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During the two-hour drive to the city, Jenna and Anne were entertained with a personal concert. At the top of their healthy little lungs Janie and Riley sang every Kylie Harte song they knew. They knew all of them. The performance ended only when Anne slowed her minivan and exited the East Side Drive at 60th Street. Eric had provided a night’s accommodation at The Plaza, one room for Jenna and another for Anne.“Regular rooms,” Jenna had insisted, “and in Anne’s name.”
Easing the van among a line of hansom cabs, limousines, and taxis, Anne gave her car to a valet and the foursome entered the lobby. While Anne registered, Jenna contained the two wide-eyed kids. The girls looked like baby birds in search of their mother—necks stretched, heads up, and mouths yawning wide.
“Look at that chandelier!”
“Ooh…look at all the gold on the ceiling.”
Janie nudged Riley and they both stared, struck mute, as two women, pencil thin and towering, glided past. “Models,” Janie was finally able to whisper.
“Okay, we’re in 705 and 703,” Anne said. “We only have a couple of hours to get our things up to the rooms, have dinner and get to the concert.”
“Let’s go, then,” Jenna added. But after taking only one step, she abruptly stopped.
There was an almost imperceptible change in the buzz of voices and patter of footsteps in the lobby. Motion stilled a mere fraction, a change no one would notice except someone who had experienced such a phenomenon. Her ears pricked like an animal sensing a sudden storm. Eric was walking through, and for a brief moment every person he passed abandoned all speech and movement. It created a domino effect of silence followed by murmurs. He turned toward Jenna and smiled.
“Mom,” Janie whispered. “Do you know who that was? That was Eric Laine, the movie star. Eric Laine just smiled at you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Framed by fountains and gilded statues, the Plaza rose in timeless splendor against the backdrop of Central Park. Across the street on Fifth Avenue, a grid of buildings spanned east. Some were old, their stone facades capped with carved entablatures, while newer, glass structures glinted like beacons in the afternoon sun.
The eager group headed across 58th Street in search of a restaurant, their pace swift enough to match the pedestrian traffic they walked among. Both mothers vetoed fast-food and decided instead on a bistro with a sidewalk cafe. After a quick dinner Jenna hailed a taxi and they headed downtown to Madison Square Garden.
Hundreds of people, mostly adolescent girls, lined West 34th. Vendors selling Kylie Harteparaphernalia wove through the flow of ticket holders. Scalpers lurked in corners. Jenna and company were swept up among the crowds going through turnstiles and down ramps until they reached their section.
Throughout the concert, Janie and Riley bounced and danced in front of their seats. They joined in with twenty-thousand other voices and screamed for the entirety of the performance. Anne danced along with the girls for part of the two-hour concert, but by the second half of the show, she huddled in her seat, hands over her ears.
Jenna watched her daughter singing and smiling, clapping hands and doing a remarkably precise mimic of Kylie Harte’s dance steps. They were so close to the stage Jenna could see the sheen of sweat covering the singer’s body and how tight the scanty costumes clung to her generous curves. Transfixed, Jenna watched. Transported, she remembered. She knew how hard the pretty girl’s heart was beating. Jenna knew how blinding the lights shining into her eyes were. She knew how the stage shook from the powerful amplifiers and earth-shattering screams of the audience. Jenna knew. She knew all of it.
She twisted her head around at the crowded venue and felt an oddly hollow space inside of her. A flicker of regret. Then her daughter’s delighted voice filled the void. “Mommy, that was so cool! Did you ever see anything so cool?”
“Never,” Jenna answered.
“It was the best!” Riley added. “I love her, that’s what I want to do when I grow up.”
“Kylie Harte isn’t grown up, she’s fifteen,” Anne was quick to remind her daughter.
They squeezed up the aisle to the lobby, where the girls hurried to a souvenir booth. “T-shirts and programs are my treat,” Anne said, as she rushed after. Jenna approached an usher for directions to the rooftop terrace while her friend parted with her money.
Janie and Riley both let out the shriek of someone discovering a dead body when Jenna told them about the backstage party. There was almost no keeping pace with them. Anne tugged Jenna’s arm and told the girls to stop for a moment. “I need to catch my breath.” Her face was pale, her mouth a worried slash.
“Are you okay?” Jenna whispered. The girls stood by untroubled as they examined their bags of loot.
“I think someone is following you.”
Ice was an immediate press against Jenna’s spine. “Are you sure?”
Anne murmured from one side of her mouth. “I noticed him when we got off the escalator. He was staring at you. We’ve passed several exits and he’s still behind us.”
“Does it look like he’s carrying a camera, maybe one hidden under his clothing?” Jenna lowered her head and brought one hand up to cover her face.
Anne automatically mimicked the action. “Wait, why the hell am I hidingmyface?” She turned to glance in the direction of the man. “Shit, I can’t tell. He’s wearing a jacket.”
“C’mon girls.” Anne shuttled them ahead to block them from view of the man who trailed behind. “He’s walking faster. I think he knows we spotted him.”
Jenna pulled at her daughter’s hand and increased her own tempo, not daring to look behind. “C’mon, c’mon. That’s the entrance up ahead, hurry up.” Her voice was a sharp command even though she labored to disguise the tremor in her voice.
