It wasn’t until she got inside a cab, and they had pulled away from LAX and away from the photographers, that she allowed herself to slump down in her seat—and cry.
“Scar?”
No reply. Jane closed the door behind her and threw her keys on the hall table. The apartment was totally quiet: no TV, no music, no Scar conjugating Spanish verbs out loud. On the counter, Jane noticed an empty to-go cup from 7-Eleven. Ah, so the crew has been here filming, she thought. She was really, really glad she’d missed them. She didn’t need the cameras spontaneously documenting her “homecoming,” especially with her feeling so crappy and her face streaked with tears.
Jane thought about the ambush at the airport and felt a fresh wave of distress—and anger, too. She decided to hide out in her apartment until late, at least midnight, before hitting the road for Santa Barbara. It was the only way she could be sure not to be followed by more of them.
She walked into the kitchen and saw a big note plastered on the marble counter:
Janie, it’s 2 p.m., and I’m off to catch my flight to Aspen. I have my cell, so call me!!!!!!!! Love, Scar, 12/23
Jane realized that she had just missed Scar. In fact, maybe they were at LAX at the same time?
There was another note next to the first one:
To the person from Angelo’s Pet-sitting Service: Penny is in the last bedroom on the right. Plz feed her the fish food that’s next to her bowl.
Scar had added her cell phone number in case of an emergency.
Aw, Jane thought. That was so sweet of Scar to remember Penny. Especially since Jane had taken off for Cabo without remembering to ask Scar to take care of her (yet another thing she felt incredibly guilty about).
The kitchen was really clean: no dirty dishes in the sink, no empty pizza boxes piling up next to the trash can. In general, Scar tended to be much neater and more organized than Jane. (Except in the grooming and fashion departments, although Scar was so naturally stunning that she always got away with not brushing her hair, putting on makeup, or wearing anything other than jeans and a wrinkled tee. Jane, while pretty, required a little more effort.) Although, speaking of the trash can…Jane noticed dozens of Post-it notes and scraps of paper spilling out of it. She fished them out.
They were all messages from Scar to her, dated between five days ago and today:
Janie, call me!
I’m off to the library to return books. Back by 9 a.m.
I have to talk to you about Madison ASAP!
Your mom called.
Call me!
Trevor called like fifty times—can u call him back?
Fiona Chen’s office called.
At the gym (new personal trainer!), back noon. If you’re home wait for me!!!
Call me!
Starbucks, back in an hour.
Trevor called again.
Last exam for the semester, back by dinner.
Fiona Chen’s office called again.
Your dad called.
Filming at some stupid club, back by midnight.
Janie, call me!!!!!
And more of the same.
Jane’s chest tightened. Scar had obviously been worried about her and trying to connect with her at every opportunity. And Jane had completely blown her off. Okay, so she didn’t have cell reception or internet at Madison’s parents’ condo. She should have called or texted Scar from the Cabo airport or LAX or wherever.
She scanned the messages again, pausing on the one about Madison. What did Scar mean, she had to talk to her about Madison ASAP? That seemed so random. Jane knew that Scar thought Madison was a shallow, pretentious bitch who only looked out for herself. No emergency there. Like all of Scarlett’s opinions, she wasn’t shy about voicing it. But as far as Jane could tell, Madison had always been friendly to Scar, inviting her to parties, spa outings, and more. Scar was the one who turned her nose up at stuff like that. She prided herself on being different, apart, an outsider.
But that was Scar. She could sometimes be too intense and critical when it came to people, especially people in Jane’s universe. Jane knew Scar was just looking out for her, but still. Scar had been this way with a couple of Jane’s friends in high school, and with some of her boyfriends, too, including Caleb (Scar was totally against their long-distance relationship when he started college) and Jesse (whom she rarely referred to by his name, preferring “man-whore” and similarly flattering nicknames).
Scar was Jane’s best friend, though. And Jane was way overdue in reaching out to her. Her friendship with Scar wasn’t going so well these days. Like everything else in her life.
