Laura's Secrets

by Shannon Greenland

  "Why? Was there something wrong with it?"

  "No,” Bizzy quickly responded. “God knows I've gotten naked plenty of times in front of you. You took me off guard, that's all. You usually lock yourself in the bathroom to change."

  Laura fingered the cord on the laundry bag, trying to decide how to ask what she really wanted to know. “Bizzy ... wh-what did you think of my body? Ya know, just now when you saw it?"

  Bizzy just stared at her.

  "It's okay,” Laura quickly went on. “I didn't mean to make you uncomf—"

  "Hey,” Bizzy interrupted quietly. “It's fine. I don't mind the question. In the many years we've known each other, I've never heard you fuss about your hair, or face, or body, or clothes. You've never asked those typical questions like, ‘Does this make me look fat?’ or ‘What shoes should I wear with this outfit?’ I've always thought you have the perfect body. You're tall and slender, and you have those fantastic long legs."

  "Really?"

  "Really.” Bizzy crossed the hotel room and settled on the bed beside her. “Tell me what's going on. I like the changes you're making, but what brought them on?"

  "I've been seeing a counselor."

  "I knew there was something different about you. You seem more relaxed, not so guarded. I'm proud of you for seeing a professional. I wondered when you'd finally take a step like that.” Bizzy hugged her. “You're an incredible woman, Laura, and I'm glad you're a part of my life."

  "Thanks."

  Bizzy flopped back on the bed. “Tell me all there is to know about that dark, handsome rock star we spent the evening with, and then I'll fill you in on my love life."

  Laura smiled and lay down beside Bizzy. She began sharing everything she could remember. The talks they'd had, the traveling they experienced, the funny stories he'd told. She showed Bizzy the trinkets he'd given her, and when Laura finished, an hour had gone by and the clock read one-thirty in the morning.

  They called it a night, but Laura slept restlessly, her dreams filled with Aunt Jane. In the morning she dialed Will's number, canceled their running date, then went straight to the Dallas Convention Center.

  By mid-morning she was immersed in her work.

  Eight

  * * * *

  Standing, foot propped against the wall, Jay studied Laura as he flip-flopped ideas for tonight's Dallas show. He'd let the last one go by without a mishap, figured it looked more realistic if a “Laura mistake” happened every couple of productions, not every single one. Trying to figure out what to tamper with was becoming way too fun.

  Shoving his long bangs out of his eyes, Jay pushed off the wall and headed toward her. “Hey, Laura, I'm looking for the midi rack. Have you seen it?” He wasn't looking for anything, other than an excuse to get close to her and the mixing board.

  Distracted with her work, she didn't even look up at him. “Last time I looked it'd been unloaded off a semi and was sitting backstage."

  "Oh, okay.” Nonchalantly, he leaned over the back of the mixer and unplugged one quarter-inch cable. The one, in fact, that controlled the speakers to the right side of the house.

  Laura glanced up just as his hand retreated. “Did you need something else?"

  Jay shook his head and shuffled away, heart pounding, wondering when she'd discover the mishap. Hopefully, not until tonight's show had started.

  * * * *

  Curled up in a tight little sleeping ball, Bizzy lay sideways in one of the Convention Center's hardback chairs. Her hand balanced a Styrofoam coffee cup on the armrest. Will approached her and gingerly took the cup from her fingers. She tightened her grip around the coffee and opened her eyes.

  "Sorry, thought you were sleeping."

  Bizzy yawned and sat up in the chair. “No, just resting."

  Will took the seat beside her. “Long night at the slumber party?"

  "Hardly. Laura kept us up with her nightmares."

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “Jeez, I hate hearing that."

  "I'd stay clear of her for a little while,” Bizzy cautioned. “She's in a pisser of a mood."

  "Where is she?"

  "Last time I saw her she was down there,” she waved her hand, “under some equipment, doing some tomboy techy-thing."

  "Funny. Never thought of her as a tomboy."

  "Compared to what she used to be she's a complete tomboy."

  "And how was that? Ya know, what she used to be?"

