Upstaged

by Aaron Paul Lazar

“What?” I asked.

  “It’s ridiculous, I suppose. You don’t think that Cindi would have taken Boris, do you?” She looked at me doubtfully.

  I paused for a moment to consider the notion. “I know she loves him, Camille, but I can’t imagine her breaking into your house. She’s such a gentle soul. Someone tried to pry him out of her arms in the schoolyard, before the actual abduction, and she’s been genuinely broken up about it. No, she hasn’t got it in her to be so devious. Plus, she’s really been a wreck since it happened. Remember the search?”

  Camille looked at me and replied quickly. “I know. It was a stupid idea. I must be losing it. She’s been so nice to me.”

  I continued. “It’s okay to consider the absurd. It might spark another idea that leads us to the truth. Of course, we still have to consider Armand. We know he’s angry with both of us. He has such a dark and violent personality.”

  Camille’s mood shifted. Her shoulders slumped. She leaned forward and rested her chin in her hands. “There was that incident last year. ”

  “I didn’t think you were going to tell me about that,” I said. “I was almost afraid to ask.”

  She turned to me. Her eyes searched mine with a haunted expression as she began to speak the unspeakable.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “I t was last November. Right after his father was deported.” Camille looked at me hesitantly. Pain flickered in her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to talk about.”

  I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Take your time, honey.”

  She sat up straighter and looked into the woods, her eyes growing unfocused.

  A red hawk floated overhead and screeched.

  “It happened during the last month of production of Sondheim’s Into the Woods . With his smooth tenor voice and good looks, I knew Armand would make a perfect Prince for Rapunzel. But he missed too many rehearsals and couldn’t remember his lines. He was irritable and unruly, and often arrived late, when he did show up.”

  Her voice broke, but she gathered herself and kept going. “I asked him to stay after rehearsal one Saturday night. I needed to tell him he had to straighten up or I’d have to kick him out and assign a last minute replacement. I didn’t want to do it, but he was jeopardizing the whole production. He agreed to meet me afterwards.”

  Maggie snorted. Camille glanced at the horses, lowering her eyes. “He came in when I was in the prop room checking out the Milky White cow costume that had just come in on loan from the college. Everyone else had gone home by then.”

  She paused for a moment and took a deep breath.

  “I didn’t hear him come in at first. He approached me from the back, circled his arms around my waist, and ran his hands up and down my front. I turned around, but couldn’t break away from his grip. I yelled at him, asking him what he thought he was doing. He pushed me up against the wall and began to kiss me. Forcing me. Feeling me all over. ”

  Her voice had cracked on the last word and I sensed the impending tears. She stopped to collect herself.

  Rage boiled in my gut. I pushed it down, letting her continue. “Sounds exactly like what he did to Molly in that alleyway. The bastard .”

  She wiped a few tears from her eyes, speaking faster now. “I pushed him away. He grabbed me again and pinned me against a rack of costumes. The woolen coats on the rack itched my back. I don’t know why I remember that…” She shuddered. “He pulled up my blouse and rubbed his black stubbled chin all over my skin, licking and kissing me. I think I was screaming at that point, but I don’t remember. He kept telling me he knew I wanted him just as much as he wanted me. He whispered to me like a love-crazed lunatic. Said he knew I’d give in eventually, and that when I invited him backstage, he knew it was a sign from me.”

  She put her head in her hands and rubbed her eyes.

  “What’d you do next?” I asked. What I really wanted to do was get on my horse, gallop to his house, drag his sorry ass outside, and pummel him into mush.

  “I kept pushing and yelling at him, telling him that he was mistaken, that I didn’t invite him back for romance. When he reached down there and tried to touch me, I finally found my strength and shoved him across the room.”

  “I screamed ‘No!’ at him, as loud as I could. I was hoping someone like the janitors might hear me, but no one came. He landed against the rack of vintage fur coats and toppled it over. He fell down. I was braced for him to get up and start in again, when he started to cry.”

  “What?”

