Читать книгу The Downfall of a Good Girl - Kimberly Lang - Страница 8

IT WAS well after midnight by the time Vivi made it home. The clubs on Frenchman Street were going strong, and though it was January, the nights were mild enough that a sweatshirt provided enough warmth. All the tables on the sidewalks were packed. In some places the crowds spilled out into the street, and she had to slow almost to a crawl to avoid pedestrians the last few blocks before turning into her driveway. She’d grown up on the tree-lined quiet streets of the Garden District, so adjusting to the much more active nightlife of the Marigny Triangle had been difficult at first, but now she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Coming home always made her smile.

Sam, her neighbor, was on his porch, drinking a beer and listening to the buskers in Washington Square. He waved and called out, “Congrats, Saint Vivi.”

Lorelei had probably spread the news. “Thanks, Sam.” She should stop and talk for a few minutes, but she was exhausted, her head was pounding, and her cheeks ached from all the smiling. Plus, the straps from the harness that had held her wings on had chafed against her skin, irritating her almost as much as Connor.

All she wanted to do was wash off the glitter and go to bed. She needed to be up early in the morning to work the phone lines. Another glass of wine was tempting, but sleep would work just as well against the Connor-induced headache.

But, unsurprisingly, Lorelei had waited up for her. They hadn’t had much time at the Saints and Sinners Ball to talk beyond quick congratulations.

“There she is,” Lorelei sang to a familiar tune. “Saint Vi-vi-enne.”

Vivi obligingly did her pageant wave and wiped away an imaginary tear before dropping her purse and bags and sinking onto the couch next to Lorelei with a sigh.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Vivi.”

“It was top secret stuff. I found out just after Thanksgiving, so I’d have time to make the necessary arrangements to my schedule. It’s going to be really busy between now and Mardi Gras.”

“We’re all so proud. Mama and Daddy were about to burst with it.”

“I noticed. But I hope you’re rethinking your annual pledge of allegiance to the Sinners now. I’m counting on your support.”

Lorelei crinkled her nose. “But the Sinners are much more fun.”

“Don’t make me play the sister card.”

“You sure you want me? Your halo might be tarnished by association.”

“Repent, reform and sin no more, my child.”

Lorelei snorted. “Don’t push your luck. One saint is plenty for the LaBlanc family, and it isn’t going to be me. That’s your job.”

“Yep.” They’d had similar conversations before, but for the first time she felt a small stab of envy for Lorelei’s freedom before she stomped it down. Adopting a bit of Lorelei’s attitude might make the next few weeks easier. She kicked off her shoes and leaned back. “Okay, just aim for temporary sainthood. A couple of weeks won’t kill you.”

“But it will still be painful…” Lorelei wrinkled her nose again. She liked to play the bad girl too much for comfort, but somehow it worked for her. “You know, no one has ever considered me saint-like in any way. It will be a challenge.” Lorelei squared her shoulders. “And LaBlancs love a challenge.”

“Amen.”

“Speaking of challenges…” Lorelei started, and Vivi knew what was coming next “…you did quite well not ripping Connor’s head off at the ball.”

Vivi felt herself snarl. “I totally understand the choice—it’s great PR, money will come rolling in, blah, blah, blah—but, yeesh. Is there wine?”

“I’ll pour.” Lorelei disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two glasses. “I have to agree that it’s brilliant PR, but you need to be careful.”

“I promise it will be justifiable homicide. I won’t ask you to bail me out of jail.”

Lorelei leveled a look at her. “Do I really need to bring up your coronation ball?”

“No. I’ve already had those flashbacks tonight.”

“Good. Remember you don’t want to look bad, so you’re the one who’s going to have to be gracious.”

Vivi raised her glass in a mock toast. “Luckily I came to that conclusion on my own earlier.”

“That explains your good behavior.” Lorelei returned the toast. “Good for you, Vivi. You’re growing as a person.”

Vivi snorted into her glass and earned a suspicious look from Lorelei. “Vivienne LaBlanc, what did you do?”

The smile was hard to fight, but Vivi would stick to the truth regardless. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

The suspicious look sharpened. “What did you do?”