  She took a sip of her coffee, studying him over the rim. “Normally, I'd skirt around a question like that, but,” she gave him an approving look, “I've decided I like you and what you're doing for Laura."

  Will rolled his eyes. “Thanks, I'm glad I have your blessings."

  "No problem.” She smiled cheekily, then slowly grew serious. “Growing up, Laura's aunt always had her dressed in some pink, yellow, lace, ruffly concoction with curls or braids or ribbons in her hair. Laura was forbidden to do anything considered “boyish,” like sports or eating with her hands, and she attended a charm school once a week."

  "Charm school?"

  "Yeah, ya know where they teach stuff like dancing and eating fancy. Anyway, all the kids at school hated her because they thought she was a priss. They mistook her shyness for snobbishness and made fun of her clothes. I hated them for her. I knew what was really going on."

  Bizzy took another sip of coffee. “I'll never forget the first time she put on a pair of jeans.” She smiled faintly and fixed her gaze to a spot in the distance. “It was the night I helped her run away from home. Her aunt had locked her in her bedroom for some reason. Laura and I had already planned to meet at two in the morning. Being locked in her room didn't slow her down. She popped the screen out of her window and jumped two stories to the ground. I'd left my bike in the woods at the end of her driveway, and she showed up at our meeting point weather beaten from the rain and scraped up legs from her jump to freedom."

  "I'd gone shopping for clothes,” Bizzy continued, “but neither one of us knew her size because she'd never worn pants. So I tried my luck and bought size six long jeans. Luckily, when she slipped them on they fit. She balled up her dress and threw it into the surrounding woods. I gave her the keys to my car, she gave the bike to me, we hugged, and drove off in opposite directions."

  Bizzy turned to Will. “Two weeks later she sent my keys back to me in the mail with a note, telling me where she'd left the car and that she'd contact me once she got settled."

  Will tried to swallow a lump that had built in his throat. Unsuccessful, he reached for Bizzy's coffee. “Mind?"

  She shook her head and handed it to him. After downing the last of the hazelnut-flavored brew, he leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and studied the cement below his tennis shoes. How had Laura done it? How had she survived such a childhood? How had she turned out so sweet? How come she wasn't a raving lunatic? God knew she had every right.

  Bizzy rubbed a soothing hand across his back. “I know it's hard to believe what she came from, and I know it makes you mad. Believe me, I spent my whole childhood pissed off at Aunt Jane and the raw deal that Laura had been given in life. But she's an incredible woman, definitely one that's worth the time and patience that it takes."

  Will glanced over his shoulder at Bizzy.

  She smiled back at him. “I'm happy you're in her life."

  He handed the empty coffee cup back, then gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks. I'm glad she had you to help her through the bad parts.” He stood and looked toward the stage. “I think I'll go fiddle with some lyrics I've been working on.” Will took a few steps and then turned back. “By the way, what's Bizzy short for?"

  "You don't want to know.” She scrunched up her face. “Believe me, my nickname's better."

  "Come on. Tell me. I promise to keep it a secret."

  Bizzy gave him an irritable, indulgent look. “Beatrice Elizabeth."

  He barked a laugh. “You're right, Bizzy's better."

  "Oh,” she growled
and threw her empty cup at him.

  Will dodged the cup, chuckling, and jogged toward the stage.

  * * * *

  Laura checked and double-checked the equipment, assuring no one had tampered with it. In thirty minutes the band would report on stage to practice for the evening's show. Her mood had lifted since her rough night and early start. Will had stayed out of her way and let her do her work, which put her at ease. She hated being around him when she felt cranky.

  The lighting technician stood beside her, going through some last minute staging changes with Tourist's manager.

  Laura thumbed through her collection of CDs, picked Spyro Gyra, and slid it into the player. When the music filtered through the house speakers, the manager glanced up at her with an approving smile, then he paused and straightened from his hunched position. At the same time, Laura jumped off her stool and glanced at the mixing board.

  No sound!

  No sound from the right side of the house. This couldn't be happening, not again. Quickly and efficiently, she scanned the knobs and sliding bars, confirming they were set appropriately. Then she rounded the mixer and studied the back, tested each connection. At the end of the quarter-inch plugs teetered the loosened cable that controlled the right side of the house.

