Leopard's Prey(101)
“It means your manager, his mysterious friend and your stalker just moved to the head of the list.” Remy toed a chair around and straddled it, sitting close, facing her so he could watch her every expression. “Were you at any time aware of the murders before Pete was killed?”
“After I left town, which I did fast after Bodrie’s funeral, I read about a serial killer in the Garden District. It was in the news on the television as well. But I didn’t know about any of the other killings. When I’m on tour, it’s exhaustin’. I spend most of my time goin’ from city to city, so when I have the chance, I spend my time relaxin’.”
Bijou looked down at her hands, her fingers twisted together. She hated confessing to him, making herself look like a loser. Those years had taken their toll on her. She didn’t believe in herself, or people anymore. She’d lost who she was. “I don’ trust easily, Remy. I saw the people who surrounded Bodrie. They weren’t his friends. They were usin’ him.”
Remy leaned toward her, reaching out to cover her hands with one of his. “Chere, they weren’t real. You know the difference.”
“I spent most of the time alone in hotel rooms, readin’ books. I love to read. I guess that’s my form of escape. Not drugs or alcohol, but books. I disappear into them, and durin’ that time of my life, I needed them. I wasn’t watchin’ television or readin’ magazines because I was afraid I’d see or hear something about me. I know that sounds vain, but I just don’ have the personality to be in the spotlight. I realized I’d chosen the wrong profession, but I didn’t know how to get off the merry-go-round.”
“Being a public figure doesn’t necessarily mean you have to give up your privacy.”
“That’s naïve, Remy, and I think you know it. Anyone chosin’ to be in the public eye is free game. Being Bodrie’s daughter I was already there from the time I was born. Like an idiot, tryin’ to prove something to myself and to others . . .”
“What, Bijou? What did you ever need to prove to anyone, let alone yourself?” Remy asked, his thumb sliding gently back and forth across the backs of her hands.
She ducked her head. “That I was good enough. Everyone wanted me to be him and when I first started singin’, people were saying things like, ‘What does she think she’s doin’. She has no talent.’ They always compared me to him, and of course I came off second best.”
“Are you crazy? You’re a total success in your own right. Half the planet is in love with you and your voice.”
She shrugged. “It didn’t start out that way, but by the time I’d made a name for myself I realized that wasn’t my world—that I didn’t even want it. Can you imagine how that made me feel? I was a success and people loved my music. I felt like the ungrateful brat the tabloids and all of Bodrie’s fans thought me. Here I had everything I’d wanted and dreamt of and I still wasn’t happy.” She looked him in the eye, wanting him to understand. “I was so miserable I could barely drag myself out of my room, but I performed nearly every night. I found myself exhausted and so unhappy I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror.”
She took a deep breath. “I guess I’m just tryin’ to explain to you why I wasn’t up on the news. I hid from everyone while I was on tour and then when I made the decision to quit, I hid from my manager because he was so angry with me. I needed time to figure out what I really wanted to do.”
Quite frankly she was ashamed of having to tell him she didn’t have her life together, not even when she was young. She wanted him to see only her good side, not all the floundering and angst she’d gone through before she realized what she needed—and wanted in her life. For all the crazy things going on around her now, she knew she was right to have come home. She loved her club. She loved the intimacy of it and the fact that she could control when she performed and how often. She was certain she would fit into the community given time, and the paparazzi would lose interest and eventually leave her alone.
She didn’t want him to think she was a loser sitting in her hotel room, feeling sorry for herself and not even watching the news when other people were suffering, being murdered and he was trying hard to put a stop to it.
“I’m glad you’ve come home. Butterfield’s upset because he’s losing his money ticket.”
“He says I’m letting my fans down,” she said. “And I suppose he’s right.”
“If they’re fans, Blue, they’ll love what you love. Just because you aren’t singin’ rock and roll like your father, that doesn’t take away your voice.”