She sipped her champagne, letting the bubbles tickle the roof of her mouth, and surveyed the crowd. These were not ordinary people. Most had reached high levels of political or economic success. And they adored her, she reminded herself. This was what she had wanted, and she must savor this moment of recognition and of her making artistic history with a Neiman painting. A recollection of the high she had felt when he did sketches of her months ago in New York came back. She hadn’t been able to resist peeking at his work and loving it.

She tried to listen to Ambassador Ashford speaking about the painting, but his words echoed against images of the Dying Rooms that occupied all the spaces in her head. No wonder Lulu's desperate mother had devised a creative way to give her baby the best chance she could think of.

Applause accompanied the burst of primary colors on the magnificent montage of images. Against a background of the Great Wall, snaking its way over mountain peaks and the Forbidden City with its temples and hidden courtyards, Nola stood holding a microphone. Showered by gold records like falling stars, she was wearing a pink dress, its wing-like train raised. Only she knew that the upward tilt of her head that had become her signature silhouette was a tribute to her dead parents.

Ambassador Ashford pointed to details on the canvas. “LeRoy Neiman has cleverly inserted themes that appear in Nola's albums. Our Nola’s unpretentious choice of music—from classic pop to hip-hop—has given her audience everything they love. In an environment in which performers outdo one another with gimmicks and quirks—none too clean or moral—our girl-next-door Nola is our national treasure.”

“The girl next door,” who had been the village orphan, Nola thought, as a staffer revealed U.S. President Corwith’s dedication on the back of the painting, and Ambassador Ashford offered it to the Chinese prime minister. Kong Ruiji responded with a short but flowery speech about China’s friendship with America, then presented Nola with a jade sculpture of a willowy Chinese maiden holding a lotus blossom.

After more congratulatory comments, the guests dispersed to their dancing and eating. Her eyes unblinking, Nola kept staring at the maiden. Unlike millions of other disposable babies, Lulu would grow up to be a maiden like this one only because she had been given a second chance on life.

“You look pale. Don’t drop it.” With the reverence Wade saved for precious antiques, he took the jade from her and placed it in its padded box.

Nola let out a tired smile. “We need to talk.” She would tell him that Lulu had already changed her in ways she hadn’t believed possible; she would say how much she wanted them to be a happy family, a whole one. “Let’s leave,” she added just as Ambassador Ashford planted another glass in her hand.