Chapter 16
BLAISE HAD THE CVS test the doctor had recommended, the following week, and she went to have the test alone. It was invasive, and there was some risk of miscarriage, but it would give them the information that the baby was genetically healthy, and if she wanted to know the sex of the baby, they could tell her that too. She told them she wanted to know, and she had three or four weeks to wait until the result. And she was nervous about it. Now that she had decided to go forward with it, she hoped everything would be all right. The baby was due on the first of October, and she had decided to tell Salima when it showed, which it didn’t yet. She was very slim and in good shape, and she was only three months pregnant. And she wanted to keep it from the network for as long as possible. She suspected they wouldn’t be thrilled, but she was going to take very little maternity leave, just as she had done with Salima. She didn’t want to take a lot of time. There were too many projects to finish, and someone else would be taking her place if she did.
And she was still adjusting to the idea of having a baby. She was somewhat in shock. She covered a story in South Africa the week after she had the CVS test, and from there she went to London and attended a royal wedding as a guest. She was back in New York ten days after she left, with lots of stories to tell Becky and Salima. She was continuing her busy life, unhampered by the pregnancy.
“You lead such a glamorous life,” Becky said, still in awe of her.
“No, she doesn’t,” Salima interjected. “She still hangs out with us.” And to prove it, they went bowling that night, and they all had fun. Salima said she deserved a handicap, and Blaise said she would probably play just as badly if she wasn’t blind.
“Yeah, just like you can’t cook,” she teased her mother. “And neither can Becky!”
“Yes, I can. I finally got the soufflé right last week.” It had become an obsession with her. Her trial by fire. A rite of initiation, and she had passed.
“Yeah, with Simon walking us through it. That’s like painting by number,” Salima said, teasing her, but she’d been impressed. And the soufflé was good.
“Well, it worked, and I did it,” Becky said victoriously. Blaise was getting to like her more and more, and so was Salima. And Blaise tried to ignore the fact that her heart gave a little flutter when Salima mentioned Simon. She knew he was still very much in touch with Salima, although he had vanished completely out of her life, except for the baby in her womb. She was going to tell Salima that Simon was the baby’s father, but no one else. And Simon, of course, when it was born. But she wanted to keep any press interest in her pregnancy as minimal as possible. And she was hoping to keep it from the network till May or June. Her doctor said she could travel till August, and sitting at a desk during her morning segment, the viewers wouldn’t have to know until she gave birth.
Blaise had plenty to keep her busy. Salima was preparing ardently for her recital on the Memorial Day weekend in May, now that the audition for Juilliard was over. Lucianna had taken her to her audition when Blaise was in London. Salima was hoping for a response by May or June. She was desperate to get into the school, located at Lincoln Center, with three students to every teacher, small classes, fabulous instructors, and dedication to handicapped students.
And Blaise had sweeps week to think of in May for the ratings, which had the whole network in an uproar twice a year. They were planning to show her interview with the king of Morocco during that time, because the producers of her show thought it was so good.
She was going over a stack of research for her new projects toward the end of April when her doctor called, and Mark put the call through to Blaise.
“Blaise McCarthy,” she said in a clipped voice, sounding distracted.
“Hi, Blaise.” It was her doctor, which brought Blaise rapidly back to earth. “I have your CVS results. Everything is perfect.” She said it quickly, to allay any worry, and Blaise heaved a sigh of relief. She hadn’t realized how anxious about it she was.
“That’s great. Thank you.”
“Do you still want to know the baby’s sex?” She checked before she told her.
“I’d like that very much,” she said with tears in her eyes. It was an important moment. Her baby was healthy. The rest was icing on the cake.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor said, smiling. She loved delivering that kind of news. A healthy baby and a happy mom. Blaise had had no preference about sex. She just liked the idea of knowing, but hearing that it was a boy suddenly made it all the more real now. She was going to have a son. She hoped he’d look just like Simon, and as she thought it, the tears rolled down her cheeks. She hadn’t seen him come in, but Mark had walked into her office when she hung up, and he looked shocked to see her crying.
