Starstruck

“Are you seriously taking off your shoes?” Madison asked, sounding horrified. “What are you? An animal? We’re in public!”

Sophia ignored her sister and took a delicate sip of what Kate hoped was seltzer. “Rob Schappell! You should see the abs on him. He’s got, like, a twelve-pack.”

“I thought you were too enlightened to notice that sort of thing,” Madison said.

“Oh, sis, you’d have to be a nun not to notice. Honestly, it disrupted everybody’s practice.” She giggled. “Not that I’m complaining.”

She fingered a large crystal that hung on a chain around her neck. She looked, Kate thought, lovely and healthy and impossibly statuesque—maybe there really was something to this yoga business. Kate herself had no experience with it. Yoga hadn’t been big in Columbus; it was more of a Zumba kind of town.

“What’s so interesting about yoga, I’m finding,” Sophia said, “is that the simple things are the most challenging. Breathing correctly, for one. You think, how hard is it to breathe? We do it all the time! But the fact is, it’s extremely difficult to do it right. And Savasana—corpse pose?”

“I always fall asleep in Savasana,” Carmen offered.

Maybe, Kate thought, Carmen was trying to make up for being mean to Madison by being nice to her sister. Though considering Madison’s and Sophia’s rocky past, it wasn’t clear whether that’d be an effective strategy. But maybe that was the point? She sighed. Once again, interpersonal stuff: tricky.

“Well, it’s so important that in addition to quieting the physical body, you must also pacify the sense organs,” Sophia said.

Whatever that means, thought Kate.

Madison rolled her eyes. “I never imagined I’d have such an evangelist for a sister,” she said drily.

Sophia turned to her. “You really should try it. It would help you process some of your rage.”

Madison burst out laughing. She laughed so long and so loudly that Kate began to wonder if she was faking it. “You’re killing me,” Madison finally gasped.

Sophia raised a knowing eyebrow but said nothing.

“Can we go back to the part about the twelve-pack abs?” Gaby asked.

“If he’s single, I already called dibs,” Sophia said. She nudged her sister playfully in the ribs. “Though I might lend him to Maddy. There are other ways to work out rage besides yoga….”

At this, Madison’s laugh was definitely sincere.

What do you know? The sisters actually seem to be getting along better lately, Kate thought, watching them with a tiny glimmer of envy. (Jess, her own sister, was great, but she was just so damn sporty—all she wanted to talk about was her free-throw percentage and how many crunches she’d done.)

Kate had never realized how much Madison and Sophia looked alike, too—like twins, but with radically different senses of style. Madison had poured herself into a scarlet bandage dress, while the maxidress that hung loosely off Sophia’s shoulders resembled a tie-dyed tent. If Mattel ever made a Hippie Barbie, they should look to Sophia for inspiration.

“I’ve got a celebrity story for you, too,” Kate offered. Because she really should give the camera something, and she didn’t want to talk to Carmen. And because she needed to at least look like she was having fun.

“Oh, goody,” said Gaby, rubbing her hands together. “Please tell me it’s about that British guy who just starred in Infinite Action. He is so hot! I mean, not that it matters to me—I’m totally in love with Jay.”

“Of course you are,” Kate said. “How could you not be?” It was hard for her to say this with a straight face. Jay spent his days playing video games and his nights drinking cases of MGD. He was a cretin. It was impossible to understand what Gaby saw in him, except for maybe his washboard abs. “Anyway,” Kate said brightly. She quickly took another sip of her drink and then proceeded to tell them about how, when working at Stecco the other night, she had had the “privilege” (according to her boss) of waiting on Gemma Kline and Carson Masters, who had flown in from London for some megastar charity event. “So Gemma—who, when she says she doesn’t do Botox, is lying—said to me, ‘I have numerous allergies. When I’m exposed to certain inflammatory foods, my adrenal cortex goes haywire.’ And I’m picturing some cartoon robot, you know, where steam starts coming out of its ears and then it explodes? So I’m like, ‘Great, that’s fine, we can deal with that. What can’t you have?’ And she lifts up a pale, bony hand and starts ticking off fingers. ‘Dairy, wheat, gluten of any kind, soy, yeast, nuts, garlic, and anything that’s acidic. Tomatoes, for instance. Or lemons and other citrus.’ And I’m like, ‘Um, okay, what can you eat?’ And Carson—who also totally Botoxes—sort of rolls his eyes and says, ‘Lettuce. Lettuce and steamed fish.’ So that’s what Gemma gets. Fish poached in vegetable broth and a pile of wilted spinach. It tastes awful, you can just tell, and she gets charged seventy-five dollars for it because it’s a special order. I know I’m not from this town, but why would you go to a fancy L.A. restaurant if you can’t eat anything they serve?”

