When she had hung up, she placed a call to Judge Waldman.
The familiar voice came on the telephone. “Well. I haven’t talked to you in some time, young lady.”
“I wanted to thank you for having Philip Redding call me.”
“I wanted to make certain he was in good hands.”
“I appreciate that, Your Honor.”
“How would you like to have dinner with an old man one evening?”
Jennifer was taken by surprise. “I’d love having dinner with you.”
“Fine. I’ll take you to my club. They’re a bunch of old fogies and they’re not used to beautiful young women. It’ll shake them up a bit.”
Judge Lawrence Waldman belonged to the Century Association on West 43rd Street, and when he and Jennifer met there for dinner she saw that he had been teasing about old fogies. The dining room was filled with authors, artists, lawyers and actors.
“It is the custom not to make introductions here,” Judge Waldman explained to Jennifer. “It’s assumed that every person is immediately recognizable.”
Seated at various tables, Jennifer recognized Louis Auchincloss, George Plimpton and John Lindsay, among others.
Socially, Lawrence Waldman was totally different from what Jennifer had expected. Over cocktails he said to Jennifer, “I once wanted to see you disbarred because I thought you had disgraced our profession. I’m convinced that I was wrong. I’ve been watching you closely. I think you’re a credit to the profession.”
Jennifer was pleased. She had encountered judges who were venal, stupid or incompetent. She respected Lawrence Waldman. He was both a brilliant jurist and a man of integrity.
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Off the bench, why don’t we make it Lawrence and Jennie?”
Her father was the only one who had ever called her Jennie.
“I’d like that, Lawrence.”
The food was excellent and that dinner was the beginning of a monthly ritual they both enjoyed tremendously.
31
It was the summer of 1974. Incredibly, a year had flown by since Joshua Adam Parker had been born. He had taken his first tottering steps and he understood the words for nose and mouth and head.
“He’s a genius,” Jennifer flatly informed Mrs. Mackey.
Jennifer planned Joshua’s first birthday party as though it were being given at the White House. On Saturday she shopped for gifts. She bought Joshua clothes and books and toys, and a tricycle he would not be able to use for another year or two. She bought favors for the neighbors’ children she had invited to the party, and she spent the afternoon putting up streamers and balloons. She baked the birthday cake herself and left it on the kitchen table. Somehow, Joshua got hold of the cake and grabbed handfuls of it and crammed it into his mouth, ruining it before the other guests arrived.
Jennifer had invited a dozen children from the neighborhood, and their mothers. The only adult male guest was Ken Bailey. He brought Joshua a tricycle, a duplicate of the one Jennifer had bought.
Jennifer laughed and said, “That’s ridiculous, Ken. Joshua’s not old enough for that.”
The party only lasted two hours, but it was splendid. The children ate too much and were sick on the rug, and fought over the toys and cried when their balloons burst, but all in all, Jennifer decided, it was a triumph. Joshua had been a perfect host, handling himself, with the exception of a few minor incidents, with dignity and aplomb.
That night, after all the guests had left and Joshua had been put to bed, Jennifer sat at his bedside watching her sleeping son, marveling at this wonderful creature that had come from her body and the loins of Adam Warner. Adam would have been so proud to have seen how Joshua had behaved. Somehow, the joy was diminished because it was hers alone.
Jennifer thought of all the birthdays to come. Joshua would be two years old, then five, then ten and twenty. And he would be a man and he would leave her. He would make his own life for himself.
Stop it! Jennifer scolded herself. You’re feeling sorry for yourself. She lay in bed that night, wide awake, reliving every detail of the party, remembering it all.
One day, perhaps, she could tell Adam about it.
32
In the months that followed, Senator Adam Warner was becoming a household word. His background, ability and charisma had made him a presence in the Senate from the beginning. He won a place on several important committees and he sponsored a piece of major labor legislation that passed quickly and easily. Adam Warner had powerful friends in Congress. Many had known and respected his father. The consensus was that Adam was going to be a presidential contender one day. Jennifer felt a bittersweet pride.
Jennifer received constant invitations from clients, associates and friends to dinner and the theater and various charity affairs, but she refused almost all of them. From time to time she would spend an evening with Ken. She enjoyed his company immensely. He was funny and self-deprecating, but beneath the facade of lightness, Jennifer knew, there was a sensitive, tormented man. He would sometimes come to the house for lunch or dinner on weekends, and he would play with Joshua for hours. They loved each other.
Once, when Joshua had been put to bed and Jennifer and Ken were having dinner in the kitchen, Ken kept staring at Jennifer until she asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“Christ, yes,” Ken groaned. “I’m sorry. What a bitch of a world this is.”
And he would say nothing further.
Adam had not tried to get in touch with Jennifer in almost nine months now, but she avidly read every newspaper and magazine article about him, and watched him whenever he appeared on television. She thought about him constantly. How could she not? Her son was a living reminder of Adam’s presence. Joshua was two years old now and incredibly like his father. He had the same serious blue eyes and the identical mannerisms. Joshua was a tiny, dear replica, warm and loving and full of eager questions.