The Fame Game (21 page)
Authors: Lauren Conrad
Madison was curled on the couch in her dad’s house, the Pendleton wool throw she’d bought for him wrapped around her bare legs. Charlie kept the air-conditioning on twenty-four hours a day, so the house felt like a giant, well-decorated walk-in freezer.
“Oh, come on,” she muttered into her phone. She was on hold for Trevor, who—she was quite sure—was making her wait just for the fun of it. She tapped her fingers on the arm of the sofa and made a mental note to book an appointment with her manicurist. The premiere for
The Fame Game
was only three days away, and red-carpet preparations were already underway: Madison had stepped up her routines with her trainer, made appointments for an oxygen facial, a wax, and a spray tan, and had avoided so much as being in the same room as a carb. The extra bedroom in Charlie’s house was overflowing with dresses that various designers had sent her, each of them hoping that she’d pick theirs to don on the red carpet.
“Madison,” Trevor crowed into her ear. “So sorry to keep you waiting.”
Sure you are
, she thought. But she said, “No problem, Trevor, I know you’re a busy man.” (She wanted to start off the conversation on a friendly note.)
“What’s up?” Trevor asked, immediately sounding suspicious.
Whoops, maybe she shouldn’t have been so nice. “I have a problem,” she said.
Of course you do
, she could practically hear him thinking. Trevor cleared his throat. “If you’re talking about that PA who made a pass at Gaby, it’s been taken care of and won’t happen again,” he said.
“What?” Madison said. She didn’t know anything about that—but on the other hand, she didn’t care at all. “Oh, never mind, I have no interest in whatever the PA did. What I called to talk to you about is my living situation.”
“It’s a little late to be complaining about your apartment,” he said. “If you wanted the extra square footage you’d have had to give up the balcony. We discussed that back in June.”
“Will you just let me talk, please?” Madison said. “It’s not the apartment. It’s Gaby. I can’t live with her anymore.”
“I can ask her not to bring guys home—”
“I said
let me talk
,” she said fiercely. “What I’m trying to tell you is that Gaby accused my father of stealing a pair of her earrings. And I can’t live with someone who says that kind of thing about him. He did his time already—three years. He paid his debt to society. And for the record, he was not even
aware
of the robbery that his friends perpetrated that night, not until later. Don’t you think he’s suffered enough?” She took a deep breath and waited for Trevor to respond. It took him a little while.
Eventually he said, “Well, Madison, you know I want to keep you happy. But I can’t have all you girls living in separate places. You’re already doing such different things during the day—if three of you didn’t live in the same building we’d lose all sense of cohesion.”
“So put me in another apartment in the building if you have to.”
Trevor sighed. “There’s nothing open. Besides, having you and Gaby in the same place gives the show a home base. That’s where you girls will have your dinner parties, your movie nights, your late-night girl talks. Do you think I want to film a party in Kate’s little place? No! Your apartment is the heart of the show because you’re living in it.”
“Because
I’m
the heart of the show,” Madison said. “The star.”
“Ex
act
ly.”
The air-conditioning kicked on again, and Madison pulled the blanket tighter around her. She was holding on to some serious currency—clearly there was more to the story about Carmen and Luke dating and all she had to do was hint about it to Trevor—but she wasn’t sure if now was the right time to use it. She knew that Trevor was right; future impromptu dinner parties should take place at that lovely long table in their airy, nearly spotless apartment (naturally, maid service was part of her contract)—not in Kate’s little hovel, and certainly not in Carmen’s house. Wherever it was that Carmen lived, Madison hoped never to go there; it was enemy territory.
“You can’t make me spend the night there,” she said. “I can pretend to live there, and I can go there for scenes. But I’m going to sleep somewhere else.”
“Fine by me,” Trevor said. “Do whatever makes you happy. Just make sure that it looks like you live there.”
“Fine. Whatever,” she said and hung up. She hated being refused, but she couldn’t argue with Trevor’s reasoning. And, really, she needed to get to the bottom of the Kate/Luke/Carmen thing before she tried to benefit from it. Like Nick had said, she had to be better at keeping tabs on her costars.
To make herself feel better, she padded into the spare bedroom and surveyed the bounty of dresses she had to choose from. There was the rose-colored Rodarte, the midnight-blue Talbot Runhof, the red Max Azria, the shimmery gold L’Wren Scott. On the floor were boxes of heels: suede wedges, peep-toe pumps, strappy sandals, sexy slingbacks. She had her pick of it all. Not to keep, necessarily—but to wear and love and be photographed in. She didn’t mind having to return them. She never wore the same thing twice anyway.
What a long way she’d come from Armpit Falls, where the best dress she could hope for was a hand-me-down from a neighbor or some sad reject from the Salvation Army. Where she had to wear the same pair of shoes for years: when they were too big (cotton balls in the toes), when they fit (briefly), and when they were too small (thin socks and blisters).