Madison smiled gently, as if this were a very stupid question. “To see and be seen,” she said. “Think of all the girls on juice cleanses who still show up for lunches on Melrose. They just push their salad from one side of the plate to the other. But they’re there, Kate, and so are the paparazzi.”

“Point taken,” Kate said. “But she could just go get coffee somewhere if she wants to be seen. Or, like, walk anywhere along Robertson.”

“You act like wasting seventy-five dollars matters to her,” Madison reminded Kate. “When in fact it means as much to her as a grain of sand does to the Sahara.”

“Right. I forget that kind of thing because I’m not rich and famous.”

“Well, you might be one of these days,” Madison said. And then she winked at Kate. “Almost as famous as me.”

Kate laughed. Madison suddenly seemed like she was warming back up again. Maybe, thanks to that pink cocktail she was sipping, she’d magically hit a turning point in her personal emotional drama. Then maybe she’d stop with the whole weird and cagey act she’d been working for the last few weeks. Maybe there was hope for her and Kate to be friends.

Gaby piped up with some sort of inanity, and Kate was trying to decide whether it was worth paying attention to her or not when she noticed that Carmen’s best friend, Drew Scott, had arrived.

He loomed in the doorway, dwarfing everything around him. He was wearing a pressed blue Oxford, but Kate could see a tattoo peeking out near his wrist, right above his vintage Casio watch. He caught her eye and winked.

“Ladies,” he boomed, striding toward them with a giant grin on his face. “Is anyone here drunk enough to kiss me yet?”

Kate and Carmen both laughed as he plopped down right between them and put an arm around them both.

“Gaby is, I’m sure,” Madison said under her breath.

Kate snickered. Drew certainly had the tattoos to be Gaby’s type.

“What’s with the button-down?” Carmen asked Drew, plucking at his sleeve. “French cuffs and everything. Have you gone square on us?”

“You look like Jesse James’s accountant,” Kate added. She was happy to see him and even happier that his arrival meant she no longer had to sit next to Carmen.

“Uh, I’m still waiting for the kisses.” Drew laughed.

Kate saw Carmen smile, and then, as easy as anything, she leaned over and planted a giant one on his face, right near his mouth. Kate bit her lip. Drunk or sober, she was way too shy for something like that.

Drew turned to her. “Nothing from the left? Spurned by the singer-songwriter! In that case, I’ll take matters into my own hands.” And before Kate could say a word, he planted a sweet, warm kiss on her cheek.

Immediately she blushed and put a hand up to her face. “Gotcha,” Drew said, grinning and pleased with himself.

“Y-you,” she sputtered. She swatted him on the arm, and he laughed.

“Sorry. Had to take a little liberty there. I just came from a work party. That Miller64 must have gone to my head.”

“Wow,” Carmen said. “You guys really live it up at Rock It! Records.”

“You know it.” Then just as quickly as he’d sat down, he was up again. “Who wants another drink?”

“Oh, I’m sure someone will come by to take your order,” Carmen said.

Drew waved her off. “Ladies, I’m here to service—I mean, serve you.”

Carmen rolled her eyes at him.

“You’re sweet,” Gaby said to him.

“It’s true,” Drew said. “I’m probably the sweetest guy ever.” He held up a hand to stop Sophia’s syrupy cooing. “But I’m manly, too. I’m, like, masculine and tough. But I’m really, really nice. Right, my Carm?”

Carmen—“his” Carmen, whatever that meant— smiled at him. “You’re the best.”

Drew held out his arms. “So now who wants to kiss me?”

Sophia and Madison were laughing, and both Gaby and Carmen were smiling up at Drew, and even Kate felt the glimmer of a grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

How quickly the atmosphere in the room had changed! And they had Drew to thank for it. He’d simply walked into the room, happy and confident, and had magically, goofily diffused the tension. There was no more silence. No more staring down at your own feet. Suddenly everyone was talking and giggling and acting as if they’d been besties forever.

