“Well, if it isn’t Jennifer Garner!”
“Hi, Jo,” I say to my agent. “Why am I Jennifer Garner?”
“You’ve suddenly become one of America’s most beloved personalities,” she says in her New York accent and inimitable style. “You’re as liked nearly as much in the Great Lakes as Dolly Parton is around the world right now.”
“How do you know that?” I ask.
“Your Q Score, sweetheart, is off the charts.”
Ah, I think. The famed Q-Rating everyone in show business fawns over, the measurement of a celebrity’s appeal. The higher the Q-Rating, the more beloved you are.
“My Q-Rating used to be a Z-Rating,” I say.
“Not anymore!” Jo crows. “You’re the comeback kid. Told you everybody loves a comeback story.”
I hear her take a sip.
“What are you drinking?” I tease.
“We’re celebrating!”
“We are?” I ask. “What exactly?”
“Are you sitting down?”
I take a seat in my chair at TRVC. When Jo asks you to sit, you sit.
“I am now.”
“Good, because I have news!”
I hold my breath. She never calls unless the news is really good or really bad. And I can never tell which it is until she decides to tell me. Moreover, she hates it when I ask which one it is before she has a chance to tell me.
“It’s good news!”
I exhale into the cell.
“You’re so dramatic,” she says.
“Me?”
She laughs, then coughs, then takes another drink.
“So?” I ask.
“Good Morning America called.” She pauses.
“And?”
“And…they want you to interview.”
“What! For…?”
“For a weekend anchor and fill-in for Ginger Zee,” Jo says. “They love how you scooped almost everyone on the polar vortex, and they really loved the reporting you did on it. More than anything, they just love how real you are. They love how viewers respond to you. They just love you, period.”
I am silent. I am stunned. The room spins.
“Hello?” she asks.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, you can start by thanking me for resurrecting your career. You can thank me for that People magazine interview a few weeks ago. You can…”
“Thank you, Jo.”
“You’re welcome.”
Jo takes a sip.
“You know, we’ve been together since day one. Ever since Vic Victor recommended you to me when he was on WGN. ‘This girl’s got spunk,’ he told me. ‘I hate spunk,’ I replied.”
“Mary Tyler Moore reference, right?” I ask.
“You got it,” she says. “But you did. You had spunk. And more. You were vulnerable. It only took a few decades for you to show that side to the world.”
“A lot has changed,” I say.
“A lot is going to change,” she says. “I saved the best part for last.”
She pauses again.
“For Pete’s sake, Jo, spill the beans.”
“Love making you beg,” she laughs. “Okay, okay. The gig would be on the West Coast. LA. You could even move back to Palm Springs and commute in for the weekends. And with the salary I’m going to demand—and the amount you’ll earn from endorsements, hosting and speaking gigs—you’ll only need to work a few days a month. Everybody wants Sonny, honey. And they’re going to pay to get you.”
“They have no idea what they’re up against, do they?”
“Jo’s going to row, row, row Sonny’s boat gently up to the bank vault.”
I laugh.
“I’m so, so proud of you,” she says, suddenly serious, her voice actually soft and tender for once. “You are one strong woman.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That’s a compliment coming from one of the strongest women I know.”
“So, what works for you? They want to talk to you ASAP. I’m thinking Saturday. You don’t work weekends there, right? You could say you just want a few days away. Or that a friend in the city needs to see you. What do you think?”
I can feel my heart pound in my ears.
“Okay,” I agree. “What do I need to do?”
“Buy the most flattering outfit you can. Get your hair done. Get some rest. I’ll take care of the rest. They’re going to put you up somewhere great. What do you like? The Ritz with a room overlooking Central Park? The Four Seasons? St. Regis? The Peninsula?”
“You pick,” I say.
“Dinner will be on me after your interview. It’s going to be an epic celebration.”
“It always is with you.”
“Damn right.” She laughs. “Got another call. Talk soon. Congratulations.”
Before I can say goodbye, Jo is gone.
