Fame Game 03: Infamous (11 page)

Laurel nodded and waved her on—her phone was ringing. No doubt Trevor was calling to check up on the shoot. The security guy was still lost in his Angry Birds game and didn’t even notice Kate slip by.

Kate went downstairs and stepped outside into the cool evening, but then she stopped in confusion. She didn’t have a destination in mind, and she’d never just taken a
walk
from her place in Park Towers. She’d drive to Griffith Park or Runyon to hike, or else she’d drive to La Brea for a stroll and some window-shopping. What should she do now? Where should she go? L.A. felt strange and unfamiliar all of a sudden—as if she’d traveled back in time to the day she arrived, wide-eyed and nervous, toting Lucinda, a few boxes of books, and a wardrobe sourced almost exclusively from Old Navy.

Kate shook her head and pulled out her phone. Maybe she’d call Drew while dipping her toes in the Park Towers hot tub. He’d help her feel more at home (even if he was way off somewhere in the East Village). She was dialing him when she heard someone yelling her name,
KateHayesKateHayes
, like it was all one word. She looked up and saw a tall, slender, red-haired guy rushing toward her.

“KateHayes, I’ve written you so many letters, why haven’t you written me back?” His voice was breathless and excited. He was grinning at her, but there was something wrong with this smile—he looked completely and totally insane.

“It’s me, J.B.,” he cried as he approached her. “I couldn’t wait any longer to see you.”

Kate gave her stalker one horrified glance, and then she turned and
sprinted
back inside.

20

PRETTY GOOD WHILE IT LASTED

Madison sat fidgeting in her seat at the small deli in Santa Monica. She’d already torn one cocktail napkin to shreds, and she was working on another. Was this a good idea? Or a terrible mistake?

Relax,
she told herself
. It’s not like there’s an endorsement on the line here. Or a new show on Gallery.

But as she watched Ryan Tucker enter the restaurant and walk across the room toward her, Madison realized that this lunch felt like a bigger deal than any business meeting. She offered him a small smile as he approached.

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. She flinched a little at his touch—not because she didn’t want it, but because she did. More than she cared to admit.

A waiter started to approach them, but Madison waved him away. She wanted to have Ryan to herself, if only for a few more minutes.

Ryan might have had the same idea; he sat down across from her and pushed aside the menu without even looking at it. “You look beautiful,” he said, his green eyes flashing. “How are you?”

He seemed glad to see her, but there was something guarded in his smile, Madison thought. It reminded her of the way he used to look at her, during her first weeks at Lost Paws. How sometimes he would stand in the hallway and watch her cleaning cages, shaking his head minutely, as if he were observing a person from a foreign place.

At the time, she’d found his behavior—and him—so annoying. She cleaned out cages like anyone else did; she just did so in better, trendier clothes. The irony of it hadn’t been lost on her. Ryan had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth; Madison had come into the world with the equivalent of a plastic spork. Yet he’d taken her for a privileged brat.

Madison and Ryan came from radically different places, and they seemed to be heading in different directions, too. So what had brought them together? Sometimes Madison couldn’t figure it out herself. They laughed at the same jokes; they shared a secret hatred of Pinkberry; they were both afraid of heights, deep water, and clowns. On the surface, it didn’t seem like much. And yet they had a great time together. They understood each other. And they’d had a hard time keeping their hands off each other. All in all, it was pretty good while it lasted.

She felt a twinge of annoyance suddenly. It wasn’t her fault everything had fallen apart. Maybe if Ryan hadn’t gotten in that car accident that killed his best friend, being in the spotlight wouldn’t have bothered him so much. She immediately felt bad for having such a thought.

“I’m good,” she said belatedly. “Carmen and Kate are in a fight. Gaby might be drinking again. My sister is being her typical self, which means that I’ve been trying to avoid her as much as possible. And next week I’m meeting with a producer at a competing network to discuss my future in television. How about you?”

“Well, the shelter is expanding,” Ryan said, the pride obvious in his voice. “We’re building an addition on the back, which will house the so-called violent breeds—pits, rotts, mastiffs. . . .” He shook his head. “Everyone blames the pit bull, but do you know how vicious Chihuahuas can be? Those things don’t care how small they are. They will
attack
.”

“You think I don’t remember Tiny? That guy nearly took a chunk out of my arm.”

“Oh, riiiight,” Ryan said, nodding. “I guess I forgot. Yeah, he’s sorry about that.”

“I might still have a scar.” She held out her tanned, toned arm so he could inspect it. She knew perfectly well that there was no scar.

Ryan reached for her wrist and held it. “Looks good to me,” he said. His fingers were warm and gentle on her skin.

