Silent Key

by Erin Leland Tuttle

  Chapter Five: Starlight and Dewdrops

  Aaron squeezed my hand as we ran across the street, dodging honking cars filled with cheering fans. The game had been nothing short of foot-stomping fun, and I was laughing so hard my stomach muscles burned.

  "Aaron, slow down! I'm wearing heels!" I pleaded.

  "Well, that's your problem right there. Who wears heels to a basketball game?" We reached the sidewalk and he slowed down, panting. "Uh-oh."

  "What's wrong?"

  "Do you remember where we parked?"

  "Are you for real?" I asked. "You don't remember where we parked?"

  He looked at me for a moment, frowning, then broke into a hearty laugh. "Sike!"

  "Dammit, Aaron, it's cold! Let's go!" 

  We began running again, happily darting through the celebrating crowd, blue foam fingers, and plastic pom-poms. When we reached his car, he opened the door for me and I slid in, shivering.

  "Fun, wasn't it?" he prodded, jumping into his seat and turning the heat on. "See what you've been missing?"

  "Yeah, yeah," I began. "You are a regular Don Juan ..." 

  Aaron's lips interrupted me. All at once I melted into him, putting my gloved hands on the sides of his face. As cold as it was, his lips were soft and warm, and when he leaned back, I felt a sudden sense of loneliness. 

  "What were you saying?" he asked, still close enough for me to smell nachos on his breath.

  "I don't remember," I whispered and he leaned in once more to gently kiss my mouth. 

  If the first kiss hadn't done it, then the second one surely did because in that moment I knew that I never wanted to be apart from this man. I needed him. 

  "I have wanted to do that all night. In all honestly, I have wanted to do that from the moment I met you after Cabaret. You stood there in your cute little purple sweat suit ..."

  "Violet," I corrected.

  "... all stammering and nervous. It was adorable."

  "You're whacked," I said

  "If so, then I'll happily stay whacked for the rest of my life as long as you're at my side."

  I couldn't believe this was happening. My heart was racing and my mind was wondering what this man saw in me. 

  "Drive," I said, leaning toward him and resting my head on his arm. "Let's drive and talk."

  For a few minutes Aaron rattled on about the likelihood of the basketball team making it to the championship, about a few trumpet pieces he is working on, and about his professor.

  “Have you met him yet?” Aaron asked. “Dr. McGammon?”

  “No. I don’t think so. His office is on a different floor than most of my classes. Besides, I don’t socialize that much.”

  Aaron laughed. “You don’t say.”

  After a moment of silence, I snuggled closer to him. "Thank you, Aaron. Thank you for tonight. My day wasn't going so well and I needed this more than you know."

  "Foster, I've watched you since we met. I feel drawn to you." He paused a moment and I heard him swallow. "The night you sprained your finger, I was waiting outside of your practice room. I tried to go back to studying, but you wouldn't leave my mind. I ended up walking back and forth from my practice room to your practice room for hours. Your playing was just so beautiful, so intense. I could hear anguish through the notes. I couldn't leave you. Then, of course, you screamed out ..."

  "I flipped you the bird," I recalled and looked up to smile at him.

  "You did. And I liked you even more. I like sassy women."

  "Women? Plural?"

  "Well, not anymore," he said, kissing the top of my head. "Only one woman now."

  I rested my head back on his arm, listening to the sound of the road humming beneath my feet. My session with Dr. Lane earlier that day was an unimportant speck compared to how I felt at that moment.

  With the heater warming up the inside of the car and this kind, beautiful man by my side, I peacefully dozed off, content.

  ____________

  "Only one woman now?" Grant was leaning forward, sitting on my bed with his legs crossed. 

  It was early the next morning and when I opened my eyes and, for the second time in recent history, had faces staring down at me. This time it wasn't an intervention. This time is was simply raw curiosity. 

  "Is that what he said?"

  "He did."

  "What did you say?" Reagan asked, also leaning forward.

  "Well, I told him that sometimes, if he was into it, I'd actually like to get more than one woman involved. You know, just to spice things up."

  Silence. I sat staring at Reagan's face, her bottom lip hanging open as she pieced it all together. From my right, I heard Grant snort. 

  Quietly Reagan whispered, "You did?"

  Grant and I burst into howls at the same time, falling over on my bed as Reagan began pounding me with my own pillows. 

  "You wankers!" she yelled. "I can't believe you would do that to me in the middle of such a romantic story!"

  "Come on, you asked for it. You are both like a couple of old women watching Days of Our Lives."

  "Nothing wrong with that," Grant defended and settled back into his yoga position, his skinny legs twisted comfortably. "When are you seeing him again?"

  "Probably every day. As much as possible. This is just so crazy."

  I honestly couldn't believe it. Last night I went to a basketball game, screamed my head off, gobbled down nachos and soda, and became smitten. And all that after a very confusing counseling session with Dr. Lane and Officer Long John. 

  I must have started to frown because Reagan asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

  "Oh, nothing," I said. "Just thinking about something else. Not Aaron." 