I hang up. My head is spinning so much that I have to check to make sure I am not rotating in circles in my office chair.
“Got a sec?”
I yelp.
“Overreact much?”
Lisa is standing at my door. She sees my face, and a look of concern comes over hers.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked.” She walks toward my desk. “Is everything okay?”
I nod idiotically like one of those old-school drinking birds with the red head and blue hat I had sitting on my desk when I was a kid. I’d play with it when I was bored doing my homework.
“Totally,” I say, still nodding. “Just tired. Long week.” I try to stop myself, but the lie is already coming out of my mouth. “I was actually going to ask if you would mind if I took Friday off. A friend of mine invited me to New York for a last-minute girls’ weekend. I haven’t been anywhere in a while.”
“Except Palm Springs, remember?”
I feel my cheeks flush at the memory.
“I’m just joking,” Lisa says. “Jeez. You look all wigged out right now. Are you sure everything’s okay?”
I nod again.
“Of course, it’s fine. You deserve it. You’ve worked nonstop the last few months. I’ll ask Icicle to cover. He’s ready for a shot during the week. He’s just been outstanding, Sonny. You were right about him. I can never thank you enough.” A smile crosses her face. “And it’s actually good timing for your weekend because after what I’m about to tell you, you’re going to be in the mood to celebrate.”
How much good news can I take today?
“Well, I’m glad you’re sitting,” she starts. I think of Jo. “I just got the first quarter ratings. We’re number one.”
“What? Really?”
“And it’s largely because of you. We’ve never seen numbers like this. I mean, we are solidly number one. From worst to first.”
I get up and open my arms to hug Lisa.
“I can never thank you enough, either,” I say. “For believing in me. For giving me this opportunity.” I look at her for the longest time. “This second chance changed my life. Personally and professionally.”
I am so emotional that I can’t stop my voice from trembling.
“Thank you, Sonny,” she says. “That means the world.” She holds me at arm’s length. “You really do need a few days off. I think you’re exhausted. Now get ready to celebrate all this good news with your friend. I actually might need a weekend in the city soon, too.”
She turns to leave as Icicle enters.
“Good timing,” Lisa says, telling him the ratings news.
Icicle pumps his fist in the air and yells, “Yes!”
He looks at me, a huge smile plastered across his face.
“To the best weather team in Michigan!” he says. “No one will ever be able to bring us down! We’re going to be number one forever!”
His words cause my heart to break. My stomach drops. I bite my cheek to hide my emotions.
“Right, Sonny?” Icicle asks.
If I say a word, I will cry. So I nod and nod and nod just like that stupid bird.
If I were wearing a hat, I would take it off and toss it into the sky just like Mary Tyler Moore.
“‘If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere…’”
I look around Times Square.
New York, New York!
I feel as bright and tall as the billboards flashing up and down the street. Typically when I come to New York, I rarely venture to Times Square. It’s too crowded, too noisy, too jammed with tourists taking selfies, buying sneakers and shopping at the Hershey’s Chocolate World or the Disney Store.
But today, walking out of Good Morning America’s studios, I feel as big as the advertisements for McDonald’s and Mamma Mia!
My interview didn’t just go well, it went toss-my-hat-into-the-sky-like-Mary-Tyler-Moore-and-Frank-Sinatra-singing-“New York, New York”-well!
I turn around in a circle and take it all in.
Jo told me to take a moment when I was done—no matter the outcome—and just stop and relish it.
“Too many people rush through the big moments in their lives and careers without stopping to take a mental picture,” she had told me.
I think of doing the same thing with the ice caves, slowing down and taking a mental photo.
I stop in the middle of Times Square, a big no-no in New York City. New Yorkers expect you to just keep moving. Stopping in the middle of a sidewalk is akin to stopping your car in the middle of the highway at rush hour. For once, I don’t care.
