She glanced up, hoping to catch the waiter’s eye again. But the restaurant was packed, filled with super-agents having lunch meetings and Beverly Hills housewives in too-sheer shirts picking at frisée salads, and the waiter didn’t notice Madison at all. She was all set to get huffy when she saw Sophie coming toward her. Sophie was smiling triumphantly, pulling someone along in her wake.
Madison squinted. No. Effing. Way. Her heart began to thrum in her chest.
The man Sophie was hauling through the restaurant like a six-foot-tall piece of luggage? The one in baggy khakis and a raggedy blue button-down that had seen its best days back in 1975? It was their father.
“Madison!” Sophie called from halfway across the restaurant, her arms outstretched. Dozens of gold bangles clinked musically along her wrists.
Heads turned in Madison’s direction—something Madison usually relished. But oh no, not now, not today. She wished, for the first time, to be completely invisible.
Sophie was practically skipping toward her in a brightly colored maxidress that looked like it came from Haight-Ashbury. “Hey, big sis!” she cried.
“Little sis!” Madison leaned in to hug Sophie and pulled her close. After three seasons of reality TV, she knew just how quiet she needed to be to make sure her mike didn’t pick up a word. “I will destroy you for this, you pseudo-hippie bitch,” she whispered.
Sophie backed away from Madison, smiling as if she’d heard nothing. But her eyes were like shards of blue ice. “I brought you a surprise,” she said, turning a little to her left, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
“Hello, Charlie.” Madison didn’t reach out her hand or move toward her father. Instead, she examined him the way she might look at last season’s cocktail dress on the 75-percent-off rack: without visible emotion. Charlie Wardell had salt-and-pepper hair, a sharp, strong nose, and eyes that were the same vivid blue as Madison’s, as Sophie’s. It was the only thing he left them with.
Madison hadn’t seen him since she was nine years old, unless you counted the faded photos she’d kept in a shoebox under her bed. She and Sophie had looked at those pictures obsessively on the afternoons that their mother went out to the bar and forgot to come home for dinner, or for bedtime, or sometimes even for breakfast the next morning. It was like they thought that if they looked at pictures of him hard enough, he’d actually come back and rescue them.
“Can you believe our dad is here?” Sophie asked, pointedly emphasizing the word “dad.”
Madison stiffened. She’d never refer to this man as her dad. She hadn’t had a dad for ten years, and she wasn’t about to pick one up now. “Well, this is a surprise,” she said, keeping her voice low and even. “I came here expecting lunch and a new pair of Manolos. Family reunion wasn’t on the schedule today.”
She glanced over at Sophie, who was beaming with fake benevolence. Her little sister would pay for this. She would absolutely fucking pay for bringing this man here, to ground zero of the L.A. power lunch, and while the cameras were rolling.
Charlie sat down next to her, and suddenly Madison was nearly brought to her knees by the old, familiar smell of him. Oh my God, she thought, he still wears Old Spice. She used to sit in his closet after he left, among the flannel shirts that smelled like his aftershave. She felt her throat constrict.
But she was Madison Fucking Parker. She did not—she would not—cry.
“So what brings you to L.A.?” Madison asked, miraculously mastering her trembling voice. “I mean, besides the fact that you’re a broke ex-con with two daughters on TV? I’m assuming that’s why you’re here, right? For the paycheck?”
“Madison,” Sophie said, shaking her head. “That’s a little harsh.”
“What’s harsh is deserting a nine- and six-year-old to be raised by an unstable alcoholic.” Madison turned and met her father’s eyes. “I mean really. What kind of person does that?”
Charlie looked away from Madison and fiddled with his napkin. Good. She hoped he felt embarrassed and ashamed. She hoped he’d feel so disgusted with himself that he’d crawl back under whatever rock Sophie and Trevor had turned over to find him.
“You changed your name,” Charlie finally said. His voice was soft.
A quick thrill flashed through Madison. She remembered that voice. Reading her stories before bed. Singing her to sleep. Holding her tight when her mother was in a drunken rage.
“The name I gave you,” he went on.
