IT’S MONDAY, JENNY’S BIRTHDAY, AND Erica is standing on Sixth Avenue outside the Time and Life Building, waiting for her arrival. She’s going to show Jenny around the network and then there will be a small party in one of the studios. Lesli is in charge of the preparations. To lessen the chances that Jenny will feel self-conscious, Erica has invited Andi’s ten-year-old son, Lesli and her wife’s three kids, and Rosario’s five-year-old granddaughter. Not wanting to fulfill Dirk’s prophecy that the visit will spoil Jenny, Erica has asked for no presents. She’ll give Jenny the birthday iPod in her office.
A car pulls up to the curb, the back door opens, and Jenny climbs out. Erica’s first thought: She’s grown up so much. Erica feels a stab of sadness at what she’s missing. But Jenny is here now—they have this day together. She rushes to her.
“Jenny!”
Erica sweeps Jenny up in her arms, squeezes her tight, kisses her, swings her with joy. Passersby stop and watch.
“This is embarrassing, Mom,” Jenny says.
Erica freezes and then puts her down. She’s messed up already. “I’m sorry, honey, I guess I got carried away.”
“I guess you did.” Jenny looks up at Erica with an exasperated, indulgent expression, as if she’s the parent and Erica is the child. “But that’s okay, Mom, you can’t help it.”
“You’re right. I can’t help loving you very, very much.”
Jenny is wearing a navy-blue dress and matching flats, her brunette hair hangs down her back, and she’s carrying a backpack. Erica suddenly feels at a loss, awkward and vulnerable around her daughter. She smoothes Jenny’s hair. “You look very pretty.”
A well-dressed woman approaches. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but I just wanted to say I’m a big fan.”
“Thank you,” Erica says, wanting to kiss the woman for her perfect timing.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best thing on cable news these days.”
“I agree,” Jenny says, taking Erica’s hand.
Erica beams like a lighthouse and leads her daughter inside.
She takes Jenny to Greg’s office first. He stands up, a big smile on his face. “I think I know who you are.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jenny says quietly, then she looks down. Erica finds her shyness so touching.
“I’m delighted that you’re with us today. Your mom is always telling us how wonderful you are and how proud she is of you.”
“Don’t all moms have to say that?”
Erica has an urge to lean down, take Jenny by the shoulders, and say, No, honey, no, they don’t. Some moms belittle their kids, let them go to school with filthy hair and filthy clothes, never cook them meals or help with homework. In fact, some moms hate their children.
She doesn’t say it, of course, but someday she wants her daughter to know her history, to understand how hard she’s worked to make some kind of peace with her childhood, to build a career and a life for herself. And for Jenny. For the two of them. Together. Soon. It has to happen soon or her daughter will slip away from her forever.
“Maybe all moms have to say it, but your mom means it,” Greg says.
Jenny can’t disguise her wonder at Erica’s office, with its views up to Central Park. She walks around examining everything, asking questions about the files on Erica’s desk, watching the huge TV that—its screen split in four—shows all the major cable news networks at once.
“Are you going to be on TV today?”
“No, Greg gave me the day off so I could spend it with you.”
“What if there’s breaking news?”
“Then I may have to step in. But only if it’s about the Kay Barrish story.”
Jenny is thoughtful, nods her head. “That’s a big story. I hope they find out who paid Yanez to kill her.”
“I hope they do too.”
“There has to be justice,” Jenny says.
Erica feels like her heart could burst right out of her chest. “Yes, honey, there does.”
Jenny walks over and opens the closet door. Nancy Huffman has filled it with suits and dresses for Erica. “Wow, Mom, are these all yours?”
“I guess you could say they are. The wardrobe woman picked them out for me.”
“She did a good job.”
“You can tell her that yourself. She’ll be at your party.”
“I like this one,” Jenny says, taking down an above-the-knee white dress with a stripe of bold black abstract pattern running on a diagonal across the front.
“That’s pretty cool,” Erica agrees.
“Try it on.”
Erica slips out of her workaday grayish-blue dress and into the black-and-white one. “What do you think?”
“You look like a star, Mom.”
In that moment Erica realizes she not only loves her daughter, she likes her. Any kid who cares about justice and fashion is a kid she wants to know.
“Now that I’m properly attired, shall we head down to the party?”
“Do we have to?”
“I know you don’t like parties, honey, but it’s going to be small. Some of the people I work with are eager to meet you. We won’t stay long, then we’ll walk up to Central Park, just the two of us. How does that sound?”
“Nice.”
Erica and Jenny walk into the studio where the party is being held. Erica stops short. What the—? There are at least forty people milling around—including Claire Wilcox—streamers and happy birthday signs, a three-tiered cake, a food table manned by a caterer, and a disc jockey spinning some annoying pop tune at earache volume. Nylan is standing at the edge of the festivities, watching with a patriarchal smile. The other girls at the party are much more urban-outfitted than Jenny—wearing leggings and sparkly sneakers and bright tops. Jenny looks like a suburban girl whose grandmother picked out her dress. She shrinks into herself.
