by Alina Adams
"Then why would Mr. Ben-Golan claim otherwise?"
"I don't know." It should have been a confession or an admission. Instead, it came out like a roar. "I don't know anything, okay? An hour ago I got a call from the police saying my daughter hung herself and she left behind a baby and did I know anything about this and I don't. I didn't know, damn it. I didn't know."
Bex was afraid he might start crying himself now, but anger had finally yanked Ralph Adler out of his confusion. He railed, "I never trusted that kid. Coop. What the hell kind of a name is Coop? All the other parents at the rink, they told me how lucky I was that Allison was with such a nice boy. That Coop, he's so polite, so respectful, just the perfect, All-American Golden Boy, and so talented to boot! Well, no one is perfect, are they? So why is he trying too hard to act like he is? What's he hiding? Why all the 'Yes, sir,' and 'No, sir,' and, 'Of course, I respect Allison, sir — you can trust me'? And then those goddamn phone calls of his! 'I hope Allison is okay. Please tell me if you hear from her, sir.' Little bastard. Look what he did to her! And now Allie is dead!"
And now Ralph Adler actually did break down and cry.
Which was when Bex realized she'd had enough. A few weeks ago, she might have been thrilled with the development, believing — accurately — that Gil Cahill would want every last detail for his broadcast. And she, eager to prove herself the very bestest researcher ever, would have swindled widows and knocked down orphans in her quest to get the inside story and present it to Gil like the human sacrifice that it, in fact, was. But that was before Bex's 24/7-inspired snooping got a child kidnapped and a woman killed. Since then, Bex was trying hard to be more sensitive and remember that what Gil saw as a surefire rating-grabbing story was somebody else's very real tragedy. And that maybe there were times when Bex simply didn't belong on the scene.
Ralph Adler had lost all semblance of control. His shoulders shook so hard, it sounded like his neck bones were scraping against each other to produce the agonized hack that was gagging his throat until Bex was afraid he might vomit. For the time being he was clearly incapable of offering any useful information, which meant that the only decent thing to do would be to leave the man alone. Bex locked eyes with Francis and Diana, summoning up every molecule of authority her body was capable of bleeding, and with one sharp jerk of the head, indicated that it was time for them to go.
Much to her surprise, the command seemed to do the trick. Francis and Diana did as she ordered. Either Bex was better at taking charge than she thought, or Mr. and Mrs. Howarth were also adept at recognizing the fine lines among fun curiosity, professional necessity, and utterly needless humiliation.
However, they were barely out the door when Francis said, "I don't believe him."
"Of course not," Diana agreed.
Bex, who hadn't seen anything particularly jarring enough to tweak her bullshit detector, was nevertheless willing to listen to her elders. She asked, "Why? What part of his story doesn't add up?”
"Allie and Idan," Francis and Diana said in near unison.
"A parent who is that involved in his child's skating career — " Diana began.
"But aren't they all?" Francis interjected.
Apparently, even when seemingly in synch about a subject, America's first-ever Olympic Gold Medallists in Pairs had to find some tiny slivers in which one could try to best the other.
"No, they are not," Diana snapped, visibly eager to get back to her original point, but unable to let an unqualified assertion of Francis's go unchallenged. "Look at Craig Hunt, for instance."
Craig Hunt was the man Bex had been thinking of earlier. The one who, thanks to Bex's overzealous researching several months ago, ended up with his thirteen-year-old son kidnapped and his wife murdered. Diana may have wanted to discuss Craig Hunt, but Bex was actually doing her best to avoid it.
"Craig Hunt," Diana reminded, "is not involved in his son's skating career at all. In fact, if it weren't for our Bex here, the boy wouldn't even be at Nationals."
Yes. And his mother would still be alive. Hooray for Bex.
"Craig Hunt is an abnormal example." Francis's tone suggested that any fool, even his ninny of a wife, should be able to recognize that. "He had valid reasons for wanting his boy out of the skating spotlight."
Reasons that Bex completely and selfishly ignored when she went after Craig and his son, Jeremy's, story.
