Jared blushed, smiling down on Hilda. “No haircut. I actually came to do a demonstration for anyone interested.”
“What are you demonstrating?” Hilda asked, clapping his shoulder.
“Flashco knives.” Jared lowered his backpack to the floor, unzipped it. “I brought along a kitchen set and some Flashco scissors.”
“Ah, yes. This we must see.”
God bless you, Hilda, Rachel thought, grateful that she didn’t have to be the one coaxing her son’s sales pitch. Rachel cleared a space on the rolling cart for Jared to set up, and he opened his vinyl knife roll, gaging his audience with questions about who liked to cook and who had trouble chopping vegetables with the dull knives in the house. “And one more question,” he said, with a well-timed pause. “Who likes to save money?”
That hooked them. Even the women on the fringes of the group looked over.
“Well, who doesn’t?” Tootsie called over from the pedicure chair.
Spying her next client, Rachel cut over to the reception desk and greeted Brianna Crafton, another Gleetime mom, who said she didn’t mind the demonstration going on.
“It’s great to see the kids all grown up,” Brianna said as they stepped over to the sinks. “Jared’s really come into his own. Sometimes we need to send the older ones off to school to give the younger sibs a chance to shine.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” In a mist of strawberry-scented shampoo, Rachel listened in as Jared had Lexi Collins cut an apple with the mini-chef.
“It’s effortless!” Lexi raved as Jared handed out apple slices.
Off in the corner, Rachel noticed Tiff and her client hanging back, shooting critical glances at the group. That Tiff was such a buzz kill. You would think that, as the youngest stylist, Tiffani Delgado would be a bit more open-minded. Instead, she put a negative glaze on everything. The girl had even had the nerve to advise Rachel to get rid of the “Holy Snips” name and theme, saying that religion was just not in anymore and nobody liked cutesy themes. Cutesy. Oh, that girl tested Rachel’s patience.
By the time Rachel led Brianna back to her station, Jared was talking about the ease of cutting a chicken with the help of Flashco scissors.
“With these shears, separating a chicken into parts is quick work, which means savings for you, since we know it’s cheaper to buy a whole chicken than parts.”
“Let me see those.” Tootsie gestured him closer, her mouth a downward slash of skepticism. “They don’t look very sharp.”
“That’s the beauty of it. You can run your finger over the serrated blade without cutting, but when put to the test, these scissors get the job done.”
The women nodded politely, except for Tootsie, who scowled. “You look dubious, Mrs. Dover,” he said. “Here. Let me show you. Mom, do you have a penny?” Rachel provided a shiny penny from her apron pocket and, with a flourish, Jared cut through the coin as if it were made of clay.
Hilda gasped with delight and a few women applauded.
“Wow, thanks,” Jared said with a mild smile. “But it wasn’t me; it’s the scissors.”
Even Tootsie softened in her sardonic way. “You are one s-s-smooth salesman,” she said in a loose voice that was a little too loud. And was that drool on her lips? Rachel looked away in dismay.
Jared must have known that she was tipsy—he’d seen enough of that with Jackson—but he didn’t seem bothered by Tootsie’s altered state.
“So, ladies, I have just one question for you.” Calm but attentive, Jared held them in the palm of his hand as his gaze swept the room. “How many knives would you like to order today?”
In the end, half of the clients bought single knives or scissors, and Sondra ordered a small set of steak knives as a housewarming gift for her daughter.
For a few minutes Tootsie fingered all the knives, admiring her new manicure as she tried out the faux-ivory handles. She told Jared that one of these days she was going to replace her old stuff, and she really liked the feel of these knives.
Apparently, today was not that day; the drunken maven bought nothing. After Tootsie left, Rachel ran into Sondra in the kitchen. Sondra Stegman was a chameleon of hairstyles. Today her shoulder-length hair was jet-black with a bluish sheen, styled in an A-line bob.
“That Tootsie sure is a cheap one,” Sondra murmured under her breath as she piled her dirty Tupperware containers into a bag. She was on one of those macrobiotic diets that Rachel didn’t understand. “I think the last time I saw her open her wallet, moths flew out.”