  Laura pulled the cable out and studied it, then peeked into the female end on the back of the board. Nothing looked irregular. She tested the tip for sturdiness, pushed it back into place, and immediately, The Dallas Convention Center filled with music.

  Spinning around, she scanned the stage, uneasy, feeling as if someone might be peering out from a shadow, watching her discover the mishap.

  "Something wrong, Laura?"

  Laura turned to look at Tourist's manager. “No sir. Everything's taken care of now."

  She busied herself checking all the other connections, conscious of the fact the manager watched her every move. He knew all about the sound mistakes that had happened since Laura had taken the job. He probably thought she was negligent. She hoped his intuition told him otherwise, because something was going on, and she'd end up taking the fall.

  * * * *

  "I'm going to miss you,” Laura murmured, hugging her friend close. Bizzy sniffed and squeezed back.

  "Alright, alright, alright.” Bizzy waved her hands in the air. “I'm getting all weepy.” She turned to Will and extended her hand. “It was so nice to meet you.” Will brushed her hand away and pulled her into a bear hug. She squeaked and hugged him back, then turned to Laura. “Now I don't want you to worry. No one knows that I came to see you, well except for Mom, but you know things are safe with her."

  Laura nodded. “Tell your mom I said hello."

  "I will."

  The two friends stood staring and smiling at each other, and a moment later Laura asked a question she'd been curious about since Bizzy's arrival. “Is Aunt Jane still holding prayer vigils for my safe return?"

  Bizzy sighed. “Yes. Whenever she's there."

  "What do you mean?"

  "She's been gone a lot."

  Laura stilled. Gone a lot? “Where?"

  "Not sure. Probably with her job. She's still working at the insurance place.” The airport announced the departure of flight one-four-nine-zero. “That's my flight.” Bizzy hugged her again. “I love you, Laura.” She looked up at Will, pointed to her best friend. “You watch out for her, okay?"

  "Count on it."

  Laura and Will stood in the terminal waving Bizzy off. When she disappeared down the corridor, they turned and started in the opposite direction.

  Gone a lot. Aunt Jane rarely traveled. She didn't like it. How many times had Laura experienced that sick feeling in her stomach, that ill taste that her aunt was near? How many times had Laura imagined her standing there, watching her?

  Paranoia. Pure and simple. But even as Laura told herself that, she scanned the airport.

  Will reached under her hair and lightly squeezed the back of her neck. “You okay?"

  She nodded, enjoying the warmth of his fingers. “Ya know, your disguise reminds me of Clark Kent."

  "If we were near a phone booth, I'd whip in, spin around, and emerge in blue tights. You'd be my Lois Lane, and we'd fly off together through the night."

  "Ah, and if I had kryptonite you would be my slave forever."

  He growled and pulled her close to his side. “The images you invoke are going to require a cold shower."

  Laura almost missed the step onto the escalator. Will followed her, scooting in close to give the people behind him more room. He slid his arm around her stomach to hold her snugly in place. She closed her eyes and told herself to breathe.

  He ran his thumb along her ribs. “Relax,” he whispered against her ear.

  She glanced up at him with a reassuring smile.

  "Don't you two make the cutest couple?"

  Will looked over his shoulder. A pink-faced, jolly woman stood behind him. “Thank you."

  "How long have you two been married?"

  He smiled at her inquisitive, chubby face and turned sideways to better talk with the older lady. “Few months."

  "A few months?” the woman sang, joyfully clapping her hands, making a perfumey scent waft around them. “How lovely for you both. Newlyweds, oh, how lovely. So tell me, dear, are you on your honeymoon?"

  "No ma'am. We're visiting Dallas."

  "Well, Dallas is my home town. You'll absolutely love it here."

  "We already do. Don't we, sweetie?” Will prodded Laura's side, signaling her to play along. She smiled and nodded in agreement.

  "Oh my, watch out dear. The escal—"

  "I got her.” Will gripped Laura around the waist and walked off the escalator. He lowered her the few inches to her feet.

