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.”
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?"
CHAPTER 12
Kari and I looked at each other. "Grant came back,” I said. "Hide.”
She shook her head. "That’s Michael. You're the one who needs to hide." She looked toward the sound. "At least I think that’s Michael.”
We both stood up. Neither of us answered him.
A bubble of panic pushed against my chest. What were we supposed to do when neither of us knew who was in the house? "Why don't you ever lock your front door?” I asked.
"You used it last," she said. "You didn’t lock it either.”
"Kari?” the voice came again, this time closer. "Are you home?”
"Michael,” we both said at once.
“Just a second!" she called back, which she shouldn't have done because then footsteps headed in our direction.
I didn’t have much time. I looked around, trying to remember which doorways led where. Could I make it out of the sliding glass door? No. Would he hear my footsteps if I ran across the tile? Kari whispered, “Hide! Hide!” while shaking her hands.
I ducked behind the couch, then heard him come into the room. From my place on the floor, I saw a pair of brown loafers. No discernible socks.
"Kari,” he said, turning the word into an exclamation of happiness. I could picture him, even though I couldn't see him. I'd seen his soap opera—he played a brooding bad boy whose dark bangs constantly draped over one eye. That way he could brush his hair away every five minutes and shoot dramatic, sizzling looks at the camera.
Kari's black shoes joined his on the floor. I could tell they were hugging. "Hey, sweetie.”
"I love what you've done to the place,” he said. "A floral shop motif.”
"Thanks again for the flowers.”
Silence. I could tell they were kissing.
Get him out of here, I thought. Take him by the hand and lead him anywhere else.
Although Kari and I look like twins, apparently we don’t have that psychic twin connection. After another minute of kissing, Kari said, "So what brings you here?”
"I had to see the most beautiful girl in the world.”
More giggling from Kari. Probably more kissing too.
"So what’s with the paper on the couch?” Michael asked.
Kari at last seemed to remember I was in the room because she said, "Oh, it's nothing. Just a book. Let’s go outside.”
"A book?” Michael asked. "Are you writing one?" Instead of leaving, Michael walked over to the couch. I held my breath and tried to shrink into the floor tile. I heard the shuffling of paper. "What kind of book is this?”
"A bad one. Lorna Beck is bashing me.”
"You're kidding.” He sat down. The couch jiggled. "Can she do that legally?"
The couch jiggled again and I knew Kari had joined him. “My lawyer is trying to stop her.” She let out an aggravated sigh. "See, this is the problem with hiring poor people to work for you: They don't care if you sue them. What do they have to lose? Lorna drives a Kia, for heaven’s sake. Like I’d want that in a settlement."