I had to laugh, but those dark eyes swallowed me whole, daring me to deny what he was saying. Finally I managed, “It doesn’t matter.”
“I think it matters quite a lot, actually,” he corrected. “I know what it’s like to be stuck in a relationship that is mostly for show. No matter how many excuses you make, it’s still wrong and you know it. You’ll never be happy till you break yourself free… especially if your heart is calling you elsewhere.”
My panicked eyes met his. Was it that obvious? “My heart’s an idiot,” I confessed sadly. “It only wants what it can’t get.”
“Spoken like someone who doesn’t sing ‘Make It Happen’ week after week,” he teased with a friendly smirk. “You know better than that, Jordi. You can do anything.” I scoffed and he continued. “The minute you turned 18, you ran away from home to pursue your dream, and within a year you actually made it come true. Now you’re on a nationwide tour with someone you claim is your idol and you’re not even 20. Even I couldn’t say that. You essentially won the lottery in ways so many people singing their hearts out in dive bars all over the country haven’t. You’re slaying dragons, girl. What could possibly be bigger than that?”
I searched his handsome face. There was no way he’d ever understand. People fell at his feet, begging for a chance to love him. He would never know what it was like to stand at the end of the line, praying there were enough scraps left over. “I’ve been lucky,” I agreed.
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” he corrected. “You worked your ass off. You still do. But something’s missing. A fire has gone out in you. It’s like it’s all an act now.”
“Maybe it always was,” I challenged.
He shook his head. “Is this about the press? I know it’s hard to hear all those things about yourself but you really can’t let it get under your skin. What the critics say is none of your business.”
I shrugged. “It’s that. It’s Eddie. It’s my back. It’s everything. You ever feel that your dreams only come true to punish you?”
He chuckled. “Are you kidding? Look at the shit I’ve been through the last few years. I nearly lost my freedom… Andy… the baby.”
I was immediately chagrined. Here I was feeling sorry for myself because I couldn’t have everything I wanted, but no one I loved had a gun pointed in their face.
“But that’s not life punishing you, Jordi. That’s just life. It sucks sometimes. Things go wrong. That doesn’t mean you deserve it, it just means you’re alive.” I said nothing so he dug a little deeper. “That’s what the good times are there to show you. And the good people. You have to cling to them, baby. With a death grip. It’s the only thing that makes life worth it in the end.”
I nodded in agreement so he let the subject drop. He had a jam-packed day planned, including a meeting with Iris Kimble, a publicist from the east coast offices of Schuster and Beckweth, Dreaming in Blue’s PR firm. The bubbly blonde greeted me with a big hug and a Southern accent deeper than my two other Tennessee natives, Shelby or Andy.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you,” Iris gushed. “I normally don’t watch reality TV, but I made the exception for Vanni. I’m so glad I did, you were worth every aggravating week!”
She presented me a plan to boost my image in the media, including a modeling gig for a trendy plus-sized store called Tempestuous, which targeted teens and young adults – as hip as those who would want to shop at T&L, but whose measurements went beyond that XL barrier Phillip Larabee had established for his clientele. Tempestuous decided anyone could be kick-ass or rocker cool, and treated every girl who darkened their doors like a prized diva. Andy had suggested them before, thinking we’d be the perfect fit, and Iris made it happen, almost within a day.
That was how the force of nature known as Iris Kimble worked. I’d never seen anyone so adept at turning a plan into reality. Almost everything about her was fast, except for her drawl. I quickly learned with her in my corner, there would be no downtime in which to wallow. She dragged me all over Manhattan with a brand new makeover and an entire new wardrobe, provided mostly by Tempestuous. By Friday I had been featured on two different radio programs as a solo performer for the tour, and had my first photo session.
At night, Vanni took me under his wing. I enjoyed dinner with him and his father that Wednesday, and he cooked a meal for me at his Brooklyn brownstone on Thursday.
We ended up playing cards into the wee hours, and I stayed in his bed while he bunked on the sofa.