I look back at Times Square Studios, the home of GMA. I see the faces of Robin Roberts, George Stephanopoulos and Michael Strahan streaming across the state-of-the-art video screen. News tickers scroll just below them. The building, I learned in my interview, was meant to symbolize a “looking glass” and represent the idea of “media as architecture.”
I picture my face on the video screen, like Ginger Zee’s is right now.
I discovered in my interview that we had so much in common. She was raised in Michigan, graduated from high school in Michigan and worked as a meteorologist in Grand Rapids.
I could barely breathe sitting next to my idol. She told me to breathe and to remember it was just a couple of Michigan gals talking about the weather. I had laughed. She then told me she chose to be a meteorologist because she saw a waterspout on Lake Michigan when she was eight and that it was the coolest thing she had ever seen.
She also told me that my story about why I became a meteorologist—because of Joncee—had moved her greatly and that women needed role models on TV who were “real, over fifty and fighters.”
My interviews with the anchors and producers had gone just as smoothly.
I feel my phone vibrate against my body. I can’t hear it in all the hustle and bustle, but I feel it shake. I grab it as quickly as I can. I see who’s calling. I take a deep breath.
“You got it!” Jo screams. “Get ready to party! Pick you up for drinks at five!”
I barely have a chance to say “Really?” before she’s gone.
I am too jazzed to sit, too hyped to have any more coffee, and—even though it’s New York City—it’s still a bit too early for me to have a celebratory drink.
So I do what I love to do when I’m alone in New York City: I just walk. As if I’m floating on a cloud.
I did it!
I am as alive as the streets of New York, and nothing is more alive than that. It is a video game come to life, action surrounding you at every corner, the world at your fingertips.
Visiting the city’s different neighborhoods is akin to going on a tour of the world every few blocks. I missed many things when I moved from Chicago: I missed the diversity of the city. I missed the hustle. I missed the restaurants. I missed the endless culture. I missed the shopping. I could have all of that again in LA. I would come to meetings here in New York. I would be back home in Palm Springs. It would be the perfect balance.
An ambulance siren blares. Taxis honk. Construction pounds every few storefronts.
I didn’t miss any of that, though. The crowds. The noise. The constant intensity.
As I aged, I loved the quiet beauty of Palm Springs. I loved that I could have the fun of the city and then retreat into the shadow of the mountain. I loved seeing the hummingbirds at my feeders every morning, the mountain goats standing on the ridge of the mountains, the roadrunners that zipped across my yard just like in the old cartoons.
I love that about Michigan, too. Mother Nature is a friend you can visit any moment. She is in control, not people.
It is a brisk March day—cold, blustery but sunny—and the skyscrapers pop against their bright blue canvas. I am dressed to the nines, but people don’t notice much of anything in New York. They just want you to keep moving. So I do.
I walk and window-shop, popping into a few stores.
I get jostled and feel the need for a bit of space.
And then it hits me. A quintessential New York winter moment.
I head to Forty-Ninth Street, passing the famed Magnolia Bakery, where I stop and buy a red velvet cupcake—and then another—eating them as I walk. I don’t stop again until I reach my destination: The Rink at Rockefeller Center.
When I used to visit New York City in the winter as part of network meetings, I would always come here on my own to skate. It wasn’t as much a way for me to spend time alone in all the hustle and bustle, it was more a way for me to reconnect with Joncee and my Michigan roots without anyone ever realizing it.
Rockefeller Center is iconic. From the lighting of the Christmas tree to Radio City Music Hall, The Rock—as it is known—covers nearly twenty-two acres of Midtown Manhattan.
I enter. Although it is the weekend, it is still early, and the rink is fairly quiet. It will be packed soon.
I get my skates, lace them up and head onto the ice.
It is surreal to skate in the middle of New York City. I feel so at home here and yet so out of place.
I skate across The Rink, the cold breeze that whips across my face no different from the one that does in Michigan. No matter where we live, we all have that in common: the wind, the sun, the rain, the snow, the weather.
I glance up as I skate and laugh. I had forgotten that NBC’s Today show is filmed here.
My would-be rival. How ironic.