Starstruck (10 page)

Kate hadn’t exactly forgiven her for lack of sympathy about being the opening act for The Faze, but she decided not to show it. “Next time I’ll have the lyrics down better,” she said. “I won’t have to resort to covers.”

Laurel smiled. “Don’t worry. The audience wants to see the process, not just the product.” Then she headed for the door, her coffee cup clutched in a jittery hand. “Bye, ladies.” How Laurel slept at night with all that caffeine in her, Kate had no idea.

“See you soon,” Kate called. She set Lucinda down, relieved to be done with her for the night. Now she could kick back and turn on the television (and hopefully avoid any ads for
The Fame Game
, which made her heart jump every time she saw them—at first with excitement, but now with anxiety). She was reaching for the remote when Madison cleared her throat.

Kate turned to her. “Oh, I’m sorry—that’s so rude of me. I guess I just thought …”
I assumed you’d follow the cameras out the door
, she thought but didn’t say.

Madison smiled. “You thought I was only here for the screen time,” she said. “Maybe I was. But now I want some wine. Got any?”

“Um, yeah, I think so....” Kate loved how direct Madison was sometimes.

Madison let her head fall back against the cushion. “Great. White, if you have it—and a heavy pour, please.”

Kate had to rummage around in the refrigerator for a minute, but she found a bottle of pinot grigio behind an old Thai takeout container. She hoped Madison’s palate wasn’t too refined, because, according to the sticker, the wine had cost $7.99. (She wasn’t even sure how it had ended up in her refrigerator.)

She went back to the living room holding the bottle and two big glasses. “I don’t know how good this is going to be,” she warned. “Someone left it here.”

“Oh, thank goodness. Glad you didn’t have to shell out the eight dollars yourself,” Madison said drily. “Bottoms up.” But she just took a delicate sip. “I’ve had worse,” she said. “I think.”

“Sorry,” Kate giggled. “I don’t go into my fridge much.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Madison shrugged, fishing a piece of cork out of her glass.

“I’m sure you have something better in your apartment,” Kate said. There, now she’d know if Madison was back there or not!

“Can’t deal with that at the moment,” Madison said. “I stopped in before I came here, and Jay’s over. He’s standing in our kitchen with his shirt off, Kate. What kind of animal hangs out in a girl’s apartment with no shirt on? It’s so … crass.”

“Maybe he thinks that bike-chain necklace he wears looks better on bare skin,” Kate said.

Madison nearly choked on her drink, which made them both crack up. “And he literally speaks in grunts,” she said when she’d caught her breath.

“But Gaby really likes him?” Kate asked.

“Yes. Although if he’s male, has a pulse, and drives a sports car, Gaby likes him.”

Kate sighed. “Well, at least she’s easy to please.”

Madison snorted. “I wouldn’t even bother with the ‘to please’ part.”

Kate burst out laughing again. “But seriously,” she said when her fit of giggles was over. “This whole dating thing is freaky. Did you know that Laurel basically ordered me to start dating someone? She said the show needed more romance.”

Madison raised an eyebrow and Kate imagined she could see the wheels turning:
If I find a boyfriend, will I get more screen time?

Kate went on. “And I’m like, it’s not that easy. And then she said she’d ‘send me some options.’ As if I can pick out a boyfriend like I order a hamburger.”

“Believe me, it’s been done,” Madison said. She leaned forward and poured more wine into her glass. “But if romance is all you’ve got to worry about, count yourself lucky. At least you’re not slaving away in some disgusting animal shelter all day long.” Madison sniffed at her fingertips. “I swear, the smell of that place never leaves me.”

“Is it that bad?” Kate asked. “I always just imagined a room full of puppies and kittens.”

“It’s awful. You can’t believe how depressing it is in there. All these sad, messed-up animals. And the guy I work with—my boss, I guess you’d call him—is horrible.” She looked glumly at her wine. “He’s hot. Really hot. But I hate him.” Suddenly she hit the arm of the sofa in frustration.

Kate jumped; Madison was usually the queen of control. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked hesitantly.

