Fame Game 03: Infamous (16 page)

31

THE SOURCE OF SO MUCH DRAMA

“I’m telling you, Trevor came on to me,” Sophie said. She was swirling her swizzle stick around in her drink, but she looked up at Madison with the full force of her lovely blue eyes, as if begging to be believed.

Madison quickly glanced away. “Okay. Why don’t you tell me about it?” she said. She didn’t buy Sophie’s story for a moment, but she’d let her spin the lie a bit longer. It had been a dull, quiet morning, and Sophie’s insanity was about to make it interesting, at least for a short while.

Sophie took a deep breath, then let it out, long and slow, as if she had to gather strength to begin. What, did she think she was on
Dr. Phil
? “We were in his office, and it was the afternoon, and he asked me if I wanted something to drink. I assumed he meant water, so I said yes. The next thing I knew he was handing me a glass of wine and sitting down next to me on the couch. And he said to me, ‘You know, Sophia, I’ve always admired you. . . .’”

On second thought, it wasn’t actually that interesting, Madison realized. She didn’t really care what fiction Sophie was going to come up with. Considering the amount of daytime television Sophie watched, Madison could probably guess the rest of the story. Her eyes darted to the April issue of
Vogue
on her coffee table. Could she thumb through that while still faking active listening?

Or maybe she could check her email. She was expecting a note from Jack Stanbro any day now. Madison had polished up her ideas and sent them off, and he’d called her excitedly. What followed was another very interesting conversation about Madison’s future—perhaps as the reigning queen of Gallery’s Wednesday night lineup. And it was always fun to see how many love notes she’d gotten @missmadparker. . . .

“Are you listening, Madison? He wants to fire me now because I wouldn’t sleep with him.”

“Wow, that really sucks,” Madison said absently. “What are you going to do?”

“I told you what I’m doing. I’ve filed an official complaint and I’m talking to my lawyer about a civil suit.”

“Maybe you should call Dad and have him kick Trevor’s ass,” Madison suggested. “Although Trevor
has
been working out a lot lately. . . .”

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

Madison finally met her sister’s gaze. She wanted to say:
And tell me, please, why I should? For one thing, Trevor would never jeopardize his precious show like that. And for another, if he did, it wouldn’t be for you, with your beaded necklaces and reject-from-1969 fashion. It would be for someone like . . . me.
But instead she said, “I’m sorry, do go on.”

Sophie stared at her for another minute and then began talking. “It isn’t right, taking advantage of his power like that. He knows I’m vulnerable. He knows he has me where he wants me. It’s the very definition of sexual harassment.”

Madison got up to rearrange the pillows on the couch. She was starting to feel disturbed. She’d thought that Sophie was laying down the lies pretty thick, but it was beginning to sound as if she actually believed them.

She remembered the personality tests Trevor had asked them to take. While she had chosen, instead, to sign a document indemnifying
The Fame Game
and all its producers, writers, etc., against any harm she felt she might have received, she suspected that Sophie had taken the test. What had it revealed? Madison wondered if she could get Trevor to tell her.

There was a tiny, troubling voice in the back of Madison’s head, and it said:
Maybe Sophie would have turned out to be less insane if you’d stuck around, instead of hitting the road to Hollywood
.

But it wasn’t Madison’s job to take care of her sister, any more than she already had through the miserable years of her childhood. It was their
parents’
job, and if they couldn’t do it—well, the blame fell on them. Not her.

Sophie was still talking. “What?” Madison asked, turning back around.

“You’re my sister,” Sophie said, “and you have to support me.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “You supported Dad, for God’s sakes, and what did that guy ever do for you?”

These words almost physically
hurt
Madison. The fact was, Charlie had done nothing for her except screw up her life. (Although he’d been around for almost a week this time and so far he hadn’t stolen a thing!) But Madison couldn’t help it; she loved him. She knew he didn’t mean to be such a disaster. He just wasn’t very good at being an adult. He’d never had a good father—how was he supposed to know how to be one? Whereas Sophie . . . Sophie’s betrayals seemed significantly more calculated.

“It’s true, I supported Dad,” Madison said. “And I’ve supported you by allowing you to be a part of my show.”

“You’re not the boss of it,” Sophie grumbled, sounding suddenly like a five-year-old. “It was Trevor’s call.”

“Right, and now it’s Trevor’s call to fire you.”

Sophie sat up straight. “Madison,” she said pleadingly. “I need you. You have to help me out.”

Madison nodded. “Fine. You’re right. You’re my sister. I’ll make my statement tomorrow.”

Madison decided to take her time calling Sasha, her publicist, the next day. She worked out for two hours, then met Kate and Gaby for a quick caffeine fix at Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf.