Jane pulled her cell out of her bag and quickly typed:
SCAR, IM SO SORRY IVE BEEN OUT OF TOUCH BUT IM BACK AT APT NOW AND ON MY WAY TO SANTA BARBARA. IM OKAY. LUV U, JANE
Jane hit Send and smiled to herself. That was that. She had made first contact after her self-imposed exile. That wasn’t so hard, was it?
Now she just had to do the same thing with her mom and dad and Trevor and Fiona and whoever else had left messages for her. Yeah, piece of cake, she thought.
4
YOU’RE DOING THIS FOR A GOOD REASON
Considering that it was Christmas Eve, the Blue Dolphin was surprisingly crowded. The blinking neon Santa Claus and the Christmas lights and fishing net that decorated the walls were more depressing than festive and did nothing to disguise its cheap vinyl booths, dingy pool tables, and lame jukebox. (Jimmy Buffett? Seriously?) It was the kind of place where a mostly older crowd could drink a lot of cheap beer, play darts, and yell at whatever game happened to be on the minuscule TV set above the bar.
It was also perfect for twenty-year-old Madison Parker’s purposes tonight. These people were not PopTV fans; no one would know who she was. And while she usually loved to be seen, she didn’t want to be recognized this evening. As much as she would have preferred meeting her contact at her office—or better yet, over martinis at Bar Marmont—she didn’t dare take the chance, not so soon after the story had broken. Maybe she was being overly paranoid, but better safe than sorry.
She sat in one of the booths in the corner, her body angled so that she had a view of the room but no one could see her face.
When her phone buzzed, Madison expected to see a text making excuses about traffic or whatever. She reached into her quilted Chanel bag and pulled out her cell.
It was from Jane:
THANK U FOR CABO! U SAVED MY LIFE! IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE YOU AS A FRIEND. MERRY XMAS! LUV U, JANE
Madison’s fingers trembled slightly as she clutched the phone. Her reaction should have been annoyance. She should be scoffing at this sweet little message from sweet little Jane, whose sweetness generally made her want to puke, but for a moment she felt a pang of…what? Guilt? Regret? Jane thought of her as a friend. A good friend. And for those few days in Cabo, Madison had been just that. It had been fun hanging out on the beach and talking about clothes and boys. Being away from L.A. and from the twenty-four/seven pressure of being “on,” Madison had almost relaxed into normalcy with Jane. Madison had never had a best friend growing up. In some ways, ironically, Jane was the closest thing to a best friend she’d ever had.
Madison shook her head sharply. Stop it, she told herself. You have to focus. You’re doing this for a good reason.
After all, it wasn’t like she was hurting Jane. Sure, Jane was upset now, but she would get over it. Any publicity was good publicity, right? If no one knew who Jane Roberts was before, they sure did now. And if Jane ended up with really minor story lines because of this—or off L.A. Candy altogether—then it was for the best. Hadn’t she told Madison the entire time they were in Cabo that she wished she’d never signed on to do the show? Madison was just helping Jane get what she wanted.
Besides, Jane was not meant to be the star of L.A. Candy. She didn’t even want it. Madison, on the other hand, needed this, and would never take it for granted. Paparazzi were part of the job. Madison would never have run away from a scan
dal. In fact, she would have made sure to get a Maxim or FHM cover out of those photos. And loved every second of it.
“Traffic was a joke, and what bar doesn’t have valet?”
Madison glanced up, startled. She hadn’t noticed Veronica Bliss standing there. She was holding a glass of what looked like scotch on the rocks, which she set down on the table next to Madison’s untouched glass of white wine.
“Hi, how are you?” Madison said brightly.
“Fine, fine.”
Madison watched Veronica as she slid into the seat across from her. The forty-something woman was tiny—five feet tall and petite—with short red hair and piercing light blue eyes behind stylish black Chanel frames. Her simple black suit with pearls was at odds with the tacky decor in the Blue Dolphin.
Even though Veronica was physically diminutive, most people in Hollywood were terrified of her. And for good reason. As the editor in chief of Gossip magazine, Veronica could make or break a person’s reputation and career with just one well-timed, well-placed story or photo.
A person like, say, Jane Roberts.
“Enjoy yourself in Cabo?” Veronica asked.
