Picking Up the Pieces

All her mother’s hard work scrimping, Althea thought bitterly, and the most they had ever had to show for it? An ugly shack with four unpainted walls that barely supported a tin roof. The day Althea handed her mother the keys to a little red brick house, they had stood together on the porch and cried. They didn’t need words to know how far they had come, how long the walk had been. Her mother’s first steps into her new home had been Althea’s proudest moment.

Had it been worth it?

Yes, she thought, thinking back to Benicia’s question as she entered her apartment thirty minutes later. Throwing her keys in the blue Depression-glass bowl that sat on a gleaming refectory table, hanging her fur coat in the huge cedar closet, putting the tea to boil on her Viking stove. Yes, she thought, as she looked out at the view over the brawniest city in the world—and she a part of it—yes, it had been worth it.

Chapter Three

Althea left the Niles Model Agency shell-shocked. Numb with disappointment, she stumbled twice in the snow, she was so distraught. Suddenly the sun wasn’t so bright, the city’s hoary skyscrapers seemed as gray as her prospects. If she hadn’t been afraid to rash her cheeks with salty tears, she would have cried.

The only thing that saved her from a complete breakdown was the sight of Harry Bensen when she arrived at Elmhurst Hospital, soon after the disastrous interview with her old employer. When she walked into his hospital room, her arms filled with flowers, he was sitting up, dozing against some pillows.

“Harry?” she whispered. Slowly he opened his eyes. They were still glassy, but he did seem more alert. Hollowed as they were, they could not hide the beautiful curve of his smile or the deep cleft of his chin when he saw who had arrived.

“Althea? I know you said you would stop by,” he whispered, “but I just assumed you were being polite.”

Carefully Althea set the flowers on the window-sill. “Harry Bensen,” she said lightly as she shrugged off her coat. “Weak as can be, mouthy as ever.” Coming on top of her disastrous visit to the Niles Model Agency, Althea was hurt by his seeming rejection and resolved to make this a quick visit.

Harry’s lips stretched into a lopsided grin, and his voice grew stronger as he spoke. “And you. Still as beautiful as ever. And look, yellow roses, in the middle of winter. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m grateful to you, coming all the way from Manhattan to see me.”

“My pleasure.” She had to admit he looked very appealing lying there in the hospital camouflage that did very little to conceal the hard planes of his body. Whatever disease he was harboring had not affected his appeal. Throwing her coat across the back of a chair, Althea gingerly approached the edge of the bed. “You’re looking much better, Mr. Bensen.”

“I feel better, even if it has been a long couple of days.”

“I’ll just bet. Tell me, how long were you sick before you collapsed? You must have been ill on the plane. Didn’t you realize?”

“Oh, I knew what was happening, but I tried to fight it. I was on a shoot in northwest Brazil when I took sick, about thirty miles outside of Manaus. That’s a small town on the Amazon River. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get there?”

“What, no subway?” Althea asked, her eyes wide with mischief.

“It must not have been running,” Harry drawled. “Anyhow, there I was, in the middle of nowhere, boiling my water like a good boy, and I’d had all my shots, and I was careful what I ate…. I guess my resistance was low. I started getting headaches…then chills…. The initial attack wasn’t too bad, I thought I had malaria at first, but the doctors in Manaus assured me it was just a garden-variety virus. I had a bout with malaria years ago and once you’ve had malaria, you’re susceptible to its reoccurrence. I was prepared for it, too. Malaria, that is. I had my meds in my backpack and plenty of aspirin. Let’s just say the quinine wasn’t working as fast as it should. Turns out it wasn’t working because whatever I have, it’s not malaria, thank God.”

“But when you knew you were getting worse, don’t you think you should have left Brazil?”

“Hey, I was in the middle of some really interesting work. I’m trying to get a handle on the rainforest decimation in that area. It’s going to be a real scandal when the word gets out, let me tell you, and with a book coming out—well, it’s supposed to come out this spring—my photographs are going to be the centerpiece. It was way important to finish the job and I had so little left to do. Like I said, it’s not the easiest thing in the world to fly back and forth to South America. We won’t even talk about the cost of the plane fare. To be honest, though, I barely made it back to Manaus. From there, I was lucky enough to grab a boat up the Amazon to Macapa. I only left Manaus in the first place because my hands were shaking so much I could hardly hold my camera steady.”