“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” He knew the doctor had called, and hoped nothing serious was going on.
“I’m fine.” He handed her research on a British politician involved in an international money-laundering scandal, and she gave him back some of the earlier research with her notes on it, and then he stopped and turned around on the way out of the room.
“I almost forgot to tell you. You get all the plum jobs around here. They’re sending you to the Cannes Film Festival to do a special. It’s the third week in May, followed by the Monaco Grand Prix the week after. You can stay over for the Memorial Day weekend at the end of it if you want. I’ll book you a reservation at Hotel du Cap.” And as he said it, instead of pleased, she looked horrified and almost cried again.
“Oh my God … I can’t stay over…. Salima’s recital is that Friday night, the last day of the Grand Prix race. She’s been preparing for it for six months. I can’t miss it, no matter what. I do it to her every time.” She had missed her high school graduation, interviewing the president of South Korea. She couldn’t do it to her again. “Mark, I have to be back in New York on Friday afternoon.”
“I’ll book the reservation, but you’ll have to work it out, and leave the morning of the last day of the race, or wrap things up the day before.” Mark looked sympathetic. He knew how much the recital meant to Salima. Blaise had been telling him all about it for months.
“I have to. Salima would never forgive me, and I don’t want to let her down.” She was going to fix this right away and e-mailed Charlie about it immediately, to warn him of when she’d have to leave the Grand Prix. Whatever she did, no matter how important they thought it was, this time she couldn’t fail Salima.
Once Blaise knew the baby was a boy and that it was healthy, she found herself thinking about Simon more and more often. She questioned if it had been a mistake to find out what the sex was. Now she kept wondering if he would look like Simon, and what Simon would say when she told him. She still had no intention of telling him during the pregnancy. She wasn’t going to intrude on his life. And she was only four months pregnant. It was still a long way off. But he seemed to be constantly on her mind.
When the ratings came out in May, Blaise’s were stronger than they’d ever been. Zack came down to her office to congratulate her personally. And Charlie gave her a bottle of champagne, which she took home to Becky and Salima that night. They opened it, and Blaise poured a glass for the two girls. They toasted her with it, and she clinked a glass with a tiny sip in it. Somehow Salima could tell and asked her mother why she wasn’t drinking more. Blaise was always amazed by everything she noticed. Her hearing was so acute, she could tell it wasn’t a full glass.
“Somebody has to stay sober around here.” Blaise laughed and changed the subject. But she was very happy about her ratings too. It would relieve some of the pressure on her, for now at least.
And two weeks later, she left to cover the Cannes Film Festival and then the Monaco Grand Prix. She stayed at the Hotel du Cap Eden-Roc during the Film Festival, and then moved to the Hermitage in Monte Carlo for the Grand Prix. Both hotels were superb. There wasn’t a luxury hotel around the world that Blaise hadn’t been in, a resort or spa where she hadn’t stayed while doing an interview or a special. And there were a number of celebrities staying at both hotels. She enjoyed the Film Festival, and the car race using the streets of Monaco was always exciting. She was invited to parties on yachts and in fabulous villas, and one at the palace hosted by the prince and princess. And on that particular assignment, she had to admit that her life was as glamorous as people said. She was constantly surrounded by movie stars and royalty, and she told Salima about it when she called her every day. Salima was diligently preparing for her recital, and pressed Blaise again to make sure she’d be there.
“I’m flying back that morning,” Blaise reminded her again. “I’m taking the early flight and with the time difference, I’ll be here by noon. I’ll be back in plenty of time for the recital. I can even help you dress.” They had picked out a long white silk dress that looked beautiful on Salima, and it had been hanging in her closet for the last month. And she and Lucianna had designed the program and what Salima would be singing. They had chosen all the pieces that best showed off her voice. And she had texted Simon that she wished he could be there too. They had graduation at Caldwell that weekend, and he had to attend. But he couldn’t have gone to the recital because of her mother anyway. After four months of silence between them, he felt awkward about seeing her. He thought about Blaise frequently, and when he asked about her, Salima said that her mother was okay, and he hoped that that was true.
