Starstruck

Kate turned back over and saw her costar Gaby Garcia approaching them, wearing a pair of six-inch strappy sandals and clutching one of her trademark spirulina smoothies.

“What is that?” Natalie asked. “It looks like you put Oscar the Grouch into a blender.”

Kate laughed, but Gaby only looked confused. “Gaby,” Kate said, “you remember Natalie. She was my roommate before I moved here. Natalie, you remember Gaby, my fellow Fame Gamer.”

“Hi,” Gaby said. She sat down on a chaise longue and sighed. Her brow twitched almost imperceptibly, which was—thanks to all the Botox injected into her forehead— her best version of a frown.

“What’s the matter?” Kate asked. “You look upset … I think.”

Gaby took a sip of her smoothie and sighed again. “It’s Madison,” she said. “I’m worried about her.” She slipped off her high heels and contemplatively rubbed at her toes. “I mean—wow. Like, I’m really worried? I just … like …”

Kate waited for Gaby to finish her sentence, but then realized that nothing more was forthcoming. “It’s pretty crazy,” Kate said.

Gaby turned her brown eyes to Kate. She bit her over-plumped lip. “I tried to talk to her about what happened with the necklace, but she totally shut me down. And I tried to ask her about my diamond earrings, too. I mean, those were totally on my dresser until her dad came over. And then he leaves, and suddenly they’re gone. I was all, Like that’s really a coincidence! But then after the whole necklace thing, I’m thinking maybe Madison took them. I mean, it was obviously one of them, right? And of course she didn’t want to talk about that, either.”

Gaby stopped and took a deep breath. It was a long monologue for her.

Kate nodded. “Yeah, well, I’m sure it’s a hard thing to talk about.”

She had tried to talk to Madison, too. In the first days after the Fame Game premiere, when it seemed like their whole world was exploding in flashbulbs, Madison had been practically invisible. She’d been a no-show at the morning-after brunch, and she’d spent ten minutes at the informal cocktail party for cast and crew before making a French exit out the back. And no one had seen her since.

Kate had figured she was just taking a break from things, lying low in Charlie’s bungalow, and ringing up quite the LAbite.com bill. But then things had gotten weird: Suddenly Madison was nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Her photo was on every celebrity website and on the cover of every gossip magazine. And they all accused her of the same thing: theft.

It was so unlike Madison to avoid attention—they’d all thought something was up. Sophia had said Madison was upset because their dad had to leave town unexpectedly. Kate could tell how much Madison adored Charlie, so that explanation made sense. But Kate, for one, certainly hadn’t expected the headlines: STARLET STEALS STONES; MADISON MAKES OFF WITH MILLIONS. Kate’s reaction had been shock, quickly followed by confusion. Really? Madison had stolen and sold her loaner necklace? Really? One could argue that Madison was a lot of things: cruel, sly, manipulative, and selfish. But an honest-to-goodness thief? It didn’t sound right. The girl had a collection of Birkins that rivaled Victoria Beckham’s. Why would she steal a diamond necklace when she had a wardrobe worth double that in value?

Gaby set her drink down on the concrete. “Between Madison and her father … well, you know what they say: The apple doesn’t fall far from the pie.”

“I think the saying is ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’” Natalie suggested.

“Whatever,” Gaby said. “Same thing.”

“I find it all really hard to believe,” Kate said. “I don’t get why she’d steal a necklace and then sell it. Did she actually think she wouldn’t get caught?”

“Who knows with that girl,” Natalie said. “She lied, slept, and cheated her way to the top in the first place. Is this really so out of character for her?”

Kate looked up at the big windows of Madison’s and Gaby’s apartment. She could see the passing clouds reflected on their shiny surface. Madison hadn’t been living there for a while now, but she still thought of it as Madison’s and Gaby’s place. Maybe she hadn’t known Madison as well as she thought she had. It wasn’t like they were good friends or anything, but she’d started to like her. She’d thought everything was cool with them. So the more Madison avoided her, the more Kate began to think she really was guilty. Maybe it didn’t make sense that Madison would have stolen the necklace, but it made even less sense that she would say she’d stolen it when she hadn’t.

Kate leaned back and rearranged the Egyptian-cotton towel she was using for a pillow. She didn’t want to think about Madison anymore. Obviously the girl didn’t want to talk, and maybe she never would. “Mad’ll be fine,” Kate said. “It will do her some good to see things from the bottom for a change.”

