We stayed in the medieval town of Saint-Paul-deVence on the French Riviera, which gave me the feeling of reconnecting with my roots. Then it was on to Monaco—me in a turquoise suit and oversize sunglasses, with a scarf tied behind my neck like Grace Kelly—where I dined at three-star Le Louis XV with my stage manager/epicure Mark Traub. I think I might still be digesting that meal.
We also broadcasted from Normandy on the 50th anniversary of D-Day. A paratrooper in his eighties signed and gave me a piece of the parachute that had dropped him into history. I finished out the week in Paris, my first time, staying at the Prince de Galles Hotel on Avenue Georges V and doing the show from the banks of the Seine. At one point Andy Lack, president of the news division, told me, “Go buy yourself a Chanel suit.” On NBC.
I was quietly flabbergasted.
When I walked into the store on the Rue Cambon, it felt like the first time I went to a fashion show in New York City, wearing a heinous hot-pink knit maternity dress, carrying a canvas L.L. Bean book bag. At Chanel, I picked out a tropical-weight-wool navy jacket with black trim and gold buttons bearing tiny interlocking Cs and a skirt that hit just below the knee. Twirling in front of the mirror, I felt like Audrey Hepburn. I can’t remember how much it was, although I do know it was beaucoup bucks—more than I’d ever spent on a single item of clothing in my life.
I wore it on the show the next morning. At the end I yelled, “Taxee,” jumped in, and instructed the driver, “Vite, vite!”—the cameras following until the cab drove out of frame.
When I called my dad and told him about my Parisian escapade and my new Chanel suit, he laughed—I could almost hear him shaking his head.
I WAS ON THE way up, and Bryant was on the way out. After 15 years anchoring TODAY, the last six with me, he was moving on.
Andy Lack would later tell me he’d informed Bryant that he wanted us to be 50/50 partners. When Bryant balked at the idea, Andy showed him the door. Although maybe Bryant was ready to go anyway.
And there was something else: his heir apparent sitting 15 feet away. Matt was nine years younger than Bryant and born for this job.
Also helpful was the fact that Matt and Bryant had become close friends, sharing an obsession with golf and an easy, jokey, locker-room rapport; both thrived in the boys’ club atmosphere at NBC. Once, when Michelle Pfeiffer was coming on the show, they went on and on during the commercial break about how hot she was; Bryant even said, “I’d drink her bathwater.” When we were back on the air, I teased the segment with something like “Also coming up, Michelle Pfeiffer—Bryant, didn’t you say you’d drink her bathwater?” He was furious. I thought it was funny.
Another time, TODAY’s wildlife wrangler Jim Fowler was waiting in the wings with a primate. Bryant, Matt, and I were chatting on the sofa when I innocently remarked that Jim was backstage “petting the monkey.” They both burst out laughing like a couple of 13-year-olds.
On and off camera, Matt worshipped Bryant, even emulated him—his smooth style of both interviewing and dressing. And Bryant seemed genuinely happy about Matt’s rise. As succession plans go, this one was flawless.
IT WAS SUCH a heady time in my life—full of amazing surprises, including this one: swollen breasts, a missed period…Jay and I hadn’t been trying to get pregnant; we were so overwhelmed with everything we had on our plates, it was pretty much the last thing on our minds. But we were psyched. I’d seen firsthand that motherhood wasn’t a career killer. And I wanted Ellie to have a sibling. When we told her the news at a nearby pizza joint, she reacted like the neighborhood gossip, exclaiming, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” She was so excited （until the baby came and she wanted to put her in the oven, but that’s another story）。
I gave birth during “the storm of the century!” as the local weather folks called it; we were lucky there was anyone in the hospital to help us. I remember the wind howling and the windows rattling in the old, unrenovated maternity wing, like something out of A Farewell to Arms.
I can still recall the relief of it all being over and Carrie having safely come into the world. While trying to get her to latch on, I glanced up at the TV bolted to the wall, tuned to the TODAY show. I kept one eye on my breast and the other on Elizabeth Vargas, who was filling in for me, looking comfortable standing next to Bryant, Matt, and a giant snowdrift, yukking it up.
Don’t get too comfortable, I thought.
The sidewalks were thick with ice. Jay inched his way so carefully to the lobby of our building, clutching the baby carrier. But within the sun-dappled walls of 1100 Park, all was safe and warm. I took the girls into my bed, Carrie the size of a bag of sugar on my chest, Ellie nestled in the crook of my arm, her head on my shoulder. Strains of a Brahms nocturne rolled in from the living room—Jay was playing the Steinway we’d given each other for our birthdays. This is what happiness feels like, I thought.