“The weather was to die for.”
“Anything you want to share?” Veronica gazed squarely at Madison.
Madison stirred uncomfortably. Veronica had the weirdest way of staring at a person and not breaking eye contact, even for a second. It was creepy.
“You know, it was all baking on the beach and downing margaritas,” Madison said, shrugging.
Veronica took a sip of her drink. “Well, I certainly appreciate your emailing me from Cabo with your location. My photographer flew in and got some great shots of Jane.”
“Did he get any of me?” Madison said, remembering the guy with the aviators. At Veronica’s silence, she continued, “I had to sneak into town to send you that email, ’cause our resort has no internet access, and—”
“Yes, yes, I’m grateful,” Veronica cut in, not sounding appreciative at all.
Madison flinched. The woman owed her, big-time. Why wasn’t she being nicer? Maybe she needed reminding.
“So. How are the newsstand sales of the big Jane/ Braden/Jesse issue?” Madison asked, taking a sip of her wine.
Veronica’s blue eyes lit up. “Excellent. The numbers are incredible. You really came through with those photos.”
Madison smiled smugly.
“I’m curious, though. How, exactly, did you obtain them?”
“I know a photographer. He’s not afraid of heights, if you know what I mean.” Veronica just stared at her, so Madison continued to explain. “There’s a big tree near Jane’s bedroom window, and she never closes her curtains, and…well, you can guess the rest.”
“Impressive.”
“So, will those pictures from Cabo be part of a followup story?” Madison asked.
“Yes, of course. I have reporters keeping tabs on both Jesse and this Braden guy. Apparently Braden flew out to New York City the day before yesterday. From what I gather, he and Jesse have been friends for a while, but no one knew who Braden was. One day he’s an unknown wannabe actor living in the shadow of his best friend; the next day everybody’s talking about him. The power of publicity, right? As for Jesse…well, it’s been less than a week since the story broke, but during that short time our Jesse’s been busy. He’s been spotted at Crown Bar with some blonde, then Les Deux with another girl. I guess someone’s trying really hard to prove that he’s over Jane.”
“Interesting,” Madison said, although really, it wasn’t interesting at all. Who cared about Braden or Jesse? She wanted to get the subject back to what really mattered: her. “Listen. About our deal.”
“Deal?”
Madison felt heat rising to her cheeks. “Yes, deal. You told me that if I got you dirt on Jane, you would put me in your magazine.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll have one of my reporters call you first thing tomorrow. Oh, except…it’s Christmas, right? Maybe the day after.” Veronica cocked her head. “Funny, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“That you, Madison Parker, are spending Christmas Eve plotting against one of your best and, as I understand, only friends.”
Madison glared. “She’s not one of my best friends. I have other friends. Lots of them. Besides, Christmas Eve isn’t over yet. I have plans.”
“Of course you do.” Veronica picked up her scotch and took a sip, never breaking eye contact with Madison.
Madison looked away, wanting so badly to say what she was thinking, which was that it didn’t seem like Veronica had any warm, fuzzy Christmas Eve plans, either. But Madison knew better than to bite the hand she was hoping would feed her.
“Bitch,” Madison murmured.
“What?” Derek rolled over from his side of the bed and gazed at her, confused.
Madison shook her head. “Nothing. Sorry. I was just thinking about this woman I had a drink with tonight.”
“Oh,” he said, glancing at the clock on her nightstand. “Damn. I’ve gotta go. It’s almost midnight, and…” His voice trailed off.
“Don’t worry about it. Go, go.”
Derek stood up, picked up a dove gray Zegna dress shirt from the floor, and shrugged it on. “Hey, I left your Christmas present under your tree.”
Madison grinned. “You did? Am I gonna love it?”
“You’re gonna love it. Oh, and I mailed in your other Christmas present this morning. January rent.”
“Awesome. Thanks, sweetie.”
“No, I’m the one who should thank you.” He leaned over, cradled her face in his hands, and kissed her.
Madison kissed him back, as always managing to (almost) ignore the cold touch of his platinum wedding band against her skin.