In spite of all the forced gaiety, the party feels tense—people are a little too convivial, as if they’re extras in a party scene in a bad movie. Suddenly the music stops, the singing of “Happy Birthday” starts, a confetti gun goes off, and nine candles are lit on the cake. The off-key cacophony feels like it’s triggering the mother of all migraines. Erica sucks air and fights to control her anger.
The singing ends and Claire takes center stage, shushing the crowd. She’s beaming like a spotlight. “On behalf of everyone at GNN, I want to welcome Jenny to our family. Today is a big day. You’re turning nine. Which is a wonderful age, because you’re still little, but you’re getting big! So I got you a big present . . .”
An assistant appears carrying a six-foot-tall stuffed giraffe that she presents to a mortified Jenny as everyone laughs.
“. . . And a little one.” Claire hands Jenny a small blue box from Tiffany’s. The crowd coos. Claire looks right at Erica and says, “I know this was a no-gifts party, but honestly, what’s a birthday without a present or two? Am I right?”
The party shouts agreement.
Nice work, Claire, making the whole party about you. The music restarts. Then Erica sees a cameraman taping it all. That’s when she goes white-hot.
“I’ll be right back, honey,” Erica says. She walks over to Lesli, struggling to control her voice. “What’s going on here? I asked you for a small party.”
Lesli looks at her—her eyes hold apology. “Nylan insisted on this, Erica.”
“Did he ask for it to be taped?”
“He did. He wants to use the footage in promos for your show.”
Erica crosses to Nylan. “I want the filming to stop.”
“Calm down, Erica. This footage is gold for your image.”
“Jenny is my daughter, not a prop in my career. The taping should have been cleared with me, and I want it to stop.”
Nylan says nothing, does nothing. Erica can feel herself start to sweat. This is the last thing she needs today, Jenny’s day. Still Nylan says nothing, does nothing. But his eyes hold something . . . What is it? . . . Is that desire? . . . Is he getting off on watching her twist in the wind? Unreal.
Erica strides over to the cameraman. “Please stop filming.”
He looks over to Nylan for guidance.
“If you don’t stop filming right now, I’m going to rip the camera out of your hands.”
He turns off the camera.
Nylan comes over. “You have a lot of passion, Erica. Which makes us kindred spirits.” He gives her a half smile. “I’d like to see you in my office tomorrow morning at ten.”
“What about?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Jenny comes over. Nylan drapes his arms around her neck and says, “Hi there, pretty girl.”
Erica shudders with revulsion and rage. She removes his arms and pulls Jenny close to her.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” he asks.
“Jenny, this is Nylan Hastings, the founder of GNN.”
“How do you do?”
“I do well. Thanks to your beautiful mom.”
“Oh look, there’s Nancy,” Erica says.
“See you in the morning,” Nylan says, walking out of the party.
Erica wills her game face on—this is Jenny’s party and she’s going to do what it takes to salvage it. “Jenny, this is Nancy, the lady who picks out all those nice outfits for me.”
“I chose that one,” Jenny says.
“It looks terrific on your mom,” Nancy says.
“I love it,” Erica says. “It makes me feel like a New York sophisticate. There’s no label. Who’s the designer?”
“I guess I’m busted,” Nancy says.
“Wait a minute—you designed this?”
“Without you it was just fabric on a hanger.”
Who needs Jason Wu when you have Nancy Huffman? “We have to talk.”
Over Nancy’s shoulder, Erica spots Greg arriving. He comes over.
“I thought this was going to be a small party,” he says.
“You and me both.”
Greg chats with Jenny. He’s so easy with her, has no problem drawing her out. She laughs at something he says.
“What’s in the little blue box?” he asks. Jenny opens it—it’s a necklace with a silver J pendant. “Do you like it?”
“I don’t wear jewelry,” Jenny says.
Greg gives Erica a this-is-a-great-kid smile. Erica starts to relax. It’s not the party she wanted, but so be it. She and Jenny sit and share a piece of cake. Claire comes over and kneels in front of them with a syrupy smile on her face.
“What a lot of excitement!” she says. “Have you named the giraffe yet?”
“No,” Jenny answers. “I’m kind of too old for stuffed animals. I’m going to donate it to Toys for Tots.”
Claire is momentarily taken aback but recovers in a flash and slaps on her empathy face. “Ooooh, that’s so sweet of you.” Then she turns to Erica. “How’s Mom holding up?”
“Mom is great. Actually, we’re just on our way up to Central Park. Would you be a doll and deal with this?” Before Claire has time to answer, Erica hands her their paper plate with the half-eaten piece of cake on it. Then she takes Jenny’s hand and they slip out of the party.