“Harry, how unwise.”

“Yeah, I know. I spent a week in Macapa General Hospital, but when I got the chance to jump a military transport back to the States, I took it. I had just landed—flown twenty-two hours, nonstop—when I ran into you.”

“But you have your pictures,” Althea said with a sad shake of her head.

“I have my pictures,” Harry agreed, “that’s the important thing. You know I hate to say it, Allie, I know I’m the one who’s sick, but you’re looking a little off yourself. Is anything wrong? You never did tell me why you were back in the States.”

So much for spending two hours in front of her mirror, Althea thought. She affected innocence, but Harry wasn’t fooled.

“Come on, Allie, I won’t give away your secrets. You always had a certain look when you were upset. Watching you frown, I remembered.” The worry in her eyes was more than apparent, it lived in a tiny crease above her brow.

“I have no secrets.”

Suddenly overcome by an explosive cough, Harry didn’t challenge her. Frightened, Althea held a glass to his lips and he managed to take a few sips before collapsing back on his bed. “It’s okay… I’m okay. Thanks. They’re not sure, they took X-rays, I may have a touch of pneumonia.”

“A touch of pneumonia,” Althea gasped. “Next time, I’ll bring cough drops instead of flowers. Do you want me to call a nurse?”

“No, don’t, please, don’t. I’m medicated to the gills, and they’re so busy, as it is. Tell me about yourself, instead,” Harry insisted as he lay back and closed his eyes. “That will distract me.”

Althea hesitated, unsure what to do. Harry was white as a ghost from the coughing spell. Smoothing his sheets back into order, she gave in gracefully. Privately, she decided that if he had another coughing fit, she would not ask his permission to ring for a nurse.

“Sometimes,” she said with a shake of her head, “I think I should save the paparazzi some legwork and send out bulletins, the way my life is scrutinized by the tabloids.”

“I’ve noticed,” Harry said with a small smile, opening his eyes a crack.

“Oh, not you, too?” she wailed in mock horror.

“I can’t help it. Your face stares back at me from every magazine rack, across every cash register, in every supermarket in this country. Whenever I buy a quart of milk I get an update on your life.”

“You just can’t help reading those tabloids, hmm, even knowing that most of what they print isn’t true?”

“Not me!” Harry protested, but the smile on his lips belied his promise. “Don’t worry, I don’t believe half of it. Mostly, I just look at the pictures, I don’t buy them.”

“No one does.”

Harry’s sudden bark of laughter was a welcome surprise. “Yeah, well… Of course, it’s been a long time since I bought a quart of milk. So, let’s see, what’s it been, eight, ten years since we’ve laid eyes on each other? Or is it that I just read about you so much that I feel like I’ve seen you more often?”

“Who can say? I don’t keep track of those kinds of things.”

“Is that what I was, a kind of thing?” Harry spoke so casually, Althea missed the probing glint in his eyes.

“An hour or so with an old friend, shall we leave it at that?”

“That would be nice, Allie, Auld Lang Syne and all that, if I didn’t know that sentiment was not your strong point.”

Althea was taken aback. “Harry, how can you say something like that?” But she knew what he meant. They were not old friends, he was not the guy that got away, he was the one who had been shown the door. She started to rise, but Harry quickly reached for her hand.

“Please, don’t go. That was rude of me and I apologize. I swear not to say another nasty word.”

Althea hesitated, of two minds whether to stay. “All right, I’ll chalk it up to your fever—but only this once,” she warned.

“Scout’s honor, Allie, I’ll be nice. Come on, bring me up-to-date. Why the sad look?”

Althea wasn’t sure she wanted to explain, but her down-turned mouth spoke volumes. “Do you remember Connie Niles?”

Unpleasant memories darkened his eyes. “Quite well. She was no fan of mine, and if I remember correctly, the feeling was mutual. Connie had a real attitude about my dating you, which she never bothered to hide. I used to think she disapproved of my skin color—or the lack, therein.”

“Connie was looking out for my interests. She never approved of interracial dating. She used to say that white men dated black women for—”

“For?”

