Starstruck

by Lauren Conrad

  “Do you think …” But she didn’t exactly know how to phrase it. “I feel like there’s been weird little things about me lately,” she said. “You know, on TMZ and stuff.”

  “Welcome to public life, Carm,” Fawn said, pulling another dress off the floor and examining the label.

  “I know, but it feels sort of … mean sometimes. Like that thing about how Luke was really the one to break up with me because I’m a diva.”

  Fawn looked at her coolly. “Oh, where was that? I didn’t see that one.”

  “You want to read all my bad press?”

  “There’s no such thing as bad press,” Fawn replied. “I’d kill for someone to write something nasty about me, as long as there was a superhot photo to go with it.”

  “Easy for you to say. No one’s publicly accusing you of gaining ten pounds from stress-eating.”

  “Oh, poor you. Always in the magazines! It must be rough to have such a famous mom and have so many people care about you.”

  Carmen sighed. “But there’s something weird about it. It’s like … there’s some person out there feeding them stories. Someone who doesn’t like me.”

  At this, Fawn laughed out loud. “Carmen, are you hearing yourself? (A) you’re being totally paranoid. And (B) don’t you think it’s a little self-centered for you to assume that someone is out to get you?”

  Carmen sat up. Fawn, in another one of her dresses now, was looking at her with comic disbelief. “Also: a little crazy,” she added.

  Carmen laughed, a rush of relief flooding her thoughts as she let Fawn’s words sink in. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m being crazy.”

  “You’re a nice person, Carmen,” Fawn said. “For instance, you’re going to let me borrow this dress, too. And nice people don’t make enemies.”

  Carmen nodded. “You’re right. I am nice. And because I’m so nice, I’m also going to let you borrow the Christian Louboutin clutch that matches.”

  Fawn grinned and did a little victory dance around Carmen’s room. “You’re the best. I promise to only say good things about you, ever.”

  Carmen smiled back. Fawn was definitely a bit cuckoo, and she had certain issues with boundaries. As in: She didn’t seem to have any. But still, Carmen knew that Fawn meant what she said.

  All the lights were off downstairs. Philip Curtis was away in New York for the week, and Cassandra always went to bed early. Sleep, she liked to say, was even better than Restylane when it came to undereye bags.

  Carmen slipped off her heels and tossed them into the hall closet. She wished she’d been able to go to bed early. Instead she’d had to film a dinner scene with Sophia, Gaby, and Jay, a trio that came close to Carmen’s idea of conversational hell. Gaby she could deal with, but Sophia’s New Age obsessions had gotten tired a long time ago, and Jay was simply a jackass. He wasn’t even that nice to Gaby. She’d given him a “commitment bracelet” earlier that day, but he’d already taken it off. When Carmen asked him why, he’d held up a wrist encircled with a giant, hideous gold watch. “If it didn’t clash with my gold accessories,” Jay had said, “I’d totally wear it all the time.”

  Even Sophia rolled her eyes at that one.

  Then, leaving the restaurant, Carmen had been chased by a TMZ videographer. The day before they’d run an item with the title CARMEN CASHING IN ON THE CURTIS NAME. And now they wanted her to comment on the “fame war” between her and Cassandra. Carmen had shrugged them off—“I didn’t realize we were in one,” she’d said—but they followed her, still peppering her with intrusive questions. Why were people so rude?

  Also, how come everyone always brought up her mother? It was getting really, really old.

  Carmen padded up the stairs to her mother’s room. A light shone under the doorway, but Carmen would have knocked even if it had been off. It was time she and her mom had a talk.

  “Carmen?” came Cassandra’s voice. “Is that you?”

  Carmen pushed open the door and saw her mother in her pajamas, with a sleep mask pushed up on her forehead, in a circle of light from the reading lamp. “Hey, Mom,” she said. “Did I wake you?”

  Her mother smiled. “No, I was reading.” She held the book up, but Carmen couldn’t see the title. “It’s about what they called learned optimism.”

  “What’s that?” Carmen said. She didn’t really care, but she didn’t want to be impolite.

