The Rose Manning that Carrie knew said diamonds were immoral; they were mined by people who were virtually slaves. She said putting on makeup was a waste of valuable time—and it was a sign of vanity. She would never, ever smile at a camera while wearing a dress that barely covered her underpants. Carrie shoved the picture back in the envelope and began searching through the Bobby Manning folder for the rest of the article from Fashionable Woman Today. There was nothing. She took the picture to the librarian's desk and showed it to him.

“It says right here that this is the first page.” Carrie pointed to the caption. “Doesn't that mean that there must be more?”

“Probably. But God knows where. People are always screwing up those folders. I spend my life straightening them out. Tell you what: I'm too busy to do it today, but I'll look around next week, and if I find the rest of the article, I'll give you a call.” He shoved a piece of paper and a pencil at Carrie. “Write down your home number.”

Visions of her mother answering the phone and hearing that Carrie was doing research at the Library for the Performing Arts at Lincoln Center ran through Carrie's head.

“That's okay,” she said hastily. “I'll come back next Saturday.” And before the librarian could ask any uncomfortable questions about her reluctance to leave her phone number, she smiled sweetly at him and hurried out. But going down to the main floor in the elevator, she was more confused than she had been when she walked into the darn library. Now she had this startling new image of her mother as Rose Manning the Sex Kitten to add to all her other unanswered questions.

WHEN SHE REACHED the plaza outside the library, she saw several concrete benches. Still slightly stunned, she sat on one of them. She was trying to puzzle out the significance of what she'd just seen when she noticed a stream of people headed for the building next to the library in the Lincoln Center complex. Curious, Carrie put the mystery of her mother's astonishing picture on hold, stood up, and trailed after the crowd.

There were two theaters in the building: the Vivian Beaumont Theater and the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater. The women—it was mostly women hurrying across the plaza to the theater entrance—were coming for a Saturday matinee at the Vivian Beaumont. Carrie had never seen a play in a theater, but Mrs. Forester loved to go to shows, and she often took Zoe, which was how Carrie knew that matinees were performed on Saturday afternoons.