“It’s not a healthy environment for Gabriela right now,” Mrs. Garcia said. “She’s a sensitive girl.”
“She loves being on The Fame Game,” Trevor pointed out. “I’m sure she told you that. Wasn’t it her dream to come to Hollywood and pursue a career in the entertainment industry?”
He could hear Mr. Garcia murmuring something in the background, but Mrs. Garcia cut him off. “Fame is fleeting, Mr. Lord. But life is long. I want Gabriela to have a good life.”
“Of course—every parent wants that,” Trevor said. “But isn’t it important what Gaby wants?” He bent a paper clip forward and back until it snapped.
“My daughter has not always acted in her own best interest,” she said.
Tell me about it, Trevor thought. Anyone could have told her that last round of implants was a terrible idea.
“She is easily swayed. Easily taken advantage of,” Mrs. Garcia went on.
“Let me assure you that no one associated with our show is taking advantage of her,” Trevor said. “We’re helping her. Honestly, things could have been a lot worse if we weren’t around to keep an eye on her. And did she mention that we’re about to get her on Dancing with the Stars? She’s already booked a private coach to get ready before rehearsals begin.” He made a mental note to have Laurel make this true, stat.
“We have spoken to a lawyer,” Mrs. Garcia said.
Trevor winced. This was not news he wanted to hear. He whipped out his BlackBerry. GET ME LEGAL, he typed to Laurel.
“We are investigating—”
“Mrs. Garcia,” Trevor interrupted. He knew that Gaby didn’t want to leave the show, and since she was over eighteen, her parents couldn’t simply take her away. But any time a lawyer was involved, things got ugly. “What if we agree on a probationary period? We’ll watch Gaby very carefully, and you’ll be in touch with her regularly, and if things ever seem less than perfect, we can discuss pulling her from the show.” He took a sip of Evian. “Also, we can discuss a salary increase. . . .”
“Are you trying to bribe us?” Mrs. Garcia demanded.
“Not at all,” said Trevor. “It seems to me like Gaby’s had a bit of a rough time lately, and it might be a nice thing for her. Some extra spending money.” He grimaced, grateful he wasn’t having this conversation face-to-face.
After a moment, Mrs. Garcia sighed. “I’ll talk with my daughter,” she said. “We’ll see.”
A second after Trevor hung up the phone, Laurel hurried in. “They’re at her house, you know,” she said.
“Who? What?” Trevor asked.
“The Garcias. They called from her apartment.”
Trevor put his head in his hands. Why was everyone such a headache lately? Sure, he’d talked the Garcias down—for now. And Laurel had gotten a few minutes of a Kate-Carmen fight, just as he’d hoped. And Madison was hitting every red carpet event he could get her an invite to, not to mention having comically bad dates with some of L.A.’s most ineligible bachelors. But nothing was ever as easy as it should be.
Trevor looked up at his producer. “Personality tests,” he said. “Everyone’s going to take them.”
Laurel raised her eyebrows. “What? Why?”
“I need to make sure that Gaby’s not the only loose cannon around here. What if Kate regresses with her stage fright and then gets PTSD from a bad performance? Or what if her stalker shows up again? Nothing happened the other night, thank God—and no thanks to SoCal Security, who let her wander around alone at night. And what about that makeup girl Carmen said was spreading rumors about her? Not that she’s ever on camera much, but still. I want all the main girls to meet with a psychologist. If anyone doesn’t want to take a test, she can sign a waiver saying she won’t sue us for emotional damages. We need to cover our asses.”
“Wow,” Laurel said. “Do you want me to take a test, too? Because sometimes I’m pretty sure this job is making me crazy.”
Trevor’s laugh was hollow. “I’m thinking about Sophia,” he said. “Her parents aren’t going to cause me any problems, but I’m ninety percent sure she might be a sociopath. See if you can make her sign the waiver. I don’t even want to know what her results would say. She’s about five different kinds of crazy.”
Laurel nodded. “Seems possible, if not likely. Do you think it’s true what they say, that she’s sleeping with someone on the crew?”
Trevor shook his head. He had heard rumors but never a name. “Not the crew. She’s a climber—she’s not going to get it on with a PA. But . . .” He stopped. He felt like slapping himself on the forehead. How had he not thought of it before? He’d been seeing a lot more of her on the footage lately. And hadn’t Stephen Marsh been pushing for her to get a better story line? Hadn’t Stephen started talking about how Sophia was an underused character, a star waiting to shine?
He heaved a giant sigh. Stephen Marsh! She’d sunk her claws into him. The only question was: how far?
22
YOU GET ONE CHANCE
“So, how’s the Next Big Thing doing this morning?” Kate’s manager asked as he met her in the parking lot of SIR Los Angeles. Todd Barrows looked even happier and more upbeat than usual. “Ready for your big showcase?”
Kate fingered the latch on Lucinda’s case. “I’m feeling good,” she said. “Strong. Excited.” She hoped that saying so would make it true. She was still feeling shaken by the appearance of J.B. On top of that, it felt like all her relationships were in an unpleasant state of flux. So it was kind of hard to focus on her music.
She knew she had to, though. This was everything she’d ever wanted. Everything she’d ever dreamed of, lying in her pink bedroom in Ohio. She’d worked for years for this. And it all came down to today. It was a lot of pressure, and as everyone who’d ever seen an episode of The Fame Game knew, Kate and Pressure didn’t have the best track record.
“That’s exactly what I want to hear, kiddo. Come along this way,” Todd said. “We’ve got the production stage all to ourselves.” He yanked open the door and motioned for her to enter.