She laughed harshly. “Right. That was about all you gave me, wasn’t it?” That and some serious abandonment issues, she thought melodramatically.
He looked down at his hands, which were gripping the napkin so hard his knuckles were white. “I know you probably hate me,” he said. “And Sweetpea, I’d hate me too if I were you.”
Sweetpea, Madison thought. Why doesn’t he just take a fork and stab me in the heart? That was his old pet name for her, and how she had loved it when he said it! But this was the man who was supposed to take care of her, protect her, make everything all right. And he hadn’t done any of that. He had simply up and vanished.
“You’ve grown up so much,” he said.
Madison wanted to scream. He might seem repentant, but he was just like Sophie: He was looking for a quick payday.
“I’m not here for the money,” Charlie said. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, and why would I think that?” Madison asked. “You’ve had years to try to find me, and now when I’ve got my third show and some money in the bank this is the first time you try to contact me? You want me to believe it’s coincidental?”
“The first time?” Charlie looked from Madison to Sophie in confusion. “This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to contact you.”
Madison held up a hand. “Save it. No phone calls, no visits, not even a fucking birthday card—”
Charlie paled. “You didn’t get my letters?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, honey, I sent them every month at least. I never missed, except for that month I was in the hospital with pneumonia. That time I only managed a postcard.”
Madison stared at him. And then she turned toward Sophie, who looked genuinely clueless, too. Their dad was a liar and a deadbeat, and she knew he would say anything right now to win her over, which he’d obviously already managed with Sophie. But this was cruel. “Well I never got any letters.”
“Is he in there?” Madison demanded. The girl sitting at the desk outside Trevor’s office opened her mouth, but Madison didn’t pause for her answer. She strode past her, toward the closed double doors. She was not to be screwed with. Not like this, and not on national TV. No sir, she was not getting paid enough for this Wardell family shitshow.
“I’m sorry.” The assistant jumped up from her chair and raced around her desk toward Madison. “But you can’t just go in there, you can’t—”
“Like hell I can’t.” Madison shoved the door open.
Trevor’s back was turned. He was gazing out one of his giant windows, his Bluetooth blinking in his ear.
“How dare you pull that shit with me?” she started. “You want to make me a laughingstock? ‘Poor little Madelyn Wardell with her ex-con father and drunken mother and psycho sister.’ That is low, Trevor, even for you.”
“Joe, can I call you back?” Trevor asked mildly. He watched Madison as she stood there fuming. “Great, talk to you later.” He clicked off.
“You’re using me,” she barreled on. “I told you I’d go to that stupid audition for you, but my past is not some toy for you to play with, and it isn’t something I want dragged out in front of all of America. Didn’t we go over this with L.A. Candy? I am not Madelyn Wardell. I am Madison Parker. My family is not at your disposal whenever you feel like a ratings boost.”
Trevor smiled at her. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to a leather armchair. “Take a breath, Madison.”
She shook her head. She was going to remain standing, thank you. She was going t
o make Trevor understand that what he’d done was wrong. For one, it was an emotional ambush. For two, it reminded people that she was not the upmarket, uptown glamour girl she seemed to be, but instead, the ambitious, self-promoting daughter of upstate New York trailer trash.
“It’s one thing to bring back Sophie,” Madison said. “But my, my—” She absolutely couldn’t get her lips to wrap around the word “dad.”
Trevor shrugged. “You wanted to be the star of The Fame Game, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, guess what? The star has to be surprised.” He ambled toward his desk, that infuriating, mild smile still on his face. As if he had not a care in the world, he sank slowly into his chair and looked up at Madison. “Surprise,” he said.
Madison turned toward the window that overlooked Santa Monica. She felt the anger begin to deflate in her chest. Why did he always have to be right about these things? “You did this to Jane,” Madison said, shaking her head. “Of course.” And, ironically (and oh-so-fittingly), many of the surprises that Jane Roberts had faced were those that Madison herself helped create. How was that for karma?
