Domestic Secrets

by Rosalind Noonan

  “They’d better be.” Craig turned around and barked to a student, a lanky kid with freckles and a black T-shirt with a Jimi Hendrix graphic. “Milo, would you please see what’s holding things up?”

  Milo was jogging down the aisle when the curtain began to open and the music track started to play. Rachel and Ariel slid into seats in the second row to watch.

  As the sweet Simon & Garfunkel song washed through the auditorium, Rachel held her breath until she spotted Jared. There he was, stage right, twirling his dance partner Allison Samwick. It was a bad habit Rachel had had since Jared got into the song-and-dance troupe; she couldn’t enjoy a company number until she had picked out her son in the pack. But then, she’d always kept a close eye on KJ while watching a football game. Somehow, keeping watch over her boys, she fooled herself into believing she could keep them safe through sheer will.

  “Very cute,” Rachel whispered to her friend.

  Ariel’s gaze searched the stage. “Who?”

  Rachel nudged Ariel’s arm. “I meant the song.”

  “Right.” Ariel nodded. “It’s a fun number, though the choreography is a little mucky.”

  Rachel hadn’t noticed. Her eyes found Jared once again. He was holding Allison’s hands, swaying from side to side as they stared into each other’s eyes. All the couples onstage were doing the same step, but there was such tenderness between Jared and Allison—a certain chemistry. Allison’s blond curls bounced as she moved, and the girl’s smile could light up a room.

  Could she be the one? Allison seemed like a nice girl, and Rachel had seen her name on the list of honor roll students published in the Timbergrove Times. Jared could do worse for a first girlfriend. Where was she going to college? Would Jared get pissed off if she approached Allison? He might. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want his mother encroaching on his relationships. Damn. She wanted the pleasure of being Jared’s cool mom. She had learned from KJ that there was no stopping teens from experimentation with sex and alcohol. She would let Jared and Allison hang out in his room with the door closed, and she would discreetly place herself in the living room with the TV volume up. Jared didn’t understand that she could make his life so much more pleasant if he just trusted her.

  Rachel was still lolling in the possibilities when the song ended and the students gathered on the stage apron for notes from their director.

  Craig praised the energy, the costumes, and hair. “But, people, there’s a hole in the choreography. In the bridge, you look like you’re doing some sort of monster stomp.” He talked with the student choreographer, a beanpole of a girl with freckles, who showed a few alternative steps.

  “Nope. Nope. No.” Craig shook his head, frowning. “We need something more lilting and dramatic. It’s a quiet little song, and you run the risk of putting us to sleep with the choreography.”

  “How about a little more contact?” Ariel was on her feet, moving toward the stairs at the edge of the stage. “I think a little could go a long way here.”

  Rachel waited for Craig to object. After all, Ariel was their vocal coach, not a choreographer.

  But Craig was nodding, grateful, as if Ariel had lifted a weight from his shoulders.

  Ariel moved through the kids staggered onstage like trees in a forest until she spotted what she wanted. “Graham. Come be my partner,” she said, motioning to Graham Oyama, the class heartthrob. Tall and solid, Graham had dark, exotic looks from his father’s side and mad skills as a fielder that had earned him a full-ride scholarship to Tulane University.

  “Let’s pick it up from the second verse,” Ariel called, as the students formed a semi-circle around Graham and her, ready to watch and learn. Ariel leaned forward to whisper in Graham’s ear, no doubt giving him instructions, though it looked a hell of a lot like she was flirting. Ariel’s shoulders were back in perfect posture, and those silicone boobies were perfect perky peaches.

  Shifting in her chair, Rachel sucked in her abs, hating the seven pounds she’d put on in the past few years. Well, seven to ten, a belt on her belly. It was time to start cutting out the dark chocolate, stop telling herself it was good for her because it was loaded with antioxidants.

  Uneasiness rippled up Rachel’s skin as she saw Graham’s arm slide over Ariel’s shoulders with ease. What a smoothie that boy was. The big, flashy grin on his face transmitted his enjoyment as he pulled her to him, grinding pelvis to pelvis in a bit of dirty dancing.

