“There isn’t much room on this ledge,” Bijou pointed out, peering out across the water, half expecting an alligator to be swimming toward her.
“I’m never here long and so far I’ve never seen evidence of a gator trying to come up on the ledge. It’s too narrow for even a medium-sized one.” Arnaud wrapped the tail of his rope around his leg five times.
Bijou made a face as she cautiously settled her feet onto the muddy surface. Very carefully she wrapped the tail of her rope around her leg as well, creating a friction backup.
Now that his hands were free, Arnaud selected a small brush from his tool belt and showed it to her. “I use this to brush aside some of the dirt to check the color of the stone before I remove any. Do you want to try? You have to be very careful not to disturb too much of the embankment.”
He was offering her the brush, but he sounded reluctant. She realized this was something of great importance to him, not just a lark. She smiled at him, shaking her head. “I’d rather watch you, if you don’ mind. I love watchin’ you create art and this seems similar.”
She said the right thing, because Arnaud flashed her a genuine smile and crouched down beside her.
Bijou studied the embankment above them. Small rocks and the root structures of trees seemed to be the only thing holding the crumbling dirt together. Some roots jutted out like gangly, boney arms, moss hanging from them. A few larger rocks were scattered along the wall, but for the most part, the bank seemed nothing but loose dirt.
She found it impossible not to be a little nervous. Behind were the gator-infested waters and in front of her a tall wall of soil, some of which was already falling like dust on top of her head and shoulders.
She cleared her throat. “Arnaud, I have to hand it to you. You’re very dedicated to your art. Couldn’t you have someone else do this for you?”
He examined the wall approximately three feet from the bottom. Intrigued, she squatted low and peered at the dirt, trying to see what he was looking for.
“No one else can find exactly what I need for each project. I actually scheduled a visit to the gallery here because I need some of the colors I can get from this little cache. I can get the banded agate, but here . . .” He broke off, using the brush like an archeology tool, exposing the rock beneath. “Here I can find various hues you don’t find very many other places.”
“I had no idea,” Bijou admitted, finding the entire idea of elegant, sophisticated Arnaud Lefevre, in his thousand-dollar suit, mining for stone in a dangerous, mosquito-infested swamp fascinating. He was totally focused on the task of gently brushing away the dirt to find his hidden treasure. She’d seen him in the studio and he clearly hadn’t even noticed anyone around him, time passing or anything else. He was the same way now, taking the same care with his hunt for the perfect color agate for his sculpture.
His patient brushing revealed a small vein of pale blue, almost purple and blue-green rocks. He continued brushing away the loose dirt so more colors were exposed.
Bijou gasped. “Those colors are beautiful.”
“Even more so when I work with them,” he said almost absently. He took the fork and meticulously began prying the pastel purple rock free. He was careful not to scrape it, digging around the edges to free the small stone.
“Do you already know what you’re goin’ to use it for?” Bijou asked. “Do you actually have a sculpture in mind?”
He nodded. “I draw what’s in my head and then figure out which mediums I’m going to use and how best to get what’s in my head to come to life.”
“Arnaud.” She waited until he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. “You know you’re a genius, don’ you? No one in the world can do what you do.”
He studied her face for a long time. “No one ever says the things to me that you do, Bijou, not and really mean them. I can see honesty in your eyes and hear it in your voice. You always have inspired me with your generosity of spirit. Sometimes when I read the tabloids, I find myself getting angry at the way they portray you, and it surprises me. I don’t get angry, or feel much emotion unless I’m creating.”
Bijou couldn’t help but hear the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t making a declaration of love—he never did. She could tell he felt great affection for her, as she did him, but something just didn’t quite gel between them, not in a romantic way.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Arnaud. Thank you,” she said. “And yes, the tabloids seem to really enjoy making up an entirely different life for me. There’s one photographer who is the biggest pain in the neck. He loves to follow me around, take pictures when I’m unaware and then make up some ridiculous story behind the photograph.” She sighed. “He’s here in New Orleans and already dogging my every footstep.”
Arnaud turned back to brushing away dirt from the stones. “Can’t you file a harassment suit? There must be some way to get rid of him.”
She shrugged. “Someone else would just take his place, and I guess it’s a case of the devil you know. Bob Carson used to live with my father. He was about fourteen or fifteen when I was born. When he moved out of our home, he’d still come over every day to see Bodrie.”
“So he was your friend and now he hounds you to make money off of you?” Arnaud asked, as he carefully began to pry the small stone free.
“I wouldn’t say we were ever friends. By the time I was old enough to know who he was, he was takin’ advantage of the women around Bodrie, usin’ drugs and drinkin’. He traveled with Bodrie as his personal photographer and made a huge name for himself in the business. Of course he always made Bodrie look good.”
Bob Carson had taken her to the hotel the night Remy found her, bringing his friends and drugs and alcohol. She was still embarrassed to be around him. Remy hadn’t recognized that young man he’d beat to a bloody pulp that night—or if he had he hadn’t said anything to her when Bob had photographed him kissing her.
Arnaud glanced at her over his shoulder as if reading her mind. “He makes you uneasy.” He dropped a purplish stone into his bag.
She hadn’t meant to reveal so much. “All paparazzi make me uneasy,” she hedged.
He laughed softly. “The thing is, Bijou, you can’t lie worth a damn. It’s one of the many reasons why you can’t stand the business you’re in. You tell the truth, and when you don’t, you’re embarrassed. I’m your friend. You can tell me he makes you uneasy and it isn’t going to end up in the tabloids. I keep your confidences and your secrets. I always have.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Arnaud. I think I’m so used to being careful about what I say, that it’s habit.” She did feel ashamed. She didn’t see Arnaud often, but when she did, he was always the same. Steady. Calm. Definitely someone who valued his friendship with her and asked for nothing in return. He didn’t seem to care who her father was, or how much money she had. He never changed. “I’m grateful for our friendship.”