My Double Life (4 page)

“You don’t know that Kari Kingsley would treat me that way,” I said.

Mom gave me a half grunt, half laugh. And okay, I admit she had dealt with a few celebrities when she worked at an upscale hotel in DC. I used to love hearing her stories about them. The singer who insisted on having rose petals put in her toilet every morning. The actress who wanted someone to spray her brand of perfume around her room before she checked in.

But still.

I held out my hands to Mom. “Ten to twenty
thousand
dollars a month. I can put up with a celebrity for a few months for that much money.”

“Your self-respect shouldn’t have a price tag.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she held up one hand to stop me. “Your school gave me this Maren Pomeroy’s contact information. I’ll e-mail her tonight and tell her you’re not interested. That way we won’t have to worry about her calling again.”

I simply stared at Mom. How could she be so unreasonable about this?

She ignored my stare and continued to push food around on her plate. “Larry and I are going out tonight. We’re going to a chamber orchestra performance.” And just like that, our discussion was over.

Larry worked as an accountant for the hotel and was about as much fun as a ledger full of numbers. He insisted on taking Mom to things in which she had no interest whatsoever, and for a reason I never fully understood, this did not bother her.

I didn’t comment, though, because I was not speaking to her. Ever again.

“Orchestra.” Abuela repeated the word like it had a bad taste. “You should go dancing. What’s wrong with this man that he doesn’t know how to dance? He’s
aburrido
.” Boring.

Mom let out a grunt. “I’ve had my share of flashy, romantic men. It never works out. Stable is good. Boring is even better.” Mom took a sip of water. “Boring men hardly ever dump their girlfriends. It takes too much effort. Plus, they make good fathers because they have no outside hobbies.”

I didn’t want to even think about the possibility of Larry being my father.

I pushed away from the table, walked to my bedroom, and slammed the door. Then I threw myself down on my bed. I didn’t have a headboard, footboard, or the canopy bed I’d always wanted when I was little. I looked at the dresser that Mom had picked up at a garage sale, and my closet filled with clothes I’d bought at thrift shops and clearance sales. All of it came into sharp focus.

I’d never held it against Mom that I didn’t have a big house like my friends or that we didn’t take expensive vacations like their families. Mom couldn’t afford to buy me a car, let alone one like Theresa and the Cliquistas’ fleet of sports cars.

And then there were the little things—how I always had to pretend that I didn’t like movie theater popcorn when I went out with my friends because I couldn’t afford the ticket
and
the junk food—how I never had the latest or the nicest of anything. But this? This wasn’t fair.

I thought about her statement that if I really needed money she would ask my father for it. Had she not noticed the way we’d lived for the last eighteen years?

Eventually the doorbell rang. I heard Larry’s and Mom’s voices out in the living room and then a couple minutes later Mom opened my door.

“I’m leaving now. Make sure Abuela doesn’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”

I knew she wanted me to laugh. I didn’t even look at her.

“Look, I’m sorry you’re disappointed about the job, but trust me about this, Lexi. It isn’t right for you.”

She shut the door, and I thought about my summer jobs at McDonald’s. Apparently those were right for me. I was a flipping-burgers type of girl.

But I didn’t want to be anymore.

CHAPTER 3

Mom had to be to work by seven A.M., so she was always gone before I got up, but just to torture myself I read her e-mail to Kari’s manager. It said, “Ms. Pomeroy, Alexia appreciates your offer, but we feel she needs to stay here and finish school.”

Which I suppose was better than writing, “I’m sorry but we think celebrities are such jerks that we’d rather spend our time using cast-off towels and piecing together broken soap than ever work for you.”

In physics Trevor was acting weird. He kept leaning toward my desk like he wanted to talk to me, but then he never said anything.

After the third time he did this, I leaned toward him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said as though he didn’t know why I asked. Then after another moment, he added, “I was thinking we should talk about the dance.”

“Okay.” I had never discussed the details with him, and suddenly I looked forward to that. It would seem more official, less awkward when we were deciding the restaurant and who we’d go with. Lori had finally asked someone.