Kate could really learn something from Drew, she thought. She needed to lighten up. Take things less seriously. Remember that life was fun. Fun! To not enjoy it was not only stupid, it was downright irresponsible.

When Drew returned from the bar, Kate reached forward and raised her glass. “To friends,” she said. Because that’s what she hoped they all were (even if they got mad at one another now and then). Or could be. Or could act like, for the next hour anyway. Besides, Trevor loved a good “cheers” moment; any toast always made the episode. Kate might as well beat Madison to it this time.

Everyone lifted their glasses and clinked them together. “Friends,” they repeated. “Friends.”

Stepping out of what had been a long and scaldingly hot shower, Carmen Curtis pulled a plush bathrobe around her, cinched its waist, and slid her feet into fuzzy slippers. She gave her dark hair a quick towel-dry and then walked into the living room of her trailer.

Calling it a “living room” was generous—it was about a hundred feet square, aka about half the size of her bathroom at her parents’ house—but Carmen was thrilled to have it. Her own movie trailer, with her name on the door and everything! It wasn’t glamorous, but it was all hers. She didn’t have to do anything but sit inside it to feel like she’d hit the big time already.

Or lie down inside it, she thought, flopping onto the cushioned bench under the window. She was utterly exhausted. Today’s shoot had gone over by three hours, putting it at a thirteen-hour day, and her call time tomorrow was six a.m.

She was tempted to take a nap, but instead she reached into the pile of magazines and newspapers that the PAs regularly replenished for her. Reading a trashy tabloid could be just as rejuvenating, right? Plus, she was curious to learn about the actress Samantha Mulder’s in vitro triplets and Lacey Hopkins’s latest scrape with the law. Heck, maybe there’d even be a mention of Madison Parker.

On the top of the stack was a copy of this week’s Gossip magazine. Glancing at it quickly, Carmen was startled to see one of the cover lines: LITTLE CC NO MORE, it said, right above a photo of her (dressed to the nines, thank goodness) shopping in Beverly Hills. The accompanying article was four paragraphs, all of which heavily quoted an unnamed “friend of the actress.” “Things are going really well for Carmen,” this “friend” reported. “But she’s stressed about all the pressure. She’s starring in The End of Love opposite Luke Kelly, who, in addition to being her current crush, is a more experienced actor. So she goes for a little retail therapy!”

Carmen bit her lip. “Current crush”? “A more experienced actor”? Normally her publicist was the source for these little pieces. But this definitely didn’t sound like something Sam would say. It was weird. She squinted at the picture. It wasn’t her best, but it wasn’t her worst, either. She could live with it.

Then she threw the magazine up in the air, rolled over onto her back, and kicked her legs in the air with glee. Live with it?! Hell! She was loving it! So what if the picture wasn’t perfect? So what if the article wasn’t completely accurate? Gossip magazines never got their facts right. As for the “friend,” these rags tended to use that term rather loosely. It could have been anyone claiming to know her. But still: What a crazy and thrilling thing. She mattered to people—people she had never even met and probably never would! And it wasn’t because of whose daughter she was anymore. It was because of her. It was so incredibly bizarre and so crazily amazing that she felt, for a minute, like she might jump out of her own skin.

Suddenly no longer tired, she got up and stood in the center of her living room. She was about to commence an impromptu oh-my-God-I’m-famous dance when a knock sounded on her door.

“Who is it?” she asked, startled and extremely glad she hadn’t already begun said dance.

“It’s your loooover,” said a voice that she immediately recognized as Luke’s. “Your lover … on-screen—and in real life.” Then Carmen heard a laugh. “Can I come in?”

She sat down and composed herself, checking her robe to make sure she wasn’t showing too much cleavage. “Yeah, it’s open.”

He stepped up into the trailer, even more handsome now that his face had been scrubbed clean of its makeup. “Did I hear cackling in here?” he asked.

Carmen widened her eyes and placed her hand so that it covered her picture in Gossip. “What? Me? No!” She smiled. “I’m just relaxing with some tea!” She nodded toward the mug of chamomile she’d made for herself and then forgotten about. “Do you want some?”

