Domestic Secrets

by Rosalind Noonan

  Tears clouded Rachel’s eyesight as the number ended, but she quickly swiped them away, pretending to look down at her phone as Craig and Ariel delivered comments to Remy and Jared. Rachel could not process their words. The song was still swirling in her head, and her heart was swollen with love for those two kids. So much love for the boy who was finally coming into his own and the girl who was helping him get there.

  To the moon and back.

  Chapter 14

  By the time the penultimate number—“Heart” from Damn Yankees—was wrapping up, Ariel was checking her cell phone and hoping to be out of the school by ten. The show was in decent shape, but it was nothing more than a showcase of hopeful kids. Save a few performances in church choir, most of these students would never sing in public again. The evening had filled her with a stale feeling of ennui.

  Then it happened. The two girls onstage, Remy and Rosie, leaped up into the arms of their dance partners. Graham caught Rosie, but Remy landed on the stage with a sickening thud.

  Ariel bolted up in her seat, wanting to rush onto the stage and tend to her daughter, who seemed to be resting there. Had she lost consciousness?

  But the performance continued, the kids singing, “All you really need it heart!” Even Cooper swayed in time with the other singers dressed as baseball players while Remy lay crumpled at his feet.

  Seconds later she pulled herself into a ball and rose to her feet. She seemed okay as she stepped into place and resumed singing. A little rattled, maybe, poor thing.

  As Ariel’s fears eased, her full-blown wrath turned to Cooper Dover. That vindictive bastard. Give him a few years and he would be beating women behind closed doors.

  Ariel became aware of Craig bristling beside her, a scorching frown on his face. “He just bought himself a ticket out of the show,” he muttered as the kids powered through the end of the song.

  “Maybe he missed the cue,” Ariel murmured in Cooper’s defense. She knew it wasn’t true, but dropping Cooper from the show at this point would spell disaster.

  When the song ended, Craig got up from his seat. “I’ve got Cooper. You’ll check on Remy?”

  She nodded and moved to the edge of the stage as Craig un-leased a curse. “What the hell happened up there? Cooper?”

  Remy stared down at the floor as Cooper mumbled some excuse. “Let’s step outside,” Craig ordered the young man. “Now.”

  Relieved to see Craig take action, Ariel hurried onto the stage and reached toward her daughter. Remy collapsed in her arms for a moment, like a small bird that lands briefly then flies away.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Ariel asked, rubbing the thin crease between Remy’s shoulder blades.

  “I’m fine. It was no big deal.”

  “But it is a big deal. Come here.” There would be no privacy backstage, so she whisked her daughter off to a dark, quiet corner of the auditorium, promising Remy that Cooper would pay for his actions. “This is not okay at all. We both know why Cooper is acting like a little shit, and I’m not going to let him hurt you. You can’t let him hurt you.”

  “I told you, I’m okay. I don’t think he meant it.”

  Of course he had; she hoped her daughter recognized that much. “Well, it’s not going to happen again. Craig is going to want you to switch partners, that is, if he even lets Cooper stay in the show.”

  “Because I fell onstage?” Remy tilted her head to one side, the dark waves of her pigtails bobbing. “That’s an overreaction, don’t you think?”

  “That was no fall. He didn’t catch you. Didn’t even try.”

  “Separating us will screw up all the choreography, for everyone. We have to be dance partners,” Remy insisted. “Mom, don’t let Mr. Schulteis split us up.”

  “This is out of my hands. And Cooper needs to learn that there are consequences for his actions.”

  “But those consequences are going to hurt me and the other Gleetime kids a lot if Mr. Schulteis makes major changes now.” Remy’s hands were clasped together in a gesture of prayer. “Please, Mom. I can deal with this. Let me talk to him. Trust me.”

  Ariel stared at her daughter, wondering how such a civil, calm creature could have come from her family’s gene pool. “Oh, honey, you are not the one I don’t trust.”

  Whether it was exhaustion or anxiety over Remy’s tumble onstage, the high spirits that had infused most of the rehearsal dissipated. The closing number, “Walking on Sunshine,” was anything but sunny and bright. Craig told the kids that the finale required some fixes, which they would focus on the following morning in class.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said under his breath. “We can talk at my place.”