“I’ll talk to you after school, all right?”

“Sure.” I didn’t say more. The teacher had sent a glare in our direction.

I was actually in a good mood for the rest of school. For once I would have Trevor’s attention all to myself. No teachers to squelch our conversations, no Theresa to distract him.

After my last class, I waited at my locker, putting my homework into my backpack extra slowly. He didn’t show up. I stayed a while longer, scanning the hallways. He should have been more specific about where he wanted to meet.

When I still didn’t see him, I walked to his locker. He wasn’t there either. Had he forgotten?

I told myself not to be disappointed and headed toward the school door. He probably meant he’d call me after school.

As I walked through the lobby, I saw Trevor and Theresa standing together by the trophy case. Kissing.

I stopped walking.

Well, this was nice. I walked over to them, arms folded, and cleared my throat. “So, Trevor, you wanted to talk to me?”

Trevor lifted his head. “Oh,” he said as though just remembering I existed. “Alexia.”

Theresa slid her arm around his waist. A triumphant smile spread across her face. “Sorry, but he’s going to the dance with me.”

I kept my eyes on him. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a lot of class?”

He didn’t answer, didn’t move away from Theresa.

“No? Well, there’s probably a good reason for that.” I turned and walked out the school doors, without waiting to see if he ever came up with anything to say. My throat felt tight, and my stomach lurched with each step I took.

Stupid dance. Why had I even bought tickets? What was I going to do with them now? And if Trevor didn’t want to go with me, why hadn’t he just said so in the first place?

It didn’t matter, really. He and Theresa were both pigs.

I walked faster. I wanted to run. I wanted to sprint all the way home and lock myself in my room and cry. I was probably going to cry anyway, but I wouldn’t let myself run. He wasn’t worth it.

Guys just couldn’t be trusted. Didn’t I already know that? Wasn’t that the first thing I’d learned in life, that men wouldn’t be there for you?

And now I was crying, and I wasn’t even home. I brushed a streak of tears off my cheek and forced myself to think about something else. The ugly yellow paint of the house I passed. The weeds growing in the sidewalk cracks. The big black car behind me, which was obviously lost because it was driving really slow.

I pushed myself to go faster. What was wrong with me, anyway? Had I misinterpreted Trevor’s flirting? Was I just his second choice if Theresa didn’t work out?

I took deep breaths. The black car behind me still drove so slowly that it didn’t pass by. And then I realized what I should have known all along. It was following me.

So apparently Trevor had come after me but still didn’t have the courage to speak to me. I stopped walking, turned around, and waited for the car to catch up to me. Jerk. I would tell him exactly what he could do with his apology.

But the driver’s tinted window slid down to reveal a woman, probably in her early thirties. She looked like a newscaster. Shoulder-length dark hair, perfectly set, tons of makeup. She smiled over at me. “Hi, I’m Maren Pomeroy, Kari Kingsley’s manager. Can we talk for a moment?”

I didn’t move. In fact, the whole thing sort of freaked me out. The woman who worked for Kari Kingsley? Why was she here when she’d said she lived in California?

Ms. Pomeroy kept smiling at me. “We can go to your house, or perhaps you’d like to go to a restaurant and get something to eat?”

I took a step away from the car. “Sorry, but I don’t think my mother would like that. I mean, bringing a stranger to the house.” I took another step down the sidewalk. “Or, you know, going someplace without asking her.”

The back door swung open, and for a moment I expected some guy in a trench coat to step out and grab me. I was on the balls of my feet, ready to sprint away. And then I saw Kari Kingsley sitting in the backseat. She wore a pair of tight jeans, red spiky heels, and a red halter top underneath a loosely crocheted white sweater. She took a pair of sunglasses from her eyes and slid them onto her head with apparent irritation.

“I’ve spent a long time on a plane to come see you. The least you could do is give me ten minutes of your time.”

I gaped at her. I couldn’t help it. As though she might not have known it, I said, “You’re Kari Kingsley.”