Blaise called Salima from the South of France every day, and reported on the stars she’d seen and the events she’d been to, but by the end of her trip, Salima could only focus on her recital. By the time Blaise was ready to come home, Salima was in a panic over it.
“You have to calm down. It’s going to be fine,” her mother told her.
“No, it’s not, I’ll be awful. And you better not miss your plane. You won’t, Mom, right? They won’t make you stay longer, or send you somewhere else?” It had happened so often before that Salima was afraid she wouldn’t make it this time, and Blaise was terrified of that too. She was so nervous about it that she got up two hours earlier than she needed to, to get to the airport in time to make her plane. And she was leaving her crew at the Hermitage in Monte Carlo to fly home later that day. Blaise was going home early for Salima, and had warned the network that she would.
Blaise checked out of the hotel in plenty of time, and a limousine drove her to the Nice airport. She was catching a direct flight that only ran twice a day from Nice to New York on Air France. And she handed her ticket and passport to an Air France agent at the first-class counter when she arrived. She knew that everything was in order, and she was half an hour early, which was rare for her. Her plans had gone with the precision of a Swiss clock so far that day.
“I’m sorry,” the ticket agent looked at her with regret. “Your flight has been canceled. We had a mechanical problem, and the plane didn’t get here from New York.”
“No,” Blaise said, panicking. “That’s not possible. I have to get to New York.” This couldn’t be happening to her. She wouldn’t let it.
“I understand,” the agent said pleasantly. “We’ll have another plane here in three hours. Your flight to New York will leave at noon.” Blaise made a rapid calculation, and with the time difference, getting through customs and leaving the airport, she could be at the apartment by two o’clock, three at the latest. It was later than she’d promised Salima, but the recital wasn’t until seven o’clock, and Salima didn’t have to leave the house until six. Tully was driving them. And a hairdresser was coming to do Salima’s hair at three.
“All right, that’ll work,” Blaise said, determined not to get excited about it. Even with the delay, she would be there for Salima. Charlie had been very nice about her not being there for the last day of the race. Her crew was covering it for her. Blaise had been at everything else all week, and she had told Charlie she had enough film to give them more than they needed. She went to the first-class lounge then to wait for the flight that was leaving at noon.
She went to the desk in the lounge at eleven, to make sure that everything was on schedule. The woman looked at her computer, and then back at Blaise with a reassuring smile.
“You’re fine.”
“What time will we be boarding?” All Blaise wanted to do was get on the plane. She hadn’t texted Salima about the delay. She didn’t want to worry her, and she would still be home with plenty of time, or just enough to help Salima get ready and dress her.
“Eleven-fifty,” the Air France agent said, still smiling. But the dazzling airline smiles were beginning to look fake.
“Then the flight must be late. It’s supposed to leave at noon. If you board three hundred passengers starting at eleven-fifty, we’re going to leave an hour late.”
“We always make it up in the air,” the woman said. They were the kind of answers that were supposed to lull naïve passengers into believing they were on time when they weren’t. Blaise knew better. She traveled too much not to know the pat phrases they used when they were lying to their passengers. Blaise did not want to be lied to this time.
“Is the plane here?” Blaise asked, sounding curt, and the woman in the Air France uniform got instantly defensive. Passengers like Blaise who demanded real information were their least favorite to deal with.
“Of course,” she said with a haughty look. But at twelve-fifteen they hadn’t boarded yet, and Blaise was beginning to seriously panic.
“Look, I have to get to New York as soon as possible. I have the feeling you don’t have the plane here yet. I can’t play around here. If I fly back to Paris, what can I get on, to get me to New York?” It would slow her down, she knew, but maybe less than a flight from Nice that might not leave for several hours, and she no longer believed a word the woman said. History had proven her right too many times before, and this time it really mattered to her. She would rather have kept the president of the United States waiting than be late for Salima’s recital or, worse, miss it entirely. She shuddered at the thought.
