Rose hadn't wanted to get to know her mother, but when she started living under Lu's roof it had been unavoidable. Lu wasn't demanding or temperamental—not the way she could have been—but life in her home revolved around her, and the people who worked for her had learned to read her moods. If rehearsals were going badly or the first costume fittings had been a disaster, the cook would suspend Lu's spartan diet and her favorite baked ziti would appear on the menu. Lu's driver would make himself available for soothing late-night spins around Central Park. Miss Pearl—who had graduated from the role of Rose's babysitter to that of Lu's assistant—would order fresh flowers for the foyer. And Rose would call George and Davy to come over for a distracting game of Scrabble.

The truth was, over the years, Rose had developed a grudging respect for her mother, and not just because Lu was so good at what she did. Lu's honesty was uncompromising. She had never asked Rose for love or even for understanding. She rarely offered Rose advice, but when she did, it was sound. Rose quickly realized that her mother was smart about people. Lu had defanged a potentially mean English teacher at Rose's school by offering to give a speech to the woman's precious drama club about getting into show business, and Rose had scored points with her classmates throughout her teen years because Lu could scrounge up the tickets for any matinee on Broadway that the kids wanted to see—as long as they were accompanied by Miss Pearl. Rose was given a generous allowance, and she could use Lu's charge cards as long as she did not abuse the privilege. In return, Lu expected Rose to be polite, to stay out of trouble, and to get good grades. Rose had obliged her, but if you had asked her if she and her mother were close, she would have said her mother was too dedicated to her work—and too selfish—to be close to anyone.

But now, for the first time, her mother wasn't working. Lu still vocalized every day, singing the Panis Angelicus to warm up, and she still took her dance classes. But she hadn't signed on for a new show. Instead, she had started taking an interest in things she'd never seemed to notice before, like her apartment. Lu had always been a haphazard decorator, but one day she looked around her and said to her faithful retainers, “I'm living in some of the most expensive real estate on Fifth Avenue, and it looks like the No-Tell Motel in Boise.”

An interior decorator was hired, and suddenly Lu was on a first-name basis with the owners of every antiques shop and furniture showroom in Manhattan. The same ferocious energy she poured into rehearsals and performances was now channeled into the feathering of her nest, and before she finished—six weeks later—two decorators would quit from exhaustion.