Gaby shot her a look of surprise. “Ouch,” she said.

Kate shrugged. She knew that didn’t sound like something that the nice girl from Columbus, Ohio—the one who couldn’t bear to pack her old teddy bear in a moving box because she was afraid she’d hurt its feelings—would say. (Instead she’d carried Paddington to her new apartment in her purse, with his legs sticking out like some furry kidnapping victim.) But she had reached out to Madison and got a whole lot of nothing in return. So, moving on.

On second thought, maybe fame had made Kate feel different. But just a tiny bit—and anyway, she didn’t have much of a choice. In this business, it was kill or be killed. A girl needed to develop a thick skin or she wouldn’t get anywhere.

“I miss her,” Gaby said softly.

Kate reached out and patted her knee. “She’ll be back, Gaby,” she said. “Madison Parker will always be back.”

“Roll that rack over to the wall, will you? And the other one can go by the doorway. You don’t need to get to your dining room anytime soon, do you, Carmen?” But Alexis Ritter, lead costume designer for The End of Love, which Carmen was due to start filming in a matter of days, didn’t wait for Carmen to answer. “Well, whatever,” she said. “Shouldn’t eat during a fitting anyway.”

Alexis clapped her hands briskly, startling her poor assistant, who nearly tripped over a pair of thigh-high leather boots decorated with fringes, buckles, and spurs. Carmen eyed them with trepidation. Was she going to have to wear those?

“Just put the rack right there,” Alexis said. “For God’s sakes, there! Come on. We’ve got a lot to do and not very much time to do it in.”

Carmen couldn’t believe the number of tunics, dresses, gowns, leggings, scarves, and capes being wheeled into her house. (Her dad was out of town, so her mom had agreed to let the PopTV cameras film for a few hours. Carmen was glad her parents didn’t see eye to eye on this whole Fame Game thing.) The costume budget for The End of Love alone must be three times what it cost to make The Long and Winding Road, the arty, indie movie that had been her first big-screen experience.

Alexis glanced at Carmen, giving her figure a once-over. “So this is you,” Alexis said. “Your size, which you plan on staying for the entire movie. No juice cleanses or carb binges, do you hear? It’s important that your weight doesn’t fluctuate, because there’s a lot of boning and corsets involved here, and they need to fit perfectly.” She ran her fingers through the white streak in her ebony hair.

“Uh, no, I mean, yes. I’m staying this size,” Carmen said, glad that the PopTV crew, which had set up in the far corner of the room, had not begun filming yet. “No crash diets in my immediate future,” she joked.

Alexis nodded, unamused. “Good. I want to get you into the ball gown from the opening scene first, because that has some complicated stitching going on. Boning, laces, whatnot. A sort of futuristic corset, with a busk front, so that your costar can tear it open in that first moment of passion… .”

Carmen blushed slightly. A moment of passion with Luke Kelly, in front of who knew how many cameras, while wearing one of these insane garments. It was going to be … interesting. But she didn’t doubt that she was up to the challenge.

Then Alexis made a series of angry-sounding phone calls as Carmen stood around, shifting her weight from foot to foot and feeling like a trespasser in her own space. Eventually Carmen plucked her own phone from its place on the mantel and tried, for what felt like the millionth time, to get Kate to text her back.

It had been over two weeks since the Fame Game premiere, and Kate and Carmen had barely spoken. It was starting to bum Carmen out. She didn’t know how she was supposed to act around Kate. Were they still friends? She’d thought everything was going to be okay, but then came the night of the premiere. Kate had been friendly when they were all on the red carpet, but by the end of the evening she was acting as if she couldn’t stand the sight of Carmen.

At first Carmen was totally confused, but then Fawn had come rushing up. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell Kate about your hookup with Luke,” she’d said breathlessly.

Carmen paled. “What?”

Fawn had put her arm around Carmen’s shoulders. “I assumed you’d told her already, so I just sort of mentioned it in passing. You know, about how cool it was of her not to mind you guys fake-dating, when you practically almost did date…. Oops!”

Carmen had wanted to ask Fawn what the hell she was thinking, but she wasn’t surprised. Fawn loved gossip of any kind and wasn’t always careful with it. She didn’t mean any harm, though, and Carmen knew that.

Remembering that night, Carmen shuddered. What a terrible way for Kate to find out. No wonder she was angry.