Luke looked at it and wrinkled his nose. “Is that herbal tea? Because, as a subject of the British crown, I must frown upon anything that is not Earl Grey or PG Tips.” He laughed. “Also, forget tea—it’s happy hour. Do you have any tequila?”

Carmen pointed him toward her mini refrigerator. “I don’t know. Do I?”

Luke walked over and perused the fridge’s shelves. He held up a tiny plastic bottle, like the kind they served on airplanes. “Patrón!” he said. But then he exhaled and put it back. “Actually, I’m too tired to drink it. If it wouldn’t call my manhood and patriotism into question, I’d absolutely have some tea.”

Carmen patted the seat beside her. “Sit,” she said. “Relax.” When he complied, she said, “I can keep it a secret if you want the tea.”

He smiled and yawned. “You’re a love.”

That was what Carmen’s grandma said to her, but with Luke’s sexy accent it sounded totally different. Totally better.

His eyes fell to the cover of Gossip magazine, which she had forgotten to keep covered. “‘Little CC no more,’ huh?” he said, green eyes twinkling. “Check you out.”

She yawned, too—it was contagious—and then giggled. “I’m sure the article, if you want to be generous and call it that, talks all about you, too.”

Luke shrugged. “Probably,” he allowed. “Seeing as how I’m your loooover.”

“Stop saying it like that.” She laughed.

“Loooover,” he whispered, grinning.

Carmen threw a pillow at him. “I saw us on D-Lish,” he said. “Not that I, uh, check that or anything.”

“It’s so weird,” Carmen said. “Don’t you think?”

Their pictures were all over: Perez, Just Jared, Life & Style, Celeb! According to Cassandra Curtis, who— incredibly—had a Twitter account that she actually checked regularly, “#LukeandCarmen” had trended high for the last eight days. Their fake relationship was making them a hot topic. Because what was more fun than a new Hollywood couple? Especially one playing lovers in the next Colum McEntire blockbuster?

But it was strange, too, because it was just more acting. Sam had even suggested that Carmen walk off set holding hands with Luke. The paparazzi had been camped outside every End of Love location lately, hoping to get photos of the two of them leaving. Carmen had always made an effort to avoid their lenses. After a day of acting in caked-on makeup, obscure hairstyles, and fitted costumes, the last thing she wanted was her photo taken.

Besides, she couldn’t stand those creeps. It was one thing to show up to a red carpet—polished, brushed, powdered, and fitted—to pose for photographers with press badges. But the street photographers that waited outside celebrities’ homes and hid in bushes across from elementary schools? They were a different breed. The idea of giving them exactly what they wanted didn’t sit well with Carmen, but after some persuading she had reluctantly agreed.

“They’re going to get their photos one way or another,” Sam had pointed out. “Might as well make it on your terms.”

Carmen had mentioned the idea to Luke earlier that morning, in a break between scenes, and at first he’d seemed unsure. He’d gazed out over the set, a wistful look on his face, and Carmen wondered if he was thinking about Kate. But then his manager had called with news about a script that Scott Rudin wanted Luke to read—some political thriller or something—and Luke had mentioned the cute-couple photo op.

His manager had been shocked at Luke’s reluctance. “It isn’t a coincidence that all these offers are rolling in after you two have come out as a couple,” he’d said. “Your star is on the rise, and Carmen has a lot to do with it! You’re a known quantity now. Go with this, Luke.”

So Luke had agreed. And why wouldn’t he? Since Kate had basically told him she never wanted to talk to him again, what did he have to lose? It wasn’t as if he could piss her off much more than he already had.

But the more Carmen thought about it, the weirder she felt. Because Carmen probably could piss her off more. Based on their hesitant but not totally unfriendly interactions at the Library Bar, it seemed like there was a chance for Carmen to repair the damage that the faux-dating had done. Like—if Kate would ever call her back so Carmen could apologize.

On the other hand, what good would an apology do if Carmen kept flaunting her fake romance with Kate’s ex? Following Sam’s PDA instructions in order to get tabloid coverage would probably make her apology seem pretty bogus. Carmen thought back to her costume fitting and her resolution of being more honest. Maybe she and Luke should come clean—or feign a breakup. Which wasn’t exactly being honest, but it was close enough.

She cleared her throat. “So I was actually thinking about this whole you-and-me business,” she began.

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