  “Uh huh. He sobbed and sobbed. He talked about how no one loved him, about how I was the only one who cared about him. How he adored me, had loved me since tenth grade. He went on and on about his father leaving, about his family problems. They had no money, no food, and his mother was so busy caring for his little brothers that she couldn’t give him a second thought. ”

  “I melted listening to his sad story. My heart broke, and I found myself counseling him. I walked over and patted his shoulder. He vented and sobbed for a half hour. Begging me not to turn him in, he promised to do better, and assured me he now realized he’d been mistaken about my feelings. He apologized, in what seemed to be a most sincere manner.”

  “So you didn’t report it?” I asked.

  She raised her eyes to mine, looking broken. “There’s something wrong with me, Gus. It was always the same way with Greg. After the beatings, it took me years to realize the sad stories he gave me would only lead to another pounding later in the week. I’m flawed. Seriously flawed. I should have turned Armand in, had him prosecuted, or at least arranged to have him put in therapy to help him deal with his loss of control.”

  “But you didn’t. You let him stay in the show and didn’t say a word to anyone.”

  I tried hard not to sound judgmental despite the fact that she’d let Armand get away with what I believed was a near-rape. He’d escaped from that situation, only to try it on Molly. And who knows on how many other girls?

  Now the tears began. They spilled down her cheeks in a gushing, steady stream. She’d held them back for too long and collapsed in my arms with shoulders shaking. Between gulping sobs, she continued to blame herself for weaknesses that went too far beyond her forgiving nature. I disagreed with her gently, telling her it was over, that she couldn’t help being such a kind, trusting soul, and that I loved her.

  God, I love her.

  My heart broke as I kissed her wet cheeks. I ached to alleviate her suffering. She clung to me, trembling. We held each other as the horses munched quietly beside us. Finally, after a long time, she settled down and looked up at me. “How can you love me?”

  I searched her clear brown eyes. “It’s impossible not to love you.” I felt a catch in my voice. “You’ve drilled deep down into my soul, woman. You’ve enveloped me. Completely. I love your spirit. I love your sweetness. I love your fire. Nothing will ever change that.”

  Her eyes searched mine for a moment. It seemed she saw the truth behind the words, because she laid her head against my chest with a giant, heaving sigh. “Thank you.”

  I held her for another ten minutes, rubbing my hand in small circles on her back. The horses chomped on the green grass. Finally, we got up, picked up the remains of lunch, and walked back to the horses. I tightened the girths, untangled the reins from the stirrups, and boosted Camille onto Maggie’s back. She landed lightly and arranged her reins and stirrups. I swung over Diablo’s broad back. He raised his head in anticipation and we continued down the trail in the direction of Dansville.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  W e’d been walking along quietly, lost in our thoughts, when it happened. The raspy sound was incredibly loud, and mechanically steady.

  Whoosh, whirr. Whoosh, whirr.

  It sounded like the heavy breathing of a giant animal. But it was strangely rhythmic, and seemed to be approaching fast.

  “Gus? What the heck is that?” Camille yelled.

  I was about to swivel around in the saddle to tell her I ha
d no clue, when Diablo stopped dead. He raised his head high, his ears flicking nervously back and forth.

  The odd breathing sounds grew louder. I imagined absurd sources. Could it be a very large bear? Or a moose?

  Before I could reject the ridiculous notions, Diablo pivoted around, clamped the bit between his teeth, and plunged past Maggie in the direction of home.

  Whoosh, whirr. Whoosh, whirr.

  Diablo bolted. His normally responsive mouth turned to steel, and he accelerated faster and faster until he was in a full gallop. His big muscular body flew over the ground and he thrust ahead in a steady, one-beat stride.

  I heard Maggie galloping close behind.

  Camille shouted for her to stop, but her mount played follow-the-leader, close on Diablo’s tail. The little mare could really move.

  The breathing continued, and the unfathomable noise followed.

  Whoosh, whirr. Whoosh, whirr.

  Realizing there was no way I’d stop him, I abandoned the idea, leaning against his neck. I caught sight of a low hanging branch ahead and shouted back to Camille. “Get down!”

