L. A. Candy (8 page)

“Oh, Jesus,” Trevor muttered. “This place is depressing.”

Staring intently at his laptop screen, he clicked through a series of pictures. He had sent one of his PAs—production assistants—down to scout Jane and Scarlett’s apartment. Peeling stucco walls in desperate need of a paint job. Spitting distance from the 101. A couple of cracked windows. A cheerless sign that read:

SUNNY PALMS APTS FOR RENT
STUDIO • 1BR • 2BR

Within seconds of buzzing for his assistant, Kimi, she came into his office, speaking to someone on her headset. “That was Tom. He’s in New York trying to close the deal,” she said, clicking off. “He needs you to call him before the end of business. Don’t forget they’re three hours ahead, so you’d better call soon. What do you need?”

“We need to find them a new place to live,” Trevor said, sounding annoyed as he rubbed his head.

Kimi nodded. She didn’t even ask him who “them” was. That was one of the things he liked about her, versus the seven other assistants he’d been through in the last two years. “No problem. Starting when?”

Trevor went through his mental calendar. “Starting Saturday.”

“Saturday, as in the day after tomorrow?”

“As in the day after tomorrow.”

She nodded again and then was gone.

Trevor scrolled through his address book and made the next call on his list.

“Hello?” It was Scarlett who answered.

“Scarlett. It’s Trevor. How are you?”

“Broke!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Jane and I spent the day shopping. Apparently my whole wardrobe is ‘soooo last season.’ She’s like a mad-woman. I believe her exact words were, and I quote, ‘What are credit cards for? We’ve gotta look good for TV!’”

Trevor chuckled. “Smart girl. She’s right.”

“So what’s up?”

“I spoke to the owner of your building, and he wouldn’t give us the clearance to shoot on his premises,” Trevor said. The lie came easily, in part because he didn’t believe in arbitrary labels like
facts
and
lies.
“Something about disrupting the other tenants’ privacy. Anyway, I’m arranging for the two of you to move to a new apartment, starting this—”

“Wait! What?”

“—starting this weekend,” Trevor went on, ignoring her interruption. “The network will take care of the details, like the security deposit, monthly rent, and movers and so forth. Do you want to run all this by Jane, or should I call her separately?”

“Wait. You want us to move? We just moved in here. Like a month ago! And I have a history test tomorrow and two papers due next week and—”

“We need to be able to film you guys at home, Scarlett.”

“Seriously…Jane hasn’t even unpacked yet. She’s kinda slow with stuff like that. She was making a fort out of her boxes yesterday. And we signed a lease here.”

“Don’t worry about the lease. And we’ll find you guys an amazing apartment. We’ll get you one with a pool and a view. My assistant will email you the details this afternoon, including photos.”

“You’re fucking with me! We get a pool and we don’t even have to pay rent?”

After hanging up, he buzzed Kimi on the intercom. “By the way, make sure the new place has a pool.”

“No problem.”

Lacing his fingers behind his head, Trevor sat back and stared out the window, at the all-too-familiar row of billboards and palm trees and overpriced cafés. He spent way too much time in his office. But really, that was fine with him, especially now that he had
L.A. Candy
. It was
going to be off the charts. He could feel it. He had the girl next door; a gorgeous brainiac; a spoiled, rich heiress; and the loveable ditz, for comic relief. It was a perfect formula. This is what he was good at—people. Knowing what makes them tick and presenting that for America’s entertainment. That’s why he had been the top reality producer in Hollywood at one time, before the last couple of mistakes. And that’s why he would be the top reality producer in Hollywood again, with
L.A. Candy.

Pop!

Scarlett watched, amused, as Jane uncorked the bottle of champagne. A stream of white, frothy bubbles came shooting out of the top. Squealing, Jane angled it away from her, spilling some on the new cream carpet.

“Yes, Jane, I thought the carpet looked too clean, too!” she said. “We’ve been here an hour and you’re already making a mess.”

Jane handed her the bottle. “What do you care?”

Scarlett tilted the bottle back and took a swig. The champagne tickled her mouth. She glanced around their new apartment. The movers had left only an hour ago. The place was much larger than their last one and it looked practically empty. It wasn’t like their last move. With the last apartment, they had moved themselves and it had taken forever.
These
movers had packed up their stuff and trucked everything over. Trevor had arranged it all.
And
sent over
a bottle of champagne with a nice note about new beginnings, on beautiful blue stationery.