“I was gracious, kind and friendly. Perfectly saint-like.”

“Exactly the actions that will make Connor wonder if you poisoned his meal.”

Vivi bit back the laugh and shrugged instead. “I can’t control Connor’s thoughts or behavior. If he wants to look foolish and juvenile, he’ll have to go there alone.”

“You know that I find you two endlessly entertaining, but honestly, Vivi—”

She held up a hand. “Lorelei, don’t start. Why do we have to go through this every single time Connor’s name is mentioned?”

“Because it’s just ridiculous. I like Connor—”

“I know. You started his fan club.”

A pink flush climbed up her neck. “Someone had to.”

“Three years before his first record came out?”

Lorelei tried to brush it off. “He’s a nice guy, you know.”

“You barely know him.”

“I know enough. I know he’s had some bad PR recently—”

Vivi nearly choked. “Bad PR? Good Lord, Lorelei, the man’s fresh off a scandal that covered the tabloids for weeks.”

“The DNA tests cleared him of paternity.”

“That only means he wasn’t the father and escaped child support. The rest…”

“You’re taking the tabloids at face value? I can’t believe that. You’re always telling me not to jump to judgment of people based on rumors.”

“No one is rushing to judgment. I’m just saying that you don’t really know him—at least not now that he’s an adult. And you know nothing of his sex life beyond chatter in the high school bathrooms. Who knows what he’s really into?”

Lorelei shook her head. “I don’t believe Connor could change that much.”

“He lives a life we can’t even begin to imagine.”

“Still, I stand by my earlier assertion that he’s a good guy.”

Vivi shook her head. “I had no idea you could be swayed by good looks alone.”

That earned her a cheeky smile. “At least you admit he’s good-looking.”

“I’m not blind. I just know that a pretty face can hide an evil heart.”

“Another scar from your pageant battles, Vivi?”

One of many. “Oh, hush. I’m not saying Connor’s a serial killer in his spare time. I just don’t like him.”

“Then tell me why.” Expectation written all over her face, Lorelei leaned back into the corner of the couch and stared at her. “And I mean it. No wiggling out.”

Vivi struggled for words. She was really too fried to handle deep conversations tonight. Charm and personality were like superpowers, and both Lorelei and Connor had them in spades. Connor, though, had turned supervillain with his, and used those powers for evil instead of good. Lorelei had never used her superpowers against Vivi or anyone else to get something she wanted. Lorelei didn’t use people the way Connor did. So it probably made it hard for her to see how someone else could.

Vivi sighed because it was just too hard to put into words. “Are you trying to tell me that you’ve never met a single person that you didn’t like? Who just rubbed you the wrong way?”

“Of course I have, but I’m not you. You like everyone. Everyone likes you. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever seen remotely close to an actual saint, so this irrational and extremely juvenile head-butting with Connor just isn’t you. It doesn’t make sense.” Her blue eyes narrowed and sisterly concern crept into her voice. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Did Connor…?”

I do not need that kind of rumor floating around. “No. There’s nothing dark or evil lurking.”

“There were all those rumors around the time you were Mississippi River Princess…”

“And they nearly cost me the crown. But none of them were remotely true.”

She saw Lorelei wasn’t totally convinced. Funny that she’d never mentioned those rumors bothered her before now.

“You swear?”

“Hand to God.”

“Good. Because I will kill him for you if I need to.”

The show of loyalty warmed her. At least Lorelei liked her better than she liked Connor. “Thank you, sweetie, but it’s not necessary. If Connor needed killing, I’d have taken care of it already.”

That lightened Lorelei’s mood. “Then tell me. How bad can it be? Did he pull your hair in kindergarten? Steal your lunch money? Tease you?”

“Yes.” Lorelei frowned and Vivi shrugged. “He did sing that song he wrote about me all the way to Baton Rouge on the eighth-grade field trip.”

“Oh, well, that explains it all.” Lorelei snorted. “Connor Mansfield wrote you a song. No wonder you hate him so much.”

“It was called ‘Vivi in a Tizzy.’”

Lorelei raised an eyebrow. “I love you, cherie, but you often were.”

“That’s beside the point. No fourteen-year-old girl wants a cute fourteen-year-old boy making fun of her.”

