My Double Life

by Janette Rallison

CHAPTER 11

  I grabbed Grant's hand and pulled him off toward the right side of the house. "Do you want a drink or something?” I asked. "Let’s go to the kitchen." We walked through a sitting room with a bay window that faced the front lawn. "This is my reading room,” I guessed. "It's where I go over my fan mail.” It had two doors. I took him through the one in the back, and we walked into a room full of shelves holding porcelain dolls and curios. "And this is my, um, doll collection room, and you can see I also have lots of ceramic cats because, hey, you can never have too many of those.”

  The room was a dead end. I towed him back into the room. He raised an eyebrow at me questioningly, but he didn’t come right out and ask if I was lost in my own house. "I thought you’d like a tour while you’re here," I said, by way of explanation. "I don’t get many visitors, so I like to show the place off when I can." Then I pulled him through the other sitting room door. We went into a hallway. I didn't hear Kari coming up behind us, but that didn't mean we wouldn't run into her at any moment. I glanced into a doorway but didn't go inside. "That’s my den," I said.

  He looked inside to be polite. "Nice.”

  I pulled him farther down the hallway. "Here's my guest bedroom.” We walked a few more feet. "And another guest bedroom." Then we reached the end of the hallway and two doorways on either side. "And here are two more guest bedrooms."

  He peered into each one. "For someone who doesn’t have a lot of visitors, you certainly have a lot of places to put them.”

  “Well, you can only fill so many rooms with ceramic cats.”

  "Are you avoiding talking about us?"

  I pulled him back down the hallway. "No, not at all. Well, maybe a little bit." Where was the stupid kitchen? I was making enough noise that Kari would either know to stay out of my way, or come after me wielding a can of mace. Or maybe in a house this big she still didn't even know anyone had come inside. Would she scream if she suddenly saw us? And how exactly would I explain a screaming look-alike in my house?

  I made it back to the first hallway and went the opposite direction this time. It opened up into a large family room complete with Roman-style columns and arched ceiling. Vases full of Michael’s three hundred red roses stood on the coffee table, end tables, everywhere. I spotted the kitchen on the other side of the room, and the counters were covered too.

  "So I take it you like red roses,” Grant said.

  "Yeah.” I didn’t offer any other explanation as I towed Grant into the kitchen. "I’m not sure what I have around to drink,” I said, and then ran into my next problem. I didn't know where the glasses were, and what was worse, I didn't see a refrigerator anywhere. Rows of cherry wood cupboards and cabinets surrounded us, and a huge island with a black granite top sat in the middle of the room. But she had to have a fridge somewhere in here, didn’t she? Everybody has a fridge. I turned around once, then twice, but didn’t see it. Was it in a different room altogether?

  He took a step toward me and tilted his head, reading my expression. "Am I making you nervous?”

  "No, no. I had the maid rearrange everything, and I can’t remember where I told her to put the glasses."

  He walked over and took my hand. "You don't have to get me anything to drink. I just want to talk to you.”

  "Okay.” It wasn’t really okay, though. Holding his hand made my heart race, and I had to tell him I wanted Michael to be my boyfriend, which would be hard to make convincing when I’d nearly kissed Grant in the restaurant. Would he think I was a hypocrite or just a tease?

  I forced myself to look into his blue eyes and tried not to get pulled into their depths. I had to be strong. Kari wanted Michael, so that was that. Alexia Garcia didn't have a choice in the matter. Someone like Grant would never be interested in a poor girl from West Virginia.

  Then I heard footsteps again, this time coming toward the kitchen.

  I looked outside through the sliding glass door to where a huge pool sprawled in the backyard. "Let's talk outside.” I pulled him that way, tugging at the sliding glass door until it opened.

  We stepped outside into the warm air, and I slid the door shut. This, I realized, was the perfect solution to my problem. When Kari walked by and saw us out here, the closed door would muffle her startled scream or angry gasp—or whatever was the normal reaction to finding your double hanging out with another teen idol by your pool. If I kept Grant's attention on me, he wouldn't look back into the house. And once Kari realized we were out here, she'd know she had to keep herself hidden until Grant left.

