My Double Life (15 page)

When we pulled up to Maren’s town house, I was still running these sorts of mental calculations. Grant put the car in park but didn’t turn it off. “Can I ask you a question?”

I grasped the door handle. “Sure.”

“Are you still an item with Michael Jung?”

“No,” I said, then I realized what he was really asking—he was about to ask me out, and I couldn’t say yes, even though I would have loved to see him again. It was too dangerous. “I mean, we’re taking a break, but we’re still together.”

“You’re taking a break?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“So are you allowed to see other people during your break?”

“Um, no.” As soon as I said this I remembered Grant had seen me last night with Stefano. “Except professionally, like last night.”

He nodded. “Can I have your phone number, then? Just for professional use. I’ll need to contact you when I find more out about Lorna’s book.”

He smiled at me, and despite the fact that I couldn’t encourage him, chills ran up my spine. Grant Delray wanted my phone number. I gave him my cell number, stepped out of his car, and then did a Kari Kingsley glide up the stairs to Maren’s house.

I opened the door and found Maren in the living room waiting for me. Her arms were crossed, and her nostrils flared like a wild bull.

She stepped toward me, pinching her lips together. “The director of the Sun Ridge Children’s Hospital just called to pass along their thanks. The patients were thrilled by your visit.”

“They’re sick little kids—” I started, but she didn’t let me finish.

“It was a stupid thing to do!” she yelled, leaning until she was about six inches away from my face. Then she let out a stream of swearwords that would have put boys hanging out in a locker room to shame.

“You don’t go out in public, and you don’t pretend to be Kari unless I okay it. You can’t use her identity every time you think it would be fun to play celebrity. One mistake and you’ll blow everything we’ve worked for. Do you understand? Do you?”

I nodded.

She took a step back, suddenly calm again. “If you play this right, you’ll go home with a nice chunk of money. If you mess up, I’ll deny I’ve ever seen you and you’ll be hitch-hiking to West Virginia. Do you understand?”

Yes, I did understand. All her talk in the beginning about making fans happy with visits from Kari wasn’t true. She’d hired me for the money I could bring in, and that was all.

She sent me a challenging gaze. “Since you obviously feel you’re ready for your role as Kari, you won’t mind that I added a couple of appearances to your calendar next week.”

I knew she expected me to protest, but I didn’t. I was ready.

We flew out to San Antonio the next day, barely speaking to each other. I didn’t tell her about the pictures the paparazzi had taken or the things I’d talked about with Grant. I didn’t want to give her any other reasons to yell at me because if she did, I’d probably quit on the spot. And I didn’t want to quit.

I had six weeks left until I met my father. And I admit I got a thrill from all the attention I received as a celebrity. But I also wanted to do this for Kari. The memory of her falling apart, sliding to the floor when she learned Lorna planned on exposing her gambling debt—I’d never seen anyone so upset before. She was my sister, and I wanted to fix it for her. If her debts were paid, there wouldn’t be anything scandalous to write about.

When I got situated in the hotel in San Antonio, I texted Kari a long message telling her I was worried about her. I put in links to gambling support groups. I half expected her to get angry at me for suggesting it, but she wrote back, “Don’t stress about it. I’m fine. It’s just money.”

It’s just money. What would it be like to have that attitude? Money was never “just money” to me. It was time, effort, opportunity, acceptance, and power. It was not printed with George Washington’s and Abraham Lincoln’s faces, but with my mother’s face, bent over the kitchen table paying bills.

Kari and I kept texting back and forth. Maren had already told her I’d gone to the hospital, and she wrote, “Thanks for doing that. Now those hospital people will stop thinking I’m totally heartless.”

Which made me even madder at Maren for getting in my face and yelling about it. Kari had been happy I’d done it.

I left out the part about the paparazzi and duet request, but texted her that Grant was finding out more about Lorna’s book, which made her so happy she called to get the details.

“Let me know as soon as you hear from him,” she said. “My lawyer says the more information we have about what’s in that book, the easier it will be to stop it before it goes to press.”

“I’ll keep you updated,” I said.

She let out a sympathetic sigh. “I’m sorry you have to deal with Grant. I know what a pain he is.”

Without trying, I could conjure up Grant’s square jaw and flawless features . . . the rich sound of his laugh. “He’s not really such a jerk.”

There was a pause, then she said, “Oooh,” making the word sound like it had traversed a hill. “Well, it still would never work out between us, so you can’t encourage him.”

“I know. I told him Michael and I were just taking a break.”

“Right,” she said. “And I’m hoping our break will be over soon. Michael sent me three hundred roses yesterday. Isn’t that so romantic? He’s coming over soon.”

“Congratulations,” I said. I couldn’t manage to muster much enthusiasm, though. I wondered what Grant would think when the tabloids reported that Kari and Michael were back together again.

Maren booked me to do a few songs at the San Antonio stock and rodeo show, but she didn’t go with me. Someone from the organization was in charge of picking me and my entourage up, seeing to any needs I had, and returning us to the hotel. No one ever saw Maren. If I was caught, I already knew she would deny having any part or knowledge of this scheme.