“Ah, I see. There’s a little unrequited tween crush—”

Oh, for a different choice of words. “Stop right there.”

Lorelei grinned at her.

“First of all, I happen to know for a fact that you failed Psych 101, so please don’t try to analyze me. Secondly, we don’t live in a sitcom. And third, I’m really, really tired of people shoving Connor in my face and telling me to like him. That’s just annoying and it makes me like him even less.”

“That’s hardly his fault.”

Maybe it was the wine, the late hour or just the exhaustion, but Vivi finally sighed. “Marie Lester.”

Lorelei looked confused until she placed the name. “What’s Marie got to do with it?”

“He used me to get to her.”

“What?”

Vivi rubbed a hand over her face. This was why she didn’t want to talk about it. “You know how sheltered and sweet Marie was, right?” At Lorelei’s nod, she continued, “That’s why her parents sent her to St. Katharine’s. New Orleans is this big bad sin city, and they figured she’d be safe there.”

“And?”

“Junior year, Connor’s friend Reg asked Marie out and she said no. She considered them a bunch of hell-raisers, and she was too good for that. Connor took that as some kind of challenge and a chance to show up Reg.”

“Okay…but still not really following you.”

She took a big gulp of wine. “Well, Marie and I were lab partners and her parents just loved me, you know.”

“Of course.”

“So Connor started hanging around me, being nice and all, in order to make himself look better to Marie.”

Lorelei nodded. “Because if you said he was an okay guy then Marie might change her mind?”

“Exactly.”

“So that’s why Connor started hanging around our house more.”

“He was just using me to get to her. And to top it all off he didn’t really like her. He just wanted to prove he could get Marie when his friend had failed.”

“It’s a jerk move, but really…” Vivi shot a look at her and Lorelei trailed off. “Oh. You thought he was interested in you. Ouch. That’s why you slapped him at your coronation.”

The hurt and humiliation she’d felt at seventeen might have been dulled by time, but her twenty-eight-year-old self remembered the blow to her ego and pride. She nodded.

Lorelei rolled her eyes. “That was years ago. Teenage crap. I don’t know a nice way to say this, but…get over it.”

“He lied to me, used me, hurt me and made me an unwilling accomplice in his quest to use Marie in order to one-up one of his friends. I don’t care if it was teenage crap. He was wrong. And, even worse, I should have known better. Even after years of his crap I fell for it.”

“And you can’t just let it go?” Lorelei shook her head. “Wow, Vivi. That’s really mature.”

“This from the girl who is still mad at Steve Milner for cheating on her.”

“He left me at prom to go have sex with another girl!”

“So call me when you’re over that and we’ll talk again about teenage crap I need to get over.”

Lorelei’s lips pressed into a thin line. Vivi had made her point.

“Even if I wanted to let that slide, I haven’t really seen anything in the intervening years to convince me that Connor isn’t still an arrogant, self-centered man-child. If anything, his fame has only fueled it. And since Connor is still holding on to his preadolescent grudges against me, I’m not too worried about maturity.”

It was Lorelei’s turn to rub her eyes. “I think I need more wine for this to make any sense at all.”

Vivi patted her sister’s knee. “Look at it from a different perspective. Animosity will add interest to the competition. If Connor and I suddenly bury the hatchet and become best buddies, people will be disappointed. And I’d hate to deny Bon Argent the opportunity to exploit this for a good cause’s gain.”

Lorelei sighed. “I hate it when the words you say sound perfectly reasonable even though it’s actually crazy talk. How do you even manage that?”

“It’s a gift.” Vivi looked down and noticed she was shedding glitter on the sofa cushions. The glitter reminded her of her purpose, and her personal problems with Connor weren’t it. “So you’ve got my back? I need all the help I can get.”

Lorelei nodded. “Blood—however crazy that blood is—is thicker than water, so I’ll be as saintly as possible for the duration of your reign. I await my marching orders.”

“Good.” Vivi grabbed one of the bags and dug inside for a T-shirt. “Welcome to Team Saint.”

Lorelei unfolded the powder-blue shirt and scowled at the angel wings emblazoned across the back. “Do I really have to wear this?”