Rachel laughed. “Jared knows that he’s not to put on the pressure. I don’t want the ladies to feel obligated in any way.”
“I know, but still.” Sondra tossed an empty water bottle into the recycling bin. “If I was loaded, I’d buy one of everything. Charity begins at home.”
“You bought a whole set. That was so nice of you.”
“Sammy will think it’s a real score, and I’m sick of trying to cut vegetables with a table knife whenever I visit her.”
“Well . . . you know I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.” Sondra beamed, her green eyes sparkling with compassion.
Rachel melted a little inside, and for the zillionth time she considered what an enigma this woman was; she ran hot and cold, friendly and distant, up and down. Rachel had learned to simply steer clear of her on the bad days.
Jared hung out, chatting with the ladies as customers said good-bye and stylists began to clean up their stations. When he offered to help Rachel close up the shop, she accepted with a little pang of regret that he didn’t have plans on a Saturday night. When was he going to go on record with this mystery girl? She bit her question back and started sweeping up her station. That was the drawback of having a son who was an old soul; the weekend-party racket held no appeal for him.
After the last stylist left, she latched the door, leaving the keys hanging in the lock. “So how did sales go?”
“I did okay today.” Jared shrugged with the low-key coolness typical of tall teen boys. “Thanks for setting me up with your clients, Mom.”
“It’s fine, as long as you don’t put the squeeze on.”
“Mom? Like I would ever do that?”
“I know, honey.” She pointed to the stained glass window. “Use the special glass cleaner on that. It’s in the kitchen, under the sink.”
Although every stylist was responsible for cleaning her station and a crew came in and did a thorough scrubbing each Monday night, Rachel couldn’t abide the cobwebs and dust that migrated into the common spaces during the week. She ran the duster along the shiny wooden pews in the waiting area, then ran the electric broom over the floor. When she turned off the vacuum, she heard him humming as he wiped the stained glass.
“What’s that song?”
“It’s one of the group numbers for Gleetime. Called ‘Seasons of Love.’ It’s got great harmonies.”
“I think I know it. Are you doing it for the Spring Showcase?”
“Yeah. And the state competition.” He swiped the rag over the windowsill, then paused. “About that. There’s sort of good news, bad news.”
Rachel braced herself. “Oh, God.”
“The good news is that this guy from Winchester College, he’s going to be at the state competition.”
“This guy?”
“From admissions. A recruiter.”
She wrapped the cord on the electric broom and looked up. “Wait. Really? How did you find out?”
Another subtle shrug. “He e-mailed me.”
“You personally? Honey, that’s great! It means he’s looking at you for their performance group. Which translates to scholarship money.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the bad news. He’s not going to be able to find me at state since I didn’t make it to the finals for the solo competition, and I don’t have a partner for a duet. I mean, I’ll be in with the company, but you know how that is. One head in the crowd.”
“Oh no! That can’t happen. Did you
tell Mr. Schulteis a recruiter is coming? I’m sure he’ll let you solo.”
“Mom, that’s not going to happen. Every single kid in Gleetime auditioned for a solo, and cuts were made, fair and square. Schulteis can’t rig the competition just so that I can be seen.”
“I can’t believe this.” She tucked the electric broom into the closet and closed the door with a petulant thunk. “Winchester is your first choice. It’s a dream school.” She had never seen Jared so happy as when he’d been walking on that campus, past sparkling fountains, green lawns, and low-slung buildings with colorful mosaic tiles, sandstone arches and arcades, and roofs of red-clay tiles. It had killed her that she could not afford to send him there. But with a scholarship . . .
“We’ve got to get you a duet,” she said. “Schulteis is still auditioning for duets, right?”
“Mom, I don’t have a partner. None of my friends are in Gleetime. It’s not going to happen.” He folded the rag, grabbed the can of spray cleaner, and headed into the kitchen to stash it away.