“You need a haircut already,” Madison told Kate, lightly tugging at a straggly end. “How could that be?”

“I have something to confess,” Kate said, tucking the piece behind her ear.

Madison shot her a sharp look.

“I’m letting my hair grow out again,” Kate said. “It was fun while it lasted, but . . . I think it’s a little too edgy for me.”

“Suit yourself,” Madison said. “Just please, please consult with me on the color, all right? Don’t you dare box-dye it. And that strawberry-blond thing you had going was way too Midwestern. You looked like a camp counselor.”

Kate laughed. “You are without a doubt the meanest person I’ve ever been friends with,” she said.

“And you love me anyway,” Madison said with a smile.

“You’re right,” Kate answered. “I do.”

“I do, too,” Gaby said. “Even though you banned my smoothies from the apartment and threw out the blouse my nana gave me.”

Madison wrinkled her nose. “Because your smoothies smelled like
compost
. Just be a normal person and get them at Pressed Juicery like everyone else. And that blouse made you look homeschooled. It was an act of kindness to toss it.”

“Does Pressed Juicery deliver?” Gaby wondered. Then she got distracted by the rack of magazines by the door.

Kate tapped Madison on the hand. “Are you going to make your statement soon?”

Madison nodded. “I wrote it last night.” She turned her laptop around so that Kate could see the screen.

“‘My sister, Sophia Parker, has been the source of so much drama both on screen and off,’” Kate read. She laughed. “
I’ll
say. ‘While I love her deeply and wish to support her as much as possible, I cannot stand by while she makes baseless accusations against our producer.’ Wow, you sound totally professional. Did you ever consider law school?”

Madison scoffed. “I’m too pretty for law school. Keep reading.”

“Clearly you haven’t seen
Legally Blonde
,” Gaby chimed in.

Kate bent down to the screen and read the rest. “‘Trevor Lord is an innocent man, and everyone involved with
The Fame Game
knows it, including my sister. Her accusations are a cry for help. At this point, I offer my support in saying that I hope she gets that help, so that she can work through the issues that lead her to wreak such havoc on the lives of those around her.’” Kate sat back and ran her hands through her hair. “Wow,” she said again. “Are you sure about this, Madison? This is going to devastate her.”

Madison nodded grimly. “Believe it or not, I’m not happy about doing this. But she needs help, and what else is going to make her get it? She’s certainly not going to listen to me.”

“So how does it work?” Kate asked.

Madison gave one final glance at her letter and then pressed Send. “It goes to my publicist, who’s giving it to Veronica Bliss at
Gossip
as an exclusive.” She shrugged. “And then it gets picked up by Just Jared, Perez, TMZ, and everyone else in the world. And my little sister realizes that her game is up.”

Madison honestly didn’t want to hurt Sophie; she hoped her statement would encourage her to seek treatment. But if Sophie didn’t—if, say, she struck back and accused Madison of covering up her own (nonexistent) affair with Trevor—well, Madison had Dr. Garrison, psychiatrist to the stars, on speed dial.

She’d called him up after Kate’s on-camera meltdown last season and suggested that he might want to be a little more
careful
about scribbling out prescriptions. She hadn’t threatened him in any way, of course, but she had made him nervous. (She hadn’t mentioned that it was actually Gaby’s Xanax that caused the disaster, but what Dr. Garrison didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.)

In other words, Madison had a backup plan. She really did hope that Sophie would try to get help. But if she didn’t, Madison was sure that a couple of guys showing up at her door with a straitjacket would make for a really good episode of
The Fame Game
.

32

ANOTHER CHANCE

Drew was waiting for Kate outside the Rock It! offices. He had his hands in his pockets, and he was slowly pacing back and forth. Kate watched him for a moment before he saw her. She took in his shaggy dark hair, his familiar slouch, the edges of his tattoos peeking out from beneath his oxford.

Her heart fluttered in her chest. Was it from missing him, or for what she was about to do?

In less than an hour, she would be going in to play for executives at Rock It! Records. When Todd, her manager, told her the news, it sounded as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “Rock It! Records,” he’d practically squealed. “They’ve
never
called me before. But apparently they’ve been hearing great things about you, and they want a meeting.”

Kate did a lot of jumping up and down and silent screaming (good thing she was alone in the apartment). Drew may have told her they needed to take a break, but he’d still come through for her; he’d obviously talked her up to the Rock It! people. Then she and Todd had set the date, and she’d agreed to bring in new songs. Now here she was. Staring her future, good or bad, in the face.

She headed up the walkway, Lucinda knocking against her leg. “Hey, Drew,” she said, feeling shy.

