He resembles a caricature of the athlete he once was. Softened in body, yet his complexion has coarsened. His face seems larger, a little puffy. Lines bracket his mouth. I can’t see his eyes behind the shades.
I study the caption.
A day in the mountains with my guy. Spring snow. Fast skiing.
#Perks #SkiIndustryLife #CanadiansInColorado #ColoradoDays #InteriorDesignerLife #BestRunsOfTheSeason
My emotions slide into some dark, dank place. The world around me fades.
I go through post after post. Going backward in time. Beautiful Daisy doing this. Beautiful Daisy doing that. At yoga. Out with the girls. Wine night. Painting night. Book club. Shopping and lunch. New shoes. A trip to Denver. Visiting vineyards. Glorious meals. More vacations in far-flung places across the globe. India, Australia, a safari in Botswana, and a trip down the Nile.
A buzz grows loud inside my head. I’ve always longed to travel. Ever since I was eight, when I saw a show on the Knowledge Network about the Serengeti and all those animals. I wanted to go to Kenya. The Galápagos. The Amazon. Indonesia. I always thought I would. All around the world. Not just to Nicaragua with Boon’s film crew when I got a part as an extra.
But this dream was before I dropped out of school. My dreams became out of my reach for all sorts of complicated reasons that I prefer to not dwell on.
But here—Daisy and Jon, Rose Cottage, their little baby on the way—it’s cracking open that heavy old chest with the secret longings that I have buried deep in my soul. I can feel the contents rising, unfurling slowly inside me. Like a visceral ooze seeping up from the bottom of a lake, because with the rising dreams comes a slimy detritus—things I don’t want to see. Or feel.
I scroll more. Faster, sucking on my lollipop more urgently.
#ColoradoDays #BabyNews! #NewJobForJon #GoingHome #VancouverHereWeCome #FarewellParties
#MovingDay!
#BackHomeInVanouver #NewHouse #RoseCottage #RevisitingWhistler #SpringSkiing #JonsOldStompingGround
I learn from Daisy’s account she joined a mom’s yoga group.
#PrenatalYogaForMomsInThePark
I learn she loves #ThePiBistro. She’s posted photos of tarts she bought there. Another photo shows Daisy and a pregnant girlfriend lunching at the bistro.
#DiscoveredGreatNewPlace #FewBlocksAway #DangerousForMyWaistline #HungryAllTheTime
I feel ill.
I stop because I need a breath. I know it’s fake. No one’s life is that perfect. It’s a curated illusion. Smoke and mirrors. Misdirection. Just like my @foxandcrow account. I’m letting this get to me.
But here’s another thing about reality and perception. Like Mary in my play, when you choose your Story, you’re in fact also choosing your life. We are—or we become—what we pretend to be, so we must be very careful who we pretend to be.
I check the time. I have a few more minutes before I must get into my uniform.
I open a browser and search for “Jon Rittenberg” “Colorado” “Silver Aspens Ski Resort.”
Articles from the local Colorado newspapers pop up. The older articles mention that Silver Aspens, a TerraWest property, has a new operations manager—gold medalist Jon Rittenberg. There are stories quoting Jon about the state of the industry. A clip where Jon tells a reporter that after his wins at Salt Lake he had a ski run named after him at Whistler, where he used to train and where his team had a lodge. He tells the journalist he considers Whistler his “home” mountain.
A black cloud descends over me.
I remember the day they named that run.
I find more articles. About Jon leaving his post at Silver Aspens to take up an interim position at TerraWest HQ in Vancouver. The article says it is rumored that Jon Rittenberg is being groomed for the chief operating officer position at Claquoosh Resort, a brand-new “property” TerraWest is developing in the mountains north of Whistler.
I search more, going deeper. And bam. Another headline jumps out. I go dead still.
It’s dated almost a year ago.
Famous ski racer and operations manager of Silver Aspens Ski Resort Jon Rittenberg and his wife, Daisy Rittenberg, are claiming to be victims of an alleged stalker. A female in her 30s has been arrested in connection with the allegations. The woman—a dancer and server at Club Crimson—is also formally accusing Jon Rittenberg of sexual assault after Rittenberg and a group of his friends allegedly spent a night at the club. The dancer claims she is now pregnant with Rittenberg’s child. The woman was arrested while hiding in bushes outside the windows of the Rittenbergs’ mountainside mansion. She alleges Rittenberg ruined her life, which is why she became obsessed with following him and his wife. The woman claims she intended no physical harm to either Rittenberg or his wife . . .
My pulse quickens. I scroll faster. According to another article, the dancer’s name is Charlotte Waters. Her friends call her Charley. There’s a photo. She’s blonde. Thin. Sort of worn-looking. Sad eyes. I read further.
“It never happened,” Rittenberg said.
The words blare like a Klaxon through my brain.
“The woman is a cheap liar,” said Tom Gunn, a male friend who was with Rittenberg at Club Crimson on the night in question. “She’s an opportunist. Show me the proof that she’s pregnant, because I don’t believe it. She just wants money. She’s crazy in the head.”
I find another article.
Police confirm charges have been dropped in the alleged Rittenberg stalker case. Lawyers for Jon Rittenberg say Charlotte Waters has also withdrawn her accusations of sexual assault against Jon Rittenberg.
“I am sorry,” she said in a written statement provided by her legal counsel. “I erred in judgment. I was never assaulted. I was never pregnant. I deeply regret any harm that I might have caused the Rittenberg family.”
Waters is now subject to a restraining order and has agreed to seek therapy. Rittenberg’s lawyer says his client will not be pursuing any further recourse.
“We wish her well and we hope she gets the help she needs,” Jon Rittenberg said in a written statement. Rittenberg told the Silver Aspens Times that he feels sorry for Waters.
“I don’t understand what happened in her life that drove her to do this. But I was accused of something that never happened. It can wreck lives.”
My watch timer chimes and I jump. I’m breathing so fast I am dizzy. I blink. I feel as though I’m resurfacing through a wormhole. Hurriedly, I save the links to the articles. And I save the “alleged” stalker’s name in my brain.
Charlotte “Charley” Waters.
DAISY
October 18, 2019. Friday.
Thirteen days before the murder.
Daisy seats herself at a rustic table in front of the street window at the Pi Bistro. Her leg jiggles. Her hands twitch. Her back is against the wall and she faces the door. She feels more secure with the wall behind her. From here she can watch everyone inside and also see anyone approaching along the sidewalk.
Jon’s warning snakes through her brain.
You know it’s dangerous . . . Anyone can use geolocation to pinpoint exactly where you are and when you’re there. If you post a photo of yourself in a restaurant as you sit down, by the time your order shows up, so can your stalker.
She should call Jon. She should tell him about the shocking comments on her Instagram post. But she can’t. Not now. Not after the Chucky GIF.