Page 153 of The Comedown

When faced with a crisis, the initial response is typically to fight or flight, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the only reactions. Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing. Sometimes you just have to hunker down and weather the storm, if there even is one at all. Julian snorting coke can’t be all that surprising to anybody that’s ever listened to his songs, and it’s certainly not career ending. Musicians all around the world drink and get high. Musicians and drugs—they’re pretty synonymous, not as much as they were in the eighties, but still prevalent enough not to get condemned for.

What Bodee is threatening me with is not the smoking gun he thinks it is, and if I’m not worried about it, then I know Julian wouldn’t be either. He has a hierarchy for who his own bodyguard is supposed to save first in dangerous situations, and me and my son are at the top. If it came down to him facing public scrutiny or a performance that could change my career, he’d never, ever put his own interest first.

If Julian were here himself, he’d tell Bodee to go fuck himself. Since he’s not, I do it by telling Bodee, “Leak them. Leak them all.” I was planning on Julian and I securing The Mousais together, but if we lose them, then we’ll lose them together, too.

When I sidestep my ex-husband, he mirrors me, putting himself in my way.

“All? But you haven’t even seen them all.”

Stretching his arm past my middle, he sifts through the photos until one of me is revealed, then it takes everything to keep my chin from dropping to my chest.

Head up, smile on, and don’t show weakness.

He keeps moving photos around, making sure they’re all visible, halting to let me absorb each and every one.

Do. Not. Apologize.

“Knifeplay, blondie? John helped you unlock a kink, I see.”

I instinctively flinch from the reminder of what I had to do to escape that room, that house, that life. Bodee. What I had to do to escape Bodee.

Except I didn’t. Not really. If I had escaped him, I wouldn’t be falling apart from the inside out on a Texas beach while hundreds of onlookers watch on.

“Where did you? How?” Whoever took the pictures he’s got high resolution copies of would’ve had to… There’s no fucking way.

He hasn’t just been spying on me, he’s been stalking my every waking move.

“How isn’t important. Why is.”

“Then why? Why are you doing this? Any of this?” My hands fly wildly around the gazebo restaurant like even they don’t want to be near Bodee.

His scowl’s so reprimanding I want to slap it off. He had to know there was a risk I’d cause a scene. I’ve stayed quiet for this long, but everybody has their breaking point. I feel mine quickly approaching.

“Why… Why do you think you’re qualified to perform at The Mousais?”

“Because I—”

“You’re ungrateful. Any success you’ve found, or will ever find, is my doing. Not yours. I found you, I styled you, I trained you. I taught you everything you know. You don’t get to perform at The Mousais unless I say you do. Unless my name’s accredited.”

So that’s why he’s upset. Because I earned something on my own merit. Even if it was with Julian’s help, it still wasn’t with Bodee’s.

“You groomed me from my sixteenth birthday until the day I walked out,” I say, voicing the thoughts I’ve had for years but have never uttered out loud. “The things you ‘did for me,’ you did for your own gain, not mine. The only thing you taught me was how not to be because I fucking loathe everything you are and everything you stand for. And I am grateful. You were a curse, Bodee Keys, and I’m grateful I survived you.”

“Step down from The Mousais or I won’t just ruin both you and your druggie boyfriend’s reputations beyond repair. I’ll pull the plug on this tour, as well as the next one, and the next one, and the next one, until the only fans that’ll even remember your names, are worm food. You think you survived me, Collette?” His chuckle is terrifying, the kind that haunts nightmares. “I haven’t even begun. I’ve been taking it easy on you. I’ve been playing with you for my own personal amusement. You’re like a dog chasing its tail around and around and around because you’re not talented enough to try anything else.”

“I’m talented enough to get The Mousais.” The second the words leave my mouth, red stains Bodee’s face, and I rush to knock over a wineglass with my elbow. The crash of glass is loud enough to do exactly what I wanted—distract Bodee so I can snatch the paring knife the bartender left behind on his cutting board while also capturing our audience’s full attention. Now if he tries to get physical with me, I have two weapons—witnesses and a knife. Bodee fears one more than the other…only because he hasn’t felt the tip of my knife yet.

“Mom!” Holter shouts again, but I don’t make the mistake of removing my eyes from Bodee.

“Don’t you think it’ll seem a bit suspicious?” I ask him. “Us having a tense conversation just before all those photos get leaked?”

Nodding jerkily, he says in a practiced, professional tone, “She’s always had a sex addiction. Even her family tried to warn me, but I loved her. I thought I could help Collette. On our wedding night, when I caught her trying to seduce my longtime, trustworthy manager, it became clear I couldn’t, and as much as it broke my heart, I had to file for an immediate annulment.”

“What?” That’s not even close to true. Not one word.

“I’ve never come forward with the truth because she’s the mother of my son. I thought after he was born, she’d put all that behind her, turned over a new leaf, but she fooled me. She fooled all of us. I was made aware of the photos…” He pretends to gulp. “…from an anonymous source, and I thought I’d offer Collette my support once again. I rushed to her aid, but she wasn’t interested in seeking help. She became insolent. You can watch the videos yourself and see how violent she became when faced with the truth.”

“What are you doing?”