By the time the lights went up on the stage that Friday, it was like I had a new big brother. Of course, that wasn’t the way that PING shaded it in the press, but they were never big fans of Vanni anyway. From L.A. to New York, they were merciless in finding any nugget of gossip that would take him down.
IS GIOVANNI CARNEVALE TIRED OF PLAYING HOUSE?
HAS FIERCE JUDGE FALLEN FOR HIS OWN PROTÉGÉ?
Despite my better judgment, I read some of the initial reports, which suggested that Vanni had a preference from me from the beginning, and basically was grooming me like my own personal Svengali. These same reports suggested that I wasn’t as wildly popular as the show reported, but that Vanni had kept me in the competition for his own purposes.
A young, impressionable girl with self-esteem issues and an aging, womanizing rock star who had quit girls cold turkey? It was gossip column gold.
I could barely face anyone when I got to the arena that Friday. I was glad I had switched sets again with Shelby, feigning ongoing trouble with my back, so that I could bail almost immediately after my performance.
I didn’t even bother with the encore.
When someone knocked at my hotel door at midnight, I thought it might have been Jace. Our paths had not crossed, mostly because I had purposefully done everything in my power to avoid him. I couldn’t see that wounded look in his eyes again, it would kill me. Especially since I had done the unforgiveable by sleeping with Eddie.
If our eyes met he’d know. And then it would truly be over.
But it wasn’t Jace. Vanni stood tall and imposing in the door frame. “If you’re going to keep skipping the encore, you’re going to need a doctor’s note,” he teased as he leaned up against the door frame.
“I’m sorry,” I started but he held up a hand.
“You don’t have to explain,” he said. “You just have to come with me.”
I shook my head but he wasn’t having it. He pulled me from the room and led me toward the elevator, ultimately to a car out front.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Home,” he said simply.
He took me back to the Brooklyn brownstone. Before we exited the car he handed the driver a hundred dollar bill and my hotel key card. “Bring her stuff,” he instructed before pulling me from the car and leading me up the steps.
“This is a little inappropriate, don’t you think?” I asked as I scanned the darkened street for PING reporters.
“Like I give a shit,” he said as he pushed open the door. He stared down at me with those deep, almost hypnotic eyes. “Inside, young lady.”
I didn’t argue. I followed him into the living room like a good little girl.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, Jordi,” he said as he pulled me down onto the couch beside him. “But I do know it won’t get any better if you’re left alone to lick your wounds. You’re staying with me the rest of the trip.”
“But Andy…”
“Already knows,” he filled in. “It was her idea.”
“But PING…”
“Is irrelevant,” he said, echoing what Jace had said. “Your problem is you’re worried way too much about how things look to people who simply don’t give a damn. They need you to fail. They need you to do something they can criticize. They are always going to find something wrong with what you do or say.” He took my chin in his hand. “Fuck ‘em.”
It was such a Jace thing to say tears immediately sprang into my eyes. He pulled me into his arms
and held me there, which caused the dam to break. He rocked me gently as he stroked my hair. “My poor, miserable Jordi,” he crooned. “How long are you going to carry your pain? There’s no shame in letting it hurt. But eventually you have to let it go or it’ll kill you.”
He held me until I soaked his shirt, his hair fanning around my face like a halo. I was mortified by my behavior, but when he tipped my chin so I could look at him, all I could see was total acceptance. It was like Jace, or Corey, or even my Dad.
He bent to kiss me slightly on the cheek. “Do you know how loved you are?” he asked. I shook my head. No, I didn’t know. I don’t think I ever did. “Well, you are,” he assured. “I love you. Andy loves you. Even Renata and Grandma Lydia love you,” he added with a grin that made me laugh. “Everyone on tour loves you,” he continued. Then, finally, “Jace loves you.”
I shook my head. “I just make him miserable. Shelby’s a better fit,” I muttered. “They’re the perfect couple.”
“Don’t tell me that you’ve bought into the press about that.”
