Starstruck (9 page)

Trevor picked up his Gripmaster hand exerciser and squeezed it. “Well, I can’t build much of a story around you grooming dogs and cleaning cages, Madison. You look great in a pair of wellies, but custodial work isn’t that exciting to watch.” Plus, Ryan Tucker, the Lost Paws volunteer coordinator, had been downright obstructionist about filming.

“Yeah, well, it’s not fun to do, either.”

“It’s too bad you had to go and steal that necklace, isn’t it?” Trevor said coolly.

Madison didn’t answer; she gazed out the window and pretended as if she hadn’t heard.

Oh, Mad
, he thought.
You think feigning deafness is going to work?
“I’ll tell you what I want,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I want to show you talking about what really happened the morning after the premiere.”

Madison crossed her arms and gazed at him, her blue eyes steely. “You know what happened. It’s all over the news. I’m pretty sure you can read.”

Trevor leaned back again and put his hands behind his head. “Madison, please. I’m not dumb, and more importantly, you’re not dumb. What really happened? Where’s your father?”

When Madison didn’t answer, Trevor gazed up to the ceiling. “Let’s see,” he said. “He had a psychotic break and he’s now at Beverly Hills Psychiatric, but you don’t want the world to know about your family’s history of mental illness so you’re covering it up. Or maybe he wasn’t really your father; he was just some actor you and Sophia found because you felt like your story line needed a little more meat. If so, kudos—that was awesome. You had us all going there. And here I was, thinking you can’t act! Or maybe …” Trevor leaned forward, staring directly into Madison’s eyes. “It’s really Charlie who took the necklace, and you, for some completely bizarre and incomprehensible reason, are taking the blame for him....”

“You can make up stories all you want,” Madison said stiffly. “You already got me to humiliate myself on camera at Lost Paws. And if you were on top of your story arcs, you could keep doing it. I’m sure everyone would love to watch me get my comeuppance. But I’m not going to talk about it, all right?”

“I’m just trying to get to the bottom of it all,” Trevor persisted. “I just want to know what happened. Where is Charlie, Madison? We can’t just pretend he never existed.”

Madison crossed her arms over her chest. “He decided he didn’t like L.A. after all,” she said finally.

Trevor knew that was far from the whole story, but at least for right now, the truth didn’t actually matter. “Well, you’re going to have to say that. On-camera. ‘Daddy went away for a while.’”

Madison bit her lip. “Well, that’s true enough.”

Was that the sparkle of a tear he saw in the corner of her eye? Trevor almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

“Good,” he said. “You know your line, then. I’ll set up a place for you to deliver it.”

“Lost in love, then lost without you / lost in the city where I first found you …” Kate sang. Her eyes were closed in deep concentration, but then, feeling suddenly self-conscious, she opened them. The small red light of the PopTV camera was blinking in her peripheral vision. She let the rest of the line trail off. Where was she going with this song? She felt just as lost as the girl she sang about. And she was saying the word “lost” too much. Maybe it was time she invested in a thesaurus.

Normally she would have leaned her guitar, Lucinda, against the couch and raided the pantry for Oreos, but with PopTV filming she didn’t think that was such a good idea. For one thing, it would make her look like she had absolutely no work ethic; for another, she’d end up with cookies in her teeth. And as Laurel had informed her, producers preferred that the girls avoid eating on camera (which was funny, considering half their scenes were shot in restaurants).

Another one of Kate’s favorite procrastination strategies included cleaning her apartment, which at the moment needed it desperately. (In fact, there were so many clothes on the floor of her room that the other day the cameramen had been instructed to film above the floors.) But who would want to watch her picking up her dirty socks?

She sighed and did a little finger-picking exercise that her first guitar teacher had shown her—plucking just the open strings, no chords at all. She could hear Laurel in the kitchen, pouring her ten thousandth cup of coffee. Starbucks French Roast had probably long ago replaced the blood in her veins.