  “It’s this idea that a talent for joy, like any talent, can be cultivated. Like singing or acting or playing music. You practice, and it gets easier—to play a song, or to wake up feeling happy.” Cassandra stopped and gazed at her daughter. “What’s wrong, sweetie? You look upset.”

  Carmen walked into the room and sat at the foot of her mother’s bed. “I’m tired. And stressed. I should be feeling, like, amazing, but this whole life-in-the-spotlight thing, well, isn’t exactly what I thought it would be.”

  Cassandra nodded. “I know. Maybe I should have done a better job of warning you.”

  “About that,” Carmen said.

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “I feel like you should also do a better job letting me do this on my own.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Carmen took a deep breath. “I really didn’t appreciate you coming on The Fame Game.”

  “We talked about this,” Cassandra said, sounding defensive. “I thought you were happy about it.”

  “Well, you were wrong.” Carmen could hear the anger in her voice, and the force of it surprised her. “You were so wrapped up in the constant monitoring of your career that you failed to notice I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the news. But, hey, you need to move records—I understand that’s more important than your daughter’s feelings.”

  “Carmen,” her mother gasped. “Listen to yourself! Why would you say such a terrible thing to me?”

  “Because lately it seems like that’s what matters to you. You’ve been a star forever, barring that blip of relative calm when I was little. So you’ve already had one comeback, and you don’t want to have another. You just want to stay on top. Am I right?”

  Cassandra looked taken aback. “Well, certainly being successful is easier than not being successful,” she allowed.

  “Admit that you love and crave fame,” Carmen said.

  Her mother laughed. “Of course I do. But who doesn’t? You do, too.”

  “Yes,” Carmen said hotly. “I do. And it’s my turn to have it. So I don’t want you on The Fame Game again, and I don’t want you talking to journalists when they call you up to ask about me, and I don’t want you meddling in my life.”

  Cassandra paled. “What is going on with you, Carmen? This is crazy talk.”

  “No, it’s not,” Carmen said. “I’m sick of being in your shadow, don’t you know that? And the second I come out of it, you move over so I’m right back in it. And I’m telling you, Mom: It’s getting old.”

  Her breath was coming quickly, as if she’d been running.

  “I am your mother,” Cassandra said quietly. “And you may be a legal adult, but that doesn’t mean you know the first thing about the world.”

  “So you’re going to teach me by hogging the spotlight? You know, most mothers would teach their daughters how to cook or manage their money or not kill their houseplants. But all you’ve taught me lately is that fame is more important than family.”

  “Is that really what you think?” Cassandra pulled off her sleep mask and tossed it onto the bed. “First of all, let me remind you that you’re the one who’s been too busy to talk. Second of all, you have always been your father’s and my number-one priority. We’ve given you everything.”

  “Including the Curtis name, I know. I’m so lucky,” Carmen replied sarcastically. “That name has haunted me my whole life. Everything I have ever done is ‘undeserved’ because of it. That’s what they say, you know. My name was handed to me, just like everything else.”

  Cassandra sat up straighter in her bed. “I am so
sorry that we wanted the best for you,” she said. “Apparently, though, we’re just a burden. You’d be much better off without our name … and everything that comes along with it.”

  Carmen gaped at her. “Wait. What—?”

  “Well, clearly us providing you with everything you want has been a huge mistake. So it stops here. The car, the credit cards, the clothes … this home.”

  “That isn’t what I meant,” Carmen argued.

  Her mother’s eyes were dark and cold. “I’m going back to bed now, and you should probably do the same. You’ll want to get an early start tomorrow morning. Apartments are pretty difficult to find in L.A. Oh, and the rent is absurd.”

  “You’re seriously kicking me out?”

  “You want to go it alone? I’m happy to give you that, too. Welcome to the real world, darling,” she said.

  Carmen stared at her. She couldn’t believe how badly this had all gone, but she couldn’t back down now. “Why wait until tomorrow? I’ll get out of your hair tonight.”

  “Whatever you want, Carmen,” Cassandra said.

