Why is Jennifer on a plane to New York with a nuclear bomb?
She made a pornographic film in jail—not by choice—if you want to eat you do what you’re told.
At nineteen she gives birth to a little girl, her father's child, but the baby is sick—constant pain, early death—caused by the Ovatrine she was taking. The doctor files a report to the FDA, and the Ovatrine lawyers want to know who the father is. Dad suicides. "CORONER FINDS FAYNOR BABY FATHERED BY GRANDFATHER." Now she's a pariah. Everybody stares.
The baby is in constant agony. "She can’t take it! It’ll kill her!" "Yes," says the doctor, "it will." The tenderest of mothers, she allows her baby to slip under the surface of the bath, and holds her there. She is taken away. "Child-murderer!" shouts one neighbor. "Father-fucker!" shouts another.
"Either it was an accident, or it was a mercy killing," says her lawyer. "It can’t be both." She goes with accident. The court is disgusted. Ten years, possible parole after five.
Gradually she comes around, and he takes her to the opera. He loves her. "I'm not lucky," she warns him. He says, "But within your bad luck—you're lucky. Aren’t you?" "There’s a curse on me. I don’t want it to touch you." He doesn't care. But his friends don't like what she is, or was. They can't be a social couple together.
She can't go back with Malinson or he'll be ruined, though he doesn't care. But he does see what she wants, and leaves her with Omar, who effectually kidnaps her, though with charm, into a world where she isn’t an outcast.
Well, sort of.