Starstruck (15 page)

Once miked, Carmen and the rest of the gang were instructed to head out to the pool, since that area had been lit already.

“But it’s freezing out there,” Gaby whined. All of them were clad in skin-baring outfits, but Gaby’s, of course, was the skimpiest.

“It’s fall in Southern California, Gaby. It rarely drops below seventy. Besides, the view from up here is beautiful,” Laurel said. “Trevor specifically asked for it in the shot.”

“But why would we all be hanging out outside on a cold night?” Gaby persisted.

Laurel smiled. “You can’t tell it’s cold on film, Gaby. Think warm thoughts.”

For a while they huddled near the doorway, half-inside and half-out. A band was setting up in the corner of the vast, sunken living room, but for now the music was being provided by a dreadlocked DJ in a Hello Kitty T-shirt. (Carmen prayed he was being ironic.)

Fawn came over, looking excited. “Oh my God, did you see? That’s Mink River,” she said. “He DJ’d at Paris Hilton’s birthday party last year.”

“Mink River?” Carmen repeated. “Is that his real name?”

Fawn looked at her blankly. “Um, no?” Then she noticed Lily, who was shyly taking everything in with her large, dark eyes. “Oh,” Fawn said coolly, giving Carmen a nudge. “You brought a surprise guest. Aren’t you friendly?” She didn’t sound pleased.

“Well, I didn’t think this was an RSVP kind of thing,” Carmen said. “This is Lily. Lily, Fawn.”

“Nice to meet you,” Fawn said, obviously not meaning it.

Carmen wished that Fawn would be a little nicer, but she’d always been sort of prickly and possessive. It was just the way she was. In any case, Lily didn’t seem to notice. She smiled and shook Fawn’s limp hand.

“Do you want something to drink, Carm?” Fawn asked.

Carmen shrugged. “Why not. When in Rome …”

“Come on, the bar’s over here,” Fawn said, pulling Carmen away from Lily and back into the house.

Laurel had requested that the cast members stick together as much as possible; the more shots they were all in the better. But there didn’t seem any harm in slipping away for a moment. Certainly any hole that Carmen’s absence created in the shot would be quickly filled by other party guests, all of whom were more than eager to sign releases to be filmed.

Half of them were probably hoping they’d be discovered in the footage and contacted to join the cast. It seemed like everyone wanted on the show these days. Between her mother “finally relenting” to be filmed for a lunch date and Fawn showing up whenever the cameras did, Carmen was beginning to feel like a pawn in
The Fame Game
—in more than the intended way. It was ironic that the one person she wouldn’t have minded being forced to hang out with on camera still didn’t want to be anything more than a peripheral presence on the show; Luke was still not interested in that part of her life.

“Here,” Fawn said, shoving a red cup at her. “This will put you in a party mood. Now let’s go back and find your friends.”

My friends
, Carmen thought wryly. Even though they’d been spending eight to twelve hours a day together, she didn’t know Lily that well outside of work, and these TV-show girls weren’t really her friends, either, were they? Sophia’s only true friend was her own reflection; Gaby was wrapped around Jay, who definitely needed to lay off the Drakkar Noir; and as for Kate … Well, Carmen still didn’t know what was going on there. She’d planned on going to Kate’s show the other night, but Colum had kept everyone until midnight again. She’d heard from Drew that it hadn’t gone well (which was confirmed by a quick check of the gossip blogs), and that it was all caught on film. Poor Kate. She had to deal with that stage-fright issue.

Fawn took hold of Carmen’s hand and led her back toward the cast (and the cameras). Then she proceeded to position herself right in the sight line of the nearest lens. She acted as if she didn’t know it was there, but she obviously did. She kept touching her hair, the way a girl does when she’s trying to flirt.
The camera’s not a guy, Fawn
, Carmen wanted to say.
You can stop tossing your head like a pony
.