"Your Ralph Adler, on the other hand — " Francis continued.
"He is hardly my anything, Franny. The only albatross around my neck these days is — oh, lucky, lucky me — you."
Francis sighed. "Goodness, Diana, how many Ralph Adlers do we see a year? They are all the same. Possessed, deluded, lacking even a modicum of self-awareness. Take the Adler fellow, for instance. Lamenting over the money he's spent to keep his daughter skating. As if poor Allison's happiness were his sole driving force. Any still semicognizant person would realize that if he truly resented the expense and subsequent sacrifice, he needed merely to pull the plug on his child's extracurricular activities. No one, after all, is forcing him to pay out hundreds of thousands of dollars in skating-related paraphernalia. The fact that he never even considered such a thing testifies to the obvious: Allison's skating was as much — perhaps even more so — his endeavor as it was hers. No wonder her abrupt abandonment of the sport was such a self-described slap in the face. It was not only a rejection of everything he believed he'd so selflessly sacrificed to provide her with all these years, it was also the end of a dream — his dream."
"But that was my point exactly, Franny! Goodness, the senility is really kicking up today, isn't it, Precious? My point exactly about Ralph Adler's claim that he had no idea Allison and Idan Ben-Golan were screwing like bunnies." Diana took a deep breath, then picked up where she'd left off prior to Francis's interruption. "When a parent is that involved in their child's skating career, it is simply not possible for him to be unaware of a lecherous coach's intention. Unless, of course, he wants to be."
"What do you mean?" Bex asked.
"I mean, Mr. Adler could have been willing to look away, he could even, on some level, have convinced himself that he truly did not see what was going on with Allison and Idan, if he believed that Ben-Golan was Allison's only chance for skating success."
"He pimped out his daughter in exchange for a National title," Francis translated, in case Bex was having trouble following.
Unfortunately, she wasn't. And she wasn't having much trouble believing that version of events, either. Bex had seen too many parents willing to pretend they didn't notice coaches verbally and even physically abusing their children because they thought the abuse was vital to achieve on-ice results. It wasn't too much of a stretch to suppose that sexual coercion might also end up on the table of acceptable trade-offs.
"Otherwise, why all the protestations?" Diana reasonably asked. "Why all the insistence that Idan couldn't possibly be the father, that it had to be Coop Devaney?"
"Maybe because he really believes it?” Bex was willing to consider Francis and Diana's theory. But that didn't mean she also had to disregard the obvious. She'd done that in the past, and it didn't always turn out well. Occam's razor, after all, asserted that when multiple explanations are available for a phenomenon, the simplest was most likely correct. Even in the skating world.
"Well, I have no fear, Bex." Francis slapped her collegially on the shoulder. "I'm confident you'll get to the bottom of this matter for us. You always do."
Bex smiled weakly as she watched both the Howarths wander away, toasty secure in their knowledge that when it came time for broadcast, a tidy, efficient, and fact-checked document would somehow magically appear in their research binders, outlining the story, listing all of the players, and explaining who'd done what to whom and why. A few days later, 24/7 would be flooded with letters praising Francis and Diana's journalistic skills, and a Sports Emmy nomination would follow shortly after. Bex wasn't projecting. The above had already happened twice on her wa
tch (once after Francis and Diana unmasked Silvana Potenza's killer live on the air, and the second time after 24/7 showed exclusive taped footage of Igor Marchenko's murderer getting arrested while the Howarths narrated his story). Bex had no doubts about history repeating itself.
As long as she held up her part of the bargain and actually did the research.
To that end, Bex headed for the practice arena where, according to her schedule, Coop Devaney was scheduled to be running through his Short Program. Bex figured the U.S. Men's Champion might also have an opinion on who little Omri's daddy was.