“Makes for great ratings,” Trevor said. “I don’t have to tell you that, Madison. We don’t even have the footage back, but I know already that this episode—with you and your long-lost dad—will be one of our biggest. This story arc . . . Well, I couldn’t have written it better.” He pressed his fingers together under his chin, looking very pleased with himself.
But this is my life, Madison wanted to say. It’s more than just a story arc to me!
“This is how these shows work,” Trevor went on, his voice smooth and oily. “It’s a foolproof format. Find one seemingly sane girl and surround her with a whole lot of crazy. You want to be the star? You have to be the victim, too. Look, you’ve had a great year. You rebounded from the L.A. Candy finale. And, lawsuit aside, Madison’s Makeovers was a success. You’ve got thousands of fans, Madison. And they don’t just love to hate you anymore. They actually love you. Take advantage of that.”
Madison closed her eyes. Take advantage of it? Trevor wanted her to use her ugly past to create her perfect future. Was that even possible?
“Look,” Trevor said. He got up again and came over to place his arm on Madison’s shoulder. “You just worry about looking good. Let me worry about the story lines. I promised you’d come out on top, didn’t I?”
Madison nodded. The rage that she’d felt had disappeared, and now all that was left was confusion. And sadness.
“Well, do you trust me or not?” He gave her a little squeeze.
Without meaning to, Madison flinched. Knowing Trevor as well as she did, she could answer that question with two words: Definitely not.
Chapter 11
All Grown Up
“What about these?” Madison asked, thrusting a pair of slim, indigo jeans in Kate’s direction. “These are J Brand.”
They were in American Rag, the first stop on their scheduled shopping spree, which Kate now knew was also step one in a Kate makeover plotline, although that wasn’t exactly how the day was panning out. The cameras had filmed Madison modeling a spangly frock and a pair of Rochas leopard-spotted mules, then a silky Chloé jumpsuit with strappy gold sandals. According to Laurel’s texts, it was time for Kate to do a little shopping herself.
IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR MAKEOVER, REMEMBER? Laurel had written. HAVE SOME FUN. ☺
Kate took a few steps closer to inspect the jeans. The wash was so dark it was almost black. She touched the seam lightly, then saw the price tag. “Oh my God,” she said. “They’re like two hundred dollars.”
“I know! They’re a steal!” Madison repeated, brushing a golden lock of hair from her face impatiently.
“But they’re just jeans,” Kate said.
Madison barked out a laugh. “You’re so funny, Kate.”
“I don’t see what’s so funny about that,” she said, turning to look at a pretty printed blouse. The price tag on it was a mere $135. A bargain!
Madison came around the rack of clothes and snatched the blouse away from Kate. “No prints,” she said firmly. “Not yet. We’re going to start with the classics, but updated, with a twist.”
“You sound like Lucky magazine.”
“Mmmm,” Madison replied. She was distracted, thumbing through the racks of shirts and skirts. “I actually consider leopard print to be a neutral,” she mused, more to herself than Kate. “And you’re supposed to be sort of a rocker. . . .”
Kate hadn’t ever thought of herself as a rocker, that was for sure. But she didn’t protest. She took a long, fuzzy sweater off the rack and held it up. It was cream-colored and impossibly soft, and Kate could imagine curling up in it on her couch. She pressed it to her cheek. It felt like a teddy bear.
“Gaaah,” cried Madison, snatching it away. “What is this? A Snuggie?” She tossed it onto the padded daybed in the corner of the shop.
“But it’s a neutral,” Kate pointed out.
“It looks like a potato sack,” Madison said. “You’re not buying it.”
“Okay,” Kate said meekly. She decided not to touch anything else. She’d just let Madison, who was clearly the expert, handle the selections.
She was actually kind of enjoying herself, though. She was drinking a delicious chai latte, it was a lovely July day, and she was relaxed from the pedicure they’d gotten before the shopping began in earnest. Madison was being bossy, but in a helpful way, and frankly it was about time someone got Kate to shop somewhere besides the Gap. If Trevor thought the world would want to see a nice Midwestern girl go Hollywood fashionista, well, she was reasonably happy to oblige him.