Heat stole to her face. “I’m embarrassed to say.”

“Say it.”

“Um, I think the expression is ‘brown sugar’….”

Harry was appalled. “And you believed her?”

“Oh, like that was unheard of?” she retorted impatiently. “In any case, I was young, and everything Connie said was the gospel.”

“Everything Connie Niles said was vulgar!”

“Look, Harry, can we not go into this? I was seventeen when I arrived in New York, an ignorant, backwoods country girl from the deep South, her drawl as distinct as the stars in her eyes, and you know that better than anyone. I thank God every day that Connie Niles saw something in me, or it would have been straight back to Alabama for me. Connie was more than my savior, she was my mentor and my best friend, a sister to me, in those early years.”

“And what was I?” Harry growled. “Your sugar daddy?”

“The most daddy I ever knew. He left before I was born, and that’s something that’s never going to happen to me again. So excuse me for picking my icons carefully.”

“Lots of kids don’t have fathers,” Harry said, his glare harsh and accusing. “How come I’ve never heard this stuff before? Why didn’t you mention this when we were living together?”

Angry, Althea didn’t answer. She’d been through all this with Harry before, he just didn’t want to admit it. Leaving him had been first and foremost a career decision. Refusing to be baited, she gazed out the window instead, staring absently down at the parking lot where tiny specks of humanity skittered about. She could feel Harry’s eyes, feel him waiting for an answer she really didn’t have—not anything he’d like to hear, in any case. She had done the unforgivable by asking him to leave, and she wasn’t under any illusions that his resentment had faded, even after a decade. When she turned back to him, her face was carefully neutral. Besides, why would she argue with him when he was sick? “Like I said, can we not go there?”

Her retreat annoyed Harry, but he backed off. He would have preferred a battle to her apparent withdrawal, but he didn’t have the strength to go there. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s all a long time ago. So, how has life treated you? Did you ever have any children? I don’t recall reading that you did, but I’ve been away a lot. I might have missed a paper or two.” He grinned.

“Children? No, of course not.” Althea laughed quietly, surprised at the question.

“‘Of course not’?”

“There was never any time.”

Her flip tone told Harry that she wasn’t telling him the whole story, but he wisely changed the direction of the conversation. “Okay, go on, tell me what happened between you and Connie Niles today.”

“There’s not much to tell. Connie wasn’t very enthusiastic about my asking for work, that’s all. As a matter of fact, she turned me down.”

Harry was incredulous. “She turned you down? Why? Is the industry in trouble?”

“I’m the one in trouble,” Althea said softly, her eyes suddenly bleak.

It was worse than bad, it had been humiliating. Her initial reception that morning at the Niles Model Agency had been effusive. Everyone had greeted her warmly, careful to hide their surprise at her unexpected appearance. Not careful enough, though. It was easy to read the questions in their eyes, although they were too polite to ask her anything directly. Fortunately, Connie Niles had ushered Althea into her private office before any embarrassing questions could be posed, and listened carefully while Althea explained.

“I want to come back to work.”

Connie had always been a good listener, nothing fazed her. “These men,” she clucked sympathetically.

“No, Connie!” Althea had interrupted her quickly. “This is not Daniel’s fault, nor mine. Things just didn’t work out. It will be in all the papers in a few days, when he announces our split, but, please, don’t blame him. It was an amicable divorce, I want to be very clear about that. To you most of all, because you’ve been like a sister to me, and I want you to know how things stand. But don’t assign blame where there is none. Like I said, things just didn’t work out.”

Connie shrugged. “Fine, I won’t ask any more questions. Do you have enough money to tide you over?”

“Money is not an issue.”

“No, I didn’t think so.” Never one to mince words, Connie was frank. “Look here, Althea, Ambassador Daniel Boylan is a very popular man—not to mention powerful. And his hailing from New York doesn’t help.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do?”

Connie shrugged her thin shoulders. “You’re going to get some mighty bad press—quite dreadful, I would imagine. I can practically write it for you in all its glorious vulgarity. Black Beauty Abandons Ambassador. It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”

“That bad?” Althea sighed.