As promised, Coop was indeed on the ice. Bex noticed that his coach, the very popular Idan Ben-Golan, was nowhere to be seen, so Idan's assistant, Sebastian Vama, was doing the honors. Not that Coop needed too much last-minute coaching. There was a reason he was the reigning champion and the other five men on the ice, talented as they may have been, were not. On the surface, all six appeared to be doing the same tricks — triple jumps, a quad here and there, combination spins and intricate footwork. But, in Cooper's case, the triples were a bit higher, the quads a tad more consistent, the spins that much quicker, the footwork more jazzy. Bundled together with the undeniable charisma Bex's predecessor noted in twelve-year old Coop, the U.S. Men's crown didn't appear to be in much danger of changing hands. This season, anyway.
A few years down the line, however, Bex could easily imagine a different story. Because, while of the six Senior Men on the ice, five were over the age of eighteen and making at least their second, if not fourth appearance at Nationals, the one whose skills appeared likeliest to someday catch up with Coop belonged to a first-time competitor — thirteen-year-old Jeremy Hunt
To everyone else at the competition, he would be a complete surprise. Outside of his local, sectional championship, no one had heard of the boy. The fans, Bex felt certain, would go crazy over him. Not only could Jeremy land two different quadruple jumps — the Salchow and the Toe Loop — but also his fundamental skating skills were the kind that old-timers claimed, "They just don't teach to kids anymore." Jeremy didn't so much skate on the ice as float above it. And he had a smile that could melt... well, ice.
Jeremy Hunt was destined to be dubbed the discovery of the competition.
But he and Bex had met before.
A few months earlier, Jeremy's coach, Antonia Wright, had convinced Bex to do a story on her prize pupil, predicting that he would be making a splash at Nationals. Bex agreed, even though Jeremy's father, Craig, had made it clear that his son would not be going to Nationals, much less headlining an up-close-and-personal television fluff piece. Toni wanted Bex to ferret out why. And Bex did (after she'd convinced Gil to let her by promising him an exclusive). But only after her digging got Jeremy's mother killed.
As a result, Bex was not exactly Craig Hunt's favorite person.
Which was why, seeing him approach her from his seat in the stands made her want to turn around and walk briskly for the nearest exit. But that would be childish, and Bex's New Year's resolution had been to grow up — no matter how unpleasant that might eventually turn out to be.
She forced herself to stay as she was, leaning against the railing that led from the mezzanine level toward the front-row seats. She hugged her research binder to her chest and wondered why, all of a sudden, she was feeling so self-conscious about her raggedy hat and bulky 24/7 jacket. As Craig got closer, Bex remembered why. Because, while she may not have been his favorite person and their past few encounters had been tense at best, borderline violent at worst, Craig Hunt was nevertheless a very attractive man.
He barely seemed old enough to be the father of a thirteen-year-old, and, in fact, had only been twenty when Jeremy was born. Unlike his blond, blue-eyed son, Craig was dark, with olive skin, chestnut hair, and oval, ginger eyes that looked as if they had been chiseled out of bronze. He wore blue jeans, a white shirt with no tie, and a black, suede jacket. He also, Bex noticed, still wore his wedding ring.
"Bex!" Once he'd called out her name, there went Bex's last chance to pretend she didn't realize he was coming for her and take advantage of an escape option.
Bex looked up, feigning surprise to see him there. She offered a cautious, "Hi, Craig," wondering what sort of tone was appropriately respectful when addressing a man you'd inadvertently widowed.
"What do you think?" He indicated Jeremy on the practice ice.
Bex glanced where he'd pointed and couldn't help a sincere smile. "He looks absolutely thrilled to be here."
"What gave it away? The ear-to-ear grin, or the way he keeps staring at Cooper Devaney like he's in the presence of a god?"
For a moment Craig looked like your average, doting skating dad. A mellower — and better-looking — Ralph Adler. But Bex knew that was far from the case. Unable to continue without clearing the air first, she instinctively lowered her voice and awkwardly asked, "How is he? Handling everything, I mean?"
Craig shrugged. He continued watching his son and avoided meeting Bex's gaze. Which was okay with her. Really. "He's still trying to process everything, I think. It's one thing to lose your mother. It's another to find out you're adopted, and it's a third to meet your biological parents. All three in one week... that could bring a linebacker to his knees."
