“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