Connie was emphatic. “You’ll make the front pages, for sure, child. But not to worry. It will all die a natural death as soon as the next scandal breaks. There’s always another story waiting around the corner. You know that. But until then, darling, until you and Daniel are not the story, there’s no work for you here in the Big Apple,” she said brusquely. “And all that free publicity! What a waste! Too bad, Althea, but you’re a bit of a liability now.”

Her cheeks burning, Althea had suffered Connie’s blunt words. “So you think it’s going to be that bad?”

“Well, let me ask you this, sweetie. How do you feel about Los Angeles?”

“And that was that!” Althea said, as she finished describing the nightmare interview, her eyes flashing. “You would think my name in the papers would please Connie but it seems that Ambassador Daniel Boylan’s black shadow hovers over me like a shroud. His stature in the African-American community cannot be ‘besmirched’—Connie’s word. At least, that’s how the agency expects I’m going to be painted when the press gets wind of the story. And because Connie herself is active in the African-American community, she is not going to make waves.”

Harry lay there, shaken, unsure what to say. “Divorced? Wow, that’s the one thing I never would have guessed. Ah, jeez, Allie, I’m sorry, I really am.”

Althea closed her eyes against the sympathy in Harry’s voice. “Thanks, but don’t be. It was a mutual decision. My first alimony check is already deposited in my bank account and Daniel will continue to make deposits so long as ‘I don’t cause any scandal.’ Real diplomatic of an ambassador, don’t you think? The size of the check is his insurance—and it’s substantial, to say the least. Not that he can’t afford it. Even given that he has the power of his family and the authority of his position to rise above a scandal, he wants to be absolutely certain there won’t be any. And that, my friend, is why Connie Niles is not about to risk the wrath of the Boylan family by hiring me.”

“They would come after you?”

“With all six barrels blasting.” Althea laughed bitterly. “Not that they would find anything. My life is so boring it would please a nun. But the answer is yes, they would come after me. All his life, Daniel has been groomed for big things, and now that he has become a power broker, they aren’t going to let anything or anyone spoil it, certainly not an ex-wife. They would look until they found something. Daniel would never know, of course, but a discreet word was dropped in my ear by the family’s attorney the day I signed the divorce papers. ‘Rumors, my dear, so easily begun, almost impossible to set right….’ Don’t I know it.”

“My God. There’s a nasty setup, if ever I heard one. But the Althea Almott I used to know was a pretty tough lady. I can’t imagine you taking this lying down. Are you really so worried? The press adores you, if those nasty tabloids I never read are any indication. It’s you who can’t do anything wrong, not Daniel Boylan.”

Althea was thoughtful. Her amber eyes, carefully shielded by her long lashes, refused to meet his. “I handled things all wrong.”

Some things, in any case. Guilt by omission. Only, she would not share that part of her story. But from day one Daniel believed she had trapped him into marriage with the oldest trick in the book—a pregnancy. As if she’d needed to lower herself to that level. It had been the press that had started the rumor, and once begun, it could not be stopped. She had been used to rumors. Models, actors, anyone in the limelight, it was all the same, rumors were always a threat, Daniel should have known that from his own experience. Unfortunately, he seemed not to have thought things out, had mistaken her amusement for confirmation and, diplomat that he was, had never bothered to ask her outright if she was pregnant. Loving him, she had not bothered to deny it. When their marriage was quickly arranged by the Boylan family, she had sat back and let it happen. Okay, a big mistake, but her only one. She had gone along with the marriage because she thought he loved her. He hadn’t. It was over the moment he realized that she wasn’t pregnant. Courtesy stopped him from requesting a divorce, but his distaste for the situation became untenable. She stayed until she could no longer bear it. Learning that Daniel had not loved her was a wound that would take a long time to heal.

Chapter Four

Harry found himself at cross-purposes. He still harbored enormous anger at Althea for leaving him in the first place, but as she sat by his bedside day after day, making small talk, reading aloud to him, keeping his spirits up, his defenses began to weaken. Since she was now divorced, he didn’t have to feel guilty spending time with her. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had his heart broken in this lifetime. He’d had two serious—very serious—relationships since Althea, just not serious enough to make a commitment. As a matter of fact, he had met someone right after they broke up, a sweet little thing from Colombia, where he had hidden after their breakup. He still smiled when he recalled the delightful nights they spent on the beach, until her father got wind of their “friendship.” In fact, he had been willing to walk down the aisle with her, but she had balked at leaving South America. They were still in negotiations when Harry was felled by his first bout of malaria and headed back to the States. He traveled home alone and didn’t worry about returning. She didn’t seem to expect him back. In retrospect, he knew he was lucky, that it had been a rebound situation.