For a moment, Madison didn’t answer. She gazed down at her toes, which were painted in pale, glittering gold. But then suddenly she began to speak. Words poured out of her as if she’d been uncorked, just like the second bottle of bad wine Kate had uncovered.

And Kate heard about Lost Paws, about Sophia’s apparent love affair with her yoga instructor, about moving back in with Gaby, about Gaby’s stash of prescription drugs … in short, about everything and everyone except for Charlie and the necklace.

When Madison finally stopped talking, she looked deflated but slightly happier. “So, that’s my life in a nutshell,” she said, smiling wryly. “What’s going on with you?”

But Kate suddenly didn’t want to talk. She picked up Lucinda and began to strum. Her tongue loosened by wine and laughter, the words now came easily.

“Lost in love, then lost without you”—
okay, back to the original line on that one
—“I just wonder what leaving cost you / The stories that we shared, the dreams that we dared / I don’t understand the reason that we’re through....”

She closed her eyes and let the music flow out of her. It felt like the notes were born in her fingers and the melody was borne out in her heart, and her words gave them shape and form in the cool night air.

Okay, maybe she was a little tipsy. But it felt good!

When she was done, Madison clapped loudly. “That was amazing. Do it again,” she demanded.

And so Kate did, and when it was over Madison tossed her iPhone onto the couch by Kate’s bare feet. “I videoed it,” she said. “Check you out!”

Kate watched herself on the tiny screen. She looked passionate, soulful, inspired. She looked like a real musician.

“It’s not terrible, is it?” she asked happily.

“No way,” Madison said. “It’s fantastic.”

And so, in a moment of enthusiasm and tipsiness, Kate posted it on YouTube.

Ryan was standing in the doorway of Lost Paws, tan arms crossed in front of his broad chest. He looked pointedly at his watch as Madison approached. “You’re late,” he said sharply. “Again.”

“By five minutes,” she retorted. “That’s not actually late.”

“Ten,” he said.

Madison ignored this. The truth was, it hurt her pride to be late. She used lateness—rarely—as a way of building tension. But in today’s case, she was late because she’d been packing up the rest of her shoes, clothes, and toiletries (there was so much of everything!) in order to officially move back into her Park Towers apartment that night.

By dinnertime, the little bungalow she’d found for Charlie would be empty of everything that had made it feel homey and welcoming. Nick, her agent, had sent an intern over to wait for the Designer8 people, who were coming to pick up the rented beds, couches, tables, and lamps. (Saving Madison this particular hassle was about the only thing Nick had done for her lately.)

She sighed, thinking about another day spent vacuuming up dog hair or scrubbing down painted cinderblock walls at Lost Paws. Why couldn’t someone get her out of this?

Ryan cleared his throat. “Well?” he said.

“I’ll stay late,” she said.

“Great,” he answered. “More time for us to spend together.”

She had to bite her tongue to keep from making a sassy retort. Ryan hadn’t moved out of her way yet, so she was still on the step beneath him, gazing up at him from below. It wasn’t a good angle for most people, but Ryan didn’t seem to have a bad one. Madison noticed how his skin was paler beneath his chin. How he had one single freckle near his clavicle. How his Adam’s apple cast the faintest shadow on his neck. How—
Oh, please stop, Madison
, she thought. But it wasn’t fair that he was so good-looking. He was such an asshole, and not in a charming way.

Ryan turned around and pushed hard on the door. As it swung open, Madison caught the unmistakable whiff of caged animal. It smelled like urine and fear. She fought the urge to dry heave. Even after a week of coming here, she wasn’t used to it. She was glad Trevor had stopped sending the
Fame Game
cameras along. She didn’t want to have to relive these days when she saw them on TV.

Hazel (or was it Ivy?) sat at the front desk, helping Glory figure out how to print on the new printer. She sneered at Madison.

Ryan faced her with his hands on his hips. “Time’s wasting,” he said. “Come on.”