  She straightened her shirt. “Why did you do that?"

  "You mean the marriage thing?” He grinned. “Because it was fun."

  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “It was mischievous."

  Will looped his arm around her neck and pulled her toward the exit door. “Yep, it was that, too. So tell me, how did you like being married to Will Burns, international rock star?"

  She shook her head as if he was a helpless cause. “Why don't you check that ego of yours at the door."

  He chuckled.

  A camera flashed. Laura inhaled sharply and spun around, looking for the photographer. It flashed again.

  Will grabbed her hand and pulled her out the exit door. “It's okay. It was a man taking a picture of his wife.” Though he suspected something else.

  He'd seen the camera, up on the balcony, and it had been a man taking a picture of a woman. Only the camera hadn't been focused on the woman. It had zoomed in on Will and Laura, one story below.

  Nine

  * * * *

  "Where were you today?"

  Laura looked up from her high school English homework. Aunt Jane stood in her bedroom doorway, feet braced apart, scowling.

  "At school,” Laura answered. What had she done wrong now?

  "Liar,” Jane spat and stomped over to Laura's desk. “I'm going to ask you again. Where. Were. You. To-day?” She enunciated each word as if Laura had just learned to speak English.

  Quickly, Laura ran through the events of her day, desperate to figure out what she'd done to make her aunt so upset. Then she remembered. “Are you talking about fifth period?"

  With a satisfied, smug sneer, Jane crossed her arms over her chest and stared down her nose at her niece. “You didn't think I'd find out, did you?"

  "I didn't do anything wrong,” Laura quickly responded. “I swear. Our gym teacher was absent so we were given off campus passes for fifth period."

  "I know, and that's not the point. You're not supposed to leave the campus.” Jane poked her in the forehead. “Period. Where did you go and what did you do?"

  Laura searched her aunt's face imploringly, hoping to placate her. She knew all to well what it was like when Jane's temper blew. “Bizzy and I went across the street t
o the Dairy Shack for ice cream. That's it. I promise."

  "Were there any boys with you?"

  Laura forced a nervous lump down her throat. “Bizzy's cousin, Sam."

  Jane pursed her lips and scrutinized her niece. “Come with me,” she commanded softly, then walked from the bedroom.

  The quiet directive put Laura on edge. “Where are we going?"

  "Come with me,” Aunt Jane repeated in that same eerie, soft tone.

  Laura followed her aunt out the bedroom, down the stairs, across the porch, and into the passenger side of the car. She buckled her seat belt and gripped the edge of the leather seat. Where were they going? To the Dairy Shack so Jane could verify her story? To the high school so her aunt could tell them never to issue her another off campus pass? Maybe to Bizzy's so Jane could tell her that Laura didn't have permission to leave school again. Going to Bizzy's wouldn't be that bad. She'd understand.

  When they pulled into the emergency room of the county hospital, Laura glanced over at her aunt. “Why are we here?"

  "Come with me.” Again, that redundant, matter-of-fact voice. Laura almost preferred Jane's turbulent temper to the quiet commanding statements.

  Laura followed her aunt inside the hospital.

  "Have a seat over there.” Aunt Jane pointed her niece toward the waiting area and walked to the receptionist's desk. She exchanged some hushed words with a nurse behind the counter, then meandered over to the magazine rack and chose something to look through. Laura watched her every move. What was going on? Had Aunt Jane hurt herself?

  Exactly thirty-one minutes and fifteen seconds went by. Laura knew because she'd watched the clock tick off the time.

  A man dressed in scrubs pushed through the admitting doors and walked toward them. “You requested to see a doctor. May I help you?"

  Jane stood and motioned him to a corner of the waiting room, obviously for some privacy. Laura wedged her hands under her thighs and watched her aunt talk to the doctor in a hushed tone. She looked worried and kept glancing in Laura's direction as she explained something to the doctor. Aunt Jane even dug a hanky from her purse and dabbed at her eyes with delicate little sniffs. Laura couldn't recall a time she'd ever seen her aunt cry.