It was like taking dance lessons from a drill sergeant.
Basically, Maren controlled my schedule from the time I woke up in the morning at six until I went to my room at ten P.M., exhausted. I had to practically sneak my phone calls to Lori in between training sessions. I told Lori I’d come to California because I'd located my dad and sister, but didn't give her any more details. She gave me updates about everyone in school, including Trevor and Theresa. They were still dating but I'd stopped caring.
If I was on the phone for more than a few minutes, Maren would stand in front of me tapping her wristwatch until I got off. And despite what she said before about letting me finish my schoolwork online, she hardly gave me any time to do it. More than once I fell asleep facedown in my world history book.
"The key to any celebrity’s success,” Maren told me if I was less than enthusiastic about what she had planned for me, "is a firm schedule and hard work.” Then she’d add some backhanded insult like, "I’m sorry those things weren’t emphasized in your life before, but really, it's time you thought of bettering yourself.”
I had to memorize the lyrics to Kari's songs, and if I messed up while I lip-synched them, Maren would put her hand over her eyes like I’d given her a headache and say, "Didn't you ever listen to the radio back in West Virginia? I thought everyone knew these lyrics.”
The only thing she ever complimented me on was the way I'd incorporated so many of Kari’s mannerisms. I hadn’t, of course. They were my mannerisms too.
Day after day I worked through the mundane details of turning myself into Kari. I didn’t tell my mom about most of it. I knew she wouldn't approve of me deceiving people. She already sighed a lot every time I called her. She wasn't happy that I left home, so I was more than a little surprised when she sent me her sapphire necklace.
My mom had only had one really nice thing her entire life: a sapphire pendant surrounded by diamonds on a gold chain. She’d never told me where she'd gotten it, but I knew it had sentimental value to her—otherwise she would have sold it long ago to pay bills.
I don't ever remember seeing her wear it. It always sat in her jewelry box, reigning over the lesser rings and necklaces she wore day to day. Once when I was little, I took it out to play with and got in huge trouble, but Mom always told me that when I was older it would be mine.
When I found it there, nestled in a clear jewelry case next to my books, I held it in my hand, watching the light blink blue off its surface. I couldn’t believe she had sent it. Then I saw the letter explaining everything.
Dear Lexi,
Your father gave me this on the night we met. He purchased a piece of jewelry for his wife every time he went out on tour, and he’d bought this piece for her during the tour he was on when she died. He couldn’t bring himself to return it or to sell it; he couldn’t even take it out of his guitar case. It stayed there for months, causing him pain every time he pulled out his guitar and saw it.
Since I resembled her so much, he said he knew it would look good on me, and he made a present of it. I took it because I wanted to help him find a way to heal, to get past the agonizing reminders.
I only wore it that night. I’ve always felt it didn't really belong to me, but it should belong to you now. If Alex doesn't believe who you are, show it to him. Even if he doesn't remember me, I'm sure he'll remember it.
Love,
Mom
I put the necklace back in its box, a sick feeling of disappointment rattling around in my chest. I'd always loved that sapphire. It seemed like something a queen would own. I had looked forward to wearing it someday, maybe my wedding day. Now I didn’t even want to keep it. It should be Kari’s, not mine. Alex Kingsley had bought it for her mother, the woman he’d loved—not my mother, the woman he'd discarded.
So it sat in its box on the dresser reminding me every time I saw it that I’d started out life second best.
Sometimes when I was supposed to be doing my homework, I would type Alex Kingsley’s name into an Internet search. I must have seen a hundred pictures of him from different events, mostly old, but some new ones too: With a starlet on his arm at the Grammys, being inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame, as a national spokesman for abused and neglected children. I found that one ironic. I wondered what people would think if they knew he had a daughter he’d neglected to take care of her whole life.
A few times Maren caught me looking at his website, but she never said anything about it. She just raised an eyebrow, gave me a pointed look, then walked away.
I found myself wondering incessantly whether Alex Kingsley's manager had told him my mother was pregnant. Sometimes I thought my father had known about me all along. Then I felt a rage so strong it blocked out every other emotion.
I even wrote a letter to him. I poured out every angry thought onto the paper. "You don’t deserve to know anything about me,” I said. "I won’t show you my baby pictures or home videos, or tell you about myself. I will never sing for you.”
But maybe he wouldn’t care. Maybe he’d write a check to cover back child support and tell me not to bother him again.
I deleted the letter so Maren couldn’t accidentally find it. But it remained in my heart. I could have repeated it word for word.
Then, other times, I was convinced Alex Kingsley's manager hadn't told him anything about me. In those moments I trembled with hope and fear. Anything could happen. He could love me.
Maren said she would take me to a benefit concert he was doing on May 13, nearly two months away. Since she had been Alex's assistant before she came to work for Kari, it would be easy enough for her to come up with an excuse to take me along backstage to see him. She would introduce me as Kari’s body double for an upcoming music video.
I wasn't exactly sure how to segue that into a longer conversation with him, and I daydreamed different scenarios.
Sometimes I slipped him a note telling him I needed to talk to him. Sometimes I said it out loud. Sometimes I dreamed that he took one look at me and knew who I was.
That scenario wasn't likely, but still I liked to think about it.
I would probably just hand him a note with my home phone number written on it and say, "You're about nineteen years overdue to talk to Sabrina Garcia. You might want to make the call this time.”
CHAPTER 6
I saw frustratingly little of Kari during my training, and I never got to see her without Maren carefully observing everything I said. It made it hard to have any sisterly bonding time. So one day I convinced Maren that I needed to observe Kari directly, to make sure I had everything down before my first public debut.
Maren drove me down to the recording studio so I could see what went on during a session. She told me that when Kari was finished, we could both go back to Kari’s house so I could study her firsthand. It was a bigger deal than I’d imagined. Before we arrived, Maren made Kari’s bodyguard and personal assistant clear anyone with a camera out of the parking lot. Maren didn't want to clue in anyone from the press that she had a Kari double with her.