“Well, you tell your client she’d better have her butt back here and ready to fight before her third concert on Friday. If I have to cancel another, it’ll be coming out of her pocket. Capish?”
Deacon reached the door in record time and turned the handle. “I’ll be sure to relay your message to Chynna.”
Seconds later, the short, bald man was out of Lucas’s office, and he sighed heavily.
Why does Chynna have to be so contrary? If he didn’t need her so much, he’d throttle her. Somehow, someway, he’d get Chynna James back on course, and he would use any method necessary.
She reminded him of his little sister living in South Central. She’d gone the wrong way and had ended up pregnant with three kids. And as much as he loved his niece and nephews, his sister didn’t need to have babies at sixteen. If only she hadn’t been in such a hurry to grow up and experience life so fast.
That’s who Chynna reminded him of. She’d gotten in this business too young, and in order to be seen and heard, she always had to be the center of attention, and what better way than by being contrary? Doesn’t she realize there are consequences to her actions? The world didn’t just stop because Chynna decided she needed a break from reality.
Life hadn’t been easy for Lucas either. He’d had to work for everything he’d ever obtained. He’d started out in the rough and tough streets of South Central. It would’ve been easy for him to fall the way of a lot of young black men to drugs and violence. But Lucas had other plans: to get the hell out of South Central as fast as his body and mind could get him. Excelling at school and getting a scholarship to UCLA had been high on his list of priorities, and he’d done just that. And now, he wasn’t about to let some spoiled pop star ruin what it had taken him so long to gain.
When Chynna came back to L.A., he was going to have a come-to-Jesus moment with the starlet and tell her in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t put up with her bullshit, no matter how much she was adored my millions of fans.
Chapter 4
After a long, strenuous hike, Kenya returned to their villa to find Chynna at the baby grand piano with a pen and paper in hand and singing softly. The melody was beautiful, and Kenya couldn’t resist saying as much. “That’s really pretty, twinie.”
Chynna turned around. “You think so? It’s something new I’ve been working on since we’ve been here.”
“It’s really good,” Kenya commented. “Reminds me of your first album.”
Chynna nodded. “Yeah, I doubt the label would be happy with it. What’s hot right now is up-tempo beats with synthesizers.”
“Just because it’s hot doesn’t mean you have to follow the trend. It’s okay to be different. Unique. Special. Isn’t that what Mama always said?” asked Kenya, approaching her sister.
She saw Chynna’s shoulders instantly stiffen in response at mentioning their deceased mother. She knew it was hard for Chynna to think about her, knowing that no amount of money in the world could’ve saved her. Their mother had always been the picture of health or so they’d thought. They hadn’t known she was taking blood pressure pills to regulate her hypertension. How could they have known she couldn’t afford them and wasn’t taking them, and that it would cause her to suddenly keel over and die unexpectedly at fifty years old? It had been a shock to both of them.
Kenya wondered if that’s when they’d drifted apart, each living in different parts of the country because they hadn’t done a better job at watching over the only parent who cared about them. Their father had only reemerged after Chynna’s success, and neither she nor Kenya had been interested. They’d felt it was especially hypocritical when he’d called to give his condolences and requested to come to the funeral. Truth be told, Kenya had always felt like her mother had never recovered from his betrayal and had died of a broken heart.
“I’m sorry Chy—,” she began, but Chynna pulled away. Kenya pursued her train of thought. “I know it was hard losing Mama, Chynna, but we’re all we’ve got.”
“Really?” Chynna asked. “Is that why you stay in New York and never visit? Is that why I only see you when I’m in town or twist your arm to meet me someplace?”
Kenya was shocked by Chynna’s outburst and gave a nervous laugh. “You know how much I hate L.A.”
“Bullshit!” Chynna stood up. “You and both know what this is about.”
Kenya folded her arms across her chest. “And what’s it about?”
