of the world. Wending her way to Prince Street, she was just about to enter the Prada flagship store when she heard a soft voice call her name, the southern drawl familiar to her ears.
“Althea Almott, as I live and breathe. It is you, isn’t it?”
Althea disliked autograph hounds, but she was never, ever rude to her fans. Pasting on a practiced smile, she turned around to find herself staring into the past.
Benicia Ericson had been a close childhood friend back in Alabama. Living on the same street, they had gone to the same schools, shopped at the same stores, attended the same birthday parties and shared their most intimate, girlish secrets. The pair had been inseparable. Things had only started changing when they were midway through high school and began fantasizing about their future. Althea dreamed of going to New York and searching out the bright lights. Less adventuresome, Benicia had felt threatened by her best friend’s plans to leave and when Althea left, it was on the heels of Benicia’s adolescent anger.
Ten years later, standing on Broadway, they eyed each other warily. Looking down at the tiny brown-skinned woman, Althea was hard put to recognize her old friend. A floppy, gray wool hat nearly hid Benicia’s entire face, but that familiar high-pitched laugh was a giveaway.
“Benicia Ericson! Of all people to meet in Soho.”
“Birmingham does seem a long way away,” Benicia agreed, as they shared an awkward embrace.
“Two thousand miles and two hundred years. How are you, Benicia?”
“Oh, I’m fine, thanks. But I don’t have to ask how you’re doing.”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Althea said quickly. “My goodness, though, what on earth are you doing in New York?”
“I live here.”
Althea was surprised. “No! How come I don’t know that?”
“Maybe because we don’t eat in the same restaurants?” Benicia teased, then turned serious. “And maybe because I never called you. You’re such a big star, I just couldn’t bring myself to…impose.”
A little embarrassed, Althea shook her head. “Well, it’s good to see you, Benicia. Do you ever get back home? To Alabama, I mean.”
“I haven’t been back in years,” Benicia admitted. “But I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
“Me, neither, I’m sorry to say. My mom still lives there, though, a few miles outside the city. And yours?”
“Oh, she’s still there, holding down the fort. I left soon after you did and never went back, either. And I never will.”
“Something in the water?” Althea grinned.
“Something,” Benicia said, smiling back. “Do you ever seriously consider returning?”
“Sure I do. Lately, I think about it a lot.”
“Not me, girlfriend. But I’ve thought about you. Sometimes, thinking about you was the only thing that kept me going. I’d read about you in the paper and think, Why, I know that girl, and if she can do it…You know the sort of thing, silly stuff, but it gave me hope. My friend the world-class model, practically a movie star. Oh, my, yes, I gave you lots of thought. I still do, every time I see a magazine with your face on the cover, wearing that famous ruby-red lipstick.”
“I’m paid to wear that lipstick, you know.”
“I figured as much. So, what have you been up to? I haven’t seen your picture lately. Oh, wait, I remember. You hooked up with the good-looking brother from Long Island, that Boylan ambassador fellow, if I remember correctly. Married yourself a real live prince, straight out of Cinderella, and went to live in Europe somewhere.”
Althea’s amber eyes held a faint glint of humor. “Paris, actually.”
“Paris,” Benicia sighed. “Imagine that, your whole life has been one big fairy tale, hasn’t it? Just like you said it would be. It just goes to show, a small-town girl really can make good in this nasty old world.”
“Oh, Benicia, fairy tales don’t always end happily. My husband and I—our divorce was finalized a few weeks ago. It just hasn’t hit the papers yet.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my, I’m so sorry, Althea.”
“It’s all right, Benicia.” Althea blinked. “How could you know? You would have soon enough, in any case. It will be in all the papers soon.”
“Is that why you’re here in New York?”
“Actually, I only just got back a few days ago.”
“And you run into me and my big mouth. Like I said, I’m really, really sorry.”
“Don’t be. Things happen.”
“Too true,” Benicia said thoughtfully. “Say, listen, I was just window shopping, stalling for time. I have a free hour before I have to go to a meeting. Do you have time for a cup of coffee, catch up on old times? Unless—” Benicia hesitated “—you’re busy. You’re probably busy.”
“I’m not too busy for an old friend,” Althea said firmly. “And a cup of tea sounds perfect.”
The two women made their way a few blocks over to Houston Street, laughing over silly memories that began immediately to surface. Althea talked her friend into having lunch at a small Ethiopian restaurant that served an excellent tea, and tiny glasses of Tej, Ethiopia’s popular honey wine. It wasn’t long before the years fell away and they grew comfortable with each other, although Benicia was careful to stay away from the subject of her friend’s divorce.
“So, tell me,” Benicia asked, as the Tej began to warm them, “you were always talking about going to New York to become a model. Was it worth it?”
“Well, it wasn’t like I was any sort of scholar back in Birmingham, just another pretty girl with a good body and interesting eyes. But my mom lives in a real nice house now with an honest-to-goodness white picket fence and a garden, which is all she ever wanted. So, yes, it was worth it. Of course, it wasn’t without its difficulties. But, hey, that’s a conversation for another day. Let’s talk about you. You look terrific, you know. The same, but different.”
She meant it, too. Benicia looked great. The glossy black curls Althea remembered from their childhood were now worn in a tight cap, her brow was a delicate thin arch over her big, olive-black eyes, and the flirty, long gold earrings she favored set off her graceful neck.
“I do try to take care of myself,” Benicia grimaced with good humor.
“So, are you going to tell me how you landed in New York, considering how angry you were when I left.”
“Considering?” Benicia repeated as their waiter arrived with two steaming bowls of Chicken Wat stew. “Oh, this smells so good.”
“I thought you would like it. It’s my favorite.”
“I
