Outsiders

by Lynn Ames

  “I know. I’ll ask the nurse if you can have anything more for pain.”

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital.”

  “Hurts like a bitch.”

  “I’m sure it does. Let me get the nurse.”

  Renée wanted to protest—wanted the voice to stay—but she couldn’t formulate the words fast enough.

  “Let’s see, dear.”

  Different voice. Efficient and starchy. “Hurts.”

  “I’ll have to call the doctor and ask if we can increase your pain meds. I’ll be right back.”

  “H-hello?”

  “I am here.”

  Ah, the melodic voice. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “You have some pretty serious injuries.”

  “Hurts.”

  “I know. Hang tight. The nurse will be back soon.”

  Renée felt a warm hand on her arm and resisted the urge to pull away. “So?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What are my injuries?”

  “Oh. You have a fractured skull, dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, and a lungful of water.”

  “That all?”

  The melodic voice laughed. The sound was like wind chimes on a warm summer breeze. Cautiously, Renée opened her eyes.

  “Ouch. Can you turn the lights down?”

  “Sure.”

  Renée watched as the petite woman crossed the room to the light switch and clicked it off, leaving only the dim glow from the bedside lamp. The relief was immediate. “Better. Thanks.”

  As the woman approached the bed again, Renée noticed for the first time that she wore a sling on her right arm. “What happened to you?”

  The woman averted her gaze.

  “It’s nothing.”

  Before Renée could pursue the matter, the nurse returned.

  “Doctor Billet says you can have one of these now.”

  Renée opened her mouth to receive the pill and drank from the cup the nurse held for her.

  “When can I get out of here?”

  “Not for a few days, I’m afraid. Doctor Billet will make rounds in the morning and he’ll explain everything to you.”

  “Terrific.” If she’d been in any less pain, Renée would’ve found a way to get up and walk out on her own.

  The nurse bustled out, and Renée realized her mysterious visitor was standing unobtrusively in the corner.

  “Who are you, and why are you here?”

  Yazhi shrugged self-consciously. “Is there someone I can call for you? You didn’t have any emergency contact information with you.”

  Renée grunted and closed her eyes. She’d alienated anyone who had ever cared about her. She bit her lip. “You can try my sister Elaine, but I can’t guarantee that she won’t hang up on you.”

  “She is your sister and you’re injured. I’m sure she wouldn’t do that.”

  Renée snorted. “Don’t bet on it.” She recited the number and watched as the woman left the room. Briefly it occurred to her that the stranger hadn’t introduced herself, and then Renée’s eyelids began to droop.

  ***

  “What the hell did you do to yourself this time?”

  Renée opened her eyes grudgingly as her sister swept into the room. “Good to see you too, sis.”

  “God damn it, Renée. I have to read for a part tomorrow and I haven’t finished memorizing my lines. Then I get a call from some woman I don’t know, with a name I can’t pronounce, telling me you’re in rough shape in a hospital in friggin’ Phoenix. Phoenix in the summertime? What’re you, nuts?”

  Renée looked around for the first time. “Where is she?”

  “She who?”

  “The woman who called you.”

  “I told her to take off.” Elaine waved her hand dismissively, then paused. “Let me guess, you wanted to get out of bed and shoot her. What is she, a model? A bedmate?”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, she was hot. So it stands to reason—”

  Renée’s ears flushed red. “Believe it or not, I don’t jump into bed with every attractive woman I meet.” Why didn’t I notice how pretty she was?

  “Sure, sure. Anyway, she’s gone.”

  A pang of regret pulled at Renée’s heart. “What was her name?”

  “I don’t know. Sounded like a board game.”

  Renée ignored her sister’s obvious irritation. “A board game?”

  “Yeah. When’s the doctor going to get here so I can get the skinny and get back to LA?”

  As always, where Elaine was involved, Renée’s temper flared. “Your concern is touching.”

  “Listen, I’m here, aren’t I? What have you done for me lately? Or my kids, for that matter? When’s the last time we saw you? When’s the last time you called? I haven’t heard from you in more than a year. The kids barely remember who you are. Now this.”

  Renée closed her eyes against the truth of that. Over the years she’d perfected the art of disappearing for long stretches at a time. It was just easier.

  “Sorry to have put you out. You can go now. I’m alive, as you can see. I’m sure I’ll be out of here in a few days. Break a leg on your audition.”

  ***

  Yazhi watched from around the corner as the sister stormed self-importantly out of Renée’s room. Her lips formed a thin line of dissatisfaction. “Bad energy, that one,” Yazhi mumbled.

  Although technically she wasn’t eavesdropping, Yazhi heard every word of the conversation between the sisters. She had been on her way to the elevator, happy to get out of the presence of the injured woman. She was drawn to her in a way she’d never been to anyone before, and it was disquieting.

  Just as the elevator arrived, Yazhi hesitated and turned back. She stopped just outside the room. Renée’s energy was so powerful it was very nearly overwhelming, but there was a disconnect in her field that Yazhi couldn’t explain. She thought about stepping inside to make sure Renée was all right, then changed her mind. With a resolute nod, she strode away and caught the elevator just as the doors were about to close.