“I know everyone thinks I’m a ditzy airhead that has to be told what to do, what to sing and how to dress, but I have two eyes, Kenya. I know you’re jealous of me and all I have, and that’s why you won’t come around me. Do you hate me that much?”
Tears sprung to Kenya’s eyes. Chynna had struck a nerve. Yes, she’d felt envy because she’d always felt second best or less than, but hate? “Hate?” She shook her head. “I could never hate you. You’re my twin. Hating you would be like hating myself.”
“Then perhaps you hate yourself. Maybe that’s why you keep me at arm’s length.”
The words pierced Kenya’s heart as if she’d been stabbed, and she staggered away from Chynna and toward the sofa. She sank into the plushness and buried her head in her hands and started sobbing. Had they really come to this—accusing each other of such horrible things?
Chynna must have realized just how deeply she’d cut Kenya, because she rushed to Kenya’s side and fell to her knees, grasping Kenya’s hands.
All Kenya could do was stare blankly at her as hot tears fell down her cheeks. She’d never felt so raw, so exposed. “Is that really how you see me?”
“Sometimes,” Chynna admitted, sinking down onto her haunches besides Kenya. “Do you think it’s so easy being me? Constantly living in front of the camera? Having my every move scrutinized, analyzed, commented on?”
Kenya sat forward. “But you love and eat it up with a spoon.”
“Do I?” Chynna asked, looking into her hazel eyes. “Or is that the persona I’ve created that now even you don’t know the real me? C’mon, twinie, look into my eyes.”
Kenya stared at Chynna in disbelief. Was she really so off the mark on her own twin? They used to be able to read each other’s thoughts, know what the other would say before they said it. But now, since Mama’s death and Chynna’s rise to fame, they’d grown apart and Kenya wasn’t so sure. She slid down the sofa to sit beside Chynna on the carpet.
Chynna leaned her back against the sofa and said, “Do you know how much I’ve enjoyed the peace and the quiet here at the ranch this week? I don’t have a moment of peace in my everyday life. I’m constantly going from one meeting to another, never having any privacy. So yes, I put up a front that I’m having the time of my life when, in fact, I would like to be curled up with a good book instead of on a red carpet, movie premiere or club- hopping.”
Kenya gave her a sideward glance. “I never knew.”
“Because you never asked. You just assumed that it’s all fun and games. You should come live in my shoes and see what it’s like to be me, and then you’d see.”
“I can only imagine.”
Chynna sat upright in her seat. “Oh, my gosh! That’s it!”
Kenya stared at her blankly. “That’s what?”
Chynna’s eyes were bright with devilry when she said with a straight face, “We should switch places.”
“Say what?”
“You heard me.”
Kenya chuckled at the thought. “We haven’t switched places in years.” She remembered when they were little and they used to confuse their mother, but eventually she had been able to tell them apart. But most of their friends couldn’t and Chynna and Kenya took great pleasure in throwing them off.
“So, it could still work.”
Kenya shook her head. “We’re too different.”
“But not in looks,” Chynna said and gave Kenya’s body a frank asses
sment. “You’re in great shape, just like me. And the face, well, the differences have always been subtle to most people. They’ll never be able to tell. The only thing we need to do is give you some honey-blond highlights and you’re set.”
“Are you seriously thinking about this?” Kenya asked incredulously, touching her shoulder-length dark-brown hair.
“Hell yes!”
“Why?”
“I need a break from my life and the press for a while,” Chynna said. “And you’ve always wondered what it would like to be me, envied it. Well, here’s your chance. You’d get to be me for a week or so while I soak in more peace and quiet and crank out an album that I’ll actually love singing.”
Chynna noticed how quiet Kenya was being. She was giving what Chynna was saying serious credence. Chynna knew Kenya wanted to do it, but she needed the final push.
“And what would I get out of this?”
“You’ll get the greatest acting opportunity of your life: portraying me.”
“You think I can play you?”
A soft, loving curve touched Chynna’s lips. “I know you can. You’re an amazing actress and quite frankly, you’ll probably wow them during the filming of the movie.”