"Plus, the Nationals." Bex swore she didn't consciously mean to, but she caught herself instinctively shifting the topic from the hell of the past to the more benign present "I mean, all the stress of being here for the first time — "
"Believe it or not," Craig, along with the half-dozen handfuls of hard-core fans in the stands, applauded as Jeremy landed a triple Axel in the center of the ice. "Nationals has actually been good for him." He turned to face Bex, and she was relieved not to see laser beams incinerating her from each eyeball. "It's given him something to focus on that isn't our ongoing family drama. I guess I have you to thank for that"
"Excuse me?" Bex blurted. She'd been expecting, at best, grudging politeness. Gratitude wasn't even on the agenda
"You're the one who talked me into allowing Jeremy to compete at Nationals."
"Well, yes, but — "
"And you're the one" — he cleared his throat by tapping his fist against his chest — "you're the one who found him when the police couldn't. I never thanked you for that one, either."
"I'm the one who got Jeremy kidnapped in the first place."
"You didn't know. My God, if someone had told you Jeremy's story without you seeing it for yourself, would you have even believed it?"
"Not without a scorecard to keep track of the players, no."
Craig nodded, indicating he'd expected as much. "Anyway, I owe you a thanks."
"You're... uhm... welcome." Never in a million years did Bex imagine she'd be having this conversation.
"And now, actually, I'd like to ask you for a favor."
"Sure. Name it. It's the least I can do. Anything."
"The piece 24/7 is doing on Jeremy and — and everything that's happened. Is that still scheduled to run during this Nationals?"
Bex thought she might throw up. She suspected what was going to happen next. "You want me to kill it."
It wasn't fair. The piece on Jeremy Hunt's kidnapping and the untangling of his very twisted skating lineage was going to be Bex's first producer credit for the network. She'd had to beg Gil for permission to research it; she'd even paid her own expenses to prove how serious she was. When she screened the footage of Jeremy's homecoming and showed Gil all the other information she'd dug up, he'd grudgingly agreed that it was worth airing during the Nationals broadcast — even if he did assign a more experienced producer to go over Bex's efforts and physically put the segment together. But it was enough of a start, and Bex had been so eager to finally see her work, at least a part of it, make air. Of course, if Craig, with good reason, asked her not to do it, if he claimed that it would be too damaging to Jeremy to see his parents' past turned into a four-minute reality show, Bex would be obligated to acquiesce. It would be the right th
ing to do.
Even if it broke her heart.
"No," Craig said. "No, it's not that. Frankly, I figure it'll be good to finally get the whole sordid story out there. Maybe it will open some eyes to the kind of abuses that young women face in this sport. Might even bring about some changes."
Bex realized that Craig was referring to his late wife, Rachel, a once-promising pairs skater who'd quit the sport at what seemed to be the top of her game because she refused to put up with the violence of her partner, and their coach's tacit approval of it. But, at his words, she couldn't help think of Allison Adler, and her eyes drifted to the ice. Where Allie's ex-boyfriend was putting on a show for the older women in the front row, her former partner was instructing him in the finer points of holding an ending pose, and her coach was ostensibly off procuring a birth certificate to prove he was the father of his ex-pupil's infant
"Yes." Bex nodded, partially in agreement with Craig, partly at her own thoughts. "People don't realize half of what goes on behind the scenes."
"I think Rachel would have been pleased," Craig hoped. “To know that her story might help somebody else. She wouldn't have minded it being talked about. She wasn't ashamed about what was done to her. She never felt guilty. She knew who the real bad guys were. She was really strong that way."
He cleared his throat again and tugged on his wedding ring so hard, he cracked his knuckle, giving Bex a hint of just how raw his memories still had to be. Cautiously, she asked him, "So what's the favor you wanted to ask me?"
"Oh. Yes. Right, the favor." Craig guiltily stuck his ring hand in his pocket and swiftly looked away. "It's about Jeremy's interview. Some woman named Mollie called and asked to interview Jeremy. She said it was for the piece on Rachel."