He looked up at her and smiled. “Hey, yourself,” he said.

She pointed to the bench next to a small fountain, which was in the shape of a treble clef. Water snaked down the sides, making a soothing sound that failed to soothe her.

They sat, almost touching but not quite. Instead of looking at each other, they watched the traffic go by on Santa Monica Boulevard.

Kate took a deep breath. “When I messed up my showcase, I thought I had ruined my chance at making it,” she said. “But now I have another chance. So I really owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Drew said.

“What do you mean? You obviously said something for them to consider me.” She smiled ruefully. “Kate Hayes, the one-hit wonder.”

Drew put his hands on his knees, and Kate was struck again by how long his fingers were. He could span an octave and a half on a piano keyboard, no problem. It occurred to her suddenly that she had never heard him play. How messed up was that? She’d been so set on her own music that she’d never asked to hear his. No wonder he’d gotten tired of her.

“Actually, I wasn’t the one who convinced them,” he said.

Kate looked at him in surprise. “Then how—”

“It was Carmen,” he said.

“Carmen?” Kate repeated. The surprise had turned to shock.

“You guys are friends, right? Is it really that hard to believe?”

Kate was torn between an overwhelming feeling of gratitude to her roommate and confusion about Drew: Why hadn’t he spoken up for her? Did he think she wasn’t good enough?

“Well . . . ,” Kate began, but then she stopped. She didn’t know what to say. She’d never dreamed Carmen would step up in that way—not because Carmen wasn’t a friend, or a good person, but because honestly, she didn’t seem to care that much about music. Philip Curtis might as well have been a tax accountant for all the interest Carmen took in his work.

“I backed her up, though,” Drew said. “In case you were wondering.”

Kate nodded. “I was.”

“I guess a few days ago, Carmen emailed her dad one of the songs you’ve been working on. Philip really likes to find new artists, but he doesn’t get to that often anymore because he’s always working the business side of things.”

“So it’s because I’m friends with Carmen?”

Drew laughed. “He’s way too busy to take a meeting out of the kindness of his heart. He thought the song was great.”

“Did he tell you that?” Kate asked.

“As a matter of fact, he did.”

Kate sighed. She wasn’t sure if she felt less pressure now, or more. “Wow.”

Drew said, “You’ve got to feel confident when you go in there today. You’ve got to show them what you can do, all by yourself—no backup, no synth, no Auto-Tune.”

“Are you going to be there?” She couldn’t keep the hope from her voice.

Drew shook his head. “I’d like to be, Kate, I really would. But I have a class in thirty minutes.”

Her heart sank. “Oh.”

“But you don’t need me. You think you do, but you’re wrong. The song that Carmen sent to her dad? I hadn’t even heard it before. You wrote it, sang it, and recorded it by yourself, and in my humble opinion, it’s pretty damn great.”

Kate told herself it was true. Somehow she’d turned a corner, and it wasn’t thanks to a prescription or yoga or whatever that weird tapping therapy was called. It was because she’d remembered the joy music brought her. And, maybe even more importantly, the joy it had brought her dad.

There was a line from a poem he used to quote: “He who hears music, feels his solitude peopled at once.” It had always seemed a little stuffy to Kate, but lately it had seemed right. When she was fighting with Carmen, and then later with Drew, her music had kept her company. She had not been alone.

“I don’t have to tell you how talented you are,” Drew went on.

“I was selfish,” she began. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was that she’d gotten swept up in her desire to be famous. She wanted him to know that she hoped to hear his music too.

But Drew cut her off. “It’s not selfish to want to share a gift,” he said. He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “I wish I had half your talent.”

“Oh, Drew, please,” she said.

“Seriously. You don’t have to study composition at UCLA because you can already write really good songs. What you have can’t be taught. It’s just a part of who you are.” He turned to look at her. “That’s why you’re going to be great in there.”

She smiled at him. “Do you want to hear the one I wrote for you?” she asked.

His eyes widened. “Um, yeah, okay.”

He watched as she took out Lucinda. She was going to play outside, on the street, like a busker! Who knew, maybe someone would walk by and toss her a dollar.

“What’s it called?” Drew asked.

“It’s called ‘Thank You,’” she said.

And then she sang the song about the girl and the boy who wanted to belong together but didn’t. And how the girl would never forget the boy, not as long as she was still singing.

She sang it with tears in her eyes. And when she was finished, Drew pulled her into a long, hard hug.

“You’re going to be amazing,” he whispered into her hair.

“Thank you,” she said. “
Really
.”

And then she waved good-bye to him and walked toward the double doors of Rock It! Records, knowing that her future was riding on the next hour. She hoped beyond hope that everything would be all right.