  I strolled a few feet toward the pool. As far as pools went, it was spectacular. Hewn stones surrounded the water, like the earth had cracked open to create a lake for her. Waterfalls flowed on both sides, and a large Jacuzzi bubbled in the corner. One of the waterfalls only let out a trickle of water, though, and the pool man stood beside it, watching it with dissatisfaction.

  Grant noticed him. “Are you sure this is the best place for us to talk?"

  But I wasn't about to take Grant back inside while Kari was roaming around her house. “I'll tell the pool man he can leave," I said. I left Grant and walked toward the older man. I didn’t get too close, in case he could tell the difference between Kari and me. "Pardon me, can you come back and do that another time?”

  The pool man looked past me to Grant, and then nodded.

  He spoke with a strong accent, so I knew English wasn't his first language. "Okay. If you want, I come back tomorrow. I fix the chlorine level for you then too. It's okay?"

  "Yes. Thank you very much.”

  The pool man picked up his toolbox and a jug of chemicals, then walked around the side of the house. I motioned Grant to follow me to a couple of padded wicker chairs. I sat on one. He sat on the other.

  "Now we can talk,” I told him.

  He put his elbows on his knees and leaned toward me. I noticed how the light glinted off his brown hair and how his blue eyes looked a shade lighter out in the sunshine. "I know this is unexpected for both of us,” he said. "If someone had told me two weeks ago that Kari Kingsley was my type, I wouldn't have believed them. But now that I’ve gotten to know you, well, you’re nothing like I thought. You're smart and funny, and you were so good with the kids at the hospital. The staff is getting tired of hearing your CD, by the way. It’s all the kids want to play now. They told me to ask you when your next CD is coming out.”

  “Not soon enough to save their sanity.”

  He smiled and took hold of my hand, gently caressing my fingers. “I want to get to know you better. I think both of us would like that.”

  I would have answered him, but the pool man came back around the house, walking in quick, angry strides to the waterfall.

  "I thought you were leaving,” I called to him.

  He didn’t look at me. He let his toolbox thunk to the ground and knelt beside the valve box. "I go to my truck, and you yell at me for not finishing the job. So now I finish the job. I fix the waterfall, then I adjust the chlorine so it not burn your eyes.” He flipped open the valve box, took out a wrench, and twisted something viciously.

  Grant looked at the pool man, then back at me questioningly.

  I lowered my voice and shrugged. "He has a drinking problem, but, well, I keep him around because he’s getting help."

  "We can go back inside," Grant said.

  I shook my head, and this time I switched to Spanish when I spoke to the pool man. "I’m really sorry to keep asking you to leave. I can’t explain myself to you, but go back to your truck, and if I yell at you again for leaving, remind me that I have a visitor by the pool—a visitor I need to be discreet about.”

  The pool man stopped mid twist and stared at me. "You speak Spanish?” he asked.

  "Yes,” I said.

  "Okay," he said, and then in Spanish added, "And, uh, I’m sorry about those things my men said when they came to clean your pool. They didn’t know you could understand."

  He picked up his toolbox, still apologizing about whatever
his workers had said, then waved good-bye in my direction and went around the side of the house.

  When I turned back to Grant, he eyed me in surprise. "I thought you couldn't speak Spanish. It’s there in chapter one—your dad never exposed you to your cultural roots.”

  "He didn’t. That doesn't mean no one did, though.” I should have shrugged and told him, "Well, you can’t believe everything in Lorna’s book.” But it was getting harder to lie to him. I changed the subject before he could ask further questions about where I’d learned Spanish. "Anyway, where were we before that interruption?”

  "You were telling me that you were going to dump Michael and give us a chance."

  I smiled at him. “I don’t think I said that.”

  "You were thinking it, though. I could tell.”

  Maybe I was thinking it, but I couldn’t say it. I gazed at the sky, gathering strength, enjoying this last moment be¬fore everything turned awkward between us. Finally I turned to him again, looking at eyes that were the same color as the sky.

  He grinned and waited for my answer.

  I said, "You’ve never had a girl turn you down in your life, have you?”

  "Nope.” He ran his thumb lazily across my fingers. “Don’t break my streak.”

