She sat alone on the edge of the rooftop, swinging her legs over the side. The gripping feeling in the pit of her stomach did not frighten her or make her get up and walk away. She welcomed this feeling, this fight-or-flight, frightening, enthralling feeling. More than that, she relished it. Feeling nothing but New York air beneath her dangling feet, gazing down at the millions of now ant-sized people on the streets, and breathing in the perfect smell of the City – a scent made up of gasoline, hot pretzels, chocolate, cold winter air, chestnuts, caramel, and a closet full of leather coats. The girl couldn't help but smile as the wind blew her blonde hair in front of her face, falling over her blue-grey eyes. The girl reached a hand up to her face, fixing her blonde tendrils behind her ear and again looking down to all the people so many stories below. She liked to gaze upon all of the people she could when she had the time, trying to meet each of them in the eyes if possible; thinking of what their lives could be like, where they were going now and what they had done to get here, to the greatest place on earth…
"Karen Julia Wills! What are you doing up here again? If I told you once, I've told you a hundred times! Get down from there, will you? If your father knew you were up h – "
" – Uncle Tom!" The girl swung her legs back onto the rooftop, bent her knees, and hauled herself to her feet. She ran to her uncle and gave him a huge hug. "You're back from Boston! Is Aunt Julia back too? What about Dad? How'd the show go? Do you think you'll get a Broadway transfer? Are you going to have to go out of state again for more previews? Is Aunt Eileen – ?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Tom threw his arms up and laughed. "One question at a time!" Karen responded with another hug.
"I'm glad you're back," she said.
"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss your birthday for the world. But…" he made a face that made his niece laugh out loud. "I've got less than twenty-four hours to get you something, so don't blame me if the gift for your big one-seven isn't so – "
" – You don't have to get me anything."
"Oh, c'mon, I want to get you something! If worst comes to worst, though, you're going to end up with another Houston-Levitt piano book…"
"But there's something I really do want, something you don't have to buy me…" Karen added. He shook his head, and gave in.
"What is it?"
"For my birthday," she prompted. "Would you tell me about my mother?"
Tom sighed and put an arm over his niece's shoulder.
"C'mon," he said. "Let's go inside."
They exited the roof and reentered the building, trailing down the halls until they reached the door and unlocked the penthouse apartment that Karen and her father lived in together. Tom went straight to the refrigerator.
"Got anything to eat here? I'm starving."
"Sure," said Karen. "I could make you something. Or there's leftovers in the – wait," she realized what he was doing, and closed the refrigerator door. "You're changing the subject. Please, Uncle Tom, I'm begging you. Whenever I ask my dad…"
"He doesn't tell you anything about her, does he?"
"No, he doesn't," she told him. "He never does, and I'm starting to thinking he never will."
The two of them were silent for a moment, until the girl's uncle said:
"Honey, sit down, okay?"
Karen sat.
"I really shouldn't tell you anything if your dad wouldn't want you to – "
"Please, Uncle Tom," the soon to be seventeen-year-old made on final plea.
"Alright, alright…" he sighed again, and looked down at the girl. "First of all," the composer started, "you look like her. Almost exactly like her. Your eyes are closer to your dad's, but your face, your hair color, everything else. Aside from your eyes, you're the spitting image of her. Your dad never even told you that?"
"N-no…" the girl was taken aback. "Do I really look like her?"
"Just like her."
"What else can you tell me about her?"
"Well," he continued. "You're a lot like her, too. You're just as talented, and beautiful, and intelligent as her. Your mother has this way about her, where she…she just knows exactly what to say to make things better; how to handle a situation. She doesn't always listen to it, but she has it in her. You have that, too. And she doesn't take anything lying down, like you…"
"Wait a second," Karen's mouth fell open in surprise. "She…she's alive? I just…my dad always sort of implied that she was dead…"
"No, Karen, she isn't dead," Tom admitted in a very serious tone. "Your mother is very much alive. He should never have implied otherwise."
Again, silence, then:
"Karen," he breathed. "I know three women who are extremely inspirational. You were named after two of them. Your mother is the third."
Karen was completely silent for another minute, unsure what to do with all of this information. Her mother was alive? Though her father never outright said that her mother was dead, he constantly implied it, throwing around phrases like: 'what would your mother think of you if you faced the world dressed like that?' whenever she wore something that her dad deemed 'inappropriate for a young lady such as yourself', or 'your mother would be so proud of you' if he ever wasn't working so late and could catch the end of one of her voice lessons or summer stock performances. But if her mother really was alive, why was she nowhere to found? Why did her father refuse to talk about her? And how would Tom know so much about her? Suddenly, another question popped into Karen's mind.
"Who am I named after?" She asked. "I mean, I know my middle name is Julia because of Aunt Julia – but I don't think I know a Karen…"
"You know what," said Tom, as an idea sprang into his head. "I know exactly what to get you for your birthday. Did your father tell you when he'd be getting home?"
"He's coming straight from Boston, like you did," Karen answered. "So any minute now. Why?"
"You'll see."
"But, wait, Uncle Tom…how does that have anyth – "
It was then when they both heard a distinct tapping on the window, coming from the boy perched on the fire escape.
"Go ahead," urged Tom. "Go play with your boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend!" Karen argued, but then added: "You don't mind?"
"Not at all," the pianist replied as the tapping continued. "I have to ask your father something when he gets home, anyway."
"Okay," the blonde girl responded, starting to walk over towards the window. "And thanks, Uncle Tom. For…you know, everything."
He nodded to her as a reply, and the girl walked out of the kitchen, opened the window that the boy had been knocking on, and stepping out onto the fire escaping, closing the window behind her.
"What's up, Kyle?"
"Guess what show I saw last night?"
"Hit List, again?"
"No, no – I was out of town with my mom. I convinced her to let me come along to Boston."
"Really? You saw my dad's show?" An ear-to-ear smile spread across Karen's face. "I heard your mom's fabulous in it!"
"It was great," Kyle said. "Well – Boston great. It still needs some work before going to Broadway. My mom said they might get sent out of town again – probably down to Florida this time," he slid the girl a playbill, and added: "happy almost seventeenth birthday, Karen."
Karen picked up the playbill and studied it excitedly. The show in question was a new original musical, based on the lives of Anne and Mary Boleyn. As the playbill proclaimed, it was produced by Eileen Rand, directed by Derek Wills – Karen's father – with a book by Julia Houston – who Karen called her aunt – and had a score composed by Tom Levitt – who Karen called her uncle, and had just left alone in her kitchen. It starred Karen Collins – Kyle's mom – and Ivy Lynn as Anne and Mary Boleyn, with Michael Swift as King Henry VIII, and Ana Vargas as Catherine of Aragon.
"It's supposed to be the next Les Mis!" Karen exclaimed, reading through the scattered quotes from early reviewers. "Was it really that good?"
"It will be," said Kyle. "Once they work out the kinks."
As Karen flipped through the pages of the playbill, it finally hit her.
"Kyle," she said tentatively. "I…I don't know why, but...I think I was named after your mom."