The agent checked her computer again. She said that she had a flight leaving for Paris in ten minutes, and the doors weren’t closed yet, but she said that Blaise’s bags were on the direct flight, and they couldn’t put her on the Paris flight until they got her bags off the one she had already checked into.
“Which means I can’t make the Paris flight. Okay, let’s get my bags off now. What can you get me onto after you do?”
“I have a flight leaving for Paris in an hour.”
“Perfect.” She was reminding herself to breathe and not lose control.
“But it’s full, except for one coach seat in the back row. Will you take it?” she asked with an evil grin, delighted to be punishing Blaise for the trouble she was causing.
“I’ll take it,” Blaise said without hesitation. The woman punched something into the computer, and then shook her head, while Blaise tried to resist the overwhelming urge to strangle her.
“Sorry. There was an error in the computer. There’s an infant in that seat. The flight is completely booked.”
“When can you get me to Paris, and from there to New York?”
“We have a three o’clock,” she said primly. “You can connect with our five-forty flight to Kennedy.”
“What time does it land?” Blaise asked through clenched teeth.
“It lands at seven fifty-five P.M. local time.” Eight o’clock. Blaise did a rapid calculation. If she landed at eight, she’d get her bags and be out of customs by nine, and in the city at ten, completely missing the recital.
“That won’t work,” Blaise said with a deep sigh of exasperation. “What other city can you get me out of? London, Zurich, Frankfurt. Anything you’ve got. I have to be in New York City by six P.M., which means I can land no later than four.” It was one P.M. in Nice by then, and the direct flight was going nowhere. They weren’t even boarding the plane. “I still need to get my bags off this plane.”
“We have a baggage handler strike here today, just a partial one. One out of three baggage handlers didn’t come to work.” Welcome to France.
“Terrific.” She was ready to kill somebody and would have gladly left her bags in France if she could just get to New York, with or without them. She didn’t care. But even that wasn’t possible because of security.
And with that, they announced that her original nine A.M. flight was leaving at three P.M. from Nice, and would be boarding at two ten. Blaise did another rapid calculation. The flight would arrive at five P.M. local time. She could be in the city at seven. But she couldn’t get Salima ready and take her to the concert. She’d have to meet her there, and it would be close. If there were any further delays, she would be screwed, and despite the best of intentions, she would miss the recital Salima had prepared for months.
“It sounds like the three o’clock from here is going to be my best bet,” Blaise said to the agent.
“I always thought so, madam,” she said with pursed lips.
“No, you thought so when it was leaving at noon, and before that at nine A.M. It hasn’t done either. And if the damn plane isn’t here from Paris now, so we can board at two ten, I’m going to have hysterics in the airport,” Blaise said, beginning to seriously lose her cool. “I have to get to New York.”
“I’m sure you will, madam. Try to be patient.”
“Look,” Blaise said, willing to lie through her teeth if it would impress them, “my name is Blaise McCarthy, I am a journalist in network news, and I have a meeting in New York to interview the president of the United States tonight. And I need you to get me there.” Blaise was willing to do anything to get on a plane to New York. Even lie. She couldn’t disappoint Salima again.
“Very well, we’ll preboard you,” she said, as though pre boarded seats would leave sooner than the others. It made no difference, Blaise knew, except that you got a jump start on the champagne, and she couldn’t drink now anyway, which might have helped. She hadn’t had this frustrating a day in years. And all that mattered to her was Salima and being there for her recital. She would have paid double for the seat on the plane if they could guarantee getting her there on time.
“Shall I still take your bags off, Miss McCarthy?” she said with a vacant smile.
“Of course not. We just agreed that I’m taking this flight to New York. Why would you take my bags off now, especially when you didn’t before, when I did want them taken off and you said you had a strike.”
“We do.”