I shrugged. “It’s not press. I walked in on them in Philadelphia. They were in his dressing room and he was massaging her leg.”
“And why would that matter to a happily married woman?” he wanted to know as he brushed some hair away from my eyes.
I wondered what Vanni would do if I told him the truth. What could he do? What could anyone do? I was stuck and I knew it. I turned away from those all-seeing brown eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” I found myself repeating, as if I said it enough it would actually be true.
He pulled me from the sofa and sat me at his piano. His fingers danced along the keys, as if trying to find a melody. I watched him as he closed his eyes. Each note he played traipsed across his face until finally he found what he was looking for.
“She doesn’t know,” he sang. “She can’t believe… she’d find the person that would never leave.” He turned his head slightly to look at me. “She hangs onto the past and every ghost, all lies that hide who loves her most. She’s beautiful but she can’t see just how perfect she is to me.”
I placed my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. Even after all these years, Vanni Carnevale was my guardian angel, throwing me a life line with that amazing voice. I wanted to believe his lovely words right up to the moment I came face to face with Jace the following day. His green eyes were cold and his jaw clenched as he stared at me. I wanted to ask which sin, exactly, he was punishing me for, but he stalked off before I could utter a word.
Someone who didn’t bother to hide his contempt for me was Eddie, who showed up that night just in time for the after-party. I was standing next to Vanni, which seemed to piss him off even more. He practically dragged me from the crowded restaurant and threw me into the hired car. “You got a lot of fucking nerve, I’ll tell you that,” he hissed after the driver closed the privacy glass.
“What’s the matter, Eddie? Pissed you don’t have a spy cam to catch me and Vanni? That would fetch an even prettier penny for you, wouldn’t it?”
He grabbed me by the arm and pressed me against the seat. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “You’re nothing but a two-bit prostitute,” he bit out. “Going on to the next one up the chain. I was the hottest guy in Oswen, you got me. Jace was the hottest guy on Fierce, you got him. Now Vanni. It only makes sense.”
“I’m not after Vanni,” I shot back, though I really didn’t know why I had to defend myself to him. He had banged enough desperate groupies he could have started his own fan club. “He’s happily married,” I said, referring to Vanni, who had never been anything but supportive to me.
“So are you,” Eddie pointed out with an evil grin. “Remember Philadelphia?” he asked as his hand slid up my thigh.
“That was a mistake,” I said as I slapped his hand away. His face hardened and he grabbed my chin in his hand, planting another hard kiss against my mouth. He didn’t stop until I submitted.
“That’s right,” he said as he lowered me against the seat. “You’ve always known who you belong to. And you’ll keep coming back for more.”
He instructed the driver to keep circling the city while he kept advancing on me in the back seat. Despite all the years between Shane and Eddie, I found myself once again caving just so it would be over and he would leave me alone. I went limp like a rag, which infuriated him more. His hands grew impatient and demanding, digging so deeply into my skin it was like he was trying to leave bruises on my bones.
I hummed Vanni’s song in my head, trying to recapture any moment of my life when I truly believed I was worth more than I had allowed myself to become.
CHAPTER TEN
Boston, Massachusetts
March 15, 2012
Once Eddie sank his teeth deep in my backside, he was reluctant to let go. He followed the tour on to the next stop in Boston, where he decided he wanted to see all the sights. PING faithfully reported our traipsing around Bean Town, with their own spin on it, of course.
FIERCE DIVA AND HUSBAND TRY TO RENEW SPARK IN BOSTON!
HUBBY STAKES CLAIM, DRIVING DISCORD AMONG TOURING STARS!
Eddie helped them out along the way, posting public updates on social networking sites to share with the world how we were “reconnecting.”
It’s like a second honeymoon. Love experiencing the world with my superstar.
He even ninja’d photos of us or of me when I was least expecting. Regrettably he posted those, calling me beautiful to the world but never to my face.