  I plastered myself against Diablo’s body, hanging on tight. Leaves slapped against my back when we flew under the branch. I looked back and saw Camille made it through unscathed. Maggie was five inches shorter than Diablo, which gave her an advantage when it came to avoiding low hanging vines and branches.

  Sweat broke out on Diablo’s neck, rippling his thick coat in waves. Without warning, he veered into the field where we’d stopped for lunch and raced across the meadow. I slipped sideways with the sharp turn, but dragged myself back onto the saddle. He continued to gallop for another hundred yards.

  Finally, he tired and let me pull him up. Slowing to a walk, he shuddered and snorted, head still high, ears pricked toward the sound. Maggie cantered behind us and stopped at her stable mate’s side. Camille and I turned in the direction of the noise, now louder than before.

  Whoosh, whirr. Whoosh, whirr.

  The creature clearly came from the trail we’d just left. What the hell was it?

  It was closer now, almost upon us. Both horses danced in place, nervously swiveling in circles in spite of our struggles to control them.

  Over the tops of the trees came a gigantic red, white and blue hot air balloon. Its fire pulsed loudly and rhythmically.

  Whoosh, whirr. Whoosh, whirr.

  It passed overhead, its billowing shadow playing over the field.

  Camille looked at me with one raised eyebrow. Her lips twitched.

  We both exploded in laughter and collapsed on the necks of our equine saviors who quieted and dropped their greedy mouths to the grass. Tears rolled uncontrollably down our faces and we gulped and laughed hysterically. When we thought we were done, we chanced a look at each other and started in all over again, roaring with mirth until our sides ached.

  Finally, with every drop of energy wrung from our bodies, we picked up the reins and started home .

  “Oh, Gus. Now that’s a story for our grandchildren.” She shot me a brilliant smile, her eyes still damp from laughing so hard.

  “It’s a keeper,” I grinned, maneuvering Diablo closer to Maggie.

  The horses clopped along side by side under the gold and green archway. The only sounds that broke the still silence was the occasional chuckle that escaped our lips, and the clinking of our stirrup irons bumping against each other.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I poured a generous amount of Absorbine Junior liniment on a rag and handed the bottle back to Camille. She blinked and wrinkled her nose, holding the rag at arms length. “What in the world is this stuff?”

  I laughed. “Think of it as Ben-Gay for horses, honey. It’s good for their muscles after a hard workout. Focus on Maggie’s legs, okay? We worked them pretty hard today.”

  “Okay.” She wiped liniment down the mare’s legs, speaking softly to her the whole time.

  Diablo pushed against my hand when I stroked the rag along his neck. He loved a rubdown. I worked my way over his back, focusing on the saddle area, and then re-soaked the cloth and vigorously massaged his legs. He munched contentedly on hay from the hanging basket, standing quietly in the crossties anchored on the walls of the barn aisle. Short pieces of rope extended from the walls and clipped to the metal rings on either side of his halter.

  Camille continued her one-sided conversation with Maggie as she worked. After we let the horses into the pasture, we gathered our saddles and bridles and lugged them into the tack room. In spite of feeling tired after the ride, we sat at an old card table and spent half an hour soaping the tack and cleaning the grime from the soft leather, chuckling over our adventure with the hot-air balloon.

  We picked up the sheepskin saddle pads and girth covers and carried them into the house to throw in the washing machine.

  “I still can’t believe it was a hot air balloon. How weird was that?” Camille said.

  “I know, I actually imagined some giant animal chasing us down the path. ”

  We kicked off our boots on the porch and wandered into the kitchen.

  Mrs. Pierce stood over the stove, stirring a pot with a large wooden spoon. She wore a lavender paisley apron fastened around the waist of her yellow housedress. Her hair lay in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She turned around to peer at us over her bifocals. “Nice ride?”

  Camille answered first. “Wonderful!”

  We exchanged glances and almost burst out laughing again.

  “Remind us to tell you about our adventure over dinner.” I lifted a lid from one of the pots and leaned over to take a closer look. “What’s cooking?” The faint aroma of ginger and marmalade wafted up.