I was fine through wardrobe, makeup, and getting my hair glitterfied. I was confident, even. But when I saw the stage and got a glimpse of the audience, I froze up. I nearly couldn’t do it. I had expected hundreds of people, but about three thousand people sat in the stands.

How could I walk out there and lie to all of those people about who I was? What if something went wrong and I couldn’t pull this off? I had spent so much time practicing the dance moves—what if I forgot the words and everyone figured out I was lip-synching? Would they boo me off the stage?

Maren had assured me I was only doing small concerts for Kari, and while I waited to go on, I called her to discuss her definition of the word
small
. She spent the next five minutes giving me a pep talk about how I was like a mall Santa Claus talking to children at Christmas. It didn’t matter that Santa wasn’t real. It made the children happy to meet him. Did I want to deny people Santa? That’s what I’d be doing if I didn’t go out there.

I wondered if a mall Santa had ever been dragged away in handcuffs and charged for fraud, but I didn’t ask.

My legs shook as I walked out on the stage, and I had to force myself to keep moving. The crowd, however, cheered before the music even started. Every face I saw brimmed with excitement. Their admiration triggered something in me—adrenaline, energy, hope. I went through the first song tense, but without any mistakes. I messed up a move in the second song, but no one seemed to notice or care. They liked me even though I wasn’t perfect. That’s when I relaxed and had fun being the center of attention. I put a little bit of extra flair in my dance moves. I panned for the cameras, flipping my hair around until glitter flew over the stage. It looked like Tinker Bell had stopped by. I finished the last song out of breath and with my heart pounding—and was sorry the concert had ended. Every clap of applause felt like an “I love you” thrown to me.

The next day we flew to Florida for the Strawberry Festival and another small concert. I tried to explain to Maren that she couldn’t call it “a small concert” if the number of people who came could conceivably overthrow a third-world dictatorship. Which caused a lot of eye rolling on her part, and she pointedly called them “shorter concerts” after that.

I was dying to tell Lori about meeting Grant, but I couldn’t. Our phone conversations mostly consisted of her filling me in on any high school drama and me making up stories about hanging out at the beach. “Most days I’m covered in sand,” I told her.

It wasn’t sand, though. It was glitter. It found its way into my suitcases, my normal clothes, and the sheets of my hotel beds. That’s when I really learned that all that glitters isn’t gold. Some of it is just tiny annoying golden squares that poke into you.

After Florida, I went to Denver to lip-synch the national anthem at a pro hockey game. When we flew back to California Thursday night, I felt like I’d been living on nerves and adrenaline all week.

While out on the road, I had called my mom to talk about Larry. “Abuela says you’re dating him because you think I need a father figure in my life.”

Mom gave a disgruntled humph. “That’s just because Abuela can’t fathom why else I’d be dating him.”

“Well, Abuela has a point.”

“Larry is a very considerate man,” Mom said. “And he’s dependable.” She didn’t add anything else to the list, and I wondered if this was the sum total of his good characteristics.

“You’re not getting serious about him, are you?”

“He wants to get serious, but I haven’t decided yet,” she said.

“Well, just don’t make any big decisions until I get home, okay?”

“Fine,” she said, “then don’t stay away too long.”

I found that statement chilling even after I hung up the phone.

CHAPTER 10

On Friday morning Grant called to say he had a copy of Lorna’s book. He figured I already had plans for the evening but wondered if I could meet somewhere for lunch. “A professional lunch,” he said, as though I would have turned him down otherwise.

I didn’t turn him down. I wanted to read what the book said about both my father and Kari. Despite Maren’s assertions that Kari only suffered from bad budgeting, I worried about her. I told Grant I’d meet him at the restaurant.

Maren had relaxed my schedule since I’d returned from my events. I still had dancing, exercising sessions, and studying to do, but my afternoons were free. Maren was spending the day arranging details of Kari’s mega concert in San Diego and had told me that as a reward for my hard work I could go shopping. In fact, she’d left a list of acceptable and unacceptable places.

The restaurant, I noted, was not on the unacceptable list, therefore I technically wasn’t disobeying her by going. And the nice thing about living with Maren was that she didn’t have paparazzi circling her home. Anyone who was looking for Kari would be camped out by her house.

I called Bao-Zhi to pick me up, texted Kari that I was getting the book from Grant, and headed off.

This time, Grant had purposely chosen an elite restaurant where we could go in through a back door to a private room so we didn’t have to worry about the paparazzi. I’d only been a celebrity for a few days and already I hated them for making my life more complicated.

I told Bao-Zhi he didn’t have to wait for me while I ate; I’d call him when I needed him. I told myself I’d done this because I hated wasting Bao-Zhi’s time. It had nothing to do with the fact that I noticed Grant’s green Jaguar in the parking lot, or that I wanted to prolong my time with him.

Before I’d even gotten out of my car, a guy in a tuxedo came out of the restaurant to greet me. He took me upstairs to a private room overlooking the city. Grant was already there, sitting at the table. Just seeing him, gorgeousness personified, nearly made me stumble. What was God thinking when he created a guy this handsome? He wasn’t a gift to womankind, he was a torture device. I shouldn’t be required to look at him when I could never have him.

He smiled, and my heart constricted into a tight knot. I sat down and smiled back.