“Fine. Just leave my bags on.” She had the ticket stubs for her checked luggage in her purse. She texted Salima then that her flight had been delayed, but she would get there. She couldn’t meet her at the apartment, and would meet her at the concert hall. She would be there no matter what. It was seven A.M. in New York by then, and she was sure that Salima was still asleep. Instead, she texted back within seconds.
“Please, please, please get there. I need you.” Her words ripped Blaise’s heart out, and she started to feel sick. It had been a stressful morning, and she was terrified there would be some further delay.
“I promise I’ll be there,” she texted back, and Salima answered back with “ok.” Blaise prayed she was telling Salima the truth.
After that, Blaise waited tensely until they announced the flight to New York, which began boarding at two fifteen, another five minutes late. Blaise headed toward her gate, and already exhausted, she boarded the plane and took her seat, and turned down magazines, newspapers, pajamas, toiletries, orange juice, and champagne. It felt like a bazaar with everything they offered. She accepted a bottle of water and sank back into her seat, praying they would close the doors soon. She texted Salima that she was on the plane, and then had to turn off her phone before she got a response. And at three fifteen they slowly rolled away from the gate. She should have been landing in New York by then. If she had, it would have worked perfectly. Now she wasn’t sure.
They finally took off and headed toward New York, and Blaise sat nervously, glancing at her watch for the first two hours and then gave up. There was nothing more she could do. She would have to do all her rushing on the ground at JFK. And before she took a nap in the comfortable seat, she told the purser that she needed to verify VIP assistance on the ground, to get through the terminal and customs quickly. She told him the story about interviewing the president too. She didn’t know if he believed her or not, but he said he’d check what he could do. And after that she watched a movie for a while and fell asleep. She didn’t wake up until they were serving the meal, most of which she didn’t eat. And after that three different flight attendants asked her for autographs. She wasn’t in the mood but signed them anyway. She was tense for the rest of the flight, checking every half hour on their ETA.
“I thought you were supposed to make up time in the air,” she said, looking anxious.
“Yes, but we’re fighting headwinds today.” Blaise felt like she was fighting all of Air France, headwinds, and the universe. It had been a nightmare so far, of contradictions, delays, and lies, which were standard fare these days for flying on all airlines in every part of the world. It wasn’t unique to Air France.
She went back to sleep then under the blanket, and felt the gentle roundness of her stomach. She would be five months pregnant in a few days, and she was wearing loose shirts and tops that covered the slight bulge. Unless you looked very carefully, it really didn’t show yet, but she knew it would soon. She had managed to conceal Salima until she was six months pregnant, but after that the cat was out of the bag. She had been a young network star then, just starting out, and people thought it was cute, even her producers. She had been twenty-seven years old. She didn’t know how cute anyone would think it was at forty-seven and unmarried. She suspected that Zack would be less than amused, particularly if it caused a problem for them. Blaise intended to see that it didn’t, but she was concerned. It could even start Zack on a bad roll again, looking for another Susie Quentin. Or worse, another Blaise McCarthy. But there was nothing she could do—she would have to take a few weeks off to have the baby. She smoothed her shirt over her belly, and lay in her seat, “praying” the plane toward New York. So far they were on time, and the only thing that could delay them further now was if they had to circle the airport in New York instead of land, due to storms or traffic.
She had tea and a light meal before they landed—it was foie gras, smoked salmon, cheese, and champagne. She skipped the champagne and ate the cheese and foie gras, and twenty minutes before they landed, the flight attendants put everything away and asked them to bring up their seats. Blaise went to brush her hair and suddenly realized that she was going to have to wear the dark blue linen slacks and white shirt she had on, and sandals, to the recital in New York. She wouldn’t have time to go home and change. She quickly brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and put on makeup, and she looked very chic and impeccable when she went back to her seat. Even in casual clothes, she looked like a star. But she was chic for the French Riviera, not New York. At least Salima didn’t care, as long as she was there for the performance, and she prayed God she would be.
