Free The Bright Silver Star by David Handler Page B

“Isn’t
this
interesting.”
    Mitch frowned at her. “You’re not reacting the way I thought you would at all. You seem . . . relieved.”
    “Only because I am,” Des confessed. “Real, Martine told me this morning that
Dodge
was having an affair.”
    “No way!”
    “Oh, most definitely way.”
    “Well, who with?”
    “She didn’t say. Why, did he? . . .”
    “No, not a word,” Mitch said, electing to keep his hunch about Will to himself. At least for now.
    “Well, this is certainly tangled up in weird,” she said, taking a gulp of her iced tea. “I wonder why they’ve dumped it on us.”
    “Why pick the same morning?” Mitch wondered. “And why pick
us?”
    She considered it for a moment, her eyes narrowing shrewdly. “I hate to say this, but part of me feels like we’re being moved around.”
    “Moved around how?”
    “She told me about Dodge’s affair so she could get out in front of any rumors about her own. This way, if word leaks out that she’s seeing someone, people will say ‘The poor dear had no choice—Dodge has been cheating on her for months.’ ”
    “You think he told me about her for the very same reason?”
    “It’s a theory, Mitch.”
    “But that would mean they’re expecting us to blab this all over town.”
    “Not very flattering, is it?”
    “Not in the least,” Mitch said indignantly. “Dodge told it to me in confidence. I’d never run out and tell everyone in Dorset that Martine is . . . Wait, what am I saying? This isn’t Dorset, it’s Peyton goddamned Place.” He paused, poking at the remains of his lunch with his plastic fork. “Do you think they’ll stay together?”
    Des shrugged her shoulders. “This may be totally normal behavior for them. Some couples get off on the jealousy. It lights their fire. Hell, for all we know this whole business could be nothing more than air guitar.”
    “As in they’re not really playing?”
    “What I’m saying.”
    “Is that what you think is going on?”
    “Boyfriend, I wouldn’t even try to guess.”
    “Neither would I,” said Mitch, who had learned one sure thing about Dorset since he’d moved here: no one, absolutely no one, was who he or she appeared to be. Everyone was fronting. That didn’t necessarily mean you didn’t like or admire people like the Crocketts, it just meant you didn’t know them. They didn’t let you. “The Crocketts seemed like the perfect couple, too.”
    “There is no such thing,” Des said with sudden vehemence. “And there’s no such thing as the face of a dying marriage either.” She was drawing on her own painful breakup with Brandon, Mitch knew full well. “If they choose to, a couple like the Crocketts can hide what’s really going on from
everyone.”
    “So what are we supposed to do now?”
    “Besides keep our mouths shut? Not a thing. Not unless they ask us for help.” She finished her salad and shoved her plate away. “I did me some hanging with Esme this morning.”
    “What’s she like?”
    “Sweet, childlike—at times it seems like nobody’s home.”
    “That’s why they call them actors. They’re not like you and me. They’re instruments. When they aren’t performing they’re no different than the cello that you see lying on its side in the orchestra room, waiting to be picked up and played.”
    “If that’s the case then why does everybody worship them?”
    “They don’t. They worship the fantasy that’s up on the screen. The performers just have a bit of the stardust sprinkled on them, that’s all. It’s all about the fantasy. People vastly prefer it to reality, which is depressing and painful and filled with really bad smells. Reality they already know plenty about.” Mitch gazed at her searchingly. “Des? . . .”
    “What is it, baby?”
    “Let’s not play games like that with each other.”
    “Games I can deal with. You sleeping with another woman, that’ssomething different.” She drained her iced tea. “Damn, I’m thirsty