My Double Life (5 page)

“Well, there you have it.” She lifted a hand in my direction. “That’s one of the reasons why I need you so much.”

“Need me to do what, exactly?” I asked.

“I need you to pretend to be me at some functions.”

I laughed. I thought she was joking, and I waited for her to tell me what she really wanted me to do. Only she didn’t.

When I’d thought about what being a double meant, I’d imagined, vaguely, that I would be used as a decoy to throw off the paparazzi when she went to events or stuff like that. Like a stunt double. Not once did I ever think she actually wanted me to pretend to be her.

“I can’t do that,” I said.

“Why not?”

I leaned toward her, shaking my head. “We don’t look so much alike that we’re interchangeable.”

She let out a sigh and wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, I need to talk to you about that. We’ll have to change your hair, and you’ll need to start wearing makeup.”

“I do wear makeup,” I said defensively. “Just not very much.”

Kari’s gaze ran up and down me again. “And definitely your clothes have to go . . . oh, and your walk too. We watched you come out of the school, and there’s no good way to tell you this, but you looked like you were plowing through a snowdrift.” She held out her hand, palm up, as though showing me something. “You need some finesse. You know, some strut.”

“I don’t always walk like that,” I said. “I’ve had a bad day.”

From the front seat, Ms. Pomeroy called out cheerfully, “We’re at the hotel. Let’s finish talking about this upstairs.”

I looked out the window. Yep, it was my mom’s hotel, which meant not only did I have to worry about bumping into her, but also all the employees who knew me. I gripped the door handle and told myself I should tell Ms. Pomeroy and Kari that my answer was no now, before I got into trouble with my mom. I knew I couldn’t accept her offer.

But I didn’t. I don’t know whether it was curiosity, or whether I was still starstruck at being invited to come up to Kari’s room, or whether a small part of me hoped I’d find a way to make the job work.

I could earn between a hundred and twenty and two hundred and forty
thousand
dollars a year. I couldn’t even imagine everything I could do with that much money.

Kari slipped her sunglasses on and pulled a hoodie over her head. “The room is in Maren’s name,” she said, “so hopefully no one will recognize me.” Kari took another pair of sunglasses from her purse and handed them to me. “Here, as long as you’re walking around with my face and those clothes, you’d better wear these.”

I’d had her face for my entire life and at times wore a lot worse than the jeans and T-shirt I had on, but I didn’t argue with her.

Kari peered around the parking lot, then sighed before opening the door. “Sometimes it’s so hard to be me.”

I followed her out of the car but didn’t tell her that actually
I
had a better chance of being recognized at the hotel.

We walked quickly through the lobby, and I kept my head down. We went to the elevator and Ms. Pomeroy pushed the up button. So far so good. Kari was busy telling me that in California I’d stay in Ms. Pomeroy’s guest room and have my own driver and the use of other professional staff.

Why did elevators take so long?

Jonathan, one of the waiters from the hotel restaurant, walked past us with a dining cart on his way to the service elevator. I wanted to turn so he couldn’t see my face, but Kari was still talking.

Just as our elevator door opened, he glanced over. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw me. “Hey,” he called over, “how ya doing?”

Kari flung her hand up like a traffic cop. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have time to talk to fans.”

And then she grabbed hold of my arm and propelled me into the elevator.

Well, that was probably going to be hard to explain to Jonathan later.

Ms. Pomeroy pushed the eleventh-floor button, and Kari leaned against the wall and let out a sigh. “That’s the thing I hate about this business. People never leave you alone. They think they have the right to talk to you whenever they feel like it.” She gazed at me with a solemn expression. “You’re going to have to learn how to deal with the public as part of your job. You can’t be nice to people or you’ll be mobbed. You have to cut them off and walk away.”

Ms. Pomeroy nodded. “We’ll try to protect you as much as possible.”

The elevator opened and we stepped out. Alleen, one of the maids, walked by carrying an armful of towels. She did a double take when she saw me, then smiled. “Hey, there, what are you doing here?”

Kari shook her head and increased her pace. “Look, we’re very busy and don’t have time for autographs.”

Alleen’s eyebrows shot up at that, but I didn’t have a chance to explain.