Someday soon, millions of people would see her in this moment, sitting cross-legged on her couch in her faded jeans and the T-shirt her mom had gotten at a Bob Dylan concert in 1987. Her feet were bare and her strawberry-blond hair was a little messy, but at least she still had a decent pedicure.

The funny thing was that she wasn’t really all that nervous. Composing was hard, sure, but playing in front of the PopTV camera was a lot easier than playing before a live audience. You couldn’t edit out your mistakes in front of a live audience, and Kate always made mistakes. This was why she was pretty terrified whenever she thought about her upcoming show. She was opening for The Faze—a band she didn’t even like—in a room that held hundreds of people.

“I can’t do it,” she’d said to Laurel earlier, as they waited for the cameras to set up. “I’ll die of stage fright.”

Laurel looked unruffled. “Of course you can do it.”

“Well—actually, maybe I don’t want to,” Kate had retorted.

“Excuse me?” Laurel asked, surprised.

“The Faze is a crappy band,” she’d said. “You know who likes them? Fourteen-year-old girls who spend their days at the mall drinking Jamba Juice and buying cheap earrings at Claire’s.”

Laurel had stiffened then. “First of all, they’ve had two hit singles, which is more than you can say for yourself. And second of all, you’re going to do it whether you want to or not,” she said. “So you might as well figure out a way to enjoy it. Or if you can’t enjoy it, at least find a way to make it through a whole song without hyperventilating.” Then she’d stomped into Kate’s kitchen to make herself some coffee, leaving Kate standing there like an idiot, feeling both hurt and offended.

Now, as she plucked idly at Lucinda’s strings, Kate’s BlackBerry buzzed. BACK TO SONG, OK? ALMOST DONE. ☺

Laurel was trying to make nice again. Like a smiley face would do the trick? Whatever. Kate didn’t care. The Faze did suck.

On Laurel’s orders, though, she went back to the basic chord structure she’d worked out: A E D Dsus D, with the capo on the second fret (otherwise she couldn’t hit the low notes). She hummed for a while, just to get warmed up again. She knew the melody. It was the lyrics that were giving her the problem.

Every time she felt weird writing a song about breaking up with Luke, she reminded herself that Adele had written an entire album about breaking up with someone, and it had won about five hundred Grammys. Not that Kate was comparing herself to Adele—but it was okay to take a little inspiration from her, right? Out of a broken heart would come creative genius. In theory.

Before their little fight, she and Laurel had actually been discussing the Luke problem. Laurel was sympathetic, but she insisted that it was for the best that they’d broken up. What good was a love affair that couldn’t be filmed? No good at all, if it was Trevor Lord you were asking. “He likes the love triangle thing with you and Carmen,” Laurel had said, “but Luke won’t be on camera in any significant way.”

“There’s no triangle,” Kate had reminded her. “Luke and I broke up.”

“I know. So now you need to fall for someone else.”

Kate had laughed. “Like it’s that simple?”

“It kind of is. Or it can be. I’ll send over a DVD with some options next week.”

“Wow,” Kate said. “Producer and matchmaker. Is playing Cupid part of your job description?”

Laurel smiled. “Everything is part of my job description.”

“I don’t think love works that way.”

Laurel had given her a strange look. “Who said anything about love?” she asked. “We just need an on-screen love interest.”

Oh, right
, Kate had thought.
Silly me
.

Her mind had flashed, for a moment, on Drew: He was fun to hang out with. Would he be willing to play her on-screen love interest?
No
, she thought.
Not in a million years
.

Well, she’d wait and see who Trevor came up with.

SONG, Laurel texted now.

Kate hummed the melody quietly and watched as Bret moved to get a different angle and nearly tripped over a pair of boots she’d left in the middle of the floor. Oops.

Maybe because her mind was stuck on breakups, she began, unconsciously, to play that Kelly Clarkson song, “Stronger.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m lonely when I’m alone …” and out of the corner of her eye she saw Laurel smile. Bret’s foot tapped as he filmed.