“Yeah.” She slipped her sunglasses back on. “Do you want to get in the car before your little school friends come by? I didn’t plan on causing a scene.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I slid into the car, put my backpack on the floor, and shut the door. I did it without even thinking about it. It was like the president of the United States had asked me to get in the car. No wonder my mother resented celebrities. You just felt compelled to do their bidding.

As soon as I shut the door, Ms. Pomeroy pulled away from the curb. “A restaurant or your house?”

“Only say your house if you’ve got something five star to eat,” Kari said. “I’m hungry.”

Actually, we probably did have something good to eat, but I said, “Restaurant.” I wasn’t about to bring Kari Kingsley to my run-down house or introduce her to my grandmother—seeing as the last thing Abuela had said about Kari was that she should be hit with a Bible.

Kari took her glasses off again to better survey me. I stared back at her, comparing each of her features to my own. Her nose was sharper than mine, her lips a little thinner. But the tilt of our eyes, the rise of our cheekbones, even the slope of our chins were the same. I’d seen her picture a hundred times, but it was still surreal to see my face on a stranger; like gazing into a mirror—well . . . a sophisticated blond mirror.

“So do you look this way naturally?” she asked. “Or did you go to a plastic surgeon and tell him to put my face on yours?”

I nearly laughed at the image that painted—me strolling into a plastic surgeon and picking out lips and cheekbones like they were ingredients on a pizza. “It’s all natural.”

She leaned back in her seat, shaking her head. “Sheesh, you look more like me than I do.”

I didn’t think that was possible, but I didn’t challenge her on it.

“I actually have brown hair,” she said. “My mom was Mexican.”

I liked her more right then. Even though her life had been nothing like mine, we had something in common.

“So is my mom,” I said. “
^¿
Hablas español?
”

She shook her head. “My mom died when I was baby, and my dad,” she gave a dismissive shrug, “he only knows enough Spanish to give instructions to the cleaning ladies. It sort of ticks me off now that it’s chic to be Latina.”

“Really, it’s chic now? I must have missed that announcement.”

Kari laughed and then glanced out the window at the row of small houses we passed. “You’ve lived here too long. In California nobody cares what color you are so long as you’re beautiful.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a much better system.” I was being sarcastic, but I’m not sure Kari picked up on this. She nodded as though she agreed with me.

From the front seat Ms. Pomeroy said, “Kari, why don’t we go back to the hotel. That way you can order room service and talk privately.”

The hotel. Oh, no. I knew as soon as she said it that we’d go to the Waterfront Place, where my mom worked. It was the nicest hotel in Morgantown.

My stomach clenched. I wasn’t even sure what worried me more, the fact that my mom might see me walk in with Ms. Pomeroy and Kari Kingsley after she’d already turned down their job offer, or the fact that I might have to introduce Ms. Pomeroy and Kari Kingsley to my mom while she wore her housekeeping uniform.

I knew without them having to tell me that they had come to reoffer the job. They didn’t have another reason to be here.

“Actually, there are some good restaurants in Morgantown,” I said.

Kari waved off my suggestion with a set of immaculate red nails. “We shouldn’t be seen together in public. Maren told you this has to be kept secret, right?”

Before I could answer, Ms. Pomeroy said, “I told her.” Her eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. “You haven’t told anyone about this except for your parents, have you?”

“No,” I said.

“Good,” Kari said with a sigh. “Really, I shouldn’t have even come, but I wanted to judge you for myself. Not that I don’t trust Maren’s opinion, it’s just that—”

“Flying out here gave you an excuse to abandon the studio,” Ms. Pomeroy added dryly.

Kari smiled. “Exactly. And now I’m satisfied.” Her gaze ran over me. “With a few changes, you could pass for me.”

I fidgeted with the edge of my seat. “You got the e-mail from my mom where she turned you down, right?”

Kari brushed off my words. “We got it, but you can always finish high school online, you know. We’ll get you a tutor if you need one.” She tilted her head, considering me. “Although Maren tells me you’re brilliant. You even belong to the smart club.”

“National Honor Society,” I said.