* * *
For the next six days, I did nothing but work on my dance routines. All sorts of new moves were added for the concert. For the first number I came up onstage through an elevator in the floor while flares went off. I performed one song on a swing—sometimes standing on it, sometimes sitting and swinging, sometimes twirling around until I couldn't see straight. By the end of the second day of practice, I’d heard Kari’s songs played so relentlessly that I hated every single one.
I worked with a set of backup dancers that Maren had hired just for the concert. They picked up the routines effortlessly while I struggled and forgot what moves came next. And they had even harder parts than I did.
The entertainment shows gave Kari's botched dating explanation a lot of play time. The late-night shows commented on it too. They said things like "Well, who would have thought? It looks like Kari Kingsley is a natural blonde, after all.”
I winced every time someone said something about her. I couldn't forget that the pictures with Grant were my fault. I was just glad Kari wasn’t allowed to watch TV in the treatment center. She was off in the Utah mountains somewhere, getting in touch with her core values and working on her inner strength. Her album's release date was pushed back again.
She called me a couple of times during the week to see how things were going. I practically begged her to come back and do the concert every time I talked to her, which is perhaps why she didn’t call more often. And despite the fact that she was working on her lack of inner strength, she always found enough inner strength to turn me down. "I need to be here,” she said. "I’m learning all sorts of stuff about myself.”
And I learned all sorts of stuff about myself too. Like the fact that I could barely walk after doing leg kicks for half the day.
Grant texted me after Kari's impromptu street interview first came out. He wrote, "I’m not surprised that you lied about us. I just can't figure out why you play dumb in front of the camera. What's with that?"
I didn’t know how to reply. I must have stared at my phone for ten minutes. I wanted to call him. I wanted to hear his voice. A part of me still wished that somehow I could make things work out between us. I couldn’t call, though. He would ask too many questions I couldn’t an-swer. I texted back, "I’m sorry.”
On the day of the concert, I was so nervous I could hardly eat. For once Maren had to force me to put food in my mouth. She said I’d need all the energy I could get.
I practiced in the morning at the concert hall and we ran through everything. The tech people kept adjusting the lights, the sound, and special effects, but the dance routines went okay. I made a few mistakes. I wasn’t used to the huge spotlights or firework fountains shooting off around me.
I had a short rest at the hotel, then went back to the concert hall for hair and makeup. My costume consisted of a black-and-gold leotard and a gold-sequined miniskirt. I looked like Las Vegas's version of a tiger showgirl.
Maren, I admit, was in her element. She kept everyone away from me, including reporters and radio show personalities who wanted to talk about my relationship with Grant and Michael. Officially, Kari didn't have a comment. Thankfully, neither did Grant or Michael.
I knew through Maren that Michael had broken up with Kari and told her that when she'd worked out her commitment issues she could give him a call. She couldn't call and tell him she wanted him and only him until after the concert, though. Otherwise he’d show up and find me.
Which meant Kari wanted this concert to be over nearly as much as I did.
The opening act went on, and I was left in the green room, where I compulsively went over every dance number in my mind. I felt shaky, but at the same time so full of adrenaline I couldn’t sit in one place. I checked my reflection in the mirror. Everything looked fine, glittery, but fine. I took deep measured breaths. That was supposed to calm people down. Or maybe it was just supposed to help in childbirth, I couldn't remember anymore.
A knock came at the door. I hoped it was just someone asking if I needed a bottled water and not Maren giving me more instructions I probably wouldn’t retain.
As I opened the door, the first person I saw was Grant.
He stood with hands thrust into his jacket pockets. His blue eyes seemed cold and formal, but besides that, he looked every bit as handsome as the last time I’d seen him. A sharp pang of longing twisted into my heart. I stared at him, desperately searching for words that would tell him how I felt. "Grant," was all I could come up with.
“No matter how things ended between us,” he said, “I told you I had a surprise for you, and I still thought I should give it to you.” He stepped aside and for the first time, I noticed someone stood behind him. My father, Alex Kingsley, walked into the room.
My Double Life Page 31