“Oh!” Kenya’s hand went to her mouth, and Chynna knew she’d found her icing on the cake.
“Think about it. You’d get to act in a motion picture.”
“Yeah, but I would be playing you playing someone else.”
“And? Are you saying you’re not up to the task? To pull off the biggest double cross ever? I know you can sing, Kenya.”
“What?” Kenya pretended to play dumb.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I saw you sing on Broadway.”
“When did you see me?”
“I had an unexpected stop in New York and heard about this great Broadway show that was getting a lot of buzz, so I decided to check it out. Imagine my surprise to see my sister on stage with the voice of a nightingale. Not to mention I watch your show.”
“You do? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I figured singing was a gift you wanted to keep hidden. Here, everyone was touting me as the songstress when in fact, it runs in the family. So I know you can do this.”
“Even if I agreed to this,” Kenya replied, “why would you? Why would you allow me to live your life?”
“I think you’re right,” Chynna stated. “I’ve lost my way, and I’ve let other people make decisions for me. I guess after Mama passed after my first album, it seemed easier to let someone else deal with everything. I have to figure out who I am without any interruptions. And what better place than this oasis?”
Kenya’s eyes grew large with excitement, but Chynna could see she was still wrapping her head around the idea. “This is crazy.”
“Maybe, but totally doable. Listen, I’m not asking you to do it long-term. Just for a week or so until I get my head on straight and remember who the real Chynna is.”
“I’m gonna need to sleep on this.”
“And tomorrow, you’ll see this is the best idea I’ve ever had.”
Kenya awoke the next morning after a fitful night of tossing and turning. Even with the dawn of a new day, she was still wrestling with whether she should consider Chynna’s harebrained scheme. Should I go for it and walk in Chynna’s high-heeled shoes?
She didn’t have anything pressing coming up. Her show was on winter hiatus, and it would be sort of fun to act like her outrageous sister for a change. But there were so many variables to consider. She would not only have to act like Chynna, she would have to become her. She would have to sing in front of thousands at her next tour stop, go to movie rehearsals, and hadn’t Chynna mentioned the taping of a video coming up? Not to mention convincing Chynna’s entire entourage, manager, publicist and record label that she was the real deal. Hmm ... she could be biting off more than she could chew.
A knock sounded on her bedroom door, and Kenya sat up in her bed. “Come in.”
Chynna’s head popped through the corner of the door. “You up?”
“Yeah,” Kenya said. “I am. Been thinking about this crazy scheme of yours.”
“And what have you decided?”
“That it could work. But your life is so hectic and I don’t know ...” Her voice trailed off.
“I can give you a twelve-hour crash course in how to be Chynna James, and you’ll be right as rain to get on a plane tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Kenya’s voice rose.
“Yes, I received a call from Deacon last night that Lucas ordered me to get my butt back to L.A. and that he couldn’t cancel any more concerts.”
“I don’t know, Chynna. That’s not enough time to prepare.” Usually she had weeks to study her characters, understand their flaws and give a nuanced performance.
“You’ve had to learn lines before in a hurry, haven’t you?” Chynna said. “This is no different.”
“Like hell it isn’t.” Kenya threw back the covers and slid from between the sheets to rise to her feet. “You have people around you all the time. How am I supposed to convince them I’m you?”
Chynna walked toward Kenya. “It’s really not that difficult. Act like you don’t care. Be easy breezy. Go with the flow.”
“That’s easier said than done.” Kenya wasn’t like Chynna at all. She was driven and focused and knew what she was doing and when. It would require all of her acting skills to act footloose and fancy-free.
“We can do this, starting now.” Chynna grabbed Kenya by the hand.