All right, Kate thought, so it was just catchy tunes that they wanted. They didn’t care if the songs were hers or not. Well, in that case she could play all night. She was like a one-woman karaoke machine.

She was actually starting to enjoy herself with a Rihanna cover when her front door burst open. And there stood Madison, statuesque in heels, sleek leather pants, and a silky nude-colored tunic.

“Sounds good,” Madison said, smiling lightly. “Don’t quit on my account.”

Kate stopped halfway through the line anyway, surprised to see Madison in the foyer. Her castmate had been on the shooting schedule—Kate was supposed to ask her about community service, which was good because she genuinely wanted to hear about it—but she was starting to think that Madison would be a no-show.

“Thanks,” Kate said. “Come in.” She gestured to the couch across from her, which was littered with magazines and tank tops and the Lululemon yoga pants she liked to wear around the house. “Have a seat!”

Madison placed her giant Chanel bag on an end table, pushed aside Kate’s clothes, and sank gracefully into the cushions. “Is that your new song you were playing?”

“Well, it’s new to me,” Kate said. “It’s actually by Rihanna. Or by her people, anyway.”

“Her people. Of course.” Madison smiled. “We should all have more people.”

“Right?”

“Totally.” Madison gave her hair a flirtatious toss, perfectly aimed at the cameras.

Kate strummed a few more chords. Why in the world had she thought Madison wouldn’t show up? Of course she would: She cared more about screen time than she did about avoiding Kate or any of the other
Fame Game
girls. She was drawn to a camera like a moth to a flame.

“Hey, do you know the words to Madonna’s ‘Like a Prayer’?” Kate asked. “I can only remember the first verse.”

Laurel cleared her throat loudly. Both girls looked in her direction as she violently shook her head. Kate quickly realized that there was no way PopTV would be able to clear The Queen of Pop’s hit.

Madison took the cue. “Sorry, I don’t. And singing—well, let’s just say it’s one of the few things I’m not good at.” She smiled, turning again slightly to ensure a good angle. She was clearly an expert in blocking.

Kate continued strumming lightly, because that’s what her shooting schedule had said.
Kate plays guitar and writes song. Pref. one about love
. She was a good girl. An A student. She did what she was told to do. (Usually.)

Madison gave her another encouraging smile, and Kate realized that she was glad she was here. It had been getting kind of boring, not to mention uncomfortable, to be in a room full of people while pretending to be alone.

Kate played a bit more—her own melody this time—and then spoke. “We’ve missed you, you know,” she said.

Madison nodded. “Well, I’ve been busy.”

“Is everything going okay at the shelter?”

Madison thought about this for a moment. “I wouldn’t exactly say that, no. It feels more like a maximum-security jail than an animal shelter.”

“Oof,” Kate said. “Doesn’t sound fun.”

“It’s not supposed to be. But I’m so grateful that the judge gave me this opportunity to do something good. It’s definitely helping me get my priorities back on track.”

It sounded like she’d been rehearsing that reply for a while. Kate assumed that Madison must be in serious image-rehabilitation mode, and wondered if she ought to try to draw Madison out more. She knew Laurel wanted them to have a real conversation. It had been so long since they’d talked; Kate didn’t even know if Madison was back in her apartment with Gaby. She would have asked her, but since according to
Fame Game
reality, Madison had never moved out in the first place, it wasn’t a question Kate could pose.

“Play me your song, why don’t you,” Madison urged. “The one you’ve been working on.”

“Don’t you want to talk?” Kate tried.

But Madison smiled and shook her head. “I want to listen.”

Kate didn’t want to push her, so she played her song, messing around a little with the chorus, while Madison listened intently. Or seemed to, anyway. But she had a pretty faraway look in her eye.

After a little while, Laurel’s voice cut over the melody. “Okay, we’re done for the night.” Then she came over and gave Kate’s shoulder a little squeeze. “Nice work,” she said. “I know it’s got to be tough to compose on the spot.”