  Chapter Two

  Renée stepped back and stared critically at the photograph pinned to the wall of her studio. She moved to the left, then to the right, eyeing angles and the effects of the room’s lighting on the image. Absently, she rubbed her sore shoulder. Although she’d been out of the hospital and back in New York for two weeks, Renée still wasn’t sufficiently healed to lift a camera, carry a tripod, or develop her own film. Instead, she worked with digital images and tinkered with various exposures and effects.

  When the intercom buzzed, she put her hand to her racing heart, the unexpected sound loud in the cavernous space.

  “Yes?” Renée said, depressing the talk button.

  “Package for you, ma’am. I need your signature.”

  She buzzed the delivery man into the building and waited at her door. When she heard the knock, she put an eye up to the peephole before undoing the deadbolt and the chain. After all, this was New York. She took the electronic pen offered by the man in the UPS uniform. When he had gone, she examined the flat express envelope. The return address read simply, “Page, Arizona.”

  “What the…?” Renée pulled the tab and tossed it on the floor in haste. She reached inside the opening and removed a smaller envelope. She tore it open. “No way!” Reverently, as if she were handling an injured butterfly, Renée extracted the wafer-thin contents.

  She turned the SIM card over and over in her fingers, looking for obvious signs of damage. “Hello, beautiful. I don’t know how you got here, but boy, am I glad to see you.”

  In two long strides she was at the computer, sliding the card into the internal reader as she opened Photoshop. She drummed her fingers impatiently on the desk as her Mac accessed the card’s contents.

  “Please be there, please be there.” Briefly, she closed her eyes as she repeated the mantra. When the computer went silent, she opened one eye to peek. The files appeared to be there.
Still, she held her breath until she had clicked on, and opened, every image on the card. “Woot!”

  Renée jumped up, ignored the resultant throbbing in her skull, and moon-danced several steps backward before she returned to her seat and stared intently at the series of images on the screen. “I can’t believe it.” She stroked the screen as if she could still reach out and touch the walls of the slot canyons.

  With deft fingers, she manipulated the images with blinding speed, scrolling through, zooming in, discarding, enhancing, and moving them around on the screen.

  When Renée finally sat back, stretched, and glanced up at the clock, she was shocked to find that several hours had passed. She stood and rolled her aching shoulders and neck. As she turned her head to the left, she spied the plain white envelope on the floor. She scooped it up and was about to throw it in the recycling bin when she noticed a piece of folded stationery inside.

  When she touched the paper, an image of the petite woman in her hospital room popped into her mind’s eye and her pulse quickened. She looked down at the page and frowned.

  Thought you might want this back. It was all that could be salvaged. Hope you’re feeling better.

  “At least you could’ve signed the damn thing,” Renée shouted, as she crumpled the note and threw it in the direction of the garbage. The woman had been haunting her dreams for weeks—a glimpse here, a sensation there—but every time Renée asked her name, the woman disappeared. “Damn you.”

  Renée stalked to the refrigerator and threw the door open, her celebratory mood dampened.

  ***

  “Tell me again where you’re going?” Ben asked, as he watched Yazhi pack her duffle bag.

  “New York.”

  “As in Manhattan? Big city? Other side of the world?”

  Yazhi paused with her hand on a leather blazer and turned to face her brother. She reminded herself that Ben had never been off the reservation and shared her people’s general wariness of being outside the protective cradle of the four sacred peaks.

  “Believe it or not, New York City is still part of the United States. They actually speak English there.” Yazhi smiled benevolently at Ben.

  “Why?”

  “Why, what?”

  “Why is this so important to you, this trip?”

  Yazhi turned back and pretended to absorb herself in the act of folding her clothes. She didn’t want to have this discussion—couldn’t explain even to herself why she felt compelled to go as soon as she’d seen the announcement of the exhibit on the photographer’s web site. After all, it had been more than a year since that fateful encounter in the canyon. She only knew that she had to do it.

  Eventually, she heard Ben shuffle out of the room. Yazhi sat on the bed and rubbed her hands over her face. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. When she felt completely calm and centered, she zipped the bag, hoisted it over her shoulder, and headed out the door.

  ***

  Renée blew an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. She’d meant to get it cut, but she’d been so preoccupied with getting the show ready that she hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

  “Tilt that shadow spot up a little, would you?”

  The crew member to whom Renée addressed the instruction grunted and did as instructed.

  Renée recognized the man’s frustration in his body posture, but she didn’t care. It was her show, and she wanted everything just right. She hadn’t gotten to be one of the most celebrated landscape photographers in the world by worrying about the hired help’s feelings. What was the point of taking spectacular photographs if they were poorly displayed?

  “Why don’t you get out of here? Everything’s under control.”

  “What you really mean to say is,” Renée commented, turning to face gallery owner Sabrina Devreaux, “‘get the hell out of my hair and stop alienating my people.’”

  Sabrina laughed. “Something like that. Besides, you look like a mutt. When’s the last time you had a haircut?”