  The kids found this all to be hysterically funny, but Rachel thought it inappropriate. Yes, it was just a dance, but Ariel was not a dance coach, and as a voice teacher to young people, she needed to conduct herself with professionalism. Rachel had warned her friend about this. In this day and age, sexy did not translate well in the public school curriculum. Ariel needed to be above it all, detached . . . chaste.

  Well, chaste was a stretch for Ariel. But she could maintain her aura of sexuality without looking like she was mating with a teenage boy onstage. Although she kept her face frozen in a stoic expression, Rachel could feel the heat flaring in her cheeks. God, this was embarrassing.

  And the hoots from the kids, the big grin on Graham’s face, the way Graham’s hands commanded Ariel’s hands, thighs, and hips, grinding together in their most intimate places . . . it was as if he owned her body. As if he’d ridden that highway before.

  No! Rachel covered her mouth with one hand as her jaw clenched. It couldn’t be. Ariel would never date a student. These days Ariel’s livelihood relied on students, and to cross that line and breach the trust of the community would spell disaster.

  That conversation about Ariel’s hot new squeeze came back to her. Was that why Ariel refused to mention him by name? Please God, let her be wrong.

  Ariel didn’t know what she’d done to be chosen for the rarified position at the director’s right hand. Well, of course, Craig knew that she had worked in Hollywood and starred in her own show for a while, and yes, she was the vocal coach for these kids. But normally he didn’t play favorites, and Ariel wasn’t sure she wanted the honor of sitting out the rest of the rehearsal in the dark auditorium. She’d been having a blast backstage, playing with makeup and hair. It had brought her back to the old days on set, with that giddy excitement and nervous tension. Except tonight, she didn’t have to suffer the anxiety, because she wasn’t going onstage. And it had been a long time since she and Rachel had rolled up their sleeves and laughed together. Damn, the woman was a fun sidekick. Maybe she could finagle a way to get Rach out here, make it more of a directing committee so that Craig wouldn’t get any ideas.

  However, Craig was the man who buttered her bread. It was his referrals and his insistence that the Gleetime kids take voice lessons that brought Ariel most of her steady income. And as for the choreography that these kids had dreamed up—many of the moves stolen from the school dance team, which took the football field at halftime—Ariel had more than a few suggestions for dance steps that went beyond shakes and wiggles. So if Craig wanted her riding shotgun to help critique and boost the kids’ confidence, all she could say was giddy-up.

  Chapter 13

  Rachel returned to the green room with a twinge of regret. Having lost Ariel to Craig, Rachel worried that she would be shorthanded in the green room. The last thing she wanted was to be forced to ask one of the Dawn Patrol for help. God forbid. If worse came to worst, she knew she could rely on Nora, if she could track her down. Last she’d heard, Nora was supervising the frazzled lighting crew, a group of newbies who didn’t yet know their way around spotlights and gels.

  The second number in the show, now being rehearsed, was an a cappella version of “Blackbird” performed in choir robes. No hair styling necessary, minus removal of headbands.

  A quick triage revealed Rosie Delfatti, who needed a fancy up-do with braids and twists to play Frau Blücher in a number from Young Frankenstein. “But I can wait,” Rosie said, nodding toward a cluster of boys. “These guys go before me.”

  The handful of bo
ys dressed in flowered board shorts and coconut bras for “Kokomo” needed help getting their wigs on. One of the wigs was impossibly small for the good-sized student who wanted to wear it. Isaiah Denton, a hefty tackle on the football team, was trying to pull a small platinum wig over his large head.

  “Never gonna happen,” Rachel said. “Here. Try one of these.”

  He shook his head. “I want the blond for shock effect.” The pale golden strands of fake hair were a sharp contrast to his dark mocha skin.

  “But it’s too small. You need a large, even an extra-large.”

  “Who knew wigs came in sizes?” Isaiah flung the blond wig onto the vanity and chose one in the auburn red. “Dover! Why’d you buy me a small wig?”

  “Just put one on and stop complaining,” Cooper said, wincing as he batted the flyaway hair of his dark wig away from his face.

  “I don’t complain.” Isaiah picked up the auburn-red wig and frowned down at it. “I just wanted a blond wig. Is that too much to ask for? I don’t think so.”

