Entangled Hearts (3 page)

Chapter 2

P
acking her suitcase inside her
brownstone on Sunday, Kenya had mixed reservations about meeting her twin at the Canyon Ranch spa. On countless occasions, she'd been there, done that with Chynna, planning something that would fall-through.

Ever since they were little, Chynna had always outshone her. Even when they were born, Kenya had come first, easy breezy for their mother. Then Chynna, as always, had to make a special entrance and come out breach, causing much anxiety for their parents and the doctor. It had been touch-and-go for a moment, and the doctors hadn't been sure they could save Chynna, but out she'd finally come, stealing Kenya's thunder even as a baby. Her parents had forgotten all about their eldest girl because she was coddled comfortably in a blanket by the nurse. They had focused their attention on the wailing new baby girl who
demanded
their attention. And that had just been the beginning.

When they were babies and toddlers, Chynna had always wanted to be the center of everything. She'd cry longer and louder than Kenya, who, according to their mother, would eventually cry herself to sleep, but not Chynna. She would cry until their mother had no choice but to pick up her screaming infant if only to pacify her. And so Kenya's life of being in Chynna's shadow had started.

It had been subtle at first. Chynna refused to be dressed in the same outfit as Kenya, determined to carve out an identity for herself even then. Later, as they grew up, it had become more apparent, especially when their father had left their mother for another woman. Their mother had been devastated, but she'd rose above it to ensure Kenya and Chynna always had a roof over their heads and clothes on their backs. And well, when Chynna wanted signing lessons, she got them. Whatever Chynna wanted, she got. The only time Kenya had asked for anything was when she'd realized she'd had a knack for acting. Becoming someone else had been an escape for her. She could forget being ignored by all the boys who loved Chynna and never seemed to pay any attention to her even though they shared the same face.

Acting was a respite from feeling undervalued. Being in school plays had allowed Kenya to be in the spotlight for the first time in her life
. Why?
Because as luck would have it, Chynna was a gifted singer. She had the voice of an angel and didn't waste an opportunity to be seen
or
heard. Kenya, meanwhile, toiled at her craft, going to NYU and studying acting. Her mother had hated to see Kenya go, but she was too focused on going on the road with Chynna to mind Kenya much.

At NYU, Kenya had flourished, finally coming out of Chynna's shadow to see herself as she was: a damned good actress and wouldn't you know it, a good singer too. No one knew that she could hold a note, much less belt out a song, but it wasn't Kenya's true calling. Instead, she'd worked on getting bit parts in Off-Broadway shows, then Broadway itself, until an agent who said she was made for television had discovered her. Kenya had preferred the quirkiness of New York to the superficiality of L.A., but her agent had insisted she try out for several pilots. It took a year and then some, but after toiling as a waitress, she'd finally managed to land a spot on a great cable TV series which just so happened to shoot in New York, her favorite place.

It was the best of both worlds for Kenya. She would finally be able to do what she loved and get paid for it. The press on their show had been phenomenal, and she'd received rave reviews for her role over the last two years; but the show languished in the bottom of the ratings. Kenya wasn't sure how long the show would go on, but she would keep trying.

A buzzing doorbell awoke Kenya out of her reverie. She rushed over to press down on the intercom button. “Hello?”

“You called for a limo?” a masculine voice said on the other end.

“Be right down.” Of course Chynna had arranged for her to travel in style. Kenya should have expected nothing less.

Kenya walked on top of her overstuffed suitcase and snapped it shut. She sure hoped she had enough clothes, but even if she didn't, knowing Chynna, shopping would be inevitable.

She grabbed her suitcase handle, her over-sized carry-on purse that held her magazines, her iPad, and the script of her next episodes she would film after the winter hiatus, and then headed toward the door. “See you soon,” she said to her eclectic apartment in downtown SoHo as she turned off the lights.

When Kenya arrived in Arizona, she was surprised at how alert she was, given the seven-hour flight and connection between New York and Tucson International Airport. But then again, she'd sat in first class both ways, in an oversized, reclining seat, watched a movie, and had as many glasses of Chardonnay that she could possibly drink, thanks to the over-attentive stewardess. This was the best part of meeting Chynna: She always made sure Kenya flew first class.

Exiting the terminal after finding her luggage at baggage claim, she found a liveried driver holding a sign that read “JAMES.”
Must be me
, she thought and headed in his direction.

“Kenya James?” he asked when she approached.

“One in the same.”

“Great!” He reached for her luggage. “Follow me.”

He led her out of the automatic doors into the beautiful sunshine and eighty-five-degree Tucson air. Coming from New York's frigid forty-degree weather was quite a change for Kenya, and she reached into her purse to pull on the enormous Prada shades she'd treated herself too like the other Hollywood celebrities. She followed the driver to a limo waiting at the curb for her and slid in.

She was greeted with “Twinie!”

Kenya smiled as she saw her wayward twin dressed in a designer outfit. “Chynna!” She reached for her sister and gave her a long hug. After their embrace, Kenya sat back to look at her sister. Chynna still looked the same overall, but dark circles under her eyes were telltale signs of lack of sleep.