“Just get me stuff that I can wash,” she called to Madison. “I don’t want to have to deal with dry cleaners.”
Madison looked up over the racks of clothes just long enough to roll her eyes.
Kate snickered. No one would ever accuse Madison of not having an opinion.
As Kate watched her castmate amass an armload of clothing for her to try on, she wondered if Madison was being nice because she felt like it or because she was supposed to, for a story line. Could her friendliness be genuine? Carmen would argue no. But Madison hadn’t been getting texts from Laurel, as far as Kate could see, telling her to pretend like she cared about someone besides herself. (Meanwhile Kate was getting them with embarrassing regularity: SMILE! And CAN YOU LOOK LESS BORED? And PULL HAIR AWAY FROM FACE.)
She’d surreptitiously glanced over at Laurel, who grinned and gave her a thumbs-up sign. Kate liked Laurel. And even more than that, she liked feeling that she had an ally behind those big black cameras.
Madison pranced over and thrust a silky navy sweater, skinny jeans, a gold belt, and a pair of dove-gray ankle boots at Kate. “Here,” she said. “Try these first.”
Obediently Kate rose and slipped into the dressing room. She pulled on the various pieces of the outfit and twisted her hair up in a loose knot to avoid any future blocking issues. When she pulled back the curtain and stepped out of the little room, Madison clapped her hands gleefully.
“Look at you! I wouldn’t recognize you. Skinnies and some booties and oh my God, it’s like you’re all grown up all of a sudden.” Madison looked pleased with herself.
Kate turned toward herself in the mirror and saw that Madison was right: She looked strikingly different. Sophisticated. Polished. Pretty. “Wow,” she said. “I feel like Carmen or something.”
Madison sniffed. “You’re much prettier than Carmen. It’s just that she knows how to maximize her assets, and you don’t. Not yet. But I’m going to teach you.” She held out another outfit. “Now try this one.”
Madison definitely had a good eye, Kate thought. As the clothes piled up on the dressing room benches she began to feel a mix of elation and dread. On the one hand, she was finally going to look like she had a sense of fashion. On the other hand, her bank account was going to take a serious hit.
And so it went for
another two hours, with Madison selecting the clothes and Kate dutifully putting them on. After the first hour, Laurel and the crew were satisfied they’d gotten what they needed and had packed up to go film Gaby walking out of her dressing room a dozen times. Laurel said that was approximately how many takes it took for Gaby to get something right. To Kate’s surprise, Madison hadn’t bolted as soon as the cameras were gone.
“The boys are going to love you in that,” Madison said, nodding at the sea-green shift dress that Kate had donned. “It makes your legs look amazing.”
Kate blushed—both at the mention of boys and her legs.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Madison demanded, smirking. “Did you meet someone?”
Kate sighed. “I might have met someone at Whisper the other night. After you and Sophia left.”
Kate looked to see if the mention of her castmate’s sister elicited any kind of reaction, but Madison simply raised an eyebrow in interest and said, “Do tell.” God, she was good at pretending like nothing fazed her. Kate guessed that a couple seasons of being on reality TV could do that to a person.
Kate shrugged. “I don’t know that much about him, really,” she said. “But he’s an actor and he plays the bass, and he might be the cutest guy I’ve ever seen. His name is Luke, and he has these green eyes. . . .” She lost herself in remembering Luke’s charms. The way they’d found themselves talking and laughing about their childhoods. The way he gleefully agreed when she said that Justin Timberlake’s best work was that Liquor Mart song he’d performed on Saturday Night Live. The way he had put his hand on the small of her back when they were leaving the club. The way he—
Madison waved a hand in her face. “Whoa, hello?” she said, smiling. “I think we lost you there.”
“Sorry,” Kate said. “I was just thinking. . . .”
“Is he famous? Would I know him?”
“Not likely,” Kate said. “Sounds like he’s still trying to make it.”
“So you only met him once,” Madison said, and Kate nodded. “Well, we’ll have to change that immediately.” She paused. “Did you tell him about The Fame Game?”
The Fame Game Page 8