  Then she turned off her bedside lamp, placed her sleep mask over her eyes, and turned her back to her daughter.

  Carmen had quickly packed her Goyard weekend bag and was now sitting in her car, still in the driveway, trying to figure out where to go. She dialed Drew with trembling fingers. He didn’t pick up, though, and she didn’t leave a message. She tried Kate next. Now that they’d pretty much made up, maybe she could crash at her place for a while. But Kate didn’t answer, either. Fawn picked up, but she was between apartments and was house-sitting all the way out in Palisades—way too far away from the PopTV Films studio. So Carmen called Luke.

  “Hey, ex-looover,” he said. “Can’t wait to see me on set?”

  “Can I come stay with you?” she blurted.

  “What?”

  She told him what had happened. Luke listened sympathetically and then, when she was done with her rant, he said simply, “Come on over. You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

  25

  SOMEWHERE BETTER

  “PopTV is sending Kate back to her hometown, you know,” Madison said, flipping the radio station to 97.1 FM and tapping her foot to the chorus of “Call Me Maybe.” “They’re going to follow her around while she eats a Grand Slam breakfast at Denny’s and tries on a pair of Jessica Simpson boots at the mall. Can you believe it? She gets screen time and a vacation from L.A. and all its craziness.”

  Ryan laughed as they sped north on the 1. “Well, you’re about to get a mini vacation yourself, you know.” He paused. “Although when I think about the way my two sisters are going to jump on you, it may not actually be that relaxing.”

  “I have experience with sisters,” Madison said drily. “I’m sure yours will be easier than mine.”

  Out the window of Ryan’s Jeep, Madison watched for glimpses of the ocean. Trees flashed by, and the sky was a deep, cloudless blue. She felt like she was playing hooky from real life, sneaking away to spend the night at Ryan’s parents’ house in Santa Barbara because it was Ryan’s birthday and the Tuckers had promised them a home-cooked meal, a giant cake, and a big stack of DVDs to watch. “You won’t even have to move from the couch,” Ryan had assured her. “My mom will wait on you hand and foot.” The old Madison would have run screaming from such an evening (although the hand-and-foot part didn’t sound bad), but the new Madison thought it sounded perfect. It was a break, and she needed one. Badly.

  An hour later, they pulled into the driveway of the Tucker home, a large white stucco Mediterranean on a bluff above the Pacific. There was a fountain out front—a nymph, surrounded by birds and fish—and more blooming bushes than Madison had ever seen. Ryan hoisted her Louis Vuitton over his shoulder (she was incapable of packing light) and led her into a vast foyer. A central staircase split in two at the landing and curved up to the second floor. A huge fern dwarfed the entryway table, its green fronds dotted with what looked like tiny, feathery miniature ferns.

  “It’s called a mother fern,” said a voice. “Those little things on the leaves are baby plantlets. You can take one home and plant it.”

  Madison smiled at the woman who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Her hair was coppery and pulled back in a low ponytail. She had wide, high cheekbones and her eyes were the same lovely green as her son’s. “You must be Mrs. Tucker,” Madison said, walking over and holding out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Madison.”

  “Call me Lucy,” she said, taking Madison’s hand and shaking it firmly. “Welcome. I hope you’re hungry, because I made enough eggplant parmesan to feed the whole neighborhood. I also hope you don’t mind small, insolent children, because there are two of them running around.” She grinned at her son. “Right? I’m being fair to warn her, don’t you think?”

  Ryan laughed. “Emma and Rebecca are eleven. They are highly cute and highly obnoxious.”

  “But so sweet,” Lucy said, her eyes going soft. “Hearts of gold.”

  Ryan turned to Madison. “I might argue with that. But you can judge for yourself. They’re probably in the back garden. We eat dinner out there most nights.”

  “Do you need any help?” Madison asked. She was struck by Lucy Tucker’s poise and beauty. Her own mother had been the prettiest girl in Armor Falls, but her looks had faded years ago. And she could never serve up eggplant parmesan, unless it was on a sandwich from Wendy’s.

