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  “What has gotten into you?” Jack wanted to know when Cassy initiated sex not long after. “No, no, I don’t want to know,” he said, kissing her. “Just come here.”

  While Alexandra focused her time and attention on the actress, Cassy threw herself into developing new divisions of DBS and rededicating herself as a Darenbrook matriarch. Jackson was elated. Cassy’s son, Henry, knew something was wrong, though. He kept asking her why she was driving herself so hard. Surely there were people she could delegate more to?

  When Alexandra’s relationship with Georgiana Hamilton-Ayres hit the tabloids Cassy was forced to sit in the meetings at Darenbrook Communications regarding the fallout with sponsors. Some had pulled their advertising from the nightly news and Cassy was instructed to have a heart-to-heart with Alexandra about what the hell she was doing. “Tell her I don’t remember her being a dyke as part of the package when we agreed to build a news network for her,” Jackson said angrily.

  Langley, interestingly, was the calmest about it. It was his view the Hamilton-Ayres affair could serve as a lightning rod to define for sure who Alexandra’s core audience was. There had long been criticism of the industry’s primary ratings service because, the Big Three claimed, it was impossible that the DBS News America Tonight had a majority of viewers under the age of forty when their viewers were overwhelmingly over forty.

  Langley was proven correct; the issue did clarify their audience, because with each new story about the celebrated “gal pals” there was a rise in the ratings of DBS News America Tonight with Alexandra Waring, a surge of viewers over forty, but then when that surge receded, DBS was left with the lucrative young demographics the ratings service had always claimed it owned. In the end, the relationship between the women actually attracted more sponsors to DBS News America Tonight, sponsors which wanted to reach that younger audience.

  Though somewhat placated by this, Jackson still saw the relationship as a betrayal of his trust and demanded that Cassy and Langley set ground rules for Alexandra concerning her love life. That meeting, to settle the ground rules, would go down in the record books as one of the most bizarre.

  “Of course there’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing,” Cassy said, trying to ignore Alexandra’s I-dare-you look. “The question is how everyone connected with DBS should handle it. We need to come to an agreement, some guidelines, so the sponsors know what to expect.”

  “I’m afraid Georgiana won’t adhere to anyone’s guidelines but her own.”

  Since Georgiana Hamilton-Ayres was one of the top ten box-office draws in the world, was wealthy beyond caring and the daughter of a tenth generation Scottish earl, there was little anyone could do to greatly impact her life at this point. Except, if they hurt Alexandra.

  “Frankly,” Langley said, “we’re asking for your help with Ms. Hamilton-Ayres. Surely she would not want to see your career compromised.”

  “Understand, Alexandra, DBS is not in any way asking you to compromise your relationship,” Cassy said, not quite able to meet Alexandra’s eye. “We only wish you to observe a guideline that works in the best interests of DBS News as a whole.”

  “I can hardly wait to hear what this guideline is,” the anchorwoman said.

  “I believe you’ve been engaged to be married twice,” Langley said.

  Alexandra nodded. “Yes.”

  “That’s good because it shows that you tried,” he explained.

  There was such a look of fury in Alexandra’s eyes that Langley had been unnerved. “Well, I—” He faltered, at a loss, and looked at Cassy.

  “We don’t want you to say outright, Alexandra, that you’re gay. Or that Georgiana is.”

  “And what do you suppose people think the nature of our relationship is?”

  Cassy couldn’t look at her and dropped her eyes down to her legal pad to doodle. “We don’t care what anyone thinks,” she said evenly. “We only care that you don’t identify yourself with a specific lifestyle, just as we care that you don’t identify yourself with a specific political party or movement.”

  “I see,” Alexandra said. “So what am I supposed to say?”

  Cassy glanced up briefly. “If someone asks you if you’re gay, you are to say, ‘No.’ That’s it.”

  “And if someone asks me if I’m straight?”

  “Then you say,”Langley said, “‘Obviously not completely.’”