Scarlett was starting to change her mind about him. Maybe he wasn’t a totally full-of-shit TV producer who made a lot of empty promises. Maybe he was the best thing that had happened to her and Jane since they had moved to L.A. They might not become famous like he’d promised, but Scarlett figured that their days of waiting in lines at clubs were numbered. And paying for their own drinks. Airtime was like currency in this town.

As for the apartment…it was amazing. They might not be here in a couple of months, but in the meantime…Scarlett stretched out across the cream carpet and stared up at the impossibly tall ceilings. The bare walls were freshly painted white. On one side of the room was a small fireplace that was controlled by a switch on the wall. In a corner, Penny swished around merrily in her new, larger fishbowl that Jane had bought for her at the pet store. Jane had remarked that it was only fair that Penny get an upgrade as well.

“I can’t believe we live here.” Jane looked around the apartment. “It’s so much less depressing than the other one.”

“Hey! You said it was ‘charming.’”

“I was just trying to keep a positive attitude while we lived there.” Jane reached for the champagne and took a sip. “But now that we’re here…well, it
was
charming. A charming piece of crap.”

Scarlett laughed. “Yeah. It was pretty bad.”

Jane’s cell began buzzing and vibrating next to her. She picked it up and checked the screen.

Her face lit up. “It’s Braden!”

“Oh, really? You mean, the same Braden who texts you like a hundred times a day? Or a different Braden?” Scarlett teased her.

Jane had started typing. “Huh? What did you say?”

Scarlett shook her head. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, was going on between Jane and Braden. She knew they were friends. She knew he had told Jane that he and Willow were on-again, off-again. But in her experience, “on-again, off-again” usually meant that the guy was not available for a relationship—or at least not a
real
relationship, beyond an occasional hookup that never went anywhere because the on-again, off-again girl was always waiting in the wings. She and Jane had been living in L.A. for more than a month now, and Jane hadn’t been on a date yet. Scarlett wondered if she was holding out for Braden, which would be a huge mistake, with Willow in the picture. She had told Jane as much—not that it had done any good.

“You told Braden the news about
the show,
right? What did he say?” Scarlett asked Jane.

“He’s really happy for us,” Jane replied. “I get the feeling he’s not that into reality TV, though.”

“Sour grapes,” Scarlett said. “He’s just jealous because
you got an acting job before he did.”

“It isn’t an acting job, Scarlett. It’s reality,” Jane reminded her.

“Whatever.”

While Jane exchanged text messages with Braden, Scarlett glanced at the piles of boxes in the living room. Trevor had asked them not to move anything for a few days. The TV crew was coming over at some point to film the girls unpacking their things.

She spotted a basket near the top of an open box and dug it out. It contained bottles of nail polish, nail polish remover, cotton balls, emery boards, nail clippers, and a cuticle kit. She set it down on the chrome coffee table and chose a purple polish.

“Can you hand me the pale pink?” Jane said, barely glancing up from her phone.

“Sure.”

As she began painting her nails, Scarlett’s thoughts wandered to the events of the last month. So much had happened so fast. First, the move to L.A., then starting school, then
L.A. Candy…
and now this new apartment. It almost seemed too good to be true. Sure, school wasn’t perfect. Her classes seemed pretty interesting, so far. On the other hand, she was sometimes haunted by that familiar old feeling that she was smarter than everyone else in her class, that she was…
different.
And as for
L.A. Candy
—well, Trevor
had
hooked them up with this gorgeous place. And it
was
going to be a crazy experience
being on TV. But there was also a big, huge question mark hovering over everything. As happy as she was with Trevor now, today, she didn’t totally trust him. You weren’t supposed to trust Hollywood producers, right? You were supposed to let lawyers, agents, managers, and people like that advise you about them. The problem was, Scarlett didn’t have anyone to ask for advice about this whole business. Forget about lawyers, agents, and managers. She didn’t even have a kind, wise dad or a business-savvy mom to ask about stuff. When she had called her parents to tell them about
L.A. Candy,
their response had been to ask her if the show was going to interfere with her studies and affect her grades. Her father had added something about the harmful effects of reality TV on teen self-image and society in general. What bullshit.

