“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’?”
“I didn’t mean to. Someone here at the party kept saying it. That word is like a communicable disease.”
“I’m sure they have an antidote for that. What’s up?”
“Well, actually—I have to break up with you.”
“What?” He sounded genuinely surprised.
“I can’t do this fake-dating thing anymore. It’s not fun for me.”
“I’m insulted,” he said teasingly. “I’m such a good loooover.”
“Seriously—”
Luke interrupted her. “But haven’t we been over this? The publicity is good for both of us.”
Carmen paused. Yes, they had been over it. And she’d felt funny about it then, as well. “I just don’t want to play the game right now. I want my fake life to look more like my real life. Doesn’t that make sense?”
Luke laughed. “Poor you! It’s all so complicated, isn’t it?”
She bristled slightly. “I’m playing three roles here,” she said. “Julia. Carmen on The Fame Game. And Carmen in my own life. So yes, it is complicated.”
Luke sighed dramatically. “All right. Well, I can’t force you to stay in our fake relationship. But do me a favor, okay? Let the breakup be mutual. My agent says I might be in People’s Fifty Most Beautiful People issue, and I don’t want the blurb about me to say something about how you broke my heart. Okay? Because that would sort of dent my reputation.”
This sounded reasonable enough to Carmen, so she agreed. They chatted for another minute or two and then said good-bye.
“Have a nice time at the party, ex-looooover,” Luke said. “See you tomorrow....”
The moment she hung up, she emailed Sam, so she could feed the news to Gossip or another weekly. She used the words “amicable” and “friends” and said something about them both wanting to focus on their careers.
Then she hurried back out to join the party. (She’d gotten a text from Laurel: WHERE R U??) Reeve was nowhere to be seen, so Carmen went right up to Kate. “I broke up with him,” she blurted. “The fake relationship between me and Luke is over for real.”
And Kate gave her a giant, drunken grin and flung her arms around Carmen’s neck. “I’m ssso glad to hear that,” she slurred. “You’re the bessst.”
Carmen smiled and hugged her back. They were friends again.
She just hoped that when tomorrow came, Kate would remember that.
15
A MUCH BETTER PLACE
Kate sat in the waiting room at Beverly Hills Medical, biting her nails and fidgeting. After her disastrous show the other night, Trevor had summoned her to his office for a “quick check-in.” And quick it was: She’d sat in traffic for over an hour to get to a meeting that lasted all of fifteen minutes.
“Kate,” he’d said, not without sympathy. “Your stage fright isn’t going to magically disappear. You need to deal with it. For the show, and for your career. I know you’re getting calls from record labels—you should get a manager, by the way—but you’re never going to have a career if you can’t sing in public.”
What Trevor didn’t say (because he didn’t need to—Kate could hear it in his voice) was that he might have picked a different girl for The Fame Game had he known that public performances turned Kate Hayes into a quivering mess.
But in her defense, she hadn’t known how bad it was going to be. Back when she was auditioning for the show, stage fright hadn’t affected her that much because she didn’t go onstage that often. Now that performances were a part of her life—a necessary part of her life—it was starting to have a bigger impact. In addition to the preperformance panic attacks, she also had postperformance insomnia. And the sudden fame certainly wasn’t helping anything.
So Kate had taken Trevor’s words, spoken and un-, to heart; she resolved to conquer her fears. On film (naturally). He and Laurel had mapped it all out for her. Day One of Operation Eliminate Stage Fright was meditation class, in which she and three other people lay in a circle, their eyes closed, and listened to the sound of a waterfall while a woman told them to visualize their fears as clouds of dense, thick smoke, and then breathe the smoke out “into the farthest reaches of space.” Day Two was acupuncture, which—contrary to what everyone said—hurt. When the guy put a needle in Kate’s Heart Five spot (which for some reason was on her forearm), she yelped in pain. “Breathe it out,” he’d urged. Kate felt like sticking him with one of his own needles. “That’s what the meditation lady said,” she’d huffed. Day Three was yoga, which was fine but hardly life-changing, followed by EFT, which stood for Emotional Freedom Techniques. This involved tapping herself on various pressure points while talking about how she loved and accepted herself despite her fears and anxieties. She’d had a hard time keeping a straight face for that one.
Maybe, just maybe, some of the things would have been helpful. But how was Kate supposed to relax into her meditation with PopTV cameras filming her? Did Trevor truly think she could tap her way to emotional freedom with a giant lens in her face? She needed privacy, for one, which maybe she could get, and time, which she couldn’t.
She explained this to Laurel, who had nodded knowingly and given Kate Dr. Garrison’s number. “Psychiatrist to the stars,” Laurel had said. “He’ll know how to take care of you.”
So here she was in the pale-blue-and-cream waiting room, hoping for a solution that would work a lot faster. And she was alone for once: Apparently PopTV drew the line at filming psychiatric evaluations.