  They did need to talk, and Ariel felt no need to go home. Remy would ride with her friends. Trevor was old enough to be in charge, and those two younger ones had been putting themselves to bed for a while.

  On the way out, Rachel called after her. “Am I giving you a ride home?” Rachel asked, jogging to catch up with Ariel and Craig at the door. Apparently Rachel had been playing with the stage makeup as two bright triangles of pink glimmered from her cheekbones.

  “I’m heading out with Craig to discuss the show.” Ariel knew she should have texted her friend an excuse, but it had slipped her mind. “We’ll connect tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Okay.” The timbre of Rachel’s voice changed, as if she were swallowing a hot potato. “It’s just that we have to talk. Didn’t you see my text messages?”

  “I did.” Ariel had seen the oblique “Call me when you can” messages, and, frankly, she had found them annoying. She figured it was Rachel’s way of trying to tug her away from Craig. Rach was a great friend, but she was quick to reel Ariel in when anyone else threatened to get between them. “But we’ve got to figure this situation out tonight.”

  Rachel grabbed her by the wrist. “You’re talking about what Cooper did to Remy? That’s exactly what I meant. I heard some things backstage.”

  Craig cleared his voice, brisk and a bit mean. “Are we ready?” he asked Ariel.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow, first thing,” Ariel promised her friend.

  “Okay. Um, I guess I’ll bring home your makeup kit.”

  “Please. Thanks, Rach.” Ariel forced a quick smile for her friend before turning away in relief. Sometimes it was best to duck away from Rachel’s dogged determination to fix things in her own way. Good intentions did not always amount to a positive outcome.

  At least Craig held a position of power in this situation. They spent the car ride discussing whether to split up Remy and Cooper as dance partners. That damned ex-boyfriend was a domestic felon in the making, and Ariel wasn’t sure what to do about him.

  Craig shared her apprehension. “I don’t know what to do with this conundrum,” he said as he shifted gears in his Mazda coupe. “The school has a zero tolerance policy for bullying. Zero. Some might say that requires me to suspend Cooper from Gleetime Company.”

  “Which would mean the collapse of half the numbers in the showcase,” Ariel pointed out. “It’s a hot mess, all right.”

  “You said Remy was okay, but what was her reaction?” he asked.

  “She thinks it can be patched over. Remy wants a chance to talk with Cooper and smooth things out.”

  “It’s not her fault,” Craig said, flicking at his cheek three times, as if shooing off a cobweb.

  “Of course it’s not, but she suggested that it might have been an accident.” Remy had said nothing of the sort, but Ariel knew that Craig needed to cover his ass here. He couldn’t overlook a blatant act of bullying. “Maybe Cooper lost his grip,” Ariel suggested. “We don’t know for sure. He did express remorse, didn’t he?”

  “When he realized he was in big trouble. But he played dumb. Didn’t know how it happened. Said he’s under too much pressure. Exams and grades. No date for prom. The usual complaints.”

  “No date? Oh, please! Cooper could have any girl he wants.”

  “Except the one he want
s,” Craig said pointedly.

  Ariel sighed. “I don’t feel sorry for him. Not a lick. But I do think that it would be an overreaction to dump him from Gleetime. And as far as changing partners, I don’t know.”

  “It would throw off a lot of the dance numbers, and we have no time to make the adjustment. We are four days away from opening night.”

  “I wouldn’t mess with the dance partners. For now, let’s give Remy a chance to talk some sense into the big nutball.”

  By the time they arrived at his place, Craig had decided to give the situation twenty-four hours before taking action. That would give Remy the time she needed, and Ariel was confident that her daughter would strike some sort of peace accord with Cooper. No one could resist an appeal from Remy.