Then, three years ago, while doing the college lecture circuit, he had hooked up with a rich college kid from Boston. A one-night stand that turned into a yearlong affair and ended in a fiasco. It seemed she’d forgotten to mention a boyfriend on a European tour.

Now, as he lay in his hospital bed, his body might ache, he could barely keep his food down, and if he sat up too quickly, he was dizzy, but he knew he wasn’t entirely miserable. When Althea sat beside him, he was beguiled. She brought books and read quietly, while he drifted in and out of sleep. Another day she surprised him with a radio—he loathed television and refused to rent one. From that day forward, he was able to keep up with the news. She listened patiently when he disparaged the lousy hospital food, and showed up with fresh bread and clear soups. (When the nurses noticed the delicious smells, Althea arranged to have Chinese take-out delivered to their station.) They discussed her career, and his, the interesting turns they had taken professionally, the places they’d been, the people they had met.

But Harry’s favorite thing was to watch how Althea’s eyes blazed when he teased her, and he did so every opportunity he got. He liked to watch her tamp down her exasperation when he tried her patience with the silliest demands. He also liked to catch her out, catch her staring when she thought he was sleeping. At such moments he wondered what she was thinking, but he never dared to ask. Other times he pretended to sleep because then she would sit beside him and stroke his brow.

“You seem so rough around the edges,” she said one day, while she was combing back his freshly washed hair.

“No evidence of a leavening feminine hand?” he said, his voice ironic.

“Your clothes at the airport… You could use a haircut,” she admitted.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, sharing her smile, “do you ever have a bad day? Last fall I saw you on the cover of Ebony, and I remember wishing I had taken the picture, you looked so beautiful. Then I saw the inside layout, you and your husband hanging out at the embassy—you know, one of those a-day-in-the-life sort of articles—and I was glad I hadn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the ambassador—I don’t even know him, just what I read in the papers—I was just glad I hadn’t been there, that’s all. All that connubial bliss would have made me, um, queasy.”

“Well, let that be a lesson,” Althea said with a short laugh, “not to believe everything you read.” But before he could question her curious remark, she smoothly changed the subject. “Hey, I’m not the only one who’s famous. Have I said how many times I’ve run across your byline? Harry Bensen Sweeps Himalayas. Harry Uncovers Hidden Ruins of Hammurabi. Bensen Photographs Yangtze River. You’re as much an explorer as photographer. I went to one of your exhibits, you know, the one you had in Paris last fall.”

“I wish I’d known. On second thought, I’m glad I didn’t,” Harry decided. “I would have been nervous wondering what you thought of my work.”

“Fame can be a burden,” she said with a stilted laugh.

Harry was doubtful. “Are you so burdened, Althea? Too pretty, too rich, too many houses?”

Althea looked down at Harry’s hands, long, pale fingers sprinkled with blond hair, handsome hands that had given her body its first lesson in love. But the choices they’d made, that she had made the decade before, were still being played out. If she had regrets, and she had terrible regrets, she would keep them to herself. “Let me be, Harry,” she said quietly. “Don’t ask me any questions, and I won’t ask you mine.”

They never got personal again, and they never talked about their past together. Harry would have—it was always a word away from his lips—but Althea’s message was clear, and he sensed that one wrong word and she might be out the door, a gamble he didn’t want to take.

And he would have touched her—oh, countless times he would have liked to reach out—but his hand always stilled. He would not make the same mistake twice. Her ex-husband, Daniel, was nothing, a year out of Althea’s life, a mistake. But wasn’t he, too? That’s what Harry kept telling himself, the long hours he lay in his hospital bed, up to the very moment he was informed that he could leave the hospital four days later. Very nearly what Althea told herself, too, as she prowled her apartment that long week, so it was not surprising that their needs would blend.