“Yep. Every minute you can. And your first assignment is Tuesday. We’re going to the lower Ninth Ward for cleanup detail.”

The scowl morphed into horror. “I didn’t realize you meant for me to do manual labor.”

“It’s good for the soul, honey, if bad for your manicure.”

“I think I might have to work on Tuesday,” she grumbled.

“I think it’s safe to assume that Daddy will give you the time off.”

“Fine.” Lorelei looked at the shirt again, distaste written across her face. “This is not in my color palette. What color are the shirts for Connor’s team?”

“Don’t even joke about that. I’m already at a great disadvantage without my sister defecting to the dark side.”

“Okay, here’s the thing, Vivi. It’s ridiculous, but I’ll back off. However, I’m not going to listen to you moan about Connor for the next four weeks. It’ll ruin my whole Mardi Gras.”

Vivi just wished someone had taken that into consideration before they’d stuck her with Connor for the next month. The rest of the city may be planning on laissez le bons temps rouler, but her temps weren’t looking very bon at the moment.

Connor spent most of Sunday morning and part of the afternoon on the phone with his manager and his agent, but the chore didn’t aggravate him as much when he could sit on a balcony overlooking Royal Street with a café au lait and real beignets. The third-floor apartment had been sitting empty while Gabe was in Italy, and Connor appreciated the solitude it offered while still being in the heart of the French Quarter. The street musician below his balcony displayed more enthusiasm than talent, but it was as much a sound of home as the clop-clop and jingle of the mule-drawn carriages and the shouts of the tour guides leading groups down the street.

Sitting here in the winter sunshine, his feet propped up on the wrought-iron rail with nothing to do except let his mind wander…bliss. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how stressed he’d been.

Even the doctor’s orders to rest his hands and wrists seemed less onerous and restrictive today. The piano wasn’t calling him, and the only workout his hands were getting involved lifting his coffee cup to his mouth repeatedly. Even after hours on the phone his head felt clear, and he could feel his muscles relaxing and the pain receding—no pharmaceutical intervention necessary.

Yep, bliss. He might just sit here all day and attempt absolutely nothing more strenuous than a solid nap.

His mother was a bit irritated that he’d chosen to stay in a friend’s apartment instead of his childhood home, but this was a high-profile visit, and he didn’t want photographers or fans staking out his parents’ house and trampling Mom’s flowers. This was just easier.

He wasn’t the only celebrity to call New Orleans home, but coming straight off tour to the Saints and Sinners fundraiser right after Katy Arras and her accusations…It was best to let that all die down some first.

People would be used to having him around again soon enough, and in time, it would no longer be big news.

God, he loved this city.

Which was why he’d jumped at the chance to be this year’s Sinner. Silliness aside, it was an honor, and he felt very much the hometown boy made good. He was glad his fame guaranteed big money this year for the fundraiser, even if it created an “uneven playing field” that steamed Vivi’s oysters.

Speaking of Vivi…

The view from Gabe’s apartment balcony contained a surprise: he had a clear view to the front door to Vivi’s art gallery just a few buildings up Royal. According to Mom, who kept him fully up-to-date on all of the goings-on in New Orleans—especially those of her friends and their children—Vivi’s gallery was doing very well, walking the line between art that was accessible and sellable yet still high-end quality.

Good for Vivi. He’d had no clue that art was Vivi’s passion, but after years of hearing all about her pageant successes—Good Lord, her reign as Miss Louisiana had been one of the longest years of his life—it was good to know that she could do something other than twirl batons and look pretty. She’d always had brains; it was nice to know she’d finally decided to use them for something.

Thanks to Mom, he also knew that Vivi wasn’t a surprise choice for Saint at all. If the city could canonize her they probably would. Vivi was involved in everything; any organization that needed a face or a volunteer had Vivi on speed dial. The only surprise was that they hadn’t made her the Saint long before now. Cynically, he wondered if Max and the board had held off until his schedule had cleared so they could get the maximum impact.