  He said this so casually, so confidently, offering more proof that celebrities lived above the rest of us, getting whatever they wanted and choosing when to love and when to discard us. "You've never had a girl turn you down?”

  He shrugged. "There was Hayley Powell in the first grade.

  I asked her to marry me and she stuck her tongue out. Put me right off proposing.”

  "Hmmm,” I said, trying to sound analytical. This was hard to do. He pulled my hand toward him, making me lean closer.

  The jangling of the toolbox broke into the moment. The pool man stormed back over to the valve box, dropping his toolbox with a dramatic clank. "I taking care of the waterfall now!” he yelled. "You see? So now you no play your little games. It's because Enrique said, ‘Ella cree que su caca no huele.' This is why you are trying to make me loco, no?” In Spanish I said, “Didn’t you explain—”

  "Yes, I explain,” he said. "But then you told me you no speak Spanish.”

  Oh. I guess I should have mentioned that he’d have to speak to Kari in English.

  I turned back to Grant. "I think he's off his medication. Maybe we should let him finish and have this conversation another time.”

  I motioned to get up, but Grant squeezed my hand and lowered his voice. "We don’t have to wait for another time. Just say yes."

  "Yes to what?”

  “Yes to us.”

  I leaned closer, keeping my gaze on his hands so I didn’t have to meet his eyes. "It’s not that easy. Things are complicated right now, complicated in ways I can’t explain. But I do like you—I’m telling the truth about that. It's just that there are—” I glanced up and saw Kari standing behind the glass door, mouth open, hands on her hips, staring at us. Grant's back was to her. But when he saw my startled expression, he turned his head, following my gaze.

  "Grant!” I called, yanking his attention back to me.

  "What?” he asked.

  I had to do something. I couldn’t let him turn around again. So I leaned all the way into him, putting my knee on his chair to keep my balance. I took hold of his shoulders and kissed him. And not lightly—this was a don’t-you-dare- open-your-eyes, full-on kiss.

  Only I kept my eyes open because Kari was mouthing, "What are you doing?”

  With one hand I waved in Kari’s direction, telling her to go away, since I really couldn't say anything at that point. But I stopped waving when Grant wrapped his arms around my back.

  Kari glared at me, then turned on her heel and flounced out of sight. She wasn’t happy about this, but at least she knew to keep hidden until Grant left.

  Which meant I could stop kissing Grant now. Only, the feel of his hands moving slowly down my back made my heart ricochet in my chest. I didn’t want to move. I shut my eyes, relaxed into him, and didn’t end the kiss for several more moments. When I finally did sit back in my chair, I could only stare at him, breathing hard. I didn’t know what to say.

  "I take it that was a yes," he said.

  That would be the foregone conclusion, wouldn’t it? How could I say no now? I looked at the empty sliding glass door. "We’ll have to be discreet. No one can know about this. No one can see us together."

  "Right,” he said. "Let the paparazzi harass someone else for a while.”

  I'd completely forgotten about the pool man until he called over, "I'm done now. Everything is okay.” Then he waved his wrench at me with a sly smile. "I understand now why I think I go crazy. I see the two of you together. …” He apparently couldn’t come up with the word for twins in English, so he said it in Spanish. “Gemelas." Then he headed back around the side of the house, this time with an easy, confident gait.

  Grant watched him go. "Gemelas?”

  "Gemini,” I said. "You know—the astrological sign." Which strictly speaking is true. Gemini is the sign of the twins.

  "Geminis drive him crazy?” Grant blinked in confusion. "I'm an Aries."

  I shrugged. "Some people just don’t make a lot of sense.”

  He took my hand, as though it wasn’t worth figuring out, and then he kissed me again.

  My heart somersaulted in my chest. Maybe I could make this work. Maybe I could find a way to be with him so he’d never figure out the truth. Or maybe after I was sure he liked the real me—not Kari—I could tell him the truth about everything. There were too many maybes scurrying around like mice underfoot, but they were all I had.

  He leaned away from me, smiling.

  I smiled back at him. "I wish you could stay for a while, but I've got a full schedule this afternoon.”

  "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 get¬ting 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.”

&nbs
p; 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?"