My Double Life

by Janette Rallison

CHAPTER 5

  I'd never ridden on a plane before, let alone a private jet. It would take me to a new state, a new life, one where I would get to know my sister and father. I should have been blissfully happy, but as I sank into the soft leather seat, all I could think about were the good-byes I hadn't said to my friends and the one I had said to my mother.

  When would I see them again? I felt a sharp pang of regret for leaving this way, but it was too late to change my mind now. The engine had started, and the plane was rolling toward the runway.

  Once we were airborne, Maren—she told me not to call her Ms. Pomeroy—began my training. Basically I was immersed in all things Kari Kingsley for the duration of the flight. Maren had me practice copying Kari’s autograph about four hundred times until my K's stood straight up and my A’s were round. Then I watched music videos and taped concerts of Kari.

  While she danced, she always wore sequined outfits and glitter covered her body and hair. Glitter was her trademark. Her first album was called All That Glitters Isn’t Gold: Some of It's Diamonds, and her first hit had been entitled "Glitter Girl.” So she’d been sparkly ever since. I stared at the crowds cheering for her on the screen, then glanced over at her sitting in the seat not far from me.

  She was casually flipping through magazines. It struck me all over again that Kari was a rock star. And my sister.

  Every once in a while, she looked over at the tapes and chimed in with commentary. "That was the concert when some guy got past security and flung himself on the stage. Totally threw me off. I think celebrities should be allowed to Taser certain fans."

  And: "That video lasted three minutes but took two full days to film.”

  I didn't doubt it. She changed hairstyles in the video eight times.

  And: "The heels on those boots don't look that high, but you should try doing side lunges in them and keeping your balance.”

  Which made me nervous. "I’m not going to have to, am I?”

  Maren waved a hand in dismissal. "You’ll just be doing a few basic moves as you lip-synch. Nothing hard.”

  But I wasn’t sure I believed her. Maren had a smooth voice, like the kind that used-car salesmen on TV always had.

  “You need to get a feel for how she moves and how she talks,” Maren told me. "Do you see how erect her posture is? That’s from years of dancing. You'll need to walk the same way." She looked me over with only a small amount of discouragement visible in her expression. "Have you ever taken a dance class?”

  "Yes." Actually, I’d taken a lot of dancing and singing lessons. Mom had never had a great salary, but she always found someone willing to trade classes for housecleaning. All those lessons I hadn’t asked for suddenly made sense. Ditto for the musicals at school Mom forced me to be in. She must have figured I’d inherited my father's talents, and she wanted me to develop them.

  Now that I thought about her sacrifice, I felt bad that I didn’t have a passion for either of those things. I was happier reading or playing sports.

  "Your dance instructor will help you learn a few simple routines,” Maren said. "I'm hiring new staff for you so they won't realize you're not Kari. You'll need to make sure you keep up the act all the time. Alexia is gone now."

  I thought of Abuela's words—to remember who I was— but I nodded at Maren anyway.

  After the plane landed, a limo met us on the tarmac and drove us to Beverly Hills. I stared out the window, taking in every house, tree, and bush we passed. It was stupid, but I couldn’t help myself. I almost expected to see Brad Pitt out watering his grass or something.

  I’d never been one of those starstruck teenagers who had posters of buff actors or who followed stars' blogs. True, I did buy a magazine once because it had a picture of Grant Delray—a twenty-one-year-old rock sensation—on the cover, and maybe I kept the magazine on my bookshelf so I could look at his picture every once in a while, but that didn’t make me a fanatic.

  That was just the normal, red-blooded-girl reaction to sky blue eyes and perfect features.

  Being in California where the movie stars lived, I couldn’t help but look for them.

  The limo dropped us off at Kari’s gated mansion. Maren had her BMW parked there, so the two of us switched cars. As I did, I gaped at the fountain by the circular drive, the columns, and the balcony. No wonder Kari was in debt. How much room did one person need?

  Before Kari went inside, she turned back to me with a smile. "I’ll see you later—you know, either at Maren's or in the mirror.”

  "Kari will be by in a few days with some of her clothes from last season," Maren said, as though reminding Kari of this fact.

  "Oh, right,” Kari said. "I have a ton of stuff to give you.”

  I opened my mouth to thank her, but she added, "Last season I was ten pounds heavier, so it should fit you fine."

  "Thanks,” I said, but the word lacked something in sincerity. She didn’t seem to notice.

  We drove to Maren’s house, a three-story town house overlooking Santa Monica and decorated like a model home. The fabric on her curtains matched the throw pillows on her couch, which matched the covers on her dining room chairs. Vases and candlesticks and bowls with bam¬boo shoots growing in them had been placed artistically around the room. I was afraid to touch any of it.

  Even though it was practically the middle of the night in

  West Virginia, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. Sitting on the satiny blue bedspread in the guest room, which matched the dust ruffle, the curtains, and the guest bathroom towels, I felt impossibly far away from home. I wanted to hear my mother’s voice again.

  I took my cell phone out of my duffel bag. I'd turned it off after our fight, but I saw she’d called six times. I dialed home, and Mom picked it up halfway through the first ring. "Lexi?"

  At the sound of her voice, my words caught in my throat. "I’m sorry I yelled at you, Mom."

  "I know, honey. I’m sorry too. Where are you?"

  "I’m in California—at Maren’s house.”

  There was a pause, then, "You’re already there?"

  "I told you I was taking the job."

  Her voice spiraled upward. “You didn't say you were leaving right away.”

  "I had to. Otherwise, I knew I'd change my mind.”

  "If you knew you'd change your mind, then you knew it was the wrong choice." She said something else after that, but I didn’t hear what. Abuela was throwing in her two cents in the background.

  "Tell Abuela everything will be fine. I’ll only stay long enough to get to know Kari and to meet my father."

  Mom said, "What about finishing high school?”

  "Maren said she’d get me a laptop with wireless Internet. Can you call the school and ask them if I can turn in assignments long distance?"

  "I’ll call them," Mom said. Then she said something to Abuela in a hushed tone. Abuela doesn’t speak in hushed tones, though, so I heard her say, "What does she think she’s going to find with her new family anyway?”

  Mom said, "I want you to check in with me every day— you’ll do that?”

  In the background Abuela was still giving her opinion. "Nothing good ever came from a musician! Except music. That's what she’s going to find.”

  "Yes, Mom, but I've got to go,” I told her. “Let me know what the school says."

  She sighed and said she’d call them in the morning, and we said our good-byes.

  My stomach stopped clenching after I’d talked to her, but I still felt odd—disconnected. Like my life had started in one book and suddenly I’d found myself in a completely different story.

  I’m just doing this long enough to meet my father, I told myself again—then I'll go home. But when I shut my eyes to go to sleep, all I could see was Kari’s signature, repeating under my eyelids over and over.