Madison let herself enjoy the feeling for another moment before delicately pulling her arm away. “Do you want to order something?” she asked. She didn’t even need to open the menu to know she wouldn’t want anything; she’d never been a sandwich girl. Plus she’d told herself she’d start a cleanse this week, and today was as good a day as any to begin.

“I’ll have a sandwich or something,” he said.

“They have about fifty different kinds here,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “I’ll tell them to surprise me.”

Madison glanced around for the waiter, but instead met the eye of a woman at the table next to them. She nodded politely, and then turned back to Ryan. She’d seen the woman watching her in her peripheral vision.

“Recognized, huh?” Ryan asked. But it wasn’t really a question.

“Pretty much always,” she said. She kept her voice neutral, as if this were a simple fact as opposed to something she’d worked for every single day of her life. As if anonymity weren’t a fate worse than death.

“I saw you the other day on the cover of
Life and Style
,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “What were you doing reading
Life and Style
?”

“I was standing in line at the grocery store.”

Madison smiled. She was well aware of the spread he was referring to, because she’d orchestrated it herself. She had called her favorite photographer and let him know that she and Kate Hayes would be hiking at Runyon. “Hiking helps her process her feelings of betrayal. I’ve really been a shoulder for her to lean on during this whole thing,” Madison had said. She knew that this kind of information would help determine the caption, not to mention the photos that were selected.

And sure enough, it had. There were several shots of Kate looking thoughtful and sad, as well as shots of Madison looking attentive and sympathetic (in a sports bra). It was perfect, and Kate, who was learning the Way of Madison, was pleased with it. She was certainly defeating Carmen in the PR war. If the fight were actually about anything significant—which, when it came down to it, the kiss wasn’t—Madison would have expected to see Team Kate and Team Carmen shirts lining windows of the crappy souvenir stores on Hollywood Boulevard.

But she didn’t want to tell Ryan this. “You mean the shots of us hiking? Yeah, it’s been sort of hard for Kate lately. I’m trying to be there for her.”

Ryan reached out and touched Madison’s wrist again. “You know, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to create photo ops and hang out with people who’re fighting over the same guy. You don’t have to jump into a town car and hit a red carpet just because it’s there.”

“And what do you think I should do instead?” Madison asked, an edge coming into her voice. How had he known she’d staged the photos with Kate?

“You could come back to the shelter,” Ryan said.

“Are you kidding? My
nails
finally grew back. I’m not going to do more manual labor.”

“You could do PR stuff for us,” he said.

“Is that why you wanted to have lunch? To ask me about coming to work for you?”

Ryan shook his head. “No. I wanted to see you. I’m saying all this to keep you here at the table with me.”

“I wasn’t leaving,” Madison said.

“I know, but I keep thinking that you might.”

“If you keep bossing me around,” she said, “it gets more and more likely.” But in truth, she kept having the urge to lean across the table and kiss him.

Not that she was going to.

“I want what’s best for you,” Ryan said. “I wish you hung out with . . . healthier people.”

Madison bristled. Ryan was just trying to be nice, but it felt more like she was being judged. “Like you and your perfect family? Well, we don’t all have happy J. Crew models for parents and adorable twin sisters. Some of us have had a harder life, Ryan, and we have to work to stay on top.”

Ryan ran his hands through his hair. “Madison, I don’t want to fight with you. I was trying . . . I don’t know. I’m trying to make you understand that I care about you.”

“But not enough to be with me.”

He leaned forward. “It’s not that. It’s just that . . . I want to be a part of your life, but I can’t be in
that
part of your life.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard this stuff before,” Madison said. “I can choose you or the camera.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you did, Ryan, you only used more words to do it. So maybe you’re fighting the good fight, saving animals, all that. Maybe you know something about a giant trust you’re coming into the moment you hit twenty-five. Hooray. Maybe you feel settled. Well, good for you! But don’t question my choices because they’re different from the ones you’d make.” She pushed her chair back from the table. The waiter, who had finally reappeared, stopped in his tracks. “I should probably get going,” she said. Their relationship,
whatever
it was, was too complicated for her to deal with right now.

“But lunch—” Ryan began.

“I’m on a cleanse,” Madison said. She stood. “It was really nice seeing you. And I mean that.”

His eyes searched her face. “Mad, can’t we talk some more?”

“I don’t think so,” she said softly. “Not right now.” Then she turned and walked away.

She had a few thoughts to ponder as she waited for the valet to bring her Lexus around. One: She did want to see Ryan again, but she wasn’t about to admit it to him. Two: She hoped he was smart enough to figure that out. Smart enough to try a bit harder to win her back. Three: It was
really
too bad that he wouldn’t film, because that would have been a killer scene.

21

A STAR WAITING TO SHINE

“Of course, Mrs. Garcia,” Trevor said, nodding sympathetically, though Mrs. Garcia couldn’t see him through the phone. “We only want the best for your daughter. That’s why we agreed to pay so much of her rehab costs, even though we, as a show and as a network, bear no responsibility for her use of alcohol or prescription drugs, or her subsequent . . . mishap.” Trevor sounded calm, though he felt like throwing the phone across the room.