  “‘Obviously not completely?’” Alexandra threw her head back to laugh.

  It was awful, but they had worked it out. Alexandra eventually admitted that what DBS was asking them to do was not very different from what Congressman Waring’s chief of staff or Georgiana’s agent had asked them to do.

  “So we’re straight on this?” Langley said.

  “‘Obviously not completely,’” Alexandra told him.

  So DBS contrived its own “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy and it worked out—somewhat awkwardly—but it did work out. Cassy rewarded the sponsors who had remained steadfast throughout the controversy with bonus ad-runs in their new programming.

  “Do you want to catch a bite to eat?” Langley said. “Cassy?” He leaned forward. “Are you okay?”

  “Just a little tired,” she said, pulling her papers together. “Sure. I’d love to have lunch with you. If Jack’s around why don’t we see if he wants to join us.”

  11

  Amanda’s Parents Come Back

  THE PROFESSORS MILLER had no sooner left after Thanksgiving when they announced they wanted to come back to Woodbury for another weekend before Christmas. Since it was increasingly difficult to ever get her parents to leave Syracuse anymore Amanda was surprised. And worried. When she picked them up at the airport in Westchester she wondered if perhaps her mother was afraid her father might not be able to make the trip again. He was a lot older than she was.

  When Amanda’s mother, the former Miss Tinker Fowles of Baltimore, Maryland, called from school to tell her parents she was in love with one of her professors, she had unwittingly begun a scandal. The Fowleses (who had a tendency toward a lockjaw manner of speaking) fanned the flames of the aforementioned scandal by storming the chancellor’s residence in the middle of the night with a battery of attorneys. The Fowleses were at once shocked and dismayed when their daughter arrived and issued her willful ultimatum: they could either accept Reuben Miller as their son-in-law or they could say goodbye to her now.

  In the end the best the Fowleses could do was have Reuben sign a legal document that stated any children resulting from the marriage would be baptized and brought up Episcopalian. (“And since when is the child of a gentile mother ever a Jew?” Reuben had asked his beloved while signing.)

  Amanda’s parents had now been married for over fifty years.

  When Amanda closeted her mother to find out the motivation behind this visit, her mother denied that anything was wrong. They just wanted to see a little more of her and the children and they so loved the house. Unfortunately Howard said if Amanda wanted him to do any of the Christmas shopping, which she did, there was no way he could come out for the weekend; she was on her own. Her parents were not difficult; the only problem lay in her father’s preference for high cerebral exchange over activity, and her children’s preference for activity over high cerebral exchange.

  Amanda nonetheless tried once more to interest her parents in the children’s indoor soccer games (which was no more successful than the last time, except this time they were really, really cold instead of just cold), and tried to interest her two eldest children in the advantages of learning Sanskrit so as to unlock ancient secrets. The only true success over the weekend was when Amanda’s mother accompanied her to watch Emily and Teddy’s riding lesson in the indoor ring at Daffodil Hill. The former Tinker Fowles had never lost the equestrian sensibility that had run through the Fowles ancestry for generations and she had only stopped riding herself five years before because of a torn roto-cuff that had since been repaired.

  For their lesson with J
essica, Emily rode one of Daffodil Hill’s small horses while Teddy rode their pony, Sweets. Amanda, as she always did, saddled Maja and rode her around a bit before the children’s lesson began and walked her around the ring during it. “All right, Amanda,” her mother suddenly declared, waving at Amanda to dismount. She unsnapped the chin strap on Amanda’s riding hat. “Let us see how La Mère may fair upon thy mare.”

  The children were agog when they saw their nana lead Maja over to the mounting block, ascend and swing her leg over the saddle. After Amanda adjusted the stirrups her mother took Maja in a posting trot. She was seventy years old but even time couldn’t disguise the excellence of her seat and hands. When Amanda’s mother pressed Maja into an easy cantor the children were beside themselves, and when Nana gracefully turned into the ring and soared over a jump, Amanda and the children started jumping up and down, clapping and cheering. “Just enough to start a family legend, dear,” Amanda’s mother said as she dismounted. The children would never look at Nana the same way again.