But what did it mean for them now? Was their conflict a problem for Trevor’s planned story line, or was this the exact sort of drama he wanted for his show? There hadn’t been a fight, exactly—but obviously there was a lot unsaid between the two of them.

Assuming her text would go unanswered like the rest, Carmen decided that she might as well ask Laurel for a bit of advice. The producer was drinking a giant mug of coffee—as usual—and staring at her BlackBerry. Carmen remembered her doing the exact same thing back at Palisades Charter High School, when Laurel was a senior and already interning at PopTV. “Hey,” she said, smiling as Carmen approached. “You ready to get into character?”

“Into the costumes, anyway,” Carmen said. “But that’s a lot of clothing. Am I supposed to try on all of that?”

“Probably not,” Laurel said. “But don’t ask me. Ask Alexis.”

“I’m scared of her,” Carmen whispered. “She has that whole Cruella de Vil thing going on.”

Laurel looked at Alexis thoughtfully. “Yes, I see it,” she said. “Definitely. Trevor will love that.”

“She’s probably going to make me wear a cape made out of puppy fur.”

“Or kittens, maybe. But seriously, you don’t get nominated for three Oscars for costume design without being tough,” Laurel said. “You know just as well as anyone, nice gets you nowhere in Hollywood.” Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at the screen. She frowned, tapped a few keys, and then met Carmen’s eyes again. “Dana’s always telling me I need to be more of a bitch if I’m ever going to be promoted.”

“Can I talk to you about something?” Carmen blurted.

“God, yes, why am I babbling about myself?” asked Laurel, putting her BlackBerry down and turning the full brightness of her attention to Carmen. “My job is to listen to you.”

Carmen smiled wryly. She knew that Laurel’s job was to listen to her so that she could report it back to Trevor. But whatever—those were the rules of the game. What she needed right now was a sympathetic ear, even if that ear was attached to Trevor’s current protégée. Carmen took a deep breath and began to tell Laurel about the situation with Luke Kelly. But almost before she got to the end of her first sentence, Laurel put a hand on her arm.

“I know,” she said softly. “Kate told me that they were dating. That it was her on the back of that motorcycle in the Gossip magazine photo. Not you.”

Carmen looked at her in surprise. “She did?”

Laurel nodded.

“Well, the thing is, there’s more to the story. I hooked up with Luke,” she said.

Laurel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

Carmen hurried on. “It was way before they were dating. We had a little too much wine one night at a party and we made out and it was no big deal. But Kate found out, and now she’s not talking to me.”

“Aha,” Laurel said. “I knew something else was going on between you two.”

“Kate wasn’t even a twinkle in Trevor’s eye back then!” Carmen went on. “How can she blame me for something that happened before she even existed?”

Laurel laughed. “She did in fact exist, Carmen. You just didn’t know her. And I have to say, I understand Kate’s side of things. You didn’t tell her, and you were her friend. She probably feels betrayed. Not by the kiss, but by the fact that you kept it a secret from her. Keeping a secret can turn something into a much bigger deal than it ever should have been.”

“Hello, Dr. Phil,” Carmen said drily. “I didn’t see you come in.”

Laurel smiled. “Hey, I’m a reality-TV producer. Knowing people is part of the job. Trevor knows more about interpersonal psychology than your average PhD.”

Carmen had to agree with that. Trevor did always seem to be one step ahead of them, didn’t he?

Laurel sipped her coffee, then set the cup on the windowsill near the little bonsai tree that had been a gift from Carmen’s best friend, Drew. “Kate wasn’t born into this world the way you were,” she said. “She doesn’t understand all the rules. She doesn’t know that illusion is sometimes more important than truth.”

“You’re getting really metaphysical on me,” Carmen said. “It’s too early in the morning for that.”

Laurel laughed. “It’s eleven a.m. That’s not early. But anyway, I think you should apologize to Kate. Sincerely. I’m telling you this as a friend. Trevor is very interested in what’s up with you two. Your developing friendship was giving the show its heart—he’d mapped out the rest of the season with you two as besties. So, if you can’t fix it, I’m sure that Trevor will try to orchestrate some knock-down, drag-out fight, preferably on camera.”

“In a pool filled with Jell-O,” Carmen said. Laurel snorted, and Carmen put her head in her hands. “It’s so complicated,” she said.

