The way Jasper thinks he knows better than me about the finer things in life hasn’t helped our relationship in the romance department at all. I’ll be the first to admit that classical music, decorative arts, and art collections are not my forte. It wasn’t Jasper’s forte either when we first met. Now, he’s one of New York’s most respected “collectors”, and I’m scratching my head trying to remember the last time we were intimate. Go figure.
No one in my family brought art or real estate strictly for investment. I was brought up in a modest working-class family in the suburbs of New Jersey. My family didn’t have four-poster beds with Egyptian cotton sheets, leather wallpaper, a Lalique crystal dining room table, a Picasso hanging in the foyer, or a built-in pool. But I still managed to be happy. I loved my simple childhood.
I used to think it was cute when he schooled me about the names of artists, architects, and operas that are popular with the partners in his law firm. Back then, he’d even consult with me before he’d actually set foot in an auction house. Sometimes, he’d blow my phone up a million times during the day with details about an upcoming auction. But over the past decade, my husband’s love of art has become oppressive. It hurts deep in my heart when he lets an auction take precedence over our family’s needs. Missing a soccer game or two or a recital is understandable, not an entire year’s worth. He’s missing out on the twins’ childhoods and they’re missing out on their father. If you ask me, deep down, I think Jasper is addicted to the adrenaline rush from ‘winning.’ It doesn’t matter what it is – if it’s considered the best of the best, he has to have it. As a result, we have amassed a top-notch African-American art collection worth several million dollars. At the same time, I attend family gatherings or social functions alone.
He certainly hasn’t paid half as much attention to me as the Christie’s catalog for the Cox Collection that he’s been carrying around. I could shave my head tomorrow and I doubt he’d blink an eye. He’s too busy memorizing the province of each piece of art from one of the most significant American collections ever to even notice. When I remind him we don’t have any more wall space available for another so-called ‘masterpiece’, Jasper just laughs and keeps flipping the glossy pages of his dogeared catalog. I miss the days when he used to make me feel like the only woman in the room.
Is there anything wrong with a wife wishing her husband would spend more time looking at her than some silly art auction catalog? If so, I am guilty because I have gone to a lot of trouble to make our dinner at the Plaza Hotel romantic.
First off, I managed to get my stylist, Joe Murray, to squeeze me in for a last-minute appointment at his Hale Organic Salon. Jasper loves it when I wear my hair up, and Joe is the master of the updo.
Secondly, I found the perfect black dress online at Nordstrom. It’s off the shoulder, silky smooth, and the boning inside makes my waist look like it did before I had twins. My stationary bike workouts while our nanny, Carla, watches the kids have paid off. My legs look great in a shorter hemline. Thank you, Peloton! And Jasper’s Christmas gift from last year, a strand of pearls long enough to make Coco Chanel jealous, adds a touch of stated elegance that Jasper appreciates.
Finally, there isn’t a setting that’s more romantic than the Champagne Bar at the Plaza Hotel. The intimacy of only ten tables overlooking Fifth Avenue is only enhanced by the world’s finest champagne, caviar, and wines available upon request. Thankfully Jasper has already agreed to turn off his phone, so there will be nothing to interrupt us. Tonight will be just the two of us like when we first met. Two people in love celebrate the best time of the year. Plus, the Champagne Bar is conveniently part of a hotel. So if things go according to my plans and the magic of the holidays cooperates, Jasper and I may get a room. I already called ahead to confirm they have a few vacancies for tonight, which is why I took the extra step to ask my mom to stay overnight and watch the kids.
Click HERE to read Pink Champagne Christmas Story PART 1