My Double Life (18 page)

“That’s okay,” he said. “We can get together tomorrow, or the next day. When do you have some free time?”

I stood up and glanced at the sliding door. Still clear. “I’ll check my schedule and call you.” Now that I had my afternoons free, I should be able to see him without Maren knowing. He stood up and we held hands as we walked back through the house—this time thankfully without getting lost.

He kissed me one last time in the entryway, then we said good-bye and I shut the door. As soon as I did, Kari walked into the entryway, her hands on her hips. “That was completely revolting. I can’t believe I just saw myself make out with Grant Delray.”

“Sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t—well, I wasn’t sorry about the kissing, anyway.

“You know, when you said you’d bring the book over, I didn’t realize you meant you were bringing my arch-nemesis too.”

“That was an accident. He wanted to take me home, and I didn’t realize he knew where you lived. So then he came inside because he wanted to talk—and by the way, how come you don’t have a refrigerator in your kitchen? You have four guest bedrooms and a ceramic cat shrine, but no refrigerator?”

“I have a fridge. It’s a built-in.”

I had no idea what she meant. “A built-in what?”

She let out a sigh. “It has wood paneling on it so it blends in with the cabinets.”

Which seemed pointless: camouflage fridges. “You’re kidding me.”

“A lot of upscale kitchens have them.” She put one hand on her hip. “Did you get a copy of Lorna’s book?”

I nodded toward the antique chest, where I’d left it when I came in. I’d wanted to read it before I gave it to Kari, but now that she’d seen it, I wouldn’t be able to pry it out of her hands.

She picked it up and flipped through some of the pages. “This is great! I’m telling Maren to give you a bonus for this.”

“Thanks,” I said, but I didn’t mean it. Suddenly I felt like I’d used Grant.

She flipped through a few more pages, a look of icy determination on her face. “Now that we’ve got this, we don’t need Grant anymore. You’ll have to break it off with him. I
so
don’t want a relationship with him.”

I didn’t answer, but she didn’t seem to notice. She walked toward the living room. “I’m going to read this right now.”

I followed after her. “I probably should know what’s in it too. It’s research. You can hand me the pages after you’re done reading them.”

Which is how we ended up sitting on her couch most of the afternoon reading the book assembly-line fashion. She didn’t have much reaction to the stuff about our father, but I read and reread it. He’d taken Kari to Hawaii for an entire summer when she was seven. I would have been almost five at the time and living in a rundown apartment complex with no yard to play in.

The really chilling part of the manuscript was that Lorna had made a notation in chapter one that her interview with Alex Kingsley’s then manager was still pending. I stared at that sentence for minutes, letting the other pages pile up on the couch beside me. My mother had called his manager and told him she was pregnant. Would he remember that? Would he mention it?

Finally I went on to Kari’s later years, which included quotes from prep school friends. Well, perhaps
friends
isn’t the right word. Friends wouldn’t have said that kind of stuff about her. I imagined Lorna had found Kari’s version of the Cliquistas and interviewed them. I could tell every time Kari read a new story. She’d gasp and let out a high-pitched squeaky noise. Sometimes she’d yell, “That is so not true!” Or “Anybody would have thrown something after
People
magazine said their evening gown looked like a pile of window treatment samples come to life.” She also swore a lot, despite that whole thing about being a role model for young girls.

The book said that as a teenager Kari had had drinking binges, that she’d go on daylong shopping sprees, and that after her comment about not doing anything to be green because she didn’t celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day, she’d refused to go out in public for two months. The book also talked about the guys in her life: rock stars, television actors, athletes. It made me wonder about Grant’s expectations for a girlfriend.

I put the manuscript down in my lap. “Kari, would you ever date someone who wasn’t a celebrity?”

She kept her attention on the paper in front of her. “Of course. A guy doesn’t have to be famous to hang out with me as long as, you know, he’s really rich or powerful.”

“You wouldn’t ever date a normal guy?”

She shrugged. “What would be the point in that?”

“Maybe you had a lot in common.”

“Not if he’s not rich or famous.”

Oh. I went back to the manuscript, reading it less carefully now and wondering if Grant would have answered the same way.

We were about done with the manuscript when the front door opened and a male voice yelled, “Kari?”

CHAPTER 12

Kari and I looked at each other. “Grant came back,” I said. “Hide.”

She shook her head. “That’s Michael. You’re the one who needs to hide.” She looked toward the sound. “At least I think that’s Michael.”

We both stood up. Neither of us answered him.

A bubble of panic pushed against my chest. What were we supposed to do when neither of us knew who was in the house? “Why don’t you ever lock your front door?” I asked.

“You used it last,” she said. “You didn’t lock it either.”

“Kari?” the voice came again, this time closer. “Are you home?”

“Michael,” we both said at once.

“Just a second!” she called back, which she shouldn’t have done because then footsteps headed in our direction.

I didn’t have much time. I looked around, trying to remember which doorways led where. Could I make it out of the sliding glass door? No. Would he hear my footsteps if I ran across the tile? Kari whispered, “Hide! Hide!” while shaking her hands.

I ducked behind the couch, then heard him come into the room. From my place on the floor, I saw a pair of brown loafers. No discernible socks.

“Kari,” he said, turning the word into an exclamation of happiness. I could picture him, even though I couldn’t see him. I’d seen his soap opera—he played a brooding bad boy whose dark bangs constantly draped over one eye. That way he could brush his hair away every five minutes and shoot dramatic, sizzling looks at the camera.

Kari’s black shoes joined his on the floor. I could tell they were hugging. “Hey, sweetie.”