“Look,” Laurel said. “You need to get this thing taken care of quickly. If Trevor gets wind of a love triangle, then he’s going to want to run with it. And it’s probably not going to paint you in the best light. Kate is the one wronged here, and she’s the resident nice girl.”

Carmen was about to ask Laurel if Kate was the nice girl, what did that make her … when she heard Alexis call, “Where is my actress? My Julia?”

“Whoops, gotta go,” Carmen said, rushing off. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

Laurel smiled. “Good luck,” she said.

Once Carmen and Alexis had filmed their hellos for the PopTV cameras as if they hadn’t just spent an hour in the same room while it was being set up, the costume designer proceeded to stuff Carmen inside a gown made from a strange material that Carmen had never seen before. (The dress reminded her of a golden, tight-fitting Hefty bag, with threads of silver running through it.) Carmen was still thinking about what Laurel said. Maybe it wasn’t enough to just text Kate things like HEY GIRL, WHAT HAPPENED TO U? and SHOULD WE TALK? If she wanted to mend what was broken, she was going to have to try harder and make an honest attempt at apology (even if, in her heart of hearts, she still didn’t think she’d done anything wrong).

Carmen gazed unseeingly at the abstract painting on the wall as Alexis manhandled her, tightening laces and stays. She should probably try to be more open and honest in general, she thought.

Yes, openness and honesty. She would make this resolution now, months before the new year. Be more honest. Eat more vegetables. Read more books and fewer blogs. There. Now she could sleep in extra late on New Year’s Day.

Of course, there had to be limits to her honesty. For instance, she didn’t have any plans to stop fake-dating Luke yet. For one thing, their “relationship” was keeping their names in the tabloids, and for another, she liked hanging out with him.

“Ow,” she yelped, as Alexis stabbed her in the ribs with a pin.

“Sorry,” Alexis said insincerely. “I’ve got to get this belt tighter.”

“Tighter?” Carmen said breathlessly, as Alexis gave another tug on the dress’s shining gold laces. “I feel like a sausage.”

“Ha! The golden wiener,” said a voice, and Carmen looked up to see Fawn standing in the foyer and smiling behind an oversized pair of Chanel sunglasses.

“Thanks a lot,” Carmen said.

Fawn shrugged. “Just telling it like it is. You know that brutal honesty is one of my best qualities.”

Carmen laughed, which was difficult because Alexis was currently squeezing her inside the dress. “Yes, and shamelessness. I mean, do those Daisy Dukes even cover your butt?”

Fawn, grinning, ignored this; she was looking at the PopTV cameras. “Didn’t know you had your fitting today,” she said. “I just stopped by to say hi.”

But Fawn knew perfectly well that Carmen was filming her fitting today; they’d talked about it on their hike the day before. And obviously someone had miked her on her way in. Funny how Fawn had developed a habit of casually dropping by whenever cameras were rolling. Not that Carmen minded. It was fun to have her actual friend be a part of her fake reality every once in a while.

Fawn waltzed into the room, flung her glasses on the couch, and put her feet up on the tiny part of the coffee table that wasn’t covered with costume accessories. “So I have a little information that might be of interest to you,” she said, “concerning one of your friends.”

Carmen thought first of Kate. Had Fawn heard from her? Then Alexis gave her a sharp poke in the ribs. “Put your shoulders back,” she snapped. “You’re not going to slouch like that on camera, are you? You’re a princess. Also, who is this person and why is she here?”

Carmen stood up straighter. She should probably be imagining herself as Julia Capsen, post-apocalyptic princess, even as she was being fitted. But she was dying to know what Fawn had to tell her. “Spill it,” she said to Fawn. To Alexis, she said, “She’s my friend. It’s fine.”

Alexis sniffed. “That means nothing to me. Daisy Dukes here can have five minutes and then I need silence.”

“So,” Carmen said, turning to Fawn, “tell me.”

Fawn couldn’t hide her smirk. “That bottle-blond bitch has been convicted of stealing that diamond necklace, and she has to pay back the store. Plus—this is the good part—she has to do like a million years of community service at Lost Paws.”

Carmen wasn’t sure she heard Fawn right. “Los Paz?” she asked. “The Mexican restaurant on La Brea?”

Fawn let out a delighted cackle. “No, dummy, Lost Paws. It’s an animal shelter. I just read it on TMZ.”

“Well, that sounds all right,” Carmen said. “I’d rather walk a stray dog than chop cilantro. I hate cilantro.”