5
CHRISTMAS EVE WITH THE HARPS
“Could you pass the smoked trout, darling?” Scarlett’s father said to her mother.
“Yes, of course, sweetheart. Scarlett, would you like another oyster with mignonette sauce?”
“Umm…sure.”
Silence followed, filled with only the clinking of silverware against dishes. Scarlett glanced over her shoulder at Dana, who was making a frantic rolling motion with her hands, which Scarlett translated to mean, Please keep the conversation going, already. Any second now, she would be sending Scarlett another text: CD U TALK ABOUT CHRISTMASES FROM YR CHILDHOOD? ANY FUNNY STORIES? WHAT ABOUT THE BEST AND WORST PRESENTS U EVER GOT? WHAT ABOUT…
“So…skiing was awesome today, wasn’t it?” Scarlett managed as she slurped down another oyster without grimacing. (Why did they have to have the consistency of snot?) She would normally ignore Dana’s TMs, but she didn’t want to come across as being even more awkward and conversationally challenged than her parents.
“Yes, excellent,” her father agreed.
“A little crowded for my taste,” her mother said.
More silence. Scarlett stared at the hideous all-white centerpiece (tall white candles, twinkling white lights, and a pair of fake white kissing doves nestled in a bed of white leaves and berries) and tried to think of something else to say.
Oh, yeah, the tricycle incident. “Remember when you got me that yellow tricycle for Christmas?” she said, forcing a laugh. “When I’d already taught myself how to ride a bike? That was hilarious, right?”
Her parents exchanged a confused glance. “I’m not sure I remember that,” her father said. “Do you, darling?”
Her mother shook her head. “I don’t.”
More silence. Scarlett stirred in her chair, picking at the food on her plate. Why had she agreed to this? she wondered for what seemed like the hundredth time. Letting the show film her with her parents, of all people, on Christmas Eve, of all days?
But it had been so hard to say no—for Jane’s sake.
Trevor had originally scheduled the cameras and crew to film Jane at home with her family on Christmas Eve. But as of yesterday, Jane was still missing. So when Dana had called Scarlett
as soon as she’d landed in Aspen and asked if she wouldn’t mind filling in for Jane, what could she say? “No?” Well, actually, that was exactly what she said, but after many phone calls they had worn her down, not-so-subtly reminding her that she had a contract. A contract that she was willing to honor for the few remaining episodes of the season. After that…she wasn’t sure. Being on the show kind of sucked, in her opinion, and the (free) gorgeous apartment wasn’t worth the invasion of her privacy and all the other little annoyances. She and Jane could happily move back to their rat hole by the 101. Well, she could, anyway. She wasn’t sure how Jane was feeling about the show these days.
Soon after agreeing to the Aspen shoot, Scarlett had gotten the text from Jane saying that she was okay and that she was heading up to Santa Barbara. She had tried to call her a few times since then, but Jane hadn’t picked up. Obviously, Jane wasn’t ready to talk to anyone just yet. Which meant that she definitely wasn’t going to be in the mood to have the L.A. Candy cameras in her face when she and her family sat down for their Christmas Eve dinner.
So Scarlett had decided not to inform Trevor or Dana that Jane was no longer MIA—or that they should move their shoot back to Santa Barbara, as originally planned. She had decided to give her best friend another few precious hours of space and privacy. She had even elected to try to be nice to her parents and put on a good show for the cameras. She could see the finished episode now: “Christmas Eve with the Harps.” Gag! The way it was going, the scene would be almost silent, with only the sounds of utensils clinking against china. She guessed that would end up being perfect for the way Trevor was editing her—the silent, pretty girl and her silent, pretty family.
See how much I love you, Janie? Scarlett thought drily.
What made it even worse was that her parents clearly had no idea how to behave in front of the cameras. Although on this count, Scarlett was sympathetic. It was definitely surreal, trying to act normal (well, as “normal” as the Harps could be) in your home (or in your rented condo in Aspen) with a crew of eight rearranging your furniture, plastering paper over your windows, and bustling around with their high-tech equipment. And then recording your every word and gesture for posterity—at least until Trevor edited the hell out of them.
Sweet Little Lies Page 3