It was 5:01 in New York when they landed, and there was an Air France VIP escort waiting for her. They took her off the plane first and literally ran with her to immigration, and stayed with her while she waited for her bags. A porter and the VIP person took her to customs, and she said she had nothing to declare. It was 5:29 when she left customs and raced outside to the curb. Mark had arranged a town car for her since Tully was with Salima, and Blaise texted her as soon as she got in the car, or tried to, only to discover that her cell phone was dead. So Salima had no idea that her mother had landed and was in the car. She tried to call her from the car phone, but Salima’s phone was off.
The driver wove her expertly through traffic, and it was six forty-five when they approached Lincoln Center in rush-hour traffic, where Salima would be singing at Alice Tully Hall. Blaise got out and literally ran across the plaza, to the theater, and produced the ticket she had fortunately put in her purse in Nice. She was so glad she had it with her. Lucianna had arranged a front-row seat for her, as well as seats for Becky and Mark. Blaise was out of breath when she took her place between them, and Mark looked relieved when she got there and beamed. Blaise glanced up at the empty stage, with the grand piano on it. There were two other students performing after Salima, and she was scheduled to go on first. Blaise had just made it by the skin of her teeth, but she suddenly realized that this was the first time she ever had. And she had never tried this hard to come home. Something had changed. Suddenly not being there for Salima seemed wrong, and moving heaven and earth to be there for her was right. And Blaise certainly had.
The audience took their places and the stage manager turned down the lights, as Blaise held her breath, and a moment later Salima walked onto the stage with Lucianna, who left her front and center, close to the edge of the stage. She was wearing a sad, worried look, and Blaise realized that Salima still didn’t know her mother was there. And with a sudden surprising gesture, Blaise left her seat, took two steps toward the stage, and said just loudly enough for Salima to hear, “I’m here,” and suddenly Salima beamed. She had heard her. And a moment later the performance began. She sang like an angel, the crowd applauded thunderously when she took her bow, and Lucianna led her proudly off the stage into the wings. The thrill of victory was on Salima’s face, and Blaise hadn’t stopped crying while she sang. It had been the most beautiful night of her life.
Blaise found her backstage afterward, and Salima threw herself into her arms.
“You came! You did it! I didn’t think you would.”
“I damn near had to hijack a plane to do it. I nearly assaulted a ticket agent in Nice in the first-class lounge. I got here two minutes before you walked onstage.”
“Thank you for telling me you were here,” she said to her mother. “My performance wouldn’t have been the same if I didn’t know you were. I did it all for you, Mom.” And as she said it, Blaise started crying again. She was so proud of her, and so was Lucianna. And Salima went back to take another bow at the end.
Blaise took Salima, Mark, and Becky to Harry’s Cipriani afterward, and Lucianna joined them a little while later. Salima said she was ravenous, she had eaten very little all day, she’d been so nervous. And Blaise told her again how beautiful it had been. Lucianna had had the performance videotaped, and Blaise couldn’t wait to see it again.
And on the way to the restaurant, Salima had texted Simon to tell him how well it had gone. She stood outside the restaurant for a minute to listen to his text, and he told her that he was proud of her too, and he wanted her to send him one of the CDs. She texted him back and promised she would. And she told him that her mom had been there, and made it just in time.
The white silk dress they had gotten for the recital looked beautiful on Salima, and Becky had bought a new dress too, at Barneys, and Blaise laughed about what a mess she was, in shirt and slacks and gold sandals, wrinkled beyond belief after eight hours on the plane.
“I don’t care if you showed up naked, Mom. I’m so happy you were there.” Salima beamed.
“Me too,” Blaise said, as they held hands. Blaise leaned over and kissed her then. She had never been prouder in her life, of Salima for her accomplishments, hard work, and outstanding performance, and of herself for finally showing up when it counted. For once, network news had taken a backseat to her family, and Salima had come first. It was the happiest night of Salima’s life, and Blaise’s too. And as she sat smiling at Salima, Blaise felt the baby move for the first time.