  On cue, or maybe just because we'd been connected at the hip for so many years, Reagan put her hand on my arm. "How are your sessions with Dr. Lane going?"

  "Fine," I lied. "Wonderful."

  "Liar, liar pants on fire," Grant chimed in. "But, hey, tell us what you need to tell us. We're here for you no matter what. Especially if Aaron decides that he really would like a threesome because I'd make a fabulous third wheel."

  "Okay, gross. But seriously. Everything is going fine. I have my difficult days but, for the most part, we're making progress."

  I knew that one day I'd tell Reagan about what I had seen—or thought I saw—in the ravine. But after the new information I was presented with the previous afternoon, I wasn't even sure what that story would be. And I never wanted for her to feel responsible for it. 

  "I'd like to get a shower," I said. "I love you both, but get the hell out."

  Reagan took Grant's hand and quickly slid him out into the hallway. I heard a girl down the hall call out, "Hey!" to which Grant replied, "Hey yourself!" and he and Reagan burst into laughter as they ran down the exit stairs.

  So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours. Aaron, with his warm kisses and profession of admiration and Dr. Lane, with his cold facts and promise of healing. 

  I removed my pajamas and tossed them on the bed as I walked into the bathroom where the smell of Dep and Reagan's hair products left a constant fog. 

  Stepping into the shower stall, I sat down on the rough stone floor and pushed Reagan's pink rubber duck over the drain to pool the water running over me.

  Slowly, my body began to wake and pleasant chills ran up my stomach and to my shoulders. I squirted my shampoo/conditioner/body wash into my hand and began scrubbing myself. Suddenly my inner voice spoke. 

  There was no rape. There was no murder. 

  Maybe the man, the wolf, was just some pervert doing God knows what in the bushes. But his eyes. His dress. He was no bum off of the street.

  "But what about the boot in my room?" I asked aloud, under the roar of the shower so our adjoining neighbors would not hear me.

  I didn't have all the answers because the questions were too numerous. Did he truly see me? What was he doing? Was he alone? If there was a girl and she didn't die, did he hurt h
er? Was the boot in my practice room merely a coincidence?

  In a moment as quick as a sigh, a new realization occurred to me. 

  It doesn't matter, I thought. None of this matters. 

  Here I was, the morning after my first date and first kiss with a man I could see myself growing old with, and I was obsessing over details of an event that did not matter anymore. If nobody died, as Officer Long John had said, and if this prowling man was long gone, why continue fretting over the details? 

  I stayed under the warm water for ten more minutes and when I turned off the faucet and wrapped myself in a fluffy white towel, I felt like a different woman. Baptized. 

  My worries, my hideous memories, swirled and vanished down the drain with the bubbles. It was time for a fresh start.

  ____________

  Reagan burst through the door of the room, her voice frantic and wild. 

  "Foster! Foster! Where are you?"

  It was early December and as cold as it had been in years. A burst of frigid air snuck in the door behind Reagan, changing the whole atmosphere of the room.

  I sat up on my bed where I had been reading, covered by a quilt my aunt had knitted for me.

  "I'm here. What's wrong?"

  She slammed the door behind her and quickly turned to face me, an ear-to-ear grin on her flushed face. "You are never going to believe this,” she said, hopping over her own bed to mine.

  "Geez. What is going on?"

  "Dr. Jeremy is taking a group of theatre students to Sweden this summer!" The students in the theatre department always called their professors by their first names. "Remember that 'secret' audition I went to in November, where we all went in for cold readings? Well, this is it! This is it!!"

  I scooted back, giving Reagan room. She tended to flail about when she was excited about something. 

  "Wow. Sweden. That's great. So, when will you find out for sure?"

  "Tonight," she breathed. "The list goes up early tonight. Will you go check it out with me? I may need moral support. I mean, I'm not really that worried about it. Basically the audition is just a formality. I'm not really that worried about it."

  "You said you weren't worried twice," I smiled.

  "Well, I'm not." She skipped over to the phone on my desk. "I wonder if Grant is in his room. I want him to come, too."

  "I don't think so," I said. "He usually goes into work at the book store at this time."

  The phone rang and Reagan squealed. "Grant? I was just about to call you! I may be going to Sweden! Come with us to check the list tonight. Please, please?"

  "I have no idea what you are talking about," I heard him say through the line. "What time? I work until five."

  As Reagan filled Grant in on the details, I sunk back down under the quilt and picked up my book. I knew I should get some rest. It was going to be a long night, either way the list stood.

  ____________

       

  Later in the afternoon, Aaron called and asked me to attend a music concert with him that evening. After telling him about Reagan's opportunity, he agreed to meet us in the theatre building beforehand.

  "This shouldn't take long," I told him, "and then I can go to the concert with you. Nothing like a good, loud brass concert."

  Aaron shot me a look and I smiled innocently, my sarcasm evident. 

  We followed Reagan, holding hands, Grant flanking my other side. 

