen so high and why they should wish to be like him. That applies to his possessions. House, car, clothing, golf clubs, and desk spell out the details of his tastes, his standards, his desires.

His wife is his most important possession. He is the Alpha Male; they are the Alpha Pair. She must be beautiful, young and nubile. Of course, she will be intelligent and cultured. Above all, she is discreet, if not loyal. She runs in the pack with the other executive wives, blending in or standing out in accordance with the demands of a given situation. She is decorator and decoration. It is her duty to do what she must to defy time, age and over-indulgence. In return, she is granted security, luxury and a curious power.

There are such women nearby every boardroom and headquarters. They seek out, and are sought. Adorned with diplomas in Art History and French Literature; denizens of spas, salons and private gyms; they are perfect hostesses and skillful guests. They share their men's beds and secrets. They share their fortunes, too—and are well-versed in the proper use of money for pleasure and power. They are the Trophy Wives—Brass Statuettes on a Walnut Base.

Chapter 1 »