By the time I showed up for rehearsals that Thursday, I couldn’t look anyone in the eyes. I couldn’t take seeing the pain in Jace’s face again, and I knew Vanni would see right through the paper-thin façade.
Only Shelby bought the whole lie, hook, line and sinker. I attributed that to the fact she wanted to believe it all.
Why wouldn’t she want to believe it? Her life had improved over the last few weeks. She got the better music set, she got time alone with Jace and the media loved her. She was the sweetheart of the tour. If we did any impromptu meet and greets, she was the inspiration behind it. It started in Chicago, when she insisted we meet the crowd gathered in the parking lot behind the arena. After that, word got around fast and the crowds were growing each and every city we went to. They would chant for their favorites, and after a while everyone managed to go out and sign some memorabilia or take photos with their fans through the fences that generally separated the parking lot from the back entrances.
Needless to say, by Boston Shelby’s fan base had grown to the size of Jace’s and Vanni’s. Video of her singing Jace’s intro song had more than a million views, whereas mine languished around the 500 thousand mark.
PING even had something to say about that.
FIERCE SWEETHEART TAKES OVER DIVA’S SONG, CREATING TENSION ON TOUR!
But the real comparisons of her popularity versus mine were detailed in colorful, and often misspelled, comments candidly listed below either video. As it turned out, anonymous commenters weren’t exactly shy about how they treated the objects of their disdain. After seeing the words “hippo,” “wide load,” and, my personal favorite, “Snatchsquash,” I decided to give up reading Internet comments for Lent.
Unfortunately Eddie always gave me the highlights anyway.
Eddie was good for unloading a lot of information I didn’t care to know. Despite his staking his legal claim to me as my husband, he wasn’t shy about his future plans to win the heart of the fair maiden whose popularity was skyrocketing. He was climbing on my back to catch the tail of her comet, and he took particularly glee in telling me this. In fact, the less I fought him, the meaner he got about it. We were behind closed doors most of the time, where his drinking and his abusive behavior reared their ugly heads. There were no PING photographers to impress, no Shelby to snowball. It was just me and him, and he made no bones how he felt about being stuck with the lowest head on the totem pole.
Not so coincidentally, that was where my binge e
ating flared up as well.
He’d rip open old scars and I’d pour chocolate sauce on top of it until it stopped hurting.
It was a marriage made in hell.
I thought about Shelby’s purging and wondered how easy it was to do it. I knew that my binging had undone all the progress I made with Maggie, but I couldn’t say no to the overwhelming impulse to eat. It was all I had left. I lived in denial with every single bite, but that only lasted long enough to try on my new clothes from Tempestuous. When I was measured prior to the tour, I had lost nine inches thanks to the genius that was Maggie. Per Tempestuous’ more generous sizing chart, my 44/38/45 fit a more socially accepted 14/16. This was a huge improvement from the size 20+ I had worn in the past, including my entire reign on Fierce. It also meant I could fit into a 1X rather than a 3X. However, thanks to touring, and my new eating habits because of it, half of the clothes they sent fit a little too tight for my comfort. I hadn’t measured again; to be honest I was petrified to see those numbers going the other direction. But even with my head in the sand I knew I either had to return the tight-fitting clothes for a 2X, (18/20,) or I could keep them packed away and pray I lose those precious few inches that separated me between incremental progress and total failure.
So I thought ever so briefly about purging like my thin friend, but I never could bring myself to do it. The mere thought of vomiting was enough of a deterrent. Instead I stuffed myself into my tight clothes and just prayed the cut of the clothes hid the extra bulges.
As far as I was concerned, neon lights were pointing out each and every one.
By the time I got to the arena, I felt like a big, fat loser. It bled into my performance, which Terrell cut short. He gave the band a short break while he took me aside. “You’re getting weaker every single week, Jordi. What’s going on?”
“Just the back I guess,” I offered my pat excuse, but he wasn’t having it.
“Bullshit. You were fine once you went back to your regular set. It’s this half-hearted ballad stuff that has zapped your energy. So what’s up?”
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