Page 19 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
“I wish I had a driver.”
“I wish I could be you.” We both say it at the same time. And then we both clap a hand over our mouths at the same time, in perfect, mirror-image fashion. My old improv teacher would have given us a standing ovation for this.
I’m bouncing on the bed as the idea comes to me. “What if—”
“No.” Kenna is shaking her head. “I know that Moxie McAllister look. You are about to have a REALLY BAD IDEA and try to suck your stupid sidekick in.” She unzips a boot. I reach out and zip it back up. Then I stand on the bed, bouncing slowly, like it’s a trampoline.
“It’s not a bad idea!” I hold out the phone. Six hundred likes and counting. “It’s a totally awesome idea!”
I drop back down onto my butt beside her. “You can absolutely be me. It’d just be for a few days—one week—then we can swap back.”
“Why would you even want to be me?” She wrinkles her nose.
“Hello? Burgers? Shopping? Taco Bell drive-thru?” I am getting excited. I’m not even joking. I think this could work! It could be just the hint of freedom I need.
“But what would I do? How could I pull it off?” Kenna attempts to cross her legs but thinks better of it when the catsuit creaks.
“Picture this.” I stand up for my pitch.Jazz hands.“You spend the week at a private, luxury estate. Your every need is attended to. Private chefs, lavish buffets, laundry service, maids. Sleep in. Lie by the saltwater pool. Relax in the award-winning gardens. Oh, and treat yourself to an immersive day spa experience at the Arbors. It’s an exclusive spa/vineyard experience. I almost forgot that I have an appointment there. Have you been?”
“No,” Kenna snorts. “They charge three hundred dollars just for lunch!”
“Well, your day of luxurious pampering would be on me. And …”—I hold up a finger, sweetening the pot—“you can get the groundskeeper to drive you, or you can drive there yourself in my brand-new Porsche. It has all the bells and whistles, plus the extra new-car smell.”
“What would you drive?”
“Your car!” I grin. I saw her car out front. It’s seen better years, but it’s a perfect vehicle to drive if you want to blend in around here.
“What about Rafe?” Kenna folds her arms across her chest, watching me pace.
“Rafe and his daughter won’t be around. They are heading down to LA for the week. Come on. All you have to do is drive my Porsche to the spa, show up, and pretend you’re me. Or skip it. It’s okay if you want to spend the whole time lounging around by the pool here, if you want. The point is, it’s not like anyone you’re encountering will have met me. You don’t have to even talk to anyone or wear the wig. Nobody will be taking photos. Just wear a pair of huge sunglasses, smile, and nod. Like this …”
I locate the discarded, oversize sunglasses on my nightstand and slide them on. Then I affect a vanilla smile and blander-than-bland tone as I slowly say, “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“Who are you, Elvis?” Kenna raises her eyebrows at me, still unconvinced. “Honestly, I still don’t know why you want to do this. Hanging around here and going to the day spa sounds like a better way to spend a week off. Why would you want to work at the diner and do my job? It’s not all that easy, you know.”
“Making coffee?”Please.“I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“The espresso machine is very temperamental. And there’s more to it than just making coffee.” Kenna chews her lip.
“So you’ll teach me.” I wave her concerns away. “Come on, it’s just one week. It can’t be harder than learning Kyrgyz or climbing a glacier with an ice pick.”
“I can’t believe you do your own stunts,” she says.
“Look, you deserve some time off.” I take another tack, speaking soothingly. “You said it yourself … you never get any time off to think about the future and your photography.”She said something like that.“Sometimes you have to put on your own oxygen mask, no?”
This seems to work. I see her shoulders relaxing.
“The uncles did arrange for extra help at the diner this week,” Kenna muses. “I don’t technically have to be there all the time. But I was kind of hoping to put my tips toward a new camera.”
“Do this swap, and I’ll buy you whatever camera you want. And I’ll toss in a laptop. Pleeeease?” I cajole.
“Why?” She is still shaking her head incredulously at me. “What if the paparazzo sees you?”
“He’s not looking for this.” I gesture to my clean-scrubbed face and natural hair. “He’s looking for that,” I say, pointing at her.
“Let me see your phone.” I hold out my hand. “We should probably switch cases.”
“Like now … you want to do this now?” Kenna is starting to squirm in the catsuit. That was fast. We should have put more baby powder in.