She gazed at a signed photo of Shaun White on the waiting-room wall and wondered what sort of doctor would choose a picture of a professional snowboarder for his office décor. Did that say anything about his medical competence? Or was it just a reflection of his interest in extreme sports, or even his questionable decorating taste?
She was still mulling this over when the doctor called her into his office. He was in his late fifties, probably, but dressed more like he was in his early thirties, and his hair was messy with product. He held out his hand. “I’m Dr. Garrison.” Then, studying the paperwork in his hand, he said, “And you’re Kate Hayes.”
“That’s me,” she said, feeling suddenly more nervous.
He motioned for her to sit down. In contrast to the sterile waiting room, Dr. Garrison’s office was full of
books and bonsai plants; it looked like it should belong to a college professor. “It’s nice to meet you. So tell me. What can I do for you today?”
Kate picked at a cuticle until she recalled that her manicurist had scolded her for the habit. “Well, I’m filming a show,” she began.
Dr. Garrison nodded encouragingly.
“And it’s a lot of work, a lot of pressure, a lot of everything.” She proceeded to tell him about the anxiety she felt buzzing through her veins—a buzz that turned into a roar whenever she got near a stage. That was definitely the worst thing. But there were plenty of other complications: She felt far away from her family; she owed Natalie about twenty phone calls; and she still couldn’t help thinking about Luke. Sure, he was officially single now, but she was still on his manager’s Do Not Publicly Date list.
Speaking of dating, Trevor was still pushing Kate to find a love interest; he’d said, his voice all paternal-sounding, that she needed a little romance in her life. But that, she quickly learned, was code for the fact that The Fame Game was lacking romance in its episodes.
And as if that weren’t enough, there were all the relationships with her costars to navigate. Like, did drunkenly making up with Carmen mean things were suddenly good between the two of them? And what was up with Madison? Why wasn’t she returning Kate’s phone calls … again?
Kate was on a roll—she could have kept going for hours. But then she saw Dr. Garrison glance at his watch. She wrapped it up quickly after that. “So, um, yeah,” she said, then looked down at her feet. “It’s mostly the stage fright, but then it’s everything else, too, y’know? Well, I guess I was hoping you’d have something that could help me with the anxiety.”
Dr. Garrison sat down on the edge of his desk and looked at her intently. “There are certainly ways in which anxiety can be medically addressed,” he said. “But let me ask you, have you first tried any behavioral coping strategies?”
“What does that mean?” Kate asked, confused.
“Behavioral coping strategies. Things such as yoga. Meditation. Exercise.”
Kate laughed. “Yeah. I tried them all. It wasn’t really helping.” Was he going to send her home with a prescription for yoga? Because she was pretty sure she needed something stronger.
Dr. Garrison nodded. “Life’s taken a slightly different turn than you expected, huh?” he asked.
“Has it ever,” Kate said.
“Well, let’s give you a little something for the stage fright. Some people like beta-blockers, but I only give those to my cat. She has heart problems.” He wrote something on a piece of paper.
Kate nodded as if this made sense to her. “Great,” she said. “I really appreciate it.” Then she flushed slightly. What was there to appreciate? It wasn’t like he was doing her a favor; he was simply performing the duties of his profession.
“Xanax will also help you with the day-to-day stresses that you’re understandably experiencing,” he said. “It’ll put you in a much better place. Is there anything else you need?”
Kate suddenly felt so relieved that she said, “I don’t know. Do you have a lollipop?”
Dr. Garrison looked at her blankly.
“My pediatrician used to give me lollipops,” she said. “I was just trying to make a joke.”
His smile was thin. “Check with the receptionist,” he said. “I was referring to other psychological issues you might be experiencing. Any trouble sleeping? Sometimes that comes with anxiety.”
Kate nodded. “Yes, now that you mention it. I do have a hard time sleeping. Is there something for that, too?”
“We have something for everything,” Dr. Garrison said. And just like that, he handed her another prescription. “Enjoy,” he said. “But not too much.”
On her way out of the medical building, Kate, feeling better already, decided to focus on the upside of everything. For one thing, the weather in L.A. was amazing. It was October and seventy-five degrees! For another, her music was going really well, at least in private. She and Drew were hanging out more and he’d offered to help her with some songs. He was back in school at UCLA now, but he was still interning part-time at Rock It! He said that once they got a few songs recorded, he would take them to his bosses and see what they thought. If they wanted to sign her, it’d be a big deal for both of them. Scratch that—a huge deal. (Rock It! was her dream label, but so far they hadn’t exactly been knocking down her door. She knew Carmen’s dad wasn’t a fan of The Fame Game, but that wouldn’t prevent him from offering her a deal if he genuinely liked her songs, would it?)