Lily had fallen in love with the way the house was decorated and had vanished to go Instagram it room by room, and Kate was the only other person who seemed to be having a good time—as long as she wasn’t talking to Carmen, that is. When they’d first arrived at the party, Carmen had told her how cute she looked. Kate had acted surprised at first, and then had barely huffed out a surly “thanks” before turning away and striking up a conversation with Gaby. It was sort of how their last breakfast shoot had gone. Once they’d covered the ground they were supposed to—a mention of Kate’s upcoming performance and, weirdly, whether either of them knew where Madison’s dad had disappeared to—Kate had looked over at Laurel and said snottily, “Okay, are we done now?” Clearly Carmen’s emailed apology (
I never meant to hurt you or be dishonest with you, and I hope that we can get past this
, etc.) had not done its intended job.

But Kate was looking pretty happy tonight. And as the party progressed, she got tipsier and tipsier, until eventually she had a champagne bottle gripped in one hand and the bicep of a tall blond guy in the other. “Oh my God,” she was saying, “the baked crab handroll at Katsya is to die for. Have you been? No? Shut up! We have to go there tomorrow. Seriously. We’re all going!”

She was flushed and giggling and flirty. Didn’t she used to claim she was shy? She certainly wasn’t acting like the Kate that Carmen and Drew had met back at the open mic at Grant’s Guitar Shop. As Carmen watched Kate knock back another cocktail, it occurred to her that Kate was acting more like the girls who Carmen had gone to high school with—girls who she’d never really liked that much.

Carmen could feel herself getting judgmental, so she tried to put herself in Kate’s position. How weird it would be, to be plucked from utter obscurity (well, there was that YouTube video, but there were belching five-year-olds with more views than her) and then thrust into one of the brightest spotlights imaginable: your outfits critiqued, your private life speculated about, your every offhand remark televised for an eager nation. Your song loved and sung and hated and parodied. Your friend publicly dating your secret ex. Your breasts and abs and cellulite discussed in public forums. Your live performance skewered on Twitter and Tumblr. (There was already a gif of Kate with the caption
Oops, I forgot my own song!
) Kate’s mind was probably being blown every single day. So it was understandable that she was acting a little crazy. And maybe, too, she wanted to shed a bit of her innocent, good-girl image; maybe she wanted to show Trevor and, by extension, the rest of the country, that she wasn’t just some naïve girl from a flyover state.

That didn’t seem so unreasonable to Carmen. And at least Kate still had her shirt on.

Carmen felt an arm wrap around her waist, and she looked up to see Reeve Wilson, whom she’d met on the set of a music video back when she was in high school.

“Well, if it isn’t Little CC,” he said, giving her a big sideways hug. “How the hell are you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Carmen laughed, surprised and happy to see him. “I don’t know if you’ve read any of the headlines lately, but I’m quote-unquote ‘not Little CC anymore.’”

Reeve took a step back. “What do you mean?” he asked, acting shocked.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sakes, Reeve, I know you’re, like, all indie and whatnot, but please don’t tell me that you’ve never seen a copy of
Gossip
in the grocery store or heard about the show.”

He put his hand over his heart. “I don’t own a TV,” he said. “My mind is pure.”

“If your mind was pure, you wouldn’t be at this party,” Carmen retorted.

He clinked his glass to hers. “Touché,” he said. “So wait—what is this thing you mentioned?”

“I don’t actually want to talk about it,” she said. “But basically I’m on TV. And well … so are you.” She motioned to the closest camera. “I mean, I assume you signed a release to come into the party.”

“Oh, was that what that was? I didn’t know they were here for you. They handed me a piece of paper and I signed. I just needed to get to the bar.”

“You shouldn’t make a habit of signing things you don’t read,” she said. “Consider that my Friday-night PSA.”

Reeve sighed. “I know, I know. My dad’s a lawyer. He has two rules: Don’t sign anything you don’t read, and don’t make a sex tape.”

“By the look on your face I’m guessing you broke both of them,” Carmen said.

“I plead the fifth,” said Reeve. “Did I mention how fantastic you look?”

Carmen felt herself flush, even though Reeve was a congenital flirt and meant probably ten percent of the compliments he paid. “Thanks,” she said. “You’re looking pretty good yourself.”