  Lucy shook her head firmly. “No, you guys go on out back. Dinner will be out in a minute.”

  Ryan held out his arm, directing Madison to the back of the house. She passed through a formal living room, then a more comfortable sitting room, and then into a hallway that led to the back deck.

  “You have such a beautiful home,” she said. She couldn’t keep the wistfulness out of her voice.

  “Thanks,” Ryan said, seeming slightly embarrassed by its quiet opulence. “It was a nice place to grow up, I guess.”

  Suddenly two shrieking girls flew out of the bushes and flung themselves at Ryan. Whether they were trying to hug him or tickle him or some combination of the two was hard for Madison to tell; they were a blur of blond pigtails and matching pink sundresses. Ryan, grunting and laughing, managed to capture one under each arm.

  “Madison,” he said. “This is Emma on my left and Rebecca on my right. Girls, this is Madison.”

  Immediately the twins stopped fidgeting and an awed look came over their lovely, nearly identical faces. “We loved your show,” said Emma. “Madison’s Makeovers. Mom wouldn’t always let us watch it because she’s kind of strict about TV stuff, but we got to see it over at Heather’s house.”

  Rebecca, whose eyes were slightly darker than her sister’s and whose lips were fuller, nodded. “We loved it so much. I can’t believe you’re at our house!” She elbowed Ryan in the ribs. “How come you never told us you were friends with Madison Parker?”

  Madison laughed. “He wasn’t. Not until recently, anyway.”

  “He is such a freak,” Emma said. “You think he looks all normal but I’m telling you, he is a total dork.”

  “All right, all right. That’s enough. Let’s go sit down,” Ryan said, smiling indulgently at them. “But give your hands a rinse first.”

  The girls scampered off, and by the time they returned everyone was sitting around the table in the back garden, which Mr. Tucker (“Call me Dan”) had set with blue-and-white Spode china and delicate goblets that glinted in the early evening light.

  Madison listened to the family banter as they dug into their ridiculously delicious food. (“Oh, don’t praise me, I just follow Jamie Oliver’s directions,” Lucy had said.)

  Was this what having a normal family was like? Madison wondered. Or was the Tucker family actually an abnormally good one? She smiled shyly at Ryan, who was sitting at the head of the table, looking like he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. She felt a pang of longing, and maybe even envy
; it seemed like her entire life, she’d always wanted to be somewhere else. Somewhere better than she was.

  But what could be better than this? After dinner, after the cake and the round of “Happy Birthday,” Madison and Ryan were left alone to sip iced tea in the rose-covered gazebo. She had given him a wallet, which wasn’t a very good present, she knew that. Not nearly as good as the book of Robert Adams photographs his dad had gotten him, or the crazy poster portrait of him that his sisters had made. But she’d frozen up in the Nordstrom aisle: What did you get the guy who seemed to have everything, but who worked in a shelter in El Segundo and dodged cameras like their lenses might steal his soul? Madison had never met anyone like Ryan and she just wasn’t sure what to do with him.

  Except kiss him, said a little voice. But she couldn’t—not without knowing if he felt the same way about her. So she sat next to him, as chastely as if she were in Sunday school. They chatted in spurts, discussing Lost Paws’ newest dog, a Great Pyrenees named Chance, and gossiping about whether or not Sharon, aka the Raisin, had a crush on Stan, aka Forearms. Madison regaled Ryan with stories about various disasters on the set of Madison’s Makeovers, and Ryan admitted that he’d nearly flunked out of college because he had decided, on a whim, to spend two months bird-watching in Thailand.

  They had so much to say to each other. As the night grew cooler and darker, and bats began to circle in the air above, Madison tried to remember the last time she’d just sat with a guy. Just talked. In the past, there had always been an undercurrent, a subtext—questions she asked without saying them out loud. What will you give me? And what do I have to give to you to get it?

  But she never had that thought with Ryan. Instead she thought: I like you. I like myself around you. Are you ever going to kiss me? But what if she was completely off? What if they were simply friends and she was reading too much into it? She really didn’t know what to think.