  “This is freakin’ annoying.” Cooper tore off the wig, flung it to the floor, and stormed off.

  “What got his shorts in a bunch?” Rachel muttered.

  “He’s a moody bastard,” Isaiah said.

  He sure is, Rachel thought as she helped Isaiah with the red-haired wig. If Cooper’s petulance was any indication, this was about more than wigs. “There you go.”

  Isaiah grinned into the mirror. “I’m a red-haired Oprah.”

  Rachel laughed. “Oprah would die for your muscle tone, honey.” For a big guy, he was light on his feet and often stole the show.

  He adjusted his coconut-shell bra, flexed his biceps in the mirror, and grinned. “Yeah. I’m killing it.”

  “Save the charisma for onstage.” Rachel sent him off with a pat on the back and turned to the cluster of girls who were waiting for some minor adjustments: frizz control, ponytails, and primping.

  “Rosie first, and then I’ll get to you girls,” she said, directing Rosie into the hot seat and rolling her shoulders back to relax for a moment as she assessed. “You know, I have a hairpiece that might be helpful.” Digging in her bag, she found a sandy-brown hair extension that was a fairly close match to the girl’s hair color. “We’ll braid this and use it as a crown. The rest, we’ll just pin up. How about that, Frau Blücher?”

  “Perfect.” Rosie reached for the hairpiece. “I’ll braid it while you do the rest.”

  “Deal.” As Rachel dug out hairpins and began combing Rosie’s hair, the other girls seated at the lit vanity were talking among themselves, lamenting a rift in the company. It reminded her of the way kids talked in the backseat of the car, honest and unfiltered, completely forgetting that a parent was listening from the front seat. Ever the invisible therapist/hair stylist, she kept her mouth shut and soaked it all in.

  Rachel’s heart faltered when she heard that little Remy was at the center of the conflict. The girls were upset that Cooper was feuding with Remy, who didn’t seem to be fighting back at all. Angry and hurt over their breakup, Cooper had enlisted a bunch of his friends to tune Remy out, refusing to include her or speak to her.

  “I’m afraid something bad is going to happen when they’re dancing together in the show,” Kristina said. “I wish they weren’t dance partners.”

  “But they became partners because they were going out,” Sage Sherer argued. “It’s partly her fault.”

  “You can’t blame Remy,” Rosie added, flashing a warning look at the other girls. “She’s free to break up with him. He’s the one being a turd. Like she’s really going to get back with him just so he stops torturing her.”

  Some of the girls agreed that Cooper was rotten; others felt sorry for him.

  “Can’t you see he’s in pain?” Tory Gifford squeaked. “He’s dying of a broken heart.”

  Some of the other girls swooned over that romantic notion, but Rosie wasn’t buying it. “He’ll survive. He’s just a big baby.”

  “But Remy chose the worst time to break up with him,” Tory added. “Right before prom? That’s just cold.”

  Rosie glared at Tory. “It’s her right to make her own relationship choices, whenever and wherever. Wow. You act like he’s got some rights over Remy, which he doesn’t.”

  “Just saying, I feel sorry for him,” Tory said.

  “I do, too,” another girl agreed.

  “Well, I don’t,” Rosie said firmly.

  Thank God for Rosie’s stubbornness. Although Rachel kept her mouth shut, annoyance simmered inside her as the girls expressed their varied opinions on how to deal with their boyfriends and dancing partners and bullies. How she would love to take Cooper by the strap of his coconut bra and give him a good scolding. To target Remy, sweet, kind Remy, the girl who released spiders to the yard! That boy needed a reality check. A good kick in the nuts.

  Too bad it wasn’t Rachel’s place to reel him in. He wasn’t her son, and he wasn’t acting out in front of her. But she was going to make sure Ariel knew about this hot mess.

  Some thirty minutes later, one of the kids on the production team delivered a message to Rachel. “Mr. Schulteis wants to talk to you out in the auditorium,” the young man said.

  “Thanks. Milo, right?” Rachel remembered him from out in the auditorium.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, you can call me Rachel,” she said, chatting him up as they headed out of the green room. She found out that he was a sophomore, interested in theater, but not so much acting.