  Howard had been brought up what Mr. Stewart used to call “a half-ass Methodist,” which meant he was baptized, went to Sunday school for a while and then never went to church except for weddings and funerals. Before they were married Amanda and Howard attended a few churches around Manhattan because they agreed it would be a good thing as a couple to be grounded in some sort of spiritual community. They started with Episcopal and Methodist churches and then ran the gamut until they settled on joining a Congregational church. All three children had been baptized there and, if they were in town on the weekend, the children went to Sunday school there, too, but otherwise attended a Congregational church in Connecticut.

  The children were at that age where matters of religion were growing complicated (“What is an infidel, Mommy?”) and for whatever reason Teddy suddenly expressed a fervent desire to attend Temple with his grandfather on Saturday. “By all means let him go,” Howard said. “If anyone can convince Teddy there’s a Power higher than himself I’m all for it.”

  Amanda’s father reported that Teddy had behaved well and in general he was very pleased with his grandson’s companionship. But then the next day Teddy fascinated his Sunday school class by announcing that his grandfather was a Jew like Jesus and explained that Jews didn’t have crosses in their “Templar” because they knew Jesus before they killed Him so they didn’t have to have one. (“You might want to spend a little time going over this with him,” his Sunday school teacher advised Amanda.)

  “What is this boy learning?” her father demanded of Amanda.

  “To pledge his faith and obedience to a loving God,” Amanda answered, hoping against hope her father would not turn around in time to see the children zinging his yarmulke around like a Frisbee in the living room.

  “No cultural context, none,” her father clucked. “Religion out of a cereal box, that’s what you’re spoon-feeding these children.”

  On Monday morning, while Amanda helped her pack, her mother suddenly took her hand, said, “My dearest darling child,” and coaxed Amanda to sit down next to her on the bed. She held Amanda’s hand in both of hers and squeezed. “I sense that things are not all they should be. Between you and Howard.”

  Amanda quickly reiterated the reasons why Howard couldn’t come out this weekend and told her mother she shouldn’t worry but her mother stopped her. “Howard is a hundred times the man Christopher was, but that does not make me want to see him hurt you.”

  “Mother—”

  “I beg you to stop living apart like this.”

  “We don’t like it, either, but—”

  “Listen to me, Amanda, because I’m only going to say this once.”

  Amanda waited for her to say she thought Howard was having an affair.

  “I know you. I’m your mother.” She searched Amanda’s eyes. “Amanda, I know what’s going to happen out here if this goes on much longer.”

  “What are you talking about?” Amanda said, her voice rising.

  “This young man—”

  “What young man?”

  “Miklov.”

  “Miklov?” Amanda said, bewildered.

  “The children look at him the way they should be looking up to their father.”

  “He’s their coach, Mother, of course they look up to him. They idolize him because he’s a soccer star.”

  “They sense he’s in love with you, that’s what your mother’s trying to say,” Amanda’s father said. She turned to see he was standing in the doorway. “We do not believe you’re indifferent to him, either. Not love. But in the other way.”

  “God in heaven,” Amanda cried, jumping up, “how can you say such a thing? You’re saying that I—” She looked at her mother. “That it’s me, that—”

  “Howard won’t forgive you,” her father told her.

  “No, he won’t,” her mother quietly agreed.

  Amanda felt as though she had been thrust into a lunatic asylum. She tried to compose herself before speaking. “I really don’t understand what you mean. I have never done anything to compromise my marriage.”

  Her father slowly made his way in to sit down next to her mother. He looked very old. The years of physical inactivity had caught up with him. Her mother held his arm as he stiffly sat down, as if she were afraid he might keel over. When he was seated they held hands. Her mother looked more like his nurse than his wife. “Why did you take him home by yourself?” her father said. “At Thanksgiving? Why did you not take one of us or one of the children with you?”