Just then a guy with a shaved head walked up and clapped Reeve hard on the shoulder. “Wilson, dude,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you. That chick Stacy—” At this moment, he noticed Carmen. His eyes lit up. “Oh, hey,” he said. “You look familiar. I know you. Were you at Damien’s party the other night?”

Carmen shook her head firmly. “No, I was not.”

Reeve introduced them. “Carmen, Vic. Vic, Carmen.”

“Pleasure,” Carmen said insincerely. There was something about Vic that rubbed her the wrong way immediately. (Maybe it was the leer he gave her, or maybe it was the wallet chain hanging from his way-too-skinny jeans.)

Vic reached out and took Carmen’s hand and kissed it. “Delighted,” he said. He gave her hand another kiss for good measure, and might have gone for number three if she hadn’t tugged her hand away. “Dude,” he said to Reeve. “Your friend is hot.”

“Dude,” Reeve said. “She can hear you, you know. But I agree with you. She’s smokin’.”

Carmen laughed. She had to admit, she sort of liked the attention. And she was happy to see Reeve Wilson again, who had given her her first Death Cab for Cutie album.

“Wait a second,” Vic said, suddenly looking as if a lightbulb had been turned on in his mind. “You’re Carmen Curtis.”

Carmen ducked her head. “Guilty as charged.”

“You’re starring in that Romeo-and-Juliet movie.”

Carmen nodded again.

“Oh, wow,” Reeve said. “That’s the director who fired Rio Lockhart. He’s supposed to be a total dick.”

“Well—” Carmen began. She had to be careful what she said, since the other day she’d received a grumpy phone call from Trevor Lord about a TMZ item he’d come across.
CARMEN CURTIS THE LATEST TO CALL COLUM MCENTIRE
“
ASSHOLE
”? the headline had read.

“We cannot have things like this popping up on the internet,” Trevor had said sternly. “So watch your mouth, all right?”

Carmen didn’t specifically remember calling Colum an asshole, but probably, in a moment of frustration, she had. Not to him, of course, but maybe behind his back. So the question was: Who would have been around to hear it? And who would have then speed-dialed TMZ? That was the mystery.

“Dude,” Vic said. “Aren’t you dating Luke Kelly? Your costar?”

“Well,” Carmen said again.

But Reeve wrapped his arm around her waist. “Who cares about Luke? Love the one you’re with!”

And Carmen, banishing all thoughts of TMZ and Colum McEntire, had to laugh. She had been so busy lately she had forgotten how much fun male attention could be. Unsurprisingly, her fake relationship had been preventing her from having a real one—and until she ended it, that wasn’t going to change. Even if she tried to secretly date someone for real, the second they were spotted together she’d look like she was cheating on Luke.

“You know,” Reeve said, smiling at her, “I always had the biggest crush on you. It’s too bad you have a boyfriend—otherwise I’d love to take you out sometime.”

Carmen flushed. Maybe it was the questionable cocktail she had just finished, or maybe it was her resolution to be more honest, but in that moment, she knew what she had to do.

Not only would it clear the air with Kate, it would also score her points with Trevor. He’d be thrilled if she filmed a romantic evening or two, and it would get him off her back about how busy she’d been lately. And now that Carmen thought about it, Reeve would be perfect to film with. He was charming and funny, and he would look great on camera (at least for a couple dates).

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t have a boyfriend, then.” Carmen smiled back at him. “Gossip magazines love a good on-set romance, but Luke is just a friend.”

Reeve looked surprised at first, and then happy. “So …” he began.

Carmen held up a hand. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

She ducked and wove through the groups of party guests until she found herself in a small, quiet room off the back of the house, its walls painted dark gray and hung with black-and-white photographs. It was then that she remembered: Ned was both a frozen-burrito heir and the son of a famous photographer. Before dialing, she reached around to the mike pack secured to her waistband and flipped the power switch off. She gazed at a picture of a forested gulch, sliced through by train tracks, as she waited for Luke to pick up his phone.

“Looooover,” he said when he answered.

“Dude, I thought we were done with that word,” she said.

“Did you just call me ‘dude’?”