“I love what you’ve done to the place,” he said. “A floral shop motif.”

“Thanks again for the flowers.”

Silence. I could tell they were kissing.

Get him out of here
, I thought.
Take him by the hand and lead him anywhere else
.

Although Kari and I look like twins, apparently we don’t have that psychic twin connection. After another minute of kissing, Kari said, “So what brings you here?”

“I had to see the most beautiful girl in the world.”

More giggling from Kari. Probably more kissing too.

“So what’s with the paper on the couch?” Michael asked.

Kari at last seemed to remember I was in the room because she said, “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a book. Let’s go outside.”

“A book?” Michael asked. “Are you writing one?” Instead of leaving, Michael walked over to the couch. I held my breath and tried to shrink into the floor tile. I heard the shuffling of paper. “What kind of book is this?”

“A bad one. Lorna Beck is bashing me.”

“You’re kidding.” He sat down. The couch jiggled. “Can she do that legally?”

The couch jiggled again and I knew Kari had joined him. “My lawyer is trying to stop her.” She let out an aggravated sigh. “See, this is the problem with hiring poor people to work for you: They don’t care if you sue them. What do they have to lose? Lorna drives a Kia, for heaven’s sake. Like I’d want
that
in a settlement.”

I heard more shuffling of paper. Michael said, “Does she mention me?”

“Yeah. She says I keep driving you away with my temper.”

He let out a scoffing grunt. “And I always thought it was the way you keep flirting with other guys.”

“Exactly,” Kari said. “Lorna doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“I want to read it,” he said, and the only sound for a while was papers turning, unless you count the sound of my muscles hardening into knots as I tried not to move or breathe loudly.

Finally Kari said, “I’m thirsty. Can you grab me some orange juice and I’ll keep searching through the pages?”

“Sure thing.” He stood and his shoes went toward the kitchen. Kari fluttered a hand over the back of the couch, as though I might not have realized Michael had left. I slipped off my shoes so they wouldn’t clomp against the tile and tiptoed to what I thought was a way out of the room—but that turned out to be just an alcove with a window seat. Kari’s guitar lay on top of composition paper. I turned around to leave, but then heard Michael’s footsteps coming back to the couch.

So I pressed myself against the wall. I was trapped, but at least not visible. Michael could see the wall opposite me, but not where I stood.

Which was good news, until I realized that a huge mirror hung across from me. I could see the two of them framed perfectly: Michael pushing paper over to give himself a place to sit down. Kari taking the drink of orange juice from him.

I might have made a noise at that point. Maybe said something very un-role-modelish. Michael looked over. His eyes connected with mine through the mirror. I froze with dread. I’d been caught. Should I say something or let Kari come up with an explanation?

But Michael’s gaze brushed past me and returned to Kari. “I like your new portrait in your writing nook.”

Kari looked over at me then and was a lot less thrilled by the new portrait in her writing nook. She actually glared at me as though I’d done it on purpose. As though I’d said to myself, “Why leave when I could stand here and pretend to be a picture of Kari instead?”

But I did stand there, holding the same pose in case Michael glanced over at the mirror again. It was a good five minutes before Michael read the pages that Lorna had written about him and Kari could convince him that they needed to go outside to check on the pool.

I didn’t wait to put my shoes back on after that. I rushed out of the room, fled down the hallway, and didn’t stop running until I reached Kari’s front gate. I called my driver to come get me, but my heart didn’t stop pounding until I made it to Maren’s house.

One of Kari’s assistants dropped off the book for Maren the next morning. She read it while she ate breakfast. It was odd to see her calmly flipping through the pages as she ate her yogurt sprinkled with oat bran. I’d expected her to at least get a little defensive on Kari’s behalf.

When I came back from my dance lesson, she’d not only finished the manuscript, she’d made copies. She put one into a manila envelope for Kari’s lawyer and one into another envelope. Then she made a phone call. Her crisp professional voice changed, became more intimate and suddenly eager to please. I stayed in the kitchen taking slow sips from a water bottle so I could listen.

She talked about Lorna’s book with more regret and emotion than she’d shown when she’d read it. “I’m sending a copy to her lawyer now,” she said. “I’ll send you one as well, if you like.”

Who was she talking to? My father?

After a minute of silence she spoke again. “Well, despite that, I think I’ve really seen a turnaround. She’s working hard, and she’s sticking to a budget. She’s a little behind on the album, but it’s coming along.”

The response to that, whatever it was, made Maren smile. “I take all the assignments you give me seriously, and besides, I adore Kari. I think she just needs a woman’s influence in her life.”

My fingers froze around my water bottle. It
was
him. My father was on the other end of that conversation. All the years of wanting him, of feeling abandoned, of wondering what he would say to me, suddenly sprang to the surface.

Maren went on cooing about what a wonderful girl Kari was, while I fought the urge to grab the phone out of her hand. That wouldn’t be a normal thing to do. I did not want my father’s first impression of me to be that I was a crazy person who burst into other people’s conversations.

Still, I stared at Maren unwaveringly.

At last she said good-bye and slid her phone shut with a happy sigh. It was only then that she noticed my stare.

“That was Alex Kingsley, wasn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes.” Her voice returned to its normal businesslike tone. “I thought he should know about the book. After all, he’s the star of chapter one.”

I tried to make sense of the other things she’d said. “Did he ask you to straighten out Kari’s financial affairs?”

She held up one hand like a teacher correcting a student. “Alex is simply a concerned father. Of course he wants me to help his daughter. However, you won’t mention this conversation to Kari. I don’t want her to think I’m helping her as a favor to him.” And then she smiled again.