  She tapped the back of my hand with her long wooden spoon. “Tut-tut! Don’t touch! It’s my Columbus Day surprise for you. Something even you haven’t made before, my dear Professor. And no, there is no cilantro in this one! My goodness Gus, sometimes I think you’ve totally forgotten about the good old standbys. Today, I’m using mint leaves. So there.” She shot me a challenging look, followed by a grin.

  “Guess I’ve been properly chastised. But seriously, would you like some help?”

  She looked at my dust-covered clothes and wrinkled her nose. “Take your showers and come back down. You can play some music to cook by, okay?” She turned to Camille with a smile. “Dearie, you can shower in Freddie’s bathroom. Did you bring a change of clothes?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t subject you to this smell for the rest of the day.” Camille laughed and trotted off to get her bag, then headed up to Freddie’s bathroom.

  After showering and changing into fresh jeans and a comfortable chamois shirt, I sat down at the piano bench, calling to Mrs. Pierce from the great room. “What would you like to hear, Adelaide? ”

  She poked her head through the doorway. “Something light and jazzy. How about some Gershwin or Scott Joplin?”

  I thumbed through the messy pile of music covering the top of the old Mason and Hamlin piano. The Joplin book was near the top, since I’d played a number of rags for a recent edition of my radio show. That particular episode of “Noteworthy” had thankfully generated new pledges for our struggling public broadcasting station during its recent fund drive. I set it aside temporarily and continued searching until I found the Gershwin and opened it up to a jaunty little tune called “Walkin’ the Dog.”

  Mrs. Pierce trilled from the kitchen. “Oh, yes! That’s a good one!”

  My fingers jumped lightly over the keys. I thought back over the morning, realizing how much I’d missed riding in the woods. Now I felt unusually exhilarated. One part of my brain automatically processed the music, and the other began to analyze the sensations streaming through my body.

  I knew exercise could induce an endorphin release, but I hadn’t felt this good since before Elsbeth died, in spite of all of my long walks and concentrated workouts. Exposure to the fresh, fall air could explain some of the feelings of revitalization, but there was a new eleme
nt soaring above and beyond the usual sensations born of a crisp, autumn day.

  Turning the page to finish the piece, I had an epiphany.

  It’s Camille. It has to be.

  She was responsible for the euphoria.

  Laughing with her until we both cried was amazingly cathartic and had somehow freed my soul from the occasional guilty feelings I’d felt since I proposed to her.

  The woman was my savior. She’d lifted me from an abyss when I’d met her ten months earlier. Although I consciously acknowledged the fact that it was healthy to move forward in our relationship, there were nights when I wondered, what in the world am I doing ?

  She’d almost shocked me when she accepted my marriage proposal. I questioned what she saw in this slightly used Renaissance man with the ready-made family.

  When I finished playing through the piece for a second time, I decided that the lofty sensations were simply due to flat-out adoration.

  There’s no question about it. I’m mad about her.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  T he entire family converged when I turned to “Rhapsody in Blue.” Siegfried and Freddie breezed in from their long day at the veterinary clinic. Freddie had been behind in her work, and had kept the clinic open for the holiday to try to catch up. They chatted about a spaniel and a parrot who caused a ruckus in the waiting room.

  Camille slowly descended the staircase with my sleepy grandson in her arms. Her damp curls were pulled back with a clasp and her complexion glowed with a soft rosy hue. She had changed into a pale green flannel shirt and an old pair of jeans, but wore no shoes. She cuddled Johnny, walking slowly down the stairs and into the room. The toddler sagged against her shoulders, still groggy from his afternoon nap. “Somebody wants his mother,” Camille said.

  Freddie trotted over to take her son into her arms. “There’s my boy. How are you doing, sweetie?” She plopped down on the couch and snuggled with him.

  Camille sat beside me on the piano bench and loosed a long, sad sigh.

  My heart wrenched for her. Her expression was wistful when she released the boy to Freddie, and I knew how desperately she missed mothering a responsive child. She rested her head on my shoulder.