“You want more champagne?” Jane said, holding the bottle gingerly between two freshly manicured fingers.

“Why not?” Scarlett said, reaching for the bottle. She didn’t feel like thinking about
L.A. Candy
anymore.

It was late on Monday night when Scarlett and Jane hopped out of a cab down the street from Les Deux. They had opted to get out on the corner, rather than run up the meter while waiting in the line of cars that extended down the block.

Jane was wearing a charcoal shift dress. The back dipped into a low V accented with a large black chiffon bow. A layer of delicate black lace peeked out from the bottom of her dress. Her long blond hair was pulled back tightly into a straight ironed ponytail. Her makeup was simple: coral blush on her cheeks and a gunmetal shadow brushed under her blue eyes.

Scarlett wore dark skinny jeans and a thin black T-shirt with a deep V. She had several gold necklaces layered over her tanned chest. Jane had even persuaded Scarlett to wear a little more makeup than usual. Even if it
had
required practically pinning her down, Jane had managed to apply
mascara, bronzer, and lip gloss to her face. Scarlett had also reluctantly allowed Jane to tidy up her smudged black eyeliner into sleek lines. She looked lovely, like a slightly more polished version of her usual self.

The street was extra busy tonight. Closer to the parking lot, Jane noticed what appeared to be doors to another club. She hadn’t noticed it the last time they were there. A large crowd of people spilled out of the messy line and into the street. She and Scarlett made their way past the mass of clubgoers and walked through the parking lot of Les Deux.

As Trevor had promised, Dana had called over the weekend to arrange for tonight’s shoot—their very first. She had told the girls to find the tech van in the lot next to the club. She would meet them there so they could be miked and given further instructions.

Scarlett peered around the lot. “Did she say where they would be?” she asked Jane, frowning. “Can you call her?”

Jane pulled out her phone and dialed the producer’s number.

“Jane!” Dana sounded anxious when she picked up. “Are you and Scarlett here yet?”

“Um, yeah. We’re in the parking lot. Where are you guys?” Jane asked, looking around her.

“We’re in the very back. Look for two white vans.”

While walking farther into the lot, Jane spotted two minivans parked side by side at the far end. They were a little more soccer mom than she had expected.

“There!” Jane pointed as she started heading toward them.

Scarlett’s eyes followed. “Oh my God! They’re rocking minivans! They’re like you at sixteen.” She laughed.

When Jane got her driver’s license, she had been so excited to pick out her first car. Unfortunately, due to her less-than-stellar GPA, her parents had refused to buy her a new car. Instead, she was forced to drive the family minivan for the first six months. She had hated that car so much.

As they got closer to the vans, they saw a bunch of crew members, dressed in various versions of all-black outfits. There had to be almost a dozen people from PopTV to film her and Scarlett. A few of them were unloading large pieces of camera equipment out of the back of one of the vans. Jane wondered how the camera guys would maneuver those huge cameras in the crowded club. She was about to ask Scarlett when the passenger door of the second van swung open.

“Great, you found us. You ready to get started?” Dana said, climbing out of the van and adjusting her earpiece. Her eyes looked even more tired than they had at Jane’s initial interview three weeks ago, with her and Wendell. Had she been pulling all-nighters? Jane fought the impulse to offer the woman some concealer.

“Yes. So are we getting miked out here?” Jane asked her.

“Right over here,” Dana said, motioning toward the
closer of the two vans. The back was open and a younger-looking guy was sitting on the bumper. He had a large pack of sound equipment strapped to the front of him by a padded harness. He unhooked the equipment and set it in the back of the van. Jane watched him as he reached in and pulled out two small microphones. They were smaller than the ones she and Scarlett had worn during their interviews. They were only a half an inch thick and silver. He unwound the thin black cord from around the first silver pack.

“Scarlett?” He looked at both of them.

“Present.” Scarlett stepped toward him.

He eyed her outfit for a moment. “You’re wearing a bra, right?”

She looked only a little taken aback. “Um, yeah.”

“Okay.” He took out a piece of double-sided tape and began peeling the paper off one side. “Well, I’m gonna have you tape this microphone to the inside of the front of your bra and run the wire around your side, then I’ll clip the mike pack on the back of your bra.”