Madison ducked her head, ignoring the glare from whichever twin it was, and silently followed after Ryan. She had never been this meek in her entire life! But even in this moment of uncharacteristic humility, she couldn’t help it: She admired the breadth of his shoulders and the way his jeans hugged his slim hips. She knew she should ignore him completely, but still, she took in the tan, muscled length of his arms, the soft waves of hair that barely brushed his collar. Why did he have to be so hot?

Of course Ryan would choose that very moment to turn around. His eyes met hers and narrowed. “You going to critique my outfit?” he asked. The expression on his face said he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

Madison flushed and looked away. “That’s professional advice. I don’t just give it away for free,” she said.

“Well, can’t say I’m surprised by that,” Ryan muttered, turning back around.

“You know what I mean,” she called out.

Ryan didn’t look back this time; he just shrugged his broad, beautiful shoulders. “Whatever.”

Madison vowed never to make eye-to-eye contact with him again. Or eye-to-shoulder, or eye-to-pecs …

When Ryan got to the supply closet he reached in and retrieved a familiar pair of plastic gloves.

“Seriously with the gloves again?” Madison asked. “Am I back on cage duty?”

“No cages, princess. Today you’re in the laundry room.” He gestured toward a damp, cinderblock room with two industrial-strength washers and dryers, each the size of a Mini Cooper. Blankets and towels lay in heaps on the floor. Here the air smelled a little different.
Like urine and bleach
, Madison thought grimly.

“You know how to do laundry, right?” Ryan asked. “I mean, besides putting it in a heap and waiting for your cleaning lady to take care of it?”

Madison glowered at the piles. “I know how,” she said. What Ryan didn’t know—and what she certainly wasn’t going to tell him—was that she’d started doing laundry at the tender age of seven. Since Sue Beth Wardell had generally neglected laundry, vacuuming, and cooking (or anything else that didn’t involve a remote control and a bottle of cheap whiskey), Madison had learned that if she wanted clean clothes each day, or dinner each night, she had to take care of it herself. (And, to make things more difficult, Madison hadn’t even had a washing machine in her cozy double-wide in Briar Rose Trailer Park in Armpit Falls, NY. It was the public Laundromat or the sink for little Madelyn Wardell.)

“Well, have at it, then,” Ryan said. “There’s a radio in the corner there. You can turn on music if you want.”

Madison could have strangled him. Was listening to Katy Perry on Kiss FM going to make this task any more tolerable? She could have a live performance in front of her and she would still be in her own personal hell.

She spent the next five hours in that room, washing, drying, and folding the animals’ laundry: the dog-bed covers, the cat blankets, the towels soaked with who knows what. (She was suddenly thankful for her hazardous-waste gloves.) Again, no one came to ask if she was hungry, or if she would like five minutes of fresh air.

She felt like Cinderella, except without the ball and the lost shoe. Or the prince.

She thought about her other castmates, who were doing things like writing songs and starring in movies and making out with guys they met in bars, and she felt, for the first time, that she would trade places with any of them.

And she thought, too, about Charlie, even though she tried not to. How she had no idea where he was, or if he was okay, or why he had done what he’d done. How she was just going to have to wait for him to reach out to her. (And considering he’d failed to call her for a decade, what could she reasonably expect? A collect call sometime around her birthday next year?)

As furious as she was at Charlie, Madison still missed him; she couldn’t help it. And she couldn’t explain it, either—not even to Sophie. Her sister had been so young when Charlie left that she barely remembered him; the fact that he was gone again didn’t seem to mean that much to her.

Or else, Madison thought, Sophie was simply too self-involved to notice that they were once again fatherless. Too busy practicing tree pose, or laughing-cow pose, or whatever. Honestly, Madison would never understand yoga.
Why stretch
, she used to say,
when you can shop?

But of course she couldn’t shop anymore, because every spare nickel was going to Luxe, to pay them back for the necklace, which was—Madison prayed—still in her father’s possession or handed over as some kind of barter to someone he owed money to. Because you couldn’t just take something like that to a pawnshop, unless you wanted a free ride to the nearest police station.