Philip looked affronted. “As if that’s the only thing I can cook!”
“Oh yeah, right,” Carmen said, laughing. “There’s also Tuna Helper and frozen pizzas.”
“Exactly,” Philip said. “I’m a whiz in the kitchen.”
Cassandra held up a hand. “Don’t worry, I cooked. We’re having roast chicken with lemongrass and ginger.” She twisted her long dark hair into a bun and sat next to Carmen on a kitchen stool.
“Sounds great,” Carmen said. “Too bad Drew couldn’t come.”
Philip nodded. “Yes, but he’s got to earn his keep. There’s a show at the Bootleg I wanted him to check out.”
“Let’s just eat in here, then,” Cassandra said. “No Drew, no dining room.”
“I had no idea it was Drew who was keeping us so civilized all this time, but fine by me,” Carmen said. “Is it going to be ready soon? I’m starving.”
“Shopping works up an appetite, doesn’t it?” Philip asked.
Carmen looked at him in surprise. “How’d you know?”
“That gleam in your eye. It’s just like your mother’s. It’s the gleam of material conquest. You must have found a four-hundred-dollar pair of cashmere socks or something.”
Carmen laughed. “It’s summertime, Dad. In L.A. What would I need cashmere socks for?”
“Who knows? I don’t follow the whims of fashion. Maybe they’re all the rage because Gwyneth Paltrow likes them,” he said. But he smiled, and Carmen knew that he was pleased to make the sort of money that would allow his daughter to buy a pair of four-hundred-dollar socks, should she in fact want them.
The timer on the oven beeped, and Cassandra extracted a beautifully roasted bird. “Voilà,” she said. “There’s roasted veggies in there, too. Because God knows Philip didn’t touch a vegetable the whole time I was gone.”
“Isn’t scotch a vegetable?” he asked, winking at her.
She rolled her eyes and proceeded to serve them their dinner on white bone china plates.
“So,” Philip said as he sliced into his chicken, “I read something interesting about you the other day.”
Carmen hoped it was something besides the Luke business. “What?”
“That you’re dating that Australian actor—what’s his name?”
“Luke Kelly,” Cassandra said. “He’s her costar in The End of Love. Oh, honey, it’s just so exciting about the movie! Did you get the bouquet I sent?”
“Yeah, thanks, Mom; it’s on my dresser. And yeah, it’s amazing about the movie. But that Luke thing? Untrue. I’m not dating him. Didn’t you tell him, Mom?”
“Tell me what?” Philip asked. “You didn’t break up already, did you?”
Carmen laughed. “No, Dad! I haven’t had a boyfriend in forever—you think I’d get rid of one so quickly now? The truth is that we were never dating in the first place. We’re just friends.”
As she proceeded to explain the story to them (leaving out the part about their casual hookup, of course—she didn’t tell her parents everything), she saw the expression on her father’s face change from surprise, to bafflement, to distaste.
“So it’s a lie then,” he said when she had finished. “Is this your musician friend Drew told me about?”
Carmen nodded, happy that Drew was talking up Kate at work.
“You’re participating in a lie that very likely is causing your friend Kate stress, if not downright pain. How is that a good idea?”
Carmen sighed. “Oh, Dad, she understands! It’s all part of a larger plan.” I hope she understands, she thought but didn’t add. I mean, I think she does.
But her dad shook his head. “I don’t like it,” he said. “I don’t like dishonesty, and I don’t like the fact that this TV show hasn’t even aired yet and it’s already turning your life around.” He pointed a chicken leg at her—a gesture that was maybe meant to look intimidating but which merely looked comical. “This isn’t how things are supposed to work.”
Carmen bristled. “Yes, the show has turned my life around, Dad. For the better. You know that Colum McEntire wasn’t even going to let me audition? And then Trevor Lord convinced him to give me a chance, and then I was so good that he gave me the lead. The lead, Dad! In a movie I otherwise would have been lucky to be an extra in.” She realized that she was gripping her fork so hard that her knuckles were white.
“I’m sure you both have a point—” Cassandra began.
“What I’m seeing, Carmen,” Philip interrupted, “is a pattern of you pretending to do something, or be something, for the benefit of other people. You took the fall for Fawn when she shoplifted, and now you’re letting Luke pretend like he’s your boyfriend because he and his slimeball agent think that’s better for his image. What else will you agree to do?”
Carmen blinked at her father. She hadn’t seen him this upset in a long time, and she was torn between comforting him and yelling at him. She understood that he had a point, but he was blowing the whole thing way out of proportion.
“Well?” Philip asked.
Carmen shook her head. She decided not to fight him. The premiere was in a week, and she couldn’t risk a blowup that would prevent him from coming. “Seriously, Dad,” she said, reaching across the counter to touch his hand. “You have to trust me on this one. Everything is going to work out in the end, and I’m only going to be better and stronger after this experience. Okay?”
Philip looked toward Cassandra, who nodded slightly. She had always been more understanding of Carmen’s strange half-famous life, perhaps because she herself was so used to the spotlight.
“You think she knows what she’s doing?” he asked his wife.
“I do,” Cassandra said. “We raised a smart girl, Philip. Let’s trust her. Let’s see what amazing things she does with the opportunities she’s been given.”
Philip gazed into his scotch, swirling the ice cubes around in his glass. After a moment he looked up. “Okay,” he said finally. “Consider my objections raised and withdrawn. For now.” He shot Carmen a look. “I just want you to be careful.”
She smiled at him. “Daddy, I will be. Thank you for understanding. Does this mean you guys will be at the premiere then?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Cassandra said.
“Me either,” said Philip.
Carmen beamed at both of them. “Thanks, you guys.”
Her mother patted her arm and then suddenly looked very serious. “You know what this means, Carmen,” she said.
Carmen was puzzled. “No . . .”
“Barneys,” Cassandra said. “You, me, and a gold AmEx.”
Philip rolled his eyes. “I could have predicted that.”
Carmen laughed. “Well, just like Friday night dinners, shopping is a family tradition,” she said. “Right, Dad?”
And of course Philip Curtis had to agree.
Chapter 29
Lucky Girl
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.”
“Exactly.”
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.”
Chapter 30
How This Hollywood Stuff Works
“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?”
The Fame Game Page 20