He pressed the tape down, securing it against the tiny mike, and handed it to her. Then he pushed both his thumbs against the tiny mike pack, holding down two buttons at once. After a couple seconds, a small green light glowed on the top.

“You can go in the van if you want.” He glanced back up at Scarlett. She had her shirt pulled up over her bra as she tried to get the tape to stick to the inside of her lacy black cup. “Oh…Or you could do it out here.”

A couple of guys passed them. One in a trucker hat yelled out at Scarlett.

Jane laughed, amused at her friend’s total disregard for acceptable parking lot etiquette. “Don’t be shy or anything, Scar,” she joked.

Scarlett turned to the sound guy, holding up the round metal piece at the end of the wire. He clipped it into the pack, wrapped the extra wire around the silver pack, and hooked it to the back of her bra. Scarlett pulled her shirt back down and turned her back to Jane.

“Hunchback?” she asked as she attempted to look over her own shoulder.

“Actually…” Jane examined the back of Scarlett’s shirt. “You can barely see it.”

“Okay, then, you must be Jane,” the sound guy said. She noticed a white piece of what looked like surgical tape on the bottom of the second pack. Her name had been written across it with a black Sharpie.

“Yes, but, um…” Jane turned around, revealing her exposed back. “No bra. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s cool.” He shrugged. “What are you wearing under the dress?”

“Underwear.”

“What kind?”

“Shit, buy the girl a drink first.” Scarlett laughed.

“What do you mean? Like what brand of underwear?” Jane asked, slightly flustered.

“No.” The guy laughed. “I need to know if it can support
the pack. I can always use a leg strap, but they’re just a little uncomfortable and tend to fall off.”

“Well.” Jane looked a little embarrassed. “They’re actually bathing suit bottoms. It was laundry day.”

“That should be fine. I’m just gonna have you tape the mike onto your skin.” He touched the center of her chest with his index finger, indicating the placement. “You wanna hop in the van to put it on?”

“Yes, please.” Jane opened the door to the van and stepped in, closing it behind her. She moved a stack of notebooks and folders to the side and sat down. She looked around as she reached down the front of her dress and stuck the mike to her skin in the spot he had indicated. The van smelled like smoke and cheap vanilla-scented air freshener. The carpeted floors were stained. She noticed the key was still in the ignition and had a round white keychain hanging from it that said “Enterprise.” On the seat behind her was a red ice chest and a clear plastic storage bin containing bags of chips, crackers, and different kinds of snack bars. It looked like it had been stocked at the corner gas station.

She opened the door and reached for the mike pack. The sound guy attached it to the wire and wound the slack around the pack as he had done before. She closed the door again to lift up her dress and hook the mike pack onto her bikini bottoms. The metal pack was cold against her skin. She pulled her dress down and got out of the car. Scarlett and Dana were waiting for her.

“Okay, so they’re almost done setting up the cameras,” Dana said. “We’re gonna have you walk back out to the front of the club. Don’t get in line. Go right up to the door. Paul, the doorman, knows to let you in. The cameras will be shooting the entrance, so act natural, okay? Anyway, once you’re in, just wait for us. We have to re-po cameras inside. It will just take a minute.”

“Then what?” Scarlett asked her.

“Then just have fun. Act natural,” Dana advised. “The cameras will be shooting the interior club scene the whole time, too, but they’ll be very unobtrusive. And we’ve already gotten releases from everyone who’s seated in your area.”

“We have an area?” Jane said, surprised, at the same time that Scarlett said, “They made everyone sign releases?”

“Yeah,” Dana answered them both. “We have PAs go into the bar ahead of you and ask anyone who might be in a shot to sign a release form saying it’s okay for their images to appear on TV,” she explained. “Otherwise they have to blur their faces and it doesn’t look—”

Dana stopped short. She looked distracted for a moment. She reached down and unhooked the black walkie-talkie that was attached to her jeans. “Yes, all miked up.”

For a second, Jane wondered what the hell Dana was talking about, but then she remembered that the earpiece was there for a reason.

She smiled wearily at them. “Okay. I think we’re ready to…wait, hang on.” She pulled a cell phone out of her back pocket. “Oh, it’s Trevor.

