“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.
CHAPTER THREE
THE reporter with the plastic smile thought she was being very clever, but Vivi knew what was coming. Intentionally trying to fluster a guest with “gotcha” questions was unbelievably rude, in her opinion, but it was standard fare and just part of the game.
If Chatty Cathy here thinks she can fluster me, though, that girl is in for a big surprise.
She’d had every derogatory stereotype about pageants thrown in her face by reporters with more gravitas and bigger audie
nces and hadn’t broken. It might have been a few years, but she hadn’t forgotten how this was done. A couple of comments and questions about Connor weren’t going to tie her tongue and cause her to say something stupid. Or scandalously quotable out of context.
The smile grew wider. Bring it, Vivi thought, and let her own smile widen a bit, too.
“So, Vivienne, how did you feel when Connor’s name was announced Friday night? Were you very shocked?”
Vivi nodded, and the reporter brightened a bit, obviously figuring she’d hit the mark. Amateur. “Just as much as everyone else, I imagine. With Connor’s career taking off like it has, I never dreamed his schedule would allow him to come back and do something like Saints and Sinners.”
“So no problems, then, with this matchup?”
“Sort of.” She waited just long enough to tease that there might be a sound bite forthcoming. “I am quite competitive, and I wish they’d chosen someone who’d be easier to beat. But then I remind myself that, while this is a competition, there are no real losers in it. The money raised through Saints and Sinners does so much good for the community, and everyone involved is a winner.”
Answer the question, but deflect the intent and bring the interview back to the proper topic.
“And what about you, Connor?”
Vivi kept her face neutral as she turned toward him and thought, Don’t screw this up now. Surely Connor’s fame meant he had the experience to answer this? She thought of a dozen good answers and tried to think them hard enough that Connor might pick one up through ESP.
“I was pretty shocked myself to be chosen this year, but it’s an honor that actually brings with it the chance to do something good for a lot of people. So, like Vivi said, we all win—although I do hope to put on a good show at least.” He shot the lady-killer grin at the reporter, and now that he’d shaved off the goatee, his dimple was clearly visible. When he added a wink, the reporter blushed slightly and fumbled over her next words.
Oh, good Lord. Spare me the simpering females. Women had been falling all over themselves since Connor hit puberty, but the maturation of his features and body combined with his fame and charm…Vivi might understand the reaction, but she was still ashamed of her entire gender.
The Downfall of a Good Girl Page 3