The sofa was uncomfortable, and she settled herself against a nest of pillows to make it more bearable. He settled himself at the far end of the sofa and sat forward, as if he planned to spring to his feet at any moment.
“Have you been in New Orleans long?” she asked.
“A matter of weeks.” He faced her. “If you don’t mind me asking a question at this point, how did you know I was here at all?”
“I’ve read your Atlantic Monthly articles, and your series on integration in the New York Times. As I said, I follow your work. So I know that your mother is Nicky Valentine and you visit here from time to time. When I began thinking about this project, I wished there was someone of your caliber who could write it up for me. And then I realized you might be able to. So I asked around…”
“And you found me?”
“It’s really a very small town.”
“I’ve discovered that.”
She smiled. “You would have, by now. You weren’t difficult to find. You’ve allied yourself with civil rights activists who make their presence known, even though you haven’t been openly involved in any demonstrations yourself.”
“I’m a journalist. I strive for objectivity.”
“I see that.”
“And nothing you’ve learned about me so far disturbs you?”
“No, it doesn’t. It intrigues me.”
“What would you like to know about me?”
“Tell me how you’re enjoying your stay here.”
He seemed to sift through possible answers. She already knew that he was not a man who would lie. He would be certain that whatever he said was exactly the truth. And sometimes the truth took time.
“I’ll tell you a story,” he said. “I took the streetcar yesterday, and though I didn’t have to sit in the back, a woman got up and found another seat after I sat down across the aisle from her. I don’t suppose you’d be surprised to learn she was white.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“In the few minutes I’ve spent in the Garden District, I’ve already had an interesting encounter with your neighbor.”
Aurore nodded. “I suppose Mr. Aucoine didn’t mention that he and I haven’t spoken in years, because we’ve found absolutely nothing to say to each other.”
“There’s another side to the city,” Phillip said, obviously struggling to be fair. “Change is simmering in the air. You can smell potential everywhere you go.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
“Why?”
She was startled, although she shouldn’t have been. Nothing about talking to Phillip Benedict was going to be easy. The man had no easy inside him. “Because I want things to change.”
“It won’t benefit you,” he said bluntly.
“You might be surprised what would benefit me.”
He tapped his foot, and she knew he was anxious to get on with this. She purposely let him tap and took her time examining him. He was a handsome man, but that didn’t surprise her, since she had seen his photograph more than once. Phillip Benedict had been on the front lines of the civil rights movement for so long that he had been caught on camera nearly as often as the people he was there to write about.
Photographs could capture the elegant set of his head, the strong, striking features, but they couldn’t capture the vitality, the essence, of a man who rose above the crowd. She had hoped that he was the man she believed him to be. Now, watching him, she was sure.
She would have liked to stare longer, but she took pity on him. “I’m not going to keep you. Let me tell you what I have in mind, and we’ll see if we can come to terms. First, I want you to understand that I know what an odd request this is. The world isn’t holding its breath waiting for my biography to be published.”
“I’m sure you’ve lived an interesting life.”
“How lovely of you to be so tactful. But the truth is, we both know there’s a limited market for the story of my life.”
“How limited?”
“More than you’ve imagined. This is a private and very personal project. I have no intention of anyone besides the immediate members of my family having a copy of the manuscript when you’ve finished.”
“That limits my royalties, wouldn’t you say?”
“There will be no royalties. I’ll pay you a set price.” She paused. “You can set it yourself.”
“I thought you were a businesswoman.”
“I’m an old woman who wants this very badly.”
“Why?”
“I think, when we’ve finished, you’ll have your answer.”
He didn’t say no, but he didn’t say yes, either. He examined