Great. There was no way my mom wouldn’t hear about this.

A few moments later, we walked into one of the luxury suites. The high ceiling, large sitting room, and flowing curtains made it seem more like a high-end apartment than a hotel room. The smell of room freshener and clean sheets surrounded me.

Kari took her sunglasses and jacket off and tossed them on the coffee table, then sank down into the couch. I sat down on the love seat and placed my sunglasses next to hers. Ms. Pomeroy picked up the room service menu and rattled off food choices until we chose something. Then she picked up the phone and ordered.

Kari said, “Tell them to hurry. I’m starving.” She leaned toward me confidentially. “And despite the
National Enquirer
putting me on anorexia watch, I’m not one of those celebrities who think starving is a good thing.”

Into the phone Ms. Pomeroy said, “Can you bring that as fast as possible? We’ll give you an extra tip.”

I wondered if Ms. Pomeroy always did everything Kari asked. It just seemed odd to me, an adult taking orders from someone wearing a halter top.

When Ms. Pomeroy finished with the phone, she sat down on the couch next to Kari, and they both looked over at me. “Well, then, we’d better get on with the interview. You’d be willing to change your clothes and hair, wear makeup, and work on your walk and mannerisms?” Before I could answer, she turned to Kari. “Is there anything else you think Alexia needs to change?”

Kari nodded. “Her voice. She needs to lose the hillbilly accent.”

“I don’t have a hillbilly accent,” I said.

Ms. Pomeroy pursed her lips as though considering it. “Your
a
’s are a little too long, but besides that, your voices are similar enough that I don’t see any reason this won’t work.”

“Neither do I,” Kari said. “We’ll see how well you can pull off being me for a couple of easy events. If you can do it, you’ll have the job for the year.”

Which still didn’t make sense to me. I said, “Changing my hair and makeup won’t fool people who know you.”

Kari relaxed into the couch cushions, looking elegantly at home against the rich fabric. “I’m not asking you to fool my friends or staff. But you could pass for me with everyone else. And they’re the only ones I need to fool because they’re the ones who pay to see me.”

“You mean like at concerts?” I couldn’t, even for a moment, imagine myself up in front of a stadium full of people.

“Not big concerts. I’m talking about smaller stuff, mall openings, parades, maybe lip-synching a few songs for some state fairs and rodeos.” Before I could say anything else, she went on. “They pay me forty thousand dollars a pop, and I need the money too much to turn them down. I’ve got some debts that are bleeding me dry, but I don’t have the time to do that stuff. That’s why I need you to do it.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” I asked.

Kari rolled her eyes. “That’s why you’re keeping it a
secret
.”

Ms. Pomeroy leaned forward, smiling at me like I was silly for asking. “Celebrities use doubles all of the time, and lip-synching is just part of the business.” I must not have looked convinced. She added, “Think of it as a win-win situation. People want Kari to make appearances. It helps them with fund-raisers, membership drives, getting people to come to their events, that sort of thing—but she doesn’t have the time. She’s got to work on her next album. If you go in her place, the groups are happy, Kari still gets things done, and you get paid four thousand dollars an event, five if it requires travel.”

I looked at my hands. Unlike Kari’s immaculate fingernails, mine had been chewed down to nothing. It was one more difference between us that she’d overlooked.

“They don’t really care about me anyway,” Kari said. “All I am is an image. If they believe they’re getting the real thing, they’ll be just as thrilled.”

“We’ll help you so you’ll be ready,” Ms. Pomeroy added. “And you’ll get a new wardrobe, a hairstylist, a professional makeup artist, and a driver—what more could you want?”

For a moment I imagined myself on stage, the spotlight washing over me, thousands of people screaming and clapping.

But even as the applause echoed in my mind, I knew I wouldn’t do it. If I didn’t mess up and get caught—and that seemed like a risky if—wasn’t it still wrong to get paid to trick people? I couldn’t imagine proposing the idea to Mom. I let the calculations of money drain from my mind in a drizzle of dollar signs. “I’m sorry. My mother is not going to let me do this.”