  "Is anyone else a little anxious about this?" he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth. "If she doesn't get chosen, we're going to have to pop some pills in her."

  Reagan moved quickly ahead of us and by the time we caught up with her backstage, her hands were clasped together and she was beginning to bounce. 

  "Well, that's a good sign," I said.

  "I mean, I wasn't that worried. I really wasn't," she gushed. A few students were scattered around her, some with shoulders slumped, others talking excitedly. "I could have predicted this list, especially after auditions. But ... " Her brows creased and she turned back to the list. "I don't recognize this name. Who is Stephania Russo?"

  From my right I heard Grant utter, "Sweet Jesus." 

  Simultaneously we all turned. Walking toward us, down the long hall, was probably the most stunning female I'd ever seen in person. She might as well have been walking down a runway. Her chestnut hair, which she accentuated with a shake of her head, was as broad as her chest and hips. She wore jeans and her tiny waist was wrapped with a thick black belt that matched a short leather jacket. Under the jacket she wore a fitted white tank and her breasts popped over the top like overfilled muffins, bouncing as she stomp-walked in our direction. 

  An audible sound fell out of Reagan's open mouth and she quickly reached up and put her hand to her lips as this tall specimen passed us and flashed a smile through her full red-colored lips.

  "Buon giorno!" 

  Passing the list, she continued backstage and toward the professors' offices. There wasn't one of us standing there who didn't turn to watch her leave, her hips beating imaginary drums on either side of her body as she moved.

  "What the hell was that?" one of the students breathed.

  "That is trouble with a capital T," Grant said, turning to Reagan. "And it's my educated guess, my dear, is that you have just met Stephania Russo." 

  Reagan just stood there, staring at the empty space Stephania had just stomped through.

  "I ... I don't ... who ... where ... what ... did she even audition?"

  "Maybe she had a private audition," Aaron suggested and I squeezed his hand so hard he yelped. "Ow! I'm just trying to help."

       

  "Well, you're not helping!" Reagan growled. "I'm going to see Dr. Jeremy. You guys go on. I'll see you later, Foster."

  "Are you sure ..." I took a step toward her.

  "I said I'll see you later!" she said and hurried away.

  Grant tilted his head to the side. "Not quite the same watching Reagan walk away, is it?"

  "Don't make it worse. Please. I have to live with her."

  "Well, I don't know why she's so freaked out. She made the cut. She's been top diva around here since the beginning of the year and if some Cindy Crawford wannabe steps in, she's just going to have to make nice." He leaned in to kiss my cheek. "Enough drama for the night. Literally. I'm out, baby."

  I turned to Aaron and sighed. "Ready to go?"

  He kissed my other cheek. "Absolutely." As we walked into the lobby he added, "You know, I wasn't looking at ..."

  "I know," I smiled. "You're one of those rare decent guys. Besides, she didn't even notice you."

  "You're so good for my ego," he laughed.

  As we walked to the concert hall, our joined hands happily swung back and forth and I felt the sort of pride you feel when you are joined with someone who feels like an addition to your soul.

  ____________

  The sound of brass instruments warming up on stage is similar to listening to oversized insects buzz around your head. After about five minutes, the urge to swat something is overwhelming. 

  I playfully leaned over to nudge Aaron's shoulder, breaking the sound monotony. "Whatcha reading?"

  "The program. Looks like they are going to do a special introduction."

  At that moment the audience began to applaud, interrupting Aaron, as the elderly dean of the Music department, Dr. Carter, walked onto the stage. He smiled and held up his hands for attention, then gently tapped the microphone. 

  "Good evening!" he boomed. For a 70-year-old man, he still could command a room. "Thank you for coming to our annual graduate brass ensemble concert. I see lots of familiar faces out there and others that are new to me. Again, thank you for braving the cold weather to be here. I've sat in on rehearsals and let me tell you, these guys are top notch." The audience applauded and hooted, then Dr. Carter continued. "But before we begin, I'd like to introduce you to someone."

  "Ah, here we go," Aaron whispered. 

  "What?
" I asked. "What is it?" but Aaron just put his finger to his lips, smiling at the stage.

  "I know many of you have already met our newest professor by now, but I thought that a formal introduction was in order. As an esteemed professor and musician who has traveled to various part of the world, we are extremely proud to have him as part of our Central University music staff. Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Jacob McGammon.”

  The row in front of me stood to their feet, applauding, as did Aaron. Through shoulders and heads, I caught a glimpse of a tall man walking on stage, hand outreached to Dr. Carter. 

  “Ah,” I said, “Your trumpet professor.”

  Aaron applauded loudly, whistling through his front teeth. “It’s about time he gets recognized.”

  The students in front of me all sat back down at the same time as the talented Dr. Jacob McGammon turned to face the audience. His red hair glistened under the lights and as he waved his small smile transformed into a broad grin for everyone in the house to admire.

  My mind began to scream. Oh my God! 

  At the same moment I stopped breathing, my knees gave out. Before my head hit the floor, I felt warm piss beginning to run down the inseams of my jeans.