CHAPTER 14
REAL HOUSEWIVES OF THE CIA
T
he life of a CIA spouse can be fun. It can also be lonely, confusing, ter-
rifying, exasperating, and exhausting. And that’s just during training.
Although this chapter is called “Real Housewives of the CIA,” the
title, while descriptive of what follows, was admittedly chosen in part for
the sake of a cheap laugh. In today’s CIA, the dependent spouse is just
as likely to be a “real househusband.” With that in mind, the following
vignettes could apply equally to any CIA spouse.
My wife Stacy and I married young, just before my third year of law
school and her senior year of college. Transferring to a school in Washington
for her last year of college was the first of many sacrifices she willingly made
over the years to humor me and my jealous mistress (the CIA). We both
spoke foreign languages and had spent long periods of time overseas, so the
idea of joining the CIA and living and working abroad appealed to both of
us. Although since she had no desire to work for the CIA, that meant her
career would take a back seat to mine, as long as we hopscotched around the
planet every couple of years. Still, how bad could it be?
Stacy’s first taste of what lay ahead came on day one of “our” new
career, when I shared the CIA’s clear directive that in the future, she would
have to lie to her friends and family about where I really worked. Sadly, she
couldn’t brag about my acceptance into the CIA’s secret spy school, where
I’d jump out of airplanes and train for the exciting life of an American
James Bond. If pressed, she could admit that I had some lofty if exag-
gerated title given to entry-level paper pushers who weren’t able to pass
the foreign service exam and become real diplomats. If cornered, she
could reluctantly reveal that my specialty was compiling statistical data on
soybean production in Paraguay. At this point, anyone interrogating her
about my job would find his or her eyes glazing over, and all questioning141