  Because Sabrina was the closest thing Renée had to a friend, she resisted the urge to make a smart retort. “I was getting around to it.”

  Sabrina made a show of looking at her watch. “You have four hours until you have to be back here. I suggest you use the time wisely.” She patted Renée on the cheek affectionately. “Wouldn’t want you to scare away prospective buyers.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Renée said as she shrugged into her bomber jacket and shouldered her bag. “I’ll see you later.” She kissed Sabrina on the cheek and headed for the door.

  As she pulled away, Sabrina grabbed her wrist. Renée squirmed under the weight of Sabrina’s penetrating gaze. “This is your best work yet, you know. It’s phenomenal.” She stroked her finger along Renée’s jaw and then ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m very, very glad you didn’t die getting these. It would’ve been such a loss.”

  Renée swallowed hard at the note of undisguised lust in Sabrina’s voice. It had been a long time since she’d had sex. Renée shook her head. They’d been down this road before, and although Sabrina was an energetic lover, she wanted more of Renée than she was willing to give. Without another word, she pulled away and hustled out the door.

  ***

  Yazhi sat on the bed in her hotel room and chewed her lip. Maybe this trip wasn’t such a great idea, after all. Yes, she’d felt the pull—that intangible sense that she had long ago learned to heed. In this case, it had tugged at her insistently, urging her forward, telling her there was unfinished business that needed tending.

  Still, every time she thought about it, her heart jumped and her palms turned damp.

  “This is ridiculous.” She pushed herself off the bed and went to the closet where the dress she bought earlier that day hung in its wrapper. “Just go, figure out what the spirits want you to do, and go back home.”

  ***

  The room was packed, and all Renée wanted to do was bolt. She hated large crowds—hated being on display and the center of attention.

  “You have that look, darling.”

  “What look is that?” Renée discreetly shrugged off Sabrina’s touch.

  “The one that says you’d rather have hot bamboo shoved under your fingernails than have to endure another minute of this torture.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Not to anyone but me, darling. Stay and be a good girl, and I promise to make it worth your while later.”

  Renée’s nostrils flared at the patronizing tone. “You can keep the quid pro quo for another client. You needn’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior.” Renée heard the frost in her own voice, saw the quickly hidden flash of hurt in Sabrina’s eyes, and didn’t give a damn. The New York Times art critic already had come and gone, the August edition of Cowboys and Indians magazine was on newsstands with her face and work on the cover, and three other magazines had run eight-page spreads. The publicity had elevated Sabrina’s stature and bolstered her bottom line. She could hardly complain, now could she?

  “You’re a miserable, hateful excuse for a human being, you know that?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Renée muttered to Sabrina’s retreating form.

  ***

  Yazhi, standing several feet away and with her back turned, heard the entire exchange. She’d been admiring the extraordinary depth in Renée’s photographs. The way she captured the nuances of the rocks, the textures, light and shadows—she brought the canyon to life in a way Yazhi previously had imagined only she could see.

  She shook her head. How was it possible that this rude, self-centered, cruel person could show such remarkable sensitivity in her work? There was no way to reconcile the dichotomy.

  Yazhi needed some air. She made her way through the crowd and stepped out onto a small balcony. The lights of the city twinkled all around her, but when she looked up, the stars were lost. She couldn’t imagine a world where she couldn’t find the stars.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  Yazhi started in surp
rise. “Um, yes. It is very nice.”

  The woman with whom Renée had been so harsh stepped up next to Yazhi and extended her hand. “I’m Sabrina. I own this gallery.”

  Her eyes raked over Yazhi in a way that left Yazhi profoundly uncomfortable. “I’m sure I’ve never seen you in here before.” Sabrina ran her tongue over her lips. “I would’ve remembered.”

  “It’s my first time in the City.”

  “Oh.” Sabrina shifted her weight, putting her closer to Yazhi. “How long are you here for? Perhaps I could give you a…personal tour.”

  “Thank you for the offer. Maybe another time,” Yazhi said, as she turned to re-enter the gallery.

  “I didn’t catch your name?”

  Although Yazhi heard the question, she chose to ignore it.

  ***

  Renée’s shoulder blades twitched. Over the years, she’d trained herself to ignore that inner voice. This time, though, she couldn’t resist following the impulse, so she allowed her senses to engage and let them take over. They led her gaze to a stunning woman with shiny, long black hair the color of midnight who was, just then, gliding across the room. Sabrina trailed behind, looking as if she would jump her bones right on the spot if she could.

  It wasn’t that Renée could’ve blamed her. The dark blue silk of the cocktail-length dress accentuated the woman’s slim, strong figure. The single-shoulder cut of the frock showed off her toned arms and flawless collarbones. Perky breasts strained against the material. Yes, she made quite a picture. Although Renée wanted to believe she was assessing the woman with an artist’s eye, the twinge in her loins told a different story.

  When she finally lifted her gaze to the woman’s face, she paused. There was something so familiar about it, but she just couldn’t place her. Had she shot her back in the days when she was a fashion photographer? No, she was too short for that. Besides, her aura was phenomenal. Surely Renée would’ve remembered that.