Page 18 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
That’s what a lifetime of acting gets you. That, and the ability to lie convincingly. These are actually important life skills. I’m fully prepared to take up a life of crime or international espionage, should the opportunity arise.
“I have to admit, you’re freaking me out with the way you’re mimicking me. Are you making plans to wear my personality like a skin suit?” She crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue.
“That’s pretty funny, considering the fact that you are essentially wearing my skin suit right now.” I hold up the photo of her snarling next to my face and copy it.
Then I swipe to the next one, a more natural face for her, and zoom in. I hold it up and imitate that one as well.
“Cut it out. I don’t actually make that face, do I?” Kenna looks a bit alarmed.
“Only all the time,” I say.
I relax my face back into its natural state. Which is a sort of blank slate I’ve learned to adopt. It doesn’t give much away, but it also doesn’t give anyone the warm fuzzies. People are constantly saying I have resting bitch face. I’m okay with that.
“I cannot do that face.” Kenna points and shakes her head vigorously, knocking the wig askew. “And I can’t see how you can stand wearing this suit. I’m already starting to sweat. I look ridiculous. I could never pull this off. I could never be you.”
“Of course you could!” I roll my eyes and pull up my Instagram account. I select the photo of Kenna snarling and quickly post it to my account with the caption:“Can’t wait to switch it up a little this summer.”
The likes start pouring in immediately … followed by the comments:
“OMG! Classic Lorelei.”
“You look hawt.”
“Nobody wears that catsuit like Lorelei Dupont.”
“U wanna be my baby mama?”
“What did you do?” Kenna asks, looking horrified.
“Nothing. I just posted a photo ofmehanging out here in Ephron.” I stand to show her the feed. The like count is climbing fast. Every time I hit refresh, there are several dozen more.
“But that’s not you!” Kenna’s mouth is hanging open.
“I know that, and you know that, but apparently, nobody else does. So when you say you could never be me? Clearly, not true.” I point a finger at her. “You ARE Lorelei Dupont!”
I am slurring a little bit. Too much vodka, too fast, and I hadn’t eaten much for lunch. What I am craving right now is a big, juicy burger. But it’s not like I can just pop out and get one. Especially now that I know the paparazzi are prowling.
Kenna totters over to the chair and lowers herself gingerly into it.
“Kenna?” she says, calling me by her name. “I think I am a little bit tipsy.”
“S’okay.” I pat her shoulder and sit on the bed next to her. “We should get burgers. Where do we like to get burgers from around here?”
“The Onion,” Kenna says. “They have the best burgers. And even better chili fries. I love their chili fries. I could marry them.”
“I wish I could just go to The Onion and order a plate of chili fries.” I hug my pillow. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”
“Yeah, well, I wish I could have my personal chef whip up a salad for me, while I lay poolside and read messages from my sixteen bazillion adoring fans.” Kenna glances sideways at me.
“I wish I could … do a grocery run!” We’re playing my favorite game now.
“I wish someone would clean my apartment and do all my laundry,” she says as she twirls the boot laces around her fingers.
My turn.
“I wish I could pump my own gas at the gas station.”
Hers.
