Maren put her hand on her temple. "What did you say?”
"Not at the same time."
Maren groaned and shut her eyes.
Kari held a hand out in her defense. "What could I say? Everyone has seen those pictures of me kissing Grant.”
Maren looked at the ceiling and sighed. "You couldn't have thought of something that wasn't quite so incriminating?"
"I don't think well when cameras are in my face.” Kari put her head back on her knees. "So I’m not going out in public again. Ever.”
Maren let her gaze fall back onto Kari. "You have the concert in San Diego in exactly one week.”
"And I’m not doing it.”
"You have to. You need the money. You’ll lose your house if you miss more payments.”
Kari lifted her head enough to look at me. "Alexia can do it.”
I shook my head. "No, I can't.”
She blinked, and new tears ran down her cheeks. "My boyfriend thinks I’m sneaking around with Grant Delray. And I can't blame him, since the rest of the world thinks it too. They all hate me. If you’d kept away from Grant like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened. And now you’re leaving me. Thanks a million. It’s about what I’m short."
I stared at her openmouthed. I did feel awful about what I’d done, but I didn’t want to stay another minute. Besides, it was one thing to lip-synch a few songs at a rodeo or places like that; it was another thing to do a real concert. Those were major productions. Despite Jacqueline's training, I didn’t have the skill to pull it off.
"I can't do that many dance routines, and besides, your backup dancers won’t be fooled by me. They’ll know I’m an imposter.”
Kari nodded as though making a mental list. "We’ll have to get new backup dancers.”
I turned to Maren, waiting for her to step in and point out the impossibility of me performing a full blown concert in a week. Instead her gaze grew calculating. She looked first at me and then at Kari. "I’ll help Alexia pull it off on one condition."
"What?" I asked—although I meant What are you talking about? and not What is your one condition?
Maren ignored me. "Kari, you have to enter some sort of treatment program."
Kari let her knees drop down to the floor. “You think I need to go to rehab?”
“You need help dealing with your problems in a healthy way.”
Kari folded her arms and looked away from us. “I don't. No.”
Maren picked up the last of the bags, but instead of holding it, she dropped it into Kari’s lap. "Fine, then, Alexia goes home, I quit, and you can figure out how to pay your bills on your own."
Kari grabbed hold of the bag, until the paper crackled in protest. "The press will eat me alive if I’m in rehab. I'll lose the rest of my product endorsements.”
"They won’t know," Maren said, "because Alexia will put on your concert."
“Wait a minute—” I said, but neither of them listened. Kari let out a groan. "All right. You win. I’ll go to rehab.”
"Good. After I check you in, I’ll see to it that Alexia is ready." Maren eyed me as though I were a dress that needed serious alterations.
"I never said I would do this," I protested.
Maren raised one eyebrow at me coolly. "You’re saying this after you just told Kari how much you cared about her? If you meant it, you’d want her to get help."
I looked at Kari, at her eyes that were puffy from crying. She’d not only lost her boyfriend, she was going to have to endure more public mocking, and it was my fault. How could I not agree? I lifted my hands, then let them drop. "Okay, I'll do the concert, but when it's over I'm going home.” I stood up, so frustrated I wanted to kick something. I should have left when I could have. I should have mailed the stupid necklace to her. "The taxi driver is still waiting. I'd better tell him he can leave.”
Maren smiled. "I already did.”
Which meant she had known all along I would be staying. I glared at her, but she turned away from me, picked up the last of Kari’s purchases, and went back to her car.
* * *
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 answer. 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.