“We can get you a partner,” she called after him. “What about Remy? I bet she’ll do it in a heartbeat.”
“Just give it a rest, okay?”
“You’re giving up on your dream too easily.”
“I’m just being realistic.” He emerged from the kitchen and joined her at the door. “We talked about this. I don’t need to go to a private college, and we can’t afford it. I’ll be fine at a state school. I might even stay here and go to Portland.”
“Stop, stop, stop! Don’t even say that.”
“It’s a good school.”
“And live in your mother’s back pocket?” She opened the door, and waited for him to step out. “I know you don’t want that.”
“I could get a place with some friends.”
“And always feel like you missed out on going away to college? That’s no good, honey. You need to do a duet at state.” Rachel stepped through the door behind him, reaching back to turn off all the lights but one, a spotlight shining on the stained glass in the window.
“Mom . . . don’t make this a problem.”
“When you see a problem, I see an opportunity to grow.”
Jared rolled his eyes and turned toward the parking lot. “Wow, Mom. Hallmark called. They need you to write some inspirational cards.”
“They’ll just have to wait.” Rachel smiled as she locked the door and jangled the keys in one palm. “Right now I’m devoting my life to raising my sons and beautifying the world, one head at a time.”
“See you at home,” he said, heading toward his ancient car, a distressed Volvo in a sad shade of rust.
Rachel paused at the door of her car, watching her son amble toward his car with the lanky swagger of a kid struggling to catch up with the large man-body that contained him. God, she loved that kid. “I love you to the moon and back,” they used to say to each other at night when she tucked him into bed. Back in the sweet kiddy days. She loved KJ, too, though admittedly in a different way. Jared was the dear teddy bear that required only occasional attention, while his older brother had a kinetic, popping personality that demanded engagement and sacrifice.
Of the two of them, Kyle James was more like Gage in the raw physicality of his presence. God help him. But KJ had substance under that sex appeal, and both boys had good souls. It was Jackson’s intervention eleven years ago that had turned their family around. A former marine, Jackson had taught the boys respect and discipline. Oh, they’d complained that he was harsh, but who else was going to teach them about courage and integrity? And football, too. When they’d lost Jackson two years ago, both boys had mourned him as if he’d been their real father.
As she drove home, she speed-dialed Ariel, eager to get her best friend cued in on the new goal for Jared at the state competition. Jared could protest all he wanted, but Rachel would not give up. Nope. Easing down the street past a dense green laurel hedge that gave way to a lawn bordered by bright peonies, she thought of Jared’s dream of Winchester College and KJ’s concerns about getting pushed off the team. Somehow, some way, she was going to pull things together for her boys.
Chapter 4
Tuning out the television and the kids sprawled on the sofa behind her, Ariel crossed her pajama-clad legs and let them hang in the air over the side of the comfy leather chair. Her feet, couched in white, fluffy socks, hung limp like lamb ears. Lonely lambs. Sunday mornings used to be the best, staying in bed late, snuggling up to Stosh, talking quietly and giggling and trying some new hot lotions and silly sex games. There was a certain athleticism to having sex with Stosh that put the “sun” in Sundays.
She sighed. Sunday mornings were dull without him.
Not that it wasn’t charming to have her little lovies around, watching old Harry Potter movies on TV or working on school projects at the kitchen table. Maisy was a cuddle monster and Trevor was a good buddy, observant and inquisitive, always relaying advice from magazines and Googling the ingredients of snack crackers to make sure the family wasn’t ingesting harmful chemicals. Remy was creative and patient but rarely around these days, drawn away by activities and friend commitments. And smart, stubborn Cassie had played the role of housemother until she left for college nearly two years ago. Kids made good company, but they could also be a pain in the ass. An expensive pain.
Adjusting the romance novel in her lap, Ariel scanned a few lines, trying to move past the slower parts. Sometimes the snappy dialogue amused her, but the love scenes, those were the parts that really snagged her interest. Romance writers understood how sex felt for a woman—not the physical wham-bam that men were mired in—but the rich springtime of emotion, with all its spice and color and sensation and splendor.
