Danielle Steel: Bittersweet

“How's the Mother of the Year? Still taking pictures of kids on Santa's lap to give to their mommies?” She had volunteered at a children's shelter the previous year to do just that, and Raoul had not been overly amused by it. For years now, he had been telling her she was wasting her talents. And once every couple of years, she did something for him that gave him hope she might one day come back to the real world. She had done a fabulous story three years before, on abused children in Harlem. She had done it in the daytime while her own kids were in school, and managed not to miss a single car pool. Doug hadn't been pleased but he had let her do it, after India had spent weeks discussing it with him. And, as in the past, she had won an award for it.

“I'm fine. How are you, Raoul?”

“Overworked, as usual. And a little tired of getting the ‘artists’ I represent to be reasonable. Why is it so impossible for creative people to make intelligent decisions?” It sounded like he had already had a bad morning, and listening to him, India was hoping he wasn't going to ask her to do something totally insane. Sometimes, despite the limitations she had set on him for years, he still did that. He was also upset because he had lost one of his star clients, a hell of a nice guy and good friend, in a brief holy war in Iran in early April. “So what are you up to?” he asked, trying to sound a little more cordial. He was a nervous, irascible man, but India was fond of him. He was brilliant at pairing up the right photographer with the right assignment, when they let him.

“I'm loading the dishwasher, actually,” she said with a smile. “Does that fit your image of me?” She laughed and he groaned.

“Only too well, I'm afraid. When are those kids of yours ever going to grow up, India? The world can't wait forever.”

“It'll have to.” Even after they were grown, she wasn't sure Doug would want her to take assignments, and she knew it. But this was what she wanted for now. And she had told Raoul that often enough for him to almost believe her. But he never gave up entirely. He was still hoping that one day she might come to her senses, and run screaming out of Westport. He certainly hoped so. “Are you calling to send me on a mission on muleback somewhere in northern China?” It was the kind of thing he called her with from time to time, although occasionally he called with something reason-able, like the work she had done in Harlem. And she had loved that, which was why she kept her name on his roster.

“Not exactly, but you're getting close,” he said tentatively, wondering how to phrase his question. He knew how impossible she was, and just how devoted to her children and husband. Raoul had neither a spouse nor a family, and could never quite understand why she was so determined to flush her career down the toilet for them. She had a talent like few he had known, and in her case he thought it was a sacrilege to have given up what she had been doing.

And then he decided to take the plunge. All she could do was say no, although he desperately hoped she wouldn't. “It's Korea, actually. It's a story for the Sunday Times Magazine , and they're willing to put it out to someone freelance, instead of a staffer. There's an adoption racket in Seoul that's going sour. The word is they're killing the kids no one will adopt. It's relatively safe, for you at least, unless you ruffle too many feathers. But it's a fantastic story, India. Babies are being murdered over there, and once it runs in the magazine, you can syndicate the story. Someone really has to do it, and they need your pictures to validate the story and I'd rather it be you than anyone else. I know how you love kids, and I just thought …it's perfect for you.” She felt an undeniable rush of adrenaline as she listened. It tugged at her heart in a way that nothing had since the story in Harlem. But Korea? What would she tell Doug and the kids? Who would drive her car pools and make dinner for them? All they had was a cleaning lady twice a week, she had done it all herself for years, and there was no way that they could manage without India to do it all for them.

“How long are we talking about?” A week maybe …maybe Gail would agree to cover for her.

There was a pause, and she could hear him suck in his breath. It was a habit he had whenever he knew she wouldn't like his answer. “Three weeks …maybe four,” he said finally, as she sat down on a stool and closed her eyes. There was no way on earth that she could do it, and she hated to miss the story. But she had her own children to think of.

“You know I can't do that, Raoul. Why did you call me? Just to make me feel bad?”

“Maybe. Maybe one of these days you'll get the fact that the world needs what you do, not just to show them pretty pictures, India, but to make a difference. Maybe you could be the one who stops those babies from getting murdered.”

“That's not fair,” she said heatedly. “You have no right to make me feel guilty about this. There's no way I can take a four-week assignment, and you know it. I have four kids, no help, and a husband.”

“Then hire an au pair, for chrissake, or get divorced. You can't just sit there on your dead ass forever. You've already wasted fourteen years. It's a wonder anyone's still willing to give you work. You're a fool to waste your talent.” For once, he sounded angry with her, and she didn't like what he was saying.

“I haven't ‘wasted’ fourteen years, Raoul. I have happy, healthy kids who are that way because I'm around to take them to school every day, and pick them up, and go to their Little League games, and cook them dinner. And if I'd gotten myself killed sometime in those fourteen years, you wouldn't be here to step into my shoes for me.”

“No, that's a point,” he said, sounding calmer. “But they're old enough now. You could go back to work again, at least on something like this. They're not babies, for chrissake. I'm sure your husband would understand that.” Not after what he'd said the night before. She couldn't even imagine telling him she was going to Korea for a month. It was inconceivable in the context of their marriage.

“I can't do it, Raoul, and you know it. All you're doing now is making me unhappy.” She sounded wistful as she said it.

“Good. Then maybe you'll get going again one of these days. I'd be performing a service for the world if that was all I accomplished by calling.”

“For the world maybe, although you flatter me. I was never that great. But you wouldn't be performing a service for my children.”

“Lots of mothers work. They'd survive it.”

“And if I didn't?” She had the example of her own father dying when she was fifteen. And no one could tell her that couldn't happen, particularly with the kind of stories she was known for doing. The one in Korea would have been tame in comparison to the work she'd done before she was married.

“They'd survive it too,” he said sadly. “I won't send you on the really hot ones. This one in Korea is a little dicey, but it's not like sending you to Bosnia or something.”

“I still can't do it, Raoul. I'm sorry.”

“I know. I was crazy to call you, but I had to try. I'll find someone else. Don't worry about it.” He sounded discouraged.

“Don't forget me completely,” she said sadly, feeling something she hadn't in years, over the assignment she had just turned down. She really wished she could do the story in Korea, and felt deprived that she had to turn it down. Not resentful, just bitterly disappointed. This was the kind of sacrifice she had been talking to Doug about the night before, and that he had discounted so completely. As though what she had done with her camera for all those years, and giving it up for him and the kids, meant nothing.