“Yes?” Dana said into the phone as she glanced at her watch again. “Don’t worry, we’re right on schedule. The girls are here and miked and…What?
Oh.
Yes, I’ll take care of it.”

Dana hung up and began rummaging through a beige canvas bag with a PopTV logo on it. She dug out a manila envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper. “I almost forgot. I have releases for you girls,” she said apologetically. “I guess they haven’t finished your contracts yet so we’re just going to have you sign day releases for tonight.”

Scarlett took the paper from Dana and started scanning it.

“It’s a standard form. Like I said before, everyone who’s supposed to has already signed one.” Dana reached into her bag and pulled out two pens. “Here you go. Just sign and date on the bottom of the page.”

Jane turned to Scarlett, feeling a little unsure. She was hoping Scarlett would say something, tell her what to do. Should they insist on delaying the shoot until they had the actual
L.A. Candy
contract? She had promised her dad she’d send it to him as soon as she got it so he could show it to his lawyer.

Scarlett only sighed and took one of Dana’s pens. “Whatever,” she said.

I guess that’s that,
Jane thought.

Jane sank back into the plush velvet booth as she squeezed a lime into her vodka soda. The DJ was playing one of her
favorite songs, Madonna’s “Material Girl.”

This is so totally different from the last time we were here,
she wanted to say to Scarlett. But she was aware—very aware, actually—of the fact that they were being filmed. Not that it would be obvious to anyone who didn’t have to sign a release—the cameras were tucked away in the corners of the room, as Dana had promised.

She knew that she and Scarlett were supposed to “act natural,” which meant that they weren’t supposed to talk about the fact that Paul the doorman (the same one who had made them wait for forty-five minutes before D had gotten there) had let them in immediately, as though he had been expecting them (he had), with a smile as though he knew them (he didn’t). Or the fact that the stylishly dressed hostess had led them—all friendly as though they were regulars or celebrities, or both—to what seemed like the best table in the club, with a perfect view of the room and just the right level of throbbing beat emanating from the DJ’s booth. Or the fact that the waitress had offered them “bottle service,” bringing over a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, ice, and all the fixings, so they could mix whatever drinks they wanted (for as many rounds as they wanted) on their own. All without asking them for ID. It was…
unreal
was the word that popped into Jane’s head. Which was kind of funny—and a little ironic—since this was supposed to be a
reality
show.

Jane peered around the packed room, wondering if the crowd knew that they were being filmed by a PopTV crew.
And what about the people at the neighboring tables who had presumably signed releases—were they self-conscious, like she was? Were they worried the cameras were going to catch them doing something embarrassing?

“Sooo.” Scarlett poured her second shot of Patrón and tipped it back smoothly. She glanced around the room, looking a little uncomfortable, then shifted in her seat. Jane was surprised to find that her friend was as unsure as she was about how to act in this situation. Scarlett
always
knew what to do. “How was work today?” she asked before biting into a lime wedge.

“Oh, the same,” Jane replied. “I’m finally getting used to the phones, though. I don’t hang up on people anymore. Maybe Fiona won’t fire me, after all. Not this week, anyway.” She laughed nervously.

She continued to people watch, when she noticed her phone had started buzzing. She pulled it out of her bag and glanced at the screen.

It was a text message from Dana. SORRY BUT CAN YOU REPEAT WHAT YOU JUST SAID? she had written. SOMEONE GOT IN THE FRAME.

Scarlett was staring at her curiously. “Braden? Or not Braden?”

Jane shook her head. She tried to remember her exact words about her job. “I’m getting used to the phones,” she said after a moment, trying not to sound completely weird and unnatural. “I don’t hang up on people anymore. Maybe she won’t fire me. Not this week, anyway.”

Scarlett frowned, confused. “
What?
You just said that. Janie, you okay?”

“Hey, we’re doing a Sweet Sixteen party for the Marley twins next weekend,” Jane blathered on, which seemed easier than explaining. “It’s going to be amazing.”

“Hey, can we borrow a couple of limes? We’re totally out.”

Jane turned around to see a girl in the next booth smiling at her and Scarlett. She was pretty—Southern California pretty—with long, platinum blond hair and a deep tan. She was with another girl with shoulder-length, light brown hair. They both looked to be around Jane and Scarlett’s age. It seemed no one got carded in L.A.