Damn but she missed having Stosh here. She turned the page and scanned on and turned another page, searching for the vicarious thrill of someone else’s lovemaking.
“I miss soccer already,” Trevor said wistfully from behind her. He came over to the arm of the chair and positioned himself between her calves, grabbing hold of her socks to maneuver her feet as if they were gearshifts. “I wish I had a game today.”
“You can play a game with your friends.” She clamped her calves around him, giving him a little jostle.
He grinned. “I know, but I want a real game.”
“You’re done for the season, buddy.” As evidenced by last night’s team spaghetti banquet that had stretched on and on until, in a haze of red wine, Ariel had steered Trevor out the door. She was glad to be done with the same old faces that fringed the soccer field, mediocre people making stupid conversation. Most annoying was Nan Lee, Kristina’s mother, who also had a son on Trevor’s team. That Alex Lee, what a superstar! If you believed Nan, you’d think that Alex played the field singlehandedly.
Fortunately, Ariel was close enough to walk home with Trevor, but she would have to go back and pick up the car this morning. “That was the best banquet ever,” Trevor had told her. He’d loved the mundane spaghetti, the presentation of trophies and homemade awards and the endless rounds of billiards and foosball. Ariel wished that she could relate to the parents half as well as Trevor bonded with the other kids.
“I was just getting good and they ended the season.” Trevor pushed away from her legs and plodded toward the kitchen. “What am I going to do today, Mom? A kid my age needs exercise and I wanna play soccer.”
“So play, honey.” Her phone began to buzz from the side table. “Get some of your friends together at the field.” It was time for Trev to take the initiative. She glanced at her phone and felt a tug of longing and regret.
It was him.
Trying to keep her voice even and calm, she answered. “I told you it was over.”
“You said a lot of things you didn’t mean.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I meant every word I said.” Though, honestly, she didn’t remember everything from that night. Too much wine, too little sleep.
“Then let’s talk about it,” he said, his voic
e low. “In bed. I’ll come over.”
“Nope.” She couldn’t have him here anymore. “Where are you? Are you still in Oregon?”
“I’m in Glendale, but I can catch the noon flight.”
“Don’t even think about it,” she said in a singsong voice.
“Come on, baby. Don’t you miss our Sunday sex?”
His voice cracked her cold resolve. Stosh may not have been the best-looking man she’d ever dated, but the man had a voice like warm, drizzled honey. A voice that could make her so hungry. Starving. “Maybe,” she said, thinking she could creep up to her bedroom, take the rest of the call up there. No way was she bringing him back into the house, but what was the harm in a little phone session? “Give me a minute.” Her body sang with adrenaline as she swung her legs down and rose from the chair. “I need to slip into something nice and flim—”
Her oldest daughter, Cassie, stood in the archway leading toward the stairs. She wore an oversized Oregon State T-shirt and those godawful baggy sweatpants that made her butt look too large for her square body. Hands on her hips, her dark hair wild and tousled from sleep, she was a formidable barrier. “Who are you talking to?” she demanded.
“No one,” Ariel said, feeling guilty and defensive as she brushed past Cassie.
“Is it him?” Cassie called after her.
Ariel ducked into the downstairs restroom, locked the door, and leaned against it. “I’ll have to call you back,” she said, though she knew she wouldn’t. The heat of the tease had chilled; the moment was lost.
“Aw, come on, babe. Don’t leave me hanging here.”
Out in the hallway, Cassie’s voice boomed. “You’re talking to Stosh, aren’t you? Mom! You promised.”
“I gotta go,” Ariel said, recognizing that this had always been the real source of the conflict between Stosh and her. Ariel was always being pulled between her hot, single Hollywood producer and her four kids, and for now, the kids needed her more. At least, for the next few years. Stosh was protesting, but she ended the call, put her phone on the edge of the sink, and splashed cold water onto her flushed face to cool the remaining embers of lust.
Domestic Secrets Page 5