“Oh no,” Fawn said, shaking her head. “My friend Jeff went there once, and he calls it Lost Cause. You won’t find any rescue bichons frises there. No cute little teacup poodles, unless they’re missing an eye and have a thing for eating your underwear. They take dogs that bite, cats that pee on your pillow … It’s like San Quentin for pets.” Fawn could hardly contain her glee. “It’s soooo good, right?”

“Wow,” Carmen said, as Alexis grappled her out of the golden dress and tossed a pair of leggings at her. “I mean, it’s not like I’m her biggest fan, but poor Madison.”

“Poor Madison nothing,” Fawn said. “That girl got off easy. She may have to spend the next couple months accessorizing around a pooper-scooper, but she committed a crime—a serious one—and she isn’t getting any time.”

Carmen looked pointedly at her friend as she struggled to pull the leggings over her calves. What was all this material they were using—had space engineers woven the fabric? “May I remind you that you might have gotten something similar, had not a certain person stepped in and taken the blame?”

Fawn’s eyes widened and she turned briefly toward the PopTV camera before stopping herself. “Oh, please. That tank top was worth less than two hundred bucks. I would have gotten a slap on the wrist.”

Oops, Carmen thought, remembering the camera. Well, no going back now. “But you didn’t have to get that slap,” she pointed out. “I got it instead.” If Trevor decided to use this footage, then the world would know that Carmen wasn’t a shoplifter after all. Maybe her dad would finally stop being mad at her for taking the blame for Fawn.

“Suck in your stomach,” Alexis hissed, and Carmen immediately complied.

Fawn sighed. She was clearly annoyed that Carmen had brought the matter up on camera, but was trying not to show it. “I know, and you’re an absolute angel. Do you have any Zone bars around here? I’m starving.”

Carmen couldn’t help but laugh again, which prompted Alexis to frown deeply at her. Fawn was so … Fawn. She was self-centered and gossipy, but she was also funny and smart. And she was a good actress, too. When they first met in that acting class in WeHo, it was Fawn who’d been the best student. As Carmen listened to her friend rooting around in the cupboards and drawers, she wished, under her breath, that Fawn would get a break one of these days. Her voice-over work was paying the bills, but Fawn wanted to be seen. Maybe if she made it past Trevor’s edit, someone would notice her.

“These Cheerios expired last year,” Fawn called. “Also, I don’t get this fat-free half-and-half crap. It’s half what, and half what else? Just drink the coffee black, for God’s sakes.”

Alexis looked up at Carmen from the floor, where she was adjusting the cuff of the leggings. “If you don’t get her out of here in the next minute, I am going to throw her out the window.”

Looking into Alexis’s fiery black eyes, Carmen could almost believe this.

“Hey, Fawn,” she called. “I sort of have to deal with this now. Want to meet later?”

“Always,” Fawn said, coming into the room with a handful of Zone bars. “You don’t mind if I take these, do you?”

“No,” Carmen said. “I don’t. If I want to wear these costumes without passing out, I’m going to need to eat air for the next few weeks. Air and lettuce.”

“Don’t lose more than three pounds,” Alexis said sternly. “Or I’m going to have to do this all over again.”

Having this costume fitting had seemed so glamorous until Carmen was actually in the middle of it. In reality, it was about as pleasant as a trip to the dentist.

“I won’t,” she whispered.

“That’s what I want to hear,” Alexis said. Then she smiled, and it was like being smiled at by a spider.

“Later,” Fawn called. She let herself out, but then poked her head back inside. “Oh, and those leggings you’re in now? I swear I saw it on that guy over on Robertson who wears Rollerblades and carries a boom box on his shoulder.”

Carmen raised her hand as if to wave good-bye to Fawn, but instead she gave her the finger.

“Kisses!” Fawn called, and then she was gone.

Carmen shook her head in amusement. It was appropriate that she worked in entertainment, because she certainly knew a lot of characters.

Madison sat in the parking lot of Lost Paws, sipping the cooling dregs of her nonfat latte and gazing grimly at the dirty white building in which she would be spending three hundred court-ordered hours. Its paint was stained and peeling; steel bars covered its small windows. On the other side of its chain-link fence was a mini-mart (Slushees only fifty-nine cents!) and a dingy-looking Laundromat. It was a Southern California no-man’s-land—a place of barren streets and merciless sun.