  “Because it never occurred to me that my parents would think so ill of me. Now we need to get started to the airport, so if you’d like to continue this ridiculous conversation we can do so in the car.” She walked over to close their suitcase, snapped the fastener and took the bag with her out of the room. She was floored. Mortified. And amazed at what had just transpired.

  Then on the stairs she heard her father say, “It is always better to say something than to pretend not to see.”

  12

  In Which Harriet Has a Meltdown and Sam Steps In

  “WELL THAT’S JUST great,” Sam muttered, pulling at the knot in his tie with one hand and throwing the mail down on the kitchen counter with the other.

  “Now what?” Harriet said wearily. It had been a horrible couple of weeks. It was like an alien had dropped in from outer space to replace the daughter they loved. Sam kept rubbing his eyes and staring again at his nineteen-year-old daughter, trying to fathom what the hell was going on in that pretty head of hers, what the hell had been going on that had led to this. Sullen, angry, her abdomen looming large, Samantha spent most of her time sitting in the wingback chair with her feet up on the ottoman watching TV. She was being belligerent to them, as if this was all their fault.

  “There’s an eleven-hundred-dollar credit card bill for Samantha,” he said, yanking his tie off with a flourish.

  “I had to get some winter clothes,” Samantha’s voice said from the back hall. “Or did you expect me to fashion a loose garment made of rags for protection against the cold?”

  Harriet didn’t bother trying to calm Sam down because now it was she who felt so distraught. She had been on a Planned Parenthood board for sixteen years and contraception had been such an important part of the girls’ upbringing that she swore to Sam the only way Samantha could have gotten pregnant was if she had tried to get that way. But Samantha wasn’t saying much. Just that the baby was due in February, the adoptive parents would pick up the baby from the hospital and then she would go back to school.

  “Come in here, please,” Sam said.

  After a few moments, Samantha appeared. She looked radiantly healthy. She had her hair braided today and was wearing a flattering red dress. Sam held out the bill. “I’ll pay this and then I’m cancelling the card.”

  “You can’t, it’s mine.”

  “I repeat, I will pay this and then cancel the card, and you will use your ATM card from now on, which means if you don’t h
ave the money in the bank to pay for something, then either you talk to us or you don’t get whatever it is you think you can’t live without.”

  She exaggerated her condition by plunking one hand on her hip and jutting out her hips. “It’s my card. I’m over eighteen, I can keep it if I want.”

  “And who’s going to pay it?”

  “I will,” she said, snatching the bill out of his hand.

  “Yeah, right,” he said, turning away.

  When they heard her bedroom door slam Harriet came over to him. “Where would she get the money to pay it, Sam?”

  “She doesn’t have any money. She’s just giving me b.s. to get a rise out of me.”

  “Sam—”

  The tone of her voice made his heart skip. “What? What?” he said.

  “She keeps saying the adoptive parents will come to the hospital. There can’t be adoptive parents already, can there? Unless—” Tears welled up in her eyes and she reached out to the kitchen table for support as she sat down heavily in the chair and dropped her face in her hand.

  “I don’t get it. What do you mean?”

  “I mean—” She looked up at him. “I think she may have already taken money for this baby.”

  “What? Are you out of your mind? What does she need money for? Why would she do that?”

  “I feel sick,” Harriet said, holding her face again.

  “No, babe, no, hang on.” Sam grabbed a paper towel, stuck it under the ice water tap on the refrigerator and then went over to put it on Harriet’s forehead. She opened the towel up and covered her whole face with it. When he saw her shoulders start to quake—she was crying—he felt a kind of fury he had not felt for years.

  “I just want to lie down,” Harriet said, lowering the towel. “I’m fine, Sam, I’m just tired.” He helped her up and walked her to their bedroom. She stretched out on the bed and he took off her high heels. He pulled up the quilt to cover her and sat down next to her. “I’m sure you’re wrong. But I will find out.”