On their way to the hair salon to get Kenya some blond highlights, Chynna went through everyone in her entourage with Kenya, starting with Deacon and telling her how they’d met and how Chynna had instantly disliked him because he’d called her unsophisticated and in need of polish. She filled Kenya in on Fiona and her penchant for Louboutins and Brighton, and sweet Penelope, who could use some encouragement in the confidence department. She told her about Eric, one of her dancers with whom she’d shared a one-night stand after a few too many shots of Patrón on South Beach.
Later that evening in Chynna’s room, she walked Kenya through her wardrobe and what she would wear to hang out, go to the club or wear on stage. Kenya wouldn’t be caught dead in the flashy, sparkly, tight-fitting clothes that Chynna wore.
“Try this one.” Chynna held up some snug skinny jeans and a spaghetti strap plunge top.
Kenya frowned with distaste, but tried on the garments. “Totally not my style.”
“Well, you’re going to have to learn to love it,” Chynna said, “because it’s yours for the next week.”
After she slid the jeans over her curvy hips and pulled the sparkling top down, Kenya turned around to stare at her reflection in the mirror. She was surprised to see that she actually looked quite hot in Chynna’s clothes.
“See? I told you,” Chynna said as Kenya continued to stare at herself in the mirror. “You don’t know how sexy you truly are.”
Kenya spun around to admire her behind in the skinny jeans.
“Now that you have the clothes,” Chynna said, “you need the attitude and walk to go with it.” She stood up to demonstrate her infamous walk that to Kenya looked like a fashion model’s walk on the runway.
“When you’re at an event, don’t look anyone in the face,” Chynna said, looking straight ahead as she walked. “Look beyond them as if what you’re about to do it is ten times more important.”
“And is it?”
Chynna laughed. “Usually, but not always.” She stopped suddenly and turned around to face Kenya. “Listen, you’re a diva. Or that’s what people think of me. Act like it. Never pour your own drink or pull out your own chair. Let someone else do that for you.”
“I don’t know if I can get used to being waited on hand and foot. I’m used
to doing for myself. I’m an independent woman.”
“Well, in my world,” Chynna emphasized, “you have people to do that for you. Derrick is your hair stylist. He will hook up any style or weave you want. He’s a talker, always wanting to talk about what straight man he’s turned gay, so be ready to listen. Daisy is my makeup artist, a loud Goth girl, who I can’t quite understand why she hangs out with our bunch because she likes heavy metal music, but she makes me, now you, look fabulous. Then there’s Megan. She’s my wardrobe stylist. Let her pick out things for you. Don’t be afraid to try on her crazy ideas, because they’ll usually come together in surprising ways.”
Kenya was exhausted just listening to all the people who were in Chynna’s orbit and fluttered around her every day. How does she live with the excess? “Anything else?”
“Well, that brings me to my upcoming music video.”
“Oh Lord!” Kenya rolled her eyes upward. She’d never been much of a dancer and doubted now would be any different. There was no way she was going to learn all of Chynna’s routines in, she glanced at her watch, six hours.
“You’re going to have to fake it till you make it,” Chynna replied. “I’m going to show you some of my basic moves and you’re just going to have wing it. Worst case, my male dancers will come in and help you out. Follow their lead.”
Kenya stared at her incredulously. “Chynna, you’re a great dancer and I’m not. Yes, I can sing and I know all your songs by heart, but dancing? This is a stretch.”
Chynna ignored Kenya’s protestations and went over the docking station that housed her iPod. She swirled her thumb around until she came to one of her more energetic songs and turned up the music. “Alright, Kenya, show me what you’re working with.”
Hours later, sweaty and hungry, Kenya watched the chef make what would be her final meal with her sister for the imminent future. Deacon had arranged for Chynna’s plane to come to Tucson and a car would be sent the next morning to fetch her, Kenya that was.
Am I really ready for this? Sure, she’d said she could do it. But after a few hours of practicing Chynna’s major routines and prancing around in her five-inch heels and sexy outfits, Kenya was exhausted. Imitation was supposed to be the sincerest form of flattery, but Kenya wasn’t sure she could pull it off.
Harts of Arizona Series Page 4