Normally Madison did an excellent job of pretending to everyone, herself included, that her impoverished past had never existed—but being around Charlie often reminded her. It was good not to forget where you came from, she thought. Good to appreciate how much better things were now. PopTV was going to film her getting ready for the big night, and she got to go to the premiere on the arm of her dad. She couldn’t believe her luck.
She touched the shimmering blue fabric of the Talbot Runhof gown and considered slipping it on. It had a slightly asymmetrical neckline and a long, columnar body that made her look even thinner and taller than she was. Its dark color would contrast beautifully with the diamond necklace she’d picked out from Luxe Paris, a boutique French jeweler that had just opened its first American store on Rodeo Drive.
Last week, the jeweler’s publicist had called to offer to loan her the piece of her choice. He had, in fact, practically
begged
her to wear a Luxe Paris design on the red carpet. She’d been charmed by his enthusiasm (he was a huge
Madison’s Makeovers
fan), so she’d agreed. She’d taken Charlie with her to pick out the jewelry. This was partly because she wanted to spend more time with him, and partly because she wanted to impress him further with the life she’d built for herself—a life where she could walk out of a store with a necklace worth six figures, just because she was Madison Parker.
In the Luxe Paris shop, a pale pink room full of roses, a petite redhead had brought out sapphire bangles, diamond collars, emerald teardrop earrings, and ropes of black pearls.
“Wow,” Charlie had whispered. “Just look at all this stuff.”
Madison had delicately sifted through shimmering piles, holding up one glittering piece after another. Should she go with rubies? Sapphires?
No
, she thought,
definitely diamonds
. She could have spent hours there, just admiring herself in the mirror as she modeled a fortune in jewelry. In the end it was Charlie who found the perfect piece: a drop necklace with pear-shaped and marquise diamonds. He showed her earrings, too—beautiful triple teardrops—but the redhead said she was only authorized to loan Madison one piece.
“One?” Madison had said, raising her eyebrows.
The redhead had flushed. “I could call my supervisor. . . .”
Madison briefly considered making her do it, just to throw her weight around. But she was planning to wear her hair down for the premiere, which meant that no one would see her earlobes anyway.
“The necklace is enough, Dad,” she said. “Really.”
And all she’d had to do to get it was sign her name on a dotted line, declaring herself responsible for its safe return. It was just like a library book, except that it cost two hundred thousand dollars. If she didn’t return it, she’d have to give over her car, her bank accounts, and her first-born child (if she ever had one of those sniveling brats, which was doubtful). And even that wouldn’t be enough to cover it. But who cared about that? She wanted to sparkle—no, she wanted to shine like a damn klieg light. And so she would.
Now, in the spare bedroom of the West Hollywood bungalow, she slipped the circle of diamonds around her neck. It was heavy and cold. She shivered—a mix of chill and pleasure—but soon the necklace warmed against her skin.
Lucky girl
, she thought to herself
. Lucky, lucky girl.
“Madison?” Charlie called, knocking softly on her door. He’d been out when she woke up.
Out for a walk
, his note had said.
“Come in,” she said. “Excuse the mess.”
Charlie raised his eyebrows at the explosion of gowns on the bed. “Wow, you going to have costume changes or something?”
Madison laughed. “No, I’m only going to wear one. I laid them out so I could decide.”
“Oh,” he said. He took a few hesitant steps into her room. “Listen, uh, Sweetpea.” Then he stopped and ran his fingers through his hair. It was graying at the temples; she’d never noticed that before. “Um, you’ve done so much for me. And I wanted to say thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Madison assured him. “I wanted to do all of it.”
“Yes, I do have to thank you,” Charlie insisted. He held out a small blue velvet bag. “Here, I got this for you. It’s—well, you’ll see.”
Touched, Madison took the little bag and emptied its contents into her palm. “Oh my God,” she whispered, looking up at her father in shock. “Where did you get these?”
Charlie ducked his head in embarrassment. “At that jewelry store we were at the other day.”
Madison closed her palm around the diamond earrings. “These are the ones that match the necklace,” she said. “But Dad, you can’t afford this!”
Charlie looked offended. “They offer payment plans,” he said. “I’ve got a job now. I
can
afford it.”
“But—”
“But nothing, Sweetpea. You deserve them.” He smiled at her, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling up. “You deserve all the diamonds in the world.”
Madison flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you, Daddy,” she said. “I’m such a lucky girl.”
“Do you want green or red sauce on your burrito, babe?” Luke asked, peering into the paper bag from Tacos Por Favor.
“Whatever,” Kate said. She was sitting on his couch, looking at an old
Rolling Stone
review of Rihanna’s
Talk That Talk
, which was apparently her “smuttiest record by far.” And while Kate didn’t consider herself a prude, exactly, she was a bit shocked by the quoted lyrics. All of her own songs seemed so G-rated in comparison.
“Oh, come on, red or green?” His voice was cajoling.
She flipped to the next page. “Don’t they taste pretty much the same?”