  Ariel tried to keep the tone light and friendly as she followed Craig into his apartment, a downstairs unit in a four-story cluster of apartments set in the hills overlooking Portland. When Craig had invited her here, she had suspected he had an ulterior motive. She figured that Craig, like most single men in this town, wanted to have sex with her, and she had been mentally preparing ways to wriggle out of it. Despite her mottled moral scruples, she tried to be monogamous; in the past, trying to juggle relationships with two people at one time had landed her in a pickle. She tried to be a one-man woman. And although her current relationship was fleeting, that didn’t give her justification to be a slut.

  But as they’d entered his living room of square, modern sectional furniture, she realized that there would be no brushoffs. There were no lingering looks, no loaded touches as he handed her a wineglass. Craig chose the chair opposite the sofa and launched into the topic of his career, pointing out his college background, his experience in local theater, and his grave sacrifice to earn a wage as a teacher when his dream was to be onstage himself.

  “Right now, I’m feeling kind of stifled,” he said, putting his wineglass down on the glass coffee table. “I feel like it’s time for a change. The things I love the most are getting short shrift these days.” He was on his feet, moving toward the fireplace. As she watched he took a framed collage from the wall. “Here, let me show you what I’ve been up to in the past few years.”

  Ariel accepted the framed collection of photos, programs, and news clippings. “Here’s me in The Man Who Came to Dinner. Sheridan Whiteside.”

  “You played that old coot Sheridan?” Ariel squinted at the photos. “How did you pull that off? You’re way too young.”

  “Acting, my dear. A little spirit gum, a good beard, a few penciled-in wrinkles.” Craig beamed with pride as he leaned in and studied the collage. “And this was at Portland Center Stage, a fabulous play by a local author. That one was called Vitriol and Violets. About the Algonquin Round Table, in New York. I played a number of characters, including the irrepressible Harpo Marx.”

  “That must have been a blast,” Ariel said, infusing her voice with optimism she did not feel. Acting, my dear Mr. Schulteis.

  “It was fun, but it’s not a hobby,” Craig said. “I’m a serious actor.”

  “Of course you are.” She put her wineglass down, calculating her timing. Another ten minutes of listening to his career goals and then she could leave. It was a relief: envisioning her exit.

  “Lately, I’ve been feeling that it’s time for a change. Maybe a move to New York or LA. Do you ever get that restless feeling?”

  She grinned. “Every day. Every hour. It’s hard to get show business out of your system.”

  “But you could get back into it if you want. You must have stayed in touch with agents and casting people. And everyone knows who you are.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said modestly. “Some of your students have never seen my show.”

  “But that’s the beauty of television. They can see reruns. DVDs. I’m sure the kids know that you used to be a star.”

  The positive energy fizzled with his use of the past tense. Well, it was true. She’d been a celebrity once. Now she was a domestic goddess.

  How had she slipped down so far?

  “So . . .” He plopped down in the chair. “Not to get really personal, but do you still have an agent?” He brushed at his cheek with two fingers, bringing to mind a fly with flickering legs. “Or maybe you know someone who’s taking on new clients. I’m thinking of spending the summer in Hollywood, going on some auditions. It’s time, and that might be just the boost my acting career needs.”

  Acting career? A handful of roles in community theater did not amount to a career. But she couldn’t tell Craig how bad his chances were.

  “I know a couple of talent agents,” she said, lowering her voice as if preparing to reveal the secrets of the universe. “But you know they have different specialties. First, you need to decide what’s right for you. Are you going for a film role? Or do you see yourself in commercials or TV? You know, they are three very distinct worlds.”

  “I’m very versatile. I could do all three.”

  “But you need to start with one, Craig. Focus your talents. Get a foot in the door, and then you can branch out.”

  “Start with one.” He was nodding vigorously. “See that? I would never have thought of that. Good idea. Perfect.” He leaned toward the coffee table and poured more wine into her glass. “You are going to be invaluable to me.”

  Ariel held back a sigh as she realized this would be her payment for all those voice lesson referrals. Quid pro quo.

  An hour later Ariel stumbled out of a cab and staggered up the dark driveway. There were two arcane messages from Cassie, the second one asking where the hell she was. Ariel turned the mike on and dictated a text message to Cassie. “I’m home. Good night.” The heels of her boots sank into the soft soil as she made her way to the mudroom door. She liked to use the side entrance at night so that she wouldn’t disturb the kids, whose bedrooms were on the opposite end of the house. She wasn’t so much tipsy as weary, so tired of having her time wasted with other people’s problems.