Kari stared at me as though I’d told her the world was flat after all, but Ms. Pomeroy didn’t lose her smile. “Well, you’re eighteen, aren’t you? You’re old enough to make your own decisions.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, because I was too polite to say “I know, and I just made my decision.”

When my mother heard about this, she would gloat about the fact that I had sided with her in the end.

“What’s there to think about?” Ms. Pomeroy said. “If going against your mother’s wishes would create a financial hardship on you, I could add another five hundred dollars per presentation.” Her smile had an edge to it now. “I don’t think you’ll ever find a better job than this. You’ll make more than most professionals. And you’re going to have to cut the apron strings from your mother sooner or later.”

“It’s not about the money,” I said.

Ms. Pomeroy arched an eyebrow, waiting to hear what it was about.

“There’s a difference between cutting apron strings and cutting ties,” I said. “I’d like to still be welcome at my house for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Ms. Pomeroy didn’t blink. “Five thousand in state. Six thousand out, and you can have Thanksgiving dinner at my house. I’ll throw in Christmas too, if you want.”

She was serious. Which is why I stared at her openmouthed.

Kari turned to Ms. Pomeroy. “Don’t force her into it. She doesn’t want to ruin things with her mother. I can understand that.”

Ms. Pomeroy let out a sigh and fluttered one hand in the air as though brushing away the subject. “Fine. We came all this way, but if you’ve decided you’d rather do the events yourself, I won’t stop you.” Her voice changed just enough to alter her meaning. “After all, you’re fine out in the public eye.”

Kari glared at her, then turned her attention back to me. “That’s the other reason I hoped you’d do this for me.” She ran her fingers across the hem of her shirt, twisting it. “I’ve never really liked crowds—”

“You don’t like crowds?” I repeated. It seemed contradictory—rock stars were supposed to want crowds of people to come to their concerts.

“I love singing, performing, doing the stuff that’s scripted—but crowds are a bunch of people watching you, and taking pictures of you, and just waiting for you to mess up so they can laugh at you. I’ve said a couple things that were blown way out of proportion, and everyone made fun of me and now I . . .” She wiped her hands against her jeans. “I freeze up when reporters point cameras at me. I don’t want to be in front of people for a while. But you’re so smart, you wouldn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing.”

And then I felt bad because I’d made fun of her when I’d seen those clips too. Not once had I ever wondered how it had affected her or how hard it must be to mess up in front of the entire world.

I said, “Everyone says the wrong thing sometimes. It doesn’t mean you’re not smart.”

A knock sounded on the door. Ms. Pomeroy stood up, but Kari was closer. “There’s the food.” As she walked toward the door, she added, “Thank goodness they’re fast.”

That
had
been fast. For a moment I worried that when Kari opened the door it would actually be my mother, her hands on her hips, chewing me out in Spanish, like she did whenever she was angry.

But it wasn’t. When the door swung open, Don, one of the older waiters, stood behind a dining cart. “Your Caesar salad, fettuccine Alfredo, and bacon cheeseburger, well done.”

“Thanks.” Kari pulled the cart into the room and then went to shut the door.

Don held out a clipboard and a pen to her. “If I could get you to sign this—”

Kari huffed out an exasperated sigh and put one hand on her hip. “Don’t you people know when to stop? Really, there are times to leave celebrities alone, and this is one of them.”

She shut the door with a thud.

“Kari,” Ms. Pomeroy said, getting to her feet again, “he was asking you to sign for the food.”

A blush spread across Kari’s face. “Oh.”

The knock came at the door again.

This time Ms. Pomeroy opened it. Don still stood there, clipboard held out in his hand. She took it from him and scrawled a signature on the paper while Kari took her fettuccine Alfredo off the cart. Kari cast Don another glance. “You should have told me you needed my signature
for the food
.”

“Sorry, miss.” He looked over at me while Ms. Pomeroy handed him the clipboard back. His eyebrows rose when he saw me, but he didn’t say anything else.

Ms. Pomeroy shut the door and brought my plate to me. I wished I hadn’t ordered anything. I didn’t want to stay here with them after I’d already told them no, and my resolve was slipping. I could see why Kari didn’t want to be in front of reporters who could broadcast every mistake she made to millions of viewers.