“Well, one has tomatillos and the other has tomatoes,” Luke said. “So, no, not really.”
“Whatever. You pick,” Kate said. She started to read an article about the demise of Sonic Youth.
Luke came into the living room with her burrito on a plate and a little cup of both kinds of salsa. “What’s up?” he asked. “You seem kind of off.”
She looked up at him. He was so handsome; his brown hair was sun-lightened and his eyes were the prettiest green she’d ever seen. His face was open, expectant. He didn’t want her to feel bad, she could tell.
But she
did
feel bad. She was mad at him for putting her in such an awkward position. Who hoped to be a star’s secret girlfriend? It was fine when it was
their
secret and they were in it together, alone. But now there were agents and publicists and tabloids and Madison and somehow their sweet little secret had turned into Kate being Luke’s dirty secret. She wanted to confront him about it, but she was afraid to—she wasn’t a confrontation kind of person. Plus part of her was hoping that he’d take her in his arms and make everything better. That he’d somehow make everything bad go away.
She shrugged. “I’m just tired,” she said. “Nervous about the premiere.”
Was Luke planning to go? she wondered. Would he be Carmen’s date? Because that would really add insult to injury.
He sat down on the ottoman near her, reaching out to circle her slender ankle with his hand. “It’s the Carmen thing, isn’t it?” he said.
She finally met his eyes. “Yes,” she said. “It’s . . . so much more unpleasant than I thought it would be.”
Luke’s hand on her leg was warm and gentle. “You’re not jealous, are you? Because there’s nothing to be jealous about.”
“No, I’m not
jealous
. I don’t know what I am. But I know that it doesn’t feel good that I can only be your girlfriend in the privacy of your house.”
Luke sighed. “We’ve been through this,” he said. “I’m just on the verge of really making it big. Maybe that makes me sound like a cocky bastard, but it’s true. Everything I’ve worked for is right within reach, I can see it. I don’t want to screw anything up.” He ran his hand up her shin, and she shivered at his touch. “And since I don’t know how this Hollywood stuff works myself, I listen to the people who do.”
“It just sucks,” Kate said.
“I’m sorry, Kate,” he said. “I know it sucks. I mean, it sucks for me, too.”
Kate plucked at a lifeless fern on Luke’s windowsill, thinking that it couldn’t possibly suck as much for him as it did for her. “Is it that I’m a nobody? Or that I’m about to be somebody, just not the kind of somebody that’s good for your image?” she asked. Because she understood that—Facebook congratulations from old friends aside—she was still pretty much an unknown. But after the premiere on Wednesday, she’d be the girl from
The Fame Game
. The girl that every other girl growing up in the Midwest and dreaming of stardom hoped to be.
Life was going to change overnight; she realized that. Soon the PopTV cameras would be only a handful among hundreds: paparazzi taking stills; TMZ reporters documenting her movements on video; fans snapping shots on their iPhones. People would ask her for her autograph. They would want to touch her, to make sure she was real.
Luke sighed. “It’s not about you,” he said. “It’s about what’s good for the movie, and my career. I was on the verge of making it once before, and one misstep sent the whole house of cards crashing down. And I had no control over it. That was the lowest point of my career, in my life, even lower than when I was an out-of-work actor, because I’d been so close to finally making it. And then I wasn’t. I can’t be there again. You understand, don’t you?”
Yes, Kate understood. All of a sudden she truly got it. She didn’t want to, but she did. “Yeah, I do. A career is more important to you than your feelings for me. And that makes you different from the person I thought you were.” She pushed aside her untouched lunch and stood.
“That’s not true,” Luke said, reaching for her hand.
She let him hold her lifeless fingers. “I came to L.A. because I wanted to follow my dreams. I didn’t think about fame or money or any of it—I just thought about making music. Isn’t that how you felt, too? About acting?”
“Of course,” Luke said. “I still feel that way. I act because I love it, not because I want a nicer house or a bigger motorcycle.”
“So do you love acting like Carmen’s your girlfriend? Is that rewarding, too?” she said angrily.
“That’s not fair,” Luke said, standing now, too. “It’s a career move, Kate. I know you’re not so naïve that you don’t realize that.” He moved to take her into his arms, and though Kate wanted more than anything to let him, she pushed him away.
“What’s not fair is you treating me this way,” she said softly. “You can either be with me publicly, or not at all.”
She felt her breath catch in her throat. She hadn’t meant to give an ultimatum like that. But she had, and she steeled herself for what he would say.
But he didn’t say anything. He gazed into her eyes, and then he leaned close. His lips met hers in a shock of warmth and softness. “Oh, Kate,” he whispered. “I like you. A lot. Why are you doing this?”
She sank into his kiss; she ached to be with him. “What’s it going to be, Luke?” she asked, feeling the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes because she already knew his answer but still hoped she was wrong.
When he didn’t speak, Kate knew she was right. She turned and walked out of his cottage, the tears already streaming down her face.