The morning paper had been almost gleeful about the announcement, making sure to illustrate their “antagonistic relationship” with anecdotes that dated all the way back to their seventh-grade performance of Bye Bye Birdie, just in case there were people in town who weren’t aware that the children of two of the city’s oldest and most influential families were at odds like an alternate universe’s Romeo and Juliet.

For years he’d held out hope that everyone would move on, but it just went to show that no matter how big he got, or how many millions of records he sold, people would never let anyone live down their past. Especially if that past was something they could still milk for attention and laughs.

But it was his time to milk the cash cow he’d become. Half-formed ideas that had been swimming in his mind were getting even more solid, and the pieces were falling into place with a rapidity that felt like fate intervening. The old coffee warehouse on Julia Street, investors like Gabe lining up with their wallets open…

If this all worked out—and it was looking like it just might—he’d be more than just a hometown boy done good. He’d be a part of this town in a way he’d never planned on before. Some of this was very new territory for him, but it felt good. It felt right. He didn’t have to put down roots here; the roots were here, waiting for him to come back. He just had to make sure they didn’t strangle him this time.

Mom might have thought his desire to be a musician was an act of defiance—a revolt against the expectations of going to college, joining Dad’s firm, marrying a nice local girl like one of the LaBlancs, and settling down in a mansion three blocks away. In retrospect, she might have been a little right, but other than the occasional unpleasant run through the tabloids and the time away from home she really couldn’t complain. Well, she was still pushing the nice-girl-big-house-some-grandkids agenda…

Which, oddly, brought him back to Vivi.

If he was serious about spending more time here at home he’d have to call some kind of truce with Vivi. Come to some kind of understanding. The circles they ran in overlapped occasionally, thanks to their parents and shared friends. They wouldn’t be able to completely avoid or ignore each other.

Fame had its privileges, but Vivi had clout. People respected her, and her opinions went a long way. It would be hard to claim he was trying to do something good if Vivi objected. Hell, you couldn’t even claim to be a decent human being in this town if Vivi hated you. People might like him for various reasons, but everyone loved Vivi and courted her approval. As long as she hated him, folks would wonder why. And they’d assume it was all his fault.

God, it was annoying.

And while Vivi had miraculously become the most gracious and polite dinner partner he’d ever had Friday night, he doubted that graciousness would continue once she found out he was planning a return to what she no doubt considered her turf now.

Vivi would be fit to be tied, and he almost looked forward to telling her. No, he thought, walking that thought back in light of his earlier conclusions. He didn’t need her approval—though it would help—but he did need her tolerance. Egging her on wouldn’t help his cause.

He hadn’t fully realized that he’d been staring at the door to Vivi’s gallery until the door opened and Vivi stepped outside. He started to slide back, but then realized she had no reason to look up, and probably wouldn’t see him even if she happened to do so. She paused mid-step, digging through her bag and pulling out a phone.

Two men standing next to a car gawked openly at Vivi, and realistically he couldn’t blame them. The black pencil skirt emphasized her legs and tiny waist, and the upswept hair showcased the line of her neck and high cheekbones. One of the men seemed to be encouraging the other to go over and speak to her. She is way out of your league, buddy, Connor thought. Vivi was, to quote his departed grandmother, “a prime example of good breeding and a proper upbringing.”

She finished her call and set a pair of sunglasses on her face before walking briskly toward the corner and turning on to St. Ann’s Street toward Jackson Square. Connor—and most of the other men on the street—watched her until she was out of sight.

Tomorrow he and Vivi would start the morning show media blitz, hitting all the local TV stations and kicking off the fundraising in earnest. After that, it was breakfast with some big donors and organization heads and a photo call. Most of his day would be spent in Vivi’s company.

While she’d been polite and gracious the other night, Connor didn’t believe for a second that it wasn’t an act. He knew her too well to fall for that. She was out to prove something by not sniping at him. He wouldn’t try to guess what her overall goal was—beyond not making herself look bad in the press—but he would not help her achieve it by attacking first. It played right into his plans to have her publically playing nice. It gave him her stamp of approval without her actually giving it. She probably hadn’t thought that part through. Talk about steaming her oysters.

He might be the Sinner—and it might be a well-deserved title—but Vivi wasn’t the only one who knew how to behave.

It would be interesting to see who broke first.