“It's so good to see a friendly face,” Chynna said.

“The last week must have been hell for you,” Kenya acknowledged.

“You have no idea.” Chynna reached across Kenya for the Dom Perignon that was in the center console in a bucket of ice. She grasped one flute, poured generously and handed it to Kenya before filling one for herself.

Kenya chuckled as she accepted it. Of course, Chynna assumed she was ready to drink champagne at eleven a.m., because that's how you rolled in Chynna's world. “Thanks.”

Chynna settled back into the plush leather seat of the limo and took a generous sip before looking back at Kenya. “The press are monsters. I never realized it before. They'd always been good to me.”

“Those people are not your friends, Chynna,” Kenya responded evenly. “You shouldn't trust the lot of them.”

“I know that,” Chynna said. “But I've never had them turn on me like this before. They are relentless, showing up everywhere I go, pressing me for information about this supposed affair with Blake. I never even had sex with the man! And now I might as well have a scarlet letter across my chest for all the good my protestations are.”

“Well, that's why I'm here,” Kenya said, smiling, “to help you get away from it all and have some peace. We'll come up with a strategy to get you out of this mess.”

Chynna laughed bitterly. “Probably not one that my label or my manager or my publicist will like.”

“True,” Kenya surmised. “But whose life is this? Yours or theirs?”

Chynna turned to stare at Kenya for a moment, as if hearing her for the first time since she'd gotten into the limo. “Mine, of course.”

“Then act like it,” Kenya said sternly. “Stop letting them walk all over you.”

“What do you mean?”

Kenya turned to stare at her incredulously. She remembered how upset Chynna had been about recording her second album—that it had strayed from the sound of her first, but she'd given in to their demands. “Remember how you felt with your second album? Heck, your third?!”

A frown spread across Chynna's face. “Of course,” she said testily. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because your label doesn't always have what's best for you in mind, only what's going to make them lots of money.”

“I can believe that about most of them, but not Lucas,” Chynna said sullenly, folding her arms across her chest. “I believe he genuinely cares about me.”

“Is this the same Lucas you've been mooning over and who hasn't paid you one iota of attention?”

“He's just playing hard to get,” Chynna fought back.

Kenya shrugged.

“It's easy for you to judge,” Chynna replied. “You're not living in my shoes, but I promise you, if you walked a day in my Manolo Blahniks, you'd see it's not so easy being Chynna James.”

They arrived at Canyon Ranch forty minutes later,
but Kenya noticed as they drove along the stone path and tree-lined driveway that they were passing the clubhouse and what appeared to be hotel rooms. Several minutes later, the limo stopped in front of a free-standing home. She stared at Chynna.

“You didn't think we were staying with the common folk?” Chynna inquired. “Not after what I've been through.”

Kenya stared open-mouthed as the driver opened the door on Chynna's side and she bounded out of the vehicle. Seconds later, he was at her door and helping her out of the limo. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, ma'am.” He walked to the rear of the limo to procure their bags just as a beautiful petite brunette came from the home with a clipboard in hand.

“Welcome, Ms. James,” the woman gushed. “We're excited to have you here.”

“I'm thankful for the time away,” Chynna returned. “And my
privacy.
”

“Of course.” The woman's hand touched her chest. “Your manager indicated the need for complete anonymity while you're here. The house staff, trainers and chefs we've arranged for you have all signed nondisclosure agreements.”

“Excellent!” Chynna sashayed past the woman toward the front door without waiting to see if the woman and Kenya were following.

Kenya felt like a member of Chynna's entourage and followed her inside.

The woman ran in her pumps alongside Chynna. “Casa Grande is at your disposal for the next two weeks,” the brunette said. “Casa Grande is twenty-seven hundred square feet and,” she continued as they walked inside the foyer, “features a living and dining room, full kitchen, several bedrooms and a private patio.”

“We couldn't ask for anything more,” Chynna said, plopping down on the plush suede sofa in the living room.

“Would you like a tour of the home?” the brunette asked.

Kenya glanced down at Chynna, who was already on her iPhone checking her Facebook page or tweeting about something or another. “I would love one.” Kenya followed the woman around the home, admiring the beautiful wood ceiling tresses and hardwood floors. The home was done in warm browns and beiges, with pops of color throughout. Kenya was going to enjoy her stay here.

“We have arranged to have a chef cook all of your meals, three times a day, but of course, if
you,
” the brunette said, looking at Kenya, “would like to dine at the clubhouse, then by all means, join us.”

Kenya understood the underlying meaning that since she wasn't the celebrity, no one would disturb her; but in the last few weeks, many people had gotten the two of them confused. “Thanks.”

After the short tour, they returned to find Chynna on her phone, pacing the living room. Kenya could only assume she was talking to her manager.

“Is there anything else you need?” the brunette inquired, but Chynna waved her off with her hand and headed outside to the private patio.

“That will be all, thank you.”

Kenya couldn't believe how rude Chynna was being, but then again, couldn't she? This was who Chynna was at times—an arrogant, self-centered and spoiled diva.