  There’d been the issue with Remy and Cooper, and then she’d endured two hours of Craig droning on about his limping acting career, and then she’d had to perk up and play the life coach, steering him toward commercial work. He had pushed until she’d sacrificed the name and number of a talent agent in her phone directory—Glinna Jenneli. Not that she’d ever really liked the woman—a cold, blond ice princess who may have already aged out of the business—but every contact was like a gold coin in your pocket. You never knew when an agent or producer would come in handy.

  She pushed her way into the mudroom and paused. Although the outer door was never locked, a sliver of alarm prodded her when she noticed that the door to the studio was cracked open. Light streamed out, casting sinister shadows over the dark foyer, making coats on the hooks resemble thugs waiting to spring into attack mode.

  What the hell? Who had left this door open? Her kids knew better than to play in the studio, and they always went in through the back door. She reached up and fumbled on the shelf in the corner, her fingers creeping along for the spare key. Nothing there. Someone in the know had taken the key.

  Crap. Was Cooper in there, trying to make up with Remy?

  Nothing to be alarmed about; bad things didn’t happen in Timbergrove, Oregon. Most people didn’t even bother to lock their doors, but Ariel did it out of habit, having lived in places where a locked door was the only thing separating you from the mean streets.

  As she pushed her way into the studio, alarm skittered up her spine. Her red roses had been ripped apart, the petals scattered on the wood floor amid naked stems and shriveling green leaves. Glass crunched underfoot as she approached the carnage around the piano. Her crystal vase, a gift from Stosh, had been smashed. Although the piano was wet it seemed undamaged but for the shards of glass that sparkled like scattered diamonds on the baby grand’s black surface.

  “Oh, God.” It wasn’t the fact of the broken vase but the signs of fury that frightened her.

  Fear sent her boundi
ng up the stairs, first to Maisy’s little closet of a room, then to Trevor’s bedroom with its slanting ceiling. She found the little kids sleeping peacefully in their rooms, the steady sound of their breathing a salve to her panic. When she cracked Remy’s door, she could just make out the lump in the bed of her daughter and . . . someone else. A guy. Remy was snuggled up to a guy.

  Ariel closed the door, a little miffed. So Cooper was back? That had happened fast.

  But he must have come back with a vengeance. Perhaps Remy had brought him into the studio to keep from disturbing the kids. It made sense that they wouldn’t have heard anything, as their rooms were on the other side of the house, and years ago Ariel had done some sound-proofing on the studio so she could noodle around on the piano at night.

  As she headed back down the stairs the scenario played out in her head. Cooper had shredded the flowers, probably likening it to the shredding of their love. And he’d smashed the vase for what—sheer petty anger? Or dramatic effect?

  Either way, the boy was a self-absorbed brat.

  Her heartbeat began to slow to a normal pace with the rhythm of sweeping. As the big chunks of crystal landed in the trash can with a thud, Ariel thought of the new vase she would be getting from the Dovers. Waterford crystal. Or Baccarat. Or maybe both. It was the least they could do to make up for their delinquent son’s tantrum.

  Ariel lost her footing as she tried to reach under the piano. Well, that was good enough for now. She would do a more thorough job in the morning. Better yet, she would get Remy on the task. With a sigh, she stashed the broom and trash in the closet, locked the door, and slipped off her boots to avoid tracking broken glass upstairs.

  Up in her bedroom, she moved in the dim light from the bedside table, tugging off her shirt and stepping out of her skirt. She splashed water onto her face, brushed her teeth, and buried her face in a plush white towel for a moment of meditation. Shutting off the bathroom light, she stripped off her bra and panties, leaving them where they fell onto the carpet. She was turning down the comforter when the groan of the closet door came from behind her. Suddenly, she was grabbed from behind, a silver blade flashing before her eyes. The air rushed from her lungs in a spastic gasp as his arms clamped around her and the knife moved to her throat.