  “That’s fine. There are plenty of jobs behind the scenes in theater. I worked for a few years, doing hair in off-Broadway productions in New York.”

  “Really?” He brightened. “Did you meet any famous people?”

  Her mind raced as she grappled for the memory of a celebrity that Milo would have heard of. Wow, did that make her old? “Have you ever heard of Robert Downey, Jr.?”

  “You met him?”

  “Yup. He’s a great guy.” Okay, she hadn’t actually met him, but she’d caught glimpses of him eating a salad in a restaurant on Sixth Avenue. And from every interview she’d seen, she was convinced that he was a great guy.

  “Cool,” he said as they entered the dark auditorium, where Sage Sherer stood alone on stage in a formal gown, carving out a song from Les Misérables. She wasn’t off-key, but the unpleasant nasal quality of her voice reminded Rachel of a woman trapped in a diving bell. It had taken Sage four years of lessons and donations from her parents to make it to a faltering solo. Rachel wondered if the girl realized that the only reason she was onstage now was because of her parents’ financial clout.

  Milo scooted into the row with the other students, while Ariel perked up and motioned for Rachel to sit beside her. Craig watched the performance with a bland look. He didn’t seem to notice Rachel sliding into the row.

  “Hey, there,” Rachel whispered, sinking into the upholstered seat. “How’s it going out here?”

  “All good. Craig and I just wanted to make sure you got a piece of the pie,” Ariel said, tipping her chin toward the floor.

  There was no pie, just a bottle of red wine that Ariel and Craig were drinking from travel mugs.

  “Oh.” Rachel felt trapped as Ariel bent down to fill a third cup for her. She didn’t want to be a party pooper, but there would be kids who needed help backstage. Four girls doing an a cappella rendition of “Mr. Sandman” dressed in footie pajamas would need their hair tied up in pigtails, and she could only imagine the styling work needed for the Part One finale, “Walking on Sunshine.”

  An impassive Craig watched with a glazed look in his eyes.

  “I really need to get back,” she whispered.

  “Relax,” Ariel said, handing her a cup as the song ended. Without missing a beat Ariel joined in with Craig to give Sage notes about breathing from the diaphragm and keeping the energy light.

  Rachel took a sip of wine, which seemed to sit on her tongue, bitter and dark. Although it felt
good to take a load off her feet, she felt useless sitting here, and it seemed kind of crappy to be sneaking wine in front of the kids after all these years of trying to enforce the rules on booze and drugs.

  As Sage departed and the stagehands reset microphones and props, Ariel added more wine to Craig’s cup. “The only way to survive a number like that is through the filter of wine,” she joked.

  “But you gotta admit, she has improved. Leaps and bounds from last year,” Rachel pointed out.

  “True,” Craig agreed. “Nice job,” he said, toasting Ariel.

  It seemed like such a pompous attitude, Rachel thought, shifting in her seat. What had she ever seen in Craig? She looked over Ariel’s clipboard, checking the upcoming songs and plotting her escape. “Singin’ in the Rain” was next, with Remy and Jared. That was worth staying for. After that, she would bow out.

  The music came up and Jared appeared in the spotlight, whistling as he swaggered across the stage. Rachel was glad that he wouldn’t see her in the darkened auditorium; he hated when she was the übermom, cheering him on.

  He played it low-key in the beginning, slow and calm and smooth as silk. Special effects lighting shimmered over him, simulating rain glimmering down from above. The confidence in his manner, the glee in his voice, the spring in his step—Jared seemed to own the stage with a presence Rachel had never before witnessed. He danced past a shop window where Remy stood as a mannequin, and when he paused and reached out to her, she came alive and joined in the song.

  Watching them sing and dance in unison, Rachel could not recognize the sensitive boy and the babbling young girl they used to be. They moved onstage as a joyous couple, celebrating love and life. Mixing in a few tap steps, they jazzed it up a bit as the routine rose to a finale then tapered off. Jared danced Remy back to the shop window, kissed her hand, and bowed to her as he turned away with a regretful smile and strolled off in time to the music.