Then Trevor could hardly complain about Kate finally getting her way and quitting Stecco, because a newly signed recording artist would never keep her waitress job. Of course, she had to film a few “working” scenes there in the meantime to make it seem like she was still employed there. Laurel said that Bill Shapero, Stecco’s owner, was giving them a break on location fees for the continued exposure.
In the bright fall air, Kate squinted against the glare of the hot sun on sidewalks and car hoods. She reached into her bag for her sunglasses, couldn’t find them, and realized that she’d lost yet another pair, which put her loss total at six pairs in three months. She wondered if there was a way to surgically connect them to her body; it seemed like the only way she’d ever hold on to them.
She noticed a sunglasses shop halfway down the block and decided she could treat herself to a new pair. She was headed in the direction of the store when she heard someone shout her name.
“Kate,” cried a girl’s voice. “Kate Hayes!”
Expecting to see someone she knew, Kate turned around quickly, a smile on her face. But instead of a friend, she saw a group of three high-school girls, practically hopping up and down in excitement.
“Oh my God,” said the tallest one. “It’s you! I can’t believe it’s you.” She turned to her friends. “You guys, can you believe it? I told you it was her!” Then she turned back to Kate. “You’re so pretty! Can you please take a picture with us?”
Kate flushed and stammered. “Ah—sure—wha—where …?”
The girls quickly gathered around her excitedly, a couple of them wrapping their arms around Kate. (Apparently personal space wasn’t something that concerned them much.) One girl stood back and quickly took their photo with her iPhone. They all smiled, and before Kate had even looked at the camera, the girl glanced down at the screen and nodded, letting her friends know that she’d gotten the shot.
“Oh my God, you are the best,” gushed the tallest one, who was apparently the only one gifted with speech. “You’re totally my favorite on The Fame Game. Team Kate!”
“Team Kate!” echoed the other girls.
And just as quickly as they had materialized around her they were gone, rushing off in a fit of giggles.
Kate paused before continuing on to the sunglasses shop. It was an odd feeling. None of the girls had introduced themselves, and only one had made eye contact with her. They really only seemed interested in getting a photo that they could upload to their Facebook profiles within minutes, if it wasn’t there already. I mean, they couldn’t even wait for me to smile at the camera, she thought indignantly.
She shook off the slight, though, and went into the store. She found two pairs of large, dark sunglasses, and alternated trying each one on, deciding which pair she liked more. Then she shrugged. She was on a hit television show. It was time she start acting like it.
She grabbed both pairs and walked toward the register. While Kate waited for the clerk to acknowledge her existence, she glanced at the cover of the magazine the girl was reading. There was a little picture of Luke and Carmen with a jagged line running between them. The end of love in more ways than one, the caption read.
“Good news travels fast,” she muttered.
The clerk looked up. “Huh?” she asked. “Oh, hey, can I help you?” She seemed profoundly bored.
Kate smiled at her. Unlike the three girls outside (who had returned and were p
eering in the window at her), this one had no idea who she was. Which was fine with Kate. She had two new pairs of designer sunglasses and a fresh prescription that was going to solve all her problems. She felt like kind of a badass.
16
A BAND-AID ON A BULLET WOUND
Connie Berkley, a community service supervisor for the L.A. County court system, fixed Madison with a steely gaze. “Three days,” she said. “Three days.” She knocked her hand against a manila folder, which, Madison presumed, contained her Lost Paws attendance and performance reports.
Madison gazed at the wall above Connie’s head. Why was it that all government offices had to be painted the same horrible shade of beige?
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Connie asked.
“I was sick,” Madison said.
Connie raised her eyebrows. “Too sick to return a call from your supervisor?”
“Yes. Deathly ill.”
Madison hadn’t actually been sick, of course—or at least not suffering physically. It was more that she was sick of life: sick of The Fame Game (and frankly, a little sick of the fame game …). Sick of Lost Paws. Sick of her money problems, of Sophie, of the decision she’d made to take the blame for Charlie … and sick, in the end, of herself. All she could do was lie in bed and watch reruns of The Golden Girls.
“May I be blunt, Miss Parker?” Connie asked.
Madison shrugged. Connie could be whatever the hell she wanted to be and it wasn’t going to change the fact that Madison felt like shit.
“I’ve worked here for ten years,” Connie said. “I used to see only regular people. And by regular people, I mean regular lawbreakers. You know, guys who stole their girlfriend’s mom’s minivan and used it in a robbery attempt. Girls who got drunk and smashed their car into a building. Normal people doing normal bad stuff.” She leaned back in her chair. “But now, you know who I see? People like you. A new one every month, it seems. People whose money and fame goes to their heads and screws them all up.” She circled her finger around her ear. “It makes you crazy,” she whispered.
Starstruck Page 12