“It’s not a healthy environment for Gabriela right now,” Mrs. Garcia said. “She’s a sensitive girl.”

“She loves being on
The Fame Game
,” Trevor pointed out. “I’m sure she told you that. Wasn’t it her dream to come to Hollywood and pursue a career in the entertainment industry?”

He could hear Mr. Garcia murmuring something in the background, but Mrs. Garcia cut him off. “Fame is fleeting, Mr. Lord. But life is long. I want Gabriela to have a good life.”

“Of course—every parent wants that,” Trevor said. “But isn’t it important what Gaby wants?” He bent a paper clip forward and back until it snapped.

“My daughter has not always acted in her own best interest,” she said.

Tell me about it
, Trevor thought.
Anyone could have told her that last round of implants was a terrible idea.

“She is easily swayed. Easily taken advantage of,” Mrs. Garcia went on.

“Let me assure you that no one associated with our show is taking advantage of her,” Trevor said. “We’re helping her. Honestly, things could have been a lot worse if we weren’t around to keep an eye on her. And did she mention that we’re about to get her on
Dancing with the Stars
? She’s already booked a private coach to get ready before rehearsals begin.” He made a mental note to have Laurel make this true, stat.

“We have spoken to a lawyer,” Mrs. Garcia said.

Trevor winced. This was not news he wanted to hear. He whipped out his BlackBerry. GET ME LEGAL, he typed to Laurel.

“We are investigating—”

“Mrs. Garcia,” Trevor interrupted. He knew that Gaby didn’t want to leave the show, and since she was over eighteen, her parents couldn’t simply take her away. But any time a lawyer was involved, things got ugly. “What if we agree on a probationary period? We’ll watch Gaby very carefully, and you’ll be in touch with her regularly, and if things ever seem less than perfect, we can discuss pulling her from the show.” He took a sip of Evian. “Also, we can discuss a salary increase. . . .”

“Are you trying to bribe us?” Mrs. Garcia demanded.

“Not at all,” said Trevor. “It seems to me like Gaby’s had a bit of a rough time lately, and it might be a nice thing for her. Some extra spending money.” He grimaced, grateful he wasn’t having this conversation face-to-face.

After a moment, Mrs. Garcia sighed. “I’ll talk with my daughter,” she said. “We’ll see.”

A second after Trevor hung up the phone, Laurel hurried in. “They’re at her house, you know,” she said.

“Who? What?” Trevor asked.

“The Garcias. They called from her apartment.”

Trevor put his head in his hands. Why was everyone such a headache lately? Sure, he’d talked the Garcias down—for now. And Laurel had gotten a few minutes of a Kate-Carmen fight, just as he’d hoped. And Madison was hitting every red carpet event he could get her an invite to, not to mention having comically bad dates with some of L.A.’s most ineligible bachelors. But nothing was ever as easy as it should be.

Trevor looked up at his producer. “Personality tests,” he said. “Everyone’s going to take them.”

Laurel raised her eyebrows. “What? Why?”

“I need to make sure that Gaby’s not the only loose cannon around here. What if Kate regresses with her stage fright and then gets PTSD from a bad performance? Or what if her stalker shows up again? Nothing happened the other night, thank God—and no thanks to SoCal Security, who let her wander around alone at night. And what about that makeup girl Carmen said was spreading rumors about her? Not that she’s ever on camera much, but still. I want all the main girls to meet with a psychologist. If anyone doesn’t want to take a test, she can sign a waiver saying she won’t sue us for emotional damages. We need to cover our asses.”

“Wow,” Laurel said. “Do you want me to take a test, too? Because sometimes I’m pretty sure this job is making me crazy.”

Trevor’s laugh was hollow. “I’m thinking about Sophia,” he said. “Her parents aren’t going to cause me any problems, but I’m ninety percent sure she might be a sociopath. See if you can make her sign the waiver. I don’t even want to know what her results would say. She’s about five different kinds of crazy.”

Laurel nodded. “Seems possible, if not likely. Do you think it’s true what they say, that she’s sleeping with someone on the crew?”

Trevor shook his head. He had heard rumors but never a name. “Not the crew. She’s a climber—she’s not going to get it on with a PA. But . . .” He stopped. He felt like slapping himself on the forehead. How had he not thought of it before? He’d been seeing a
lot
more of her on the footage lately. And hadn’t Stephen Marsh been pushing for her to get a better story line? Hadn’t Stephen started talking about how Sophia was an underused character, a star waiting to shine?

He heaved a giant sigh. Stephen Marsh! She’d sunk her claws into him. The only question was: how far?