Kate sucked in her breath at what she saw before her. Although Todd had done his best to explain to her what a showcase looked like, she hadn’t expected this. The room was huge: There was a stage on one end; a vast, empty floor in the middle; and a handful of couches scattered around in the back.
She could imagine how small she’d look onstage to the people sitting on those couches. There’d be no fans to cheer her on, no cluster of girls dancing, no one singing along to the chorus of “Love You Later.”
Kate had thought she was afraid of big audiences, but suddenly she understood that having a small one was going to be a lot scarier.
She glanced down at her watch. Where was Drew? Even though he’d recently gotten back from New York and was swamped with work, he told her he’d be here. She was counting on being able to look up from her playing to catch his eye. She’d come to depend on the confidence boost he gave her.
“So you’ll be up there, obviously,” Todd said, pointing to the large stage, as if she might have somehow missed it, “and the studio execs will be back here.” He gestured to the nearest couch.
“Do I really need all this . . . room?” she asked faintly. She remembered the claustrophobic sound booth she’d recorded “Starstruck” in with a pang of nostalgia. It had felt so small, so safe.
Todd nodded and gave her arm a friendly squeeze. “They want to see you onstage. It’s not only how you sing, Kate. It’s how you act when you’re up there. You’ve got the voice of an angel—we know that. But do you have star power? Do you have charisma? Can you light up a room?”
She sank into a couch. Those weren’t questions she wanted someone to ask her, not when she was fresh off being called Doormat all over D-Lish. (Although ever since she’d started taking Madison’s advice, comments like that had gotten a lot less frequent.)
“Of course you do,” Todd said, answering his own question. “That’s why we’re doing this. You’ve got som
ething to prove, and today you’re going to prove it.”
He opened a leather binder and scanned down a page. “Fusion Music is first, then Dragonfly. Then we’ve got a break, then Merlin and GSA and Rogue Records. . . .”
Kate leaned down and took Lucinda out of the case. Her guitar, which she’d had since she was a kid, looked worse for the wear. She wished, for a moment, that she’d brought the shiny new electric one that The Fame Game had paid for. But she wasn’t as confident on an electric guitar, and her demo would show the executives what she could do with some electronic and technological help . . . right?
A sound guy wandered in, chewing gum. “You ready to set up?” he asked.
Kate nodded and followed him onto the stage.
“Don’t look so nervous, doll,” Todd called. “You’re going to be amazing. Oh, and if you’re hungry? I ordered hors d’oeuvres.”
“Awesome,” Kate said. “Because when I’m about to have a panic attack, all I really want is a mini-bagel.”
Todd held one out to her.
“I was kidding,” she said, forcing a laugh.
Kate had been sitting onstage, her guitar in her lap, for what seemed like ages before the first group from Fusion Music filed in. Todd made a brief but gushing introduction as the four executives (all men) helped themselves to the snacks that had been laid out and checked their phones one last time before settling in for a listen.
Kate gave one final desperate look at the door. Where was Drew? Was he going to be a no-show? Her heart was racing even worse than it usually did, and he was always the one to calm her down. She wished she could check her phone for a message, but it was on the other side of the room.
Todd cleared his throat, and Kate knew she had to begin, with or without Drew. She leaned into the mike. “Hi, I’m Kate Hayes,” she said, offering what she hoped was a confident smile. Then she felt like kicking herself, because of course they already knew that. “Thank you for coming,” she added. “I appreciate your time. And I hope . . . I hope you like the show.”
She took a deep breath and began to play. She’d decided to start out with a new song, because she wanted to surprise them. “I’ve been pacing this old room all night / thinking about our final fight / wishing I could say just what I meant. / But words are hard just like your eyes / I’m so tired of all your lies / the energy I had has all been spent. . . .”
“Over You” was supposed to be her power song, the one aimed at all the sad, mad teenage girls in the world. (Because what teenage girl wasn’t sad or mad at some point during the average day? Kate certainly was.)
In the second verse, the girl in the song realizes she has to stand up to her boyfriend, who then basically comes crawling back to her. It had seemed like such a good idea! It played to a market Kate knew she already appealed to.
But she could feel how the energy in the room had dampened. They didn’t like the song. Did they think it was too bitter? It was supposed to be badass—like Christina Aguilera’s “Fighter.” Kate had written it to be spirited and catchy. But maybe that wasn’t how it sounded to a bunch of middle-aged men. As she saw the first executive bring out his phone and begin tapping on it, her voice grew quieter and her playing became hesitant, and it was all she could do to finish the song she’d begun.
The next three songs went better, but far from great. And great, she knew, was what she needed to be.
Todd tried to reassure Kate after her set, when the Fusion Music people had shaken her hand and quickly vanished. “You were wonderful,” he said. “You were.”
“They hated me.”
“They didn’t. But maybe ‘Over You’ isn’t the best opener. How about something a little more . . . positive?”
Kate nodded. She placed her hand over her pounding heart, willing it to calm down. She’d made a mistake in picking her first song, she could admit that. But it didn’t have to affect everything. She could still pull this one out.
“You should feel confident,” Todd urged her. “Do not feel pressure. Pressure is for when you have to do something you aren’t prepared to do. But you are prepared for this. Now let’s kick some butt, all right?”
“You sound like my sister. Or her basketball coach,” Kate said.
Todd smiled. “Everybody wants to succeed. But the great musicians expect to succeed, and that includes you.”
“You’re still doing it,” she said.
He shrugged. “What can I say? Get up there onstage and score a three-pointer.”
But Kate’s second set, for Dragonfly, went even worse. She dropped her pick, flubbed the bridge on “Love You Later,” and by the time she finished her fourth song, she was on the verge of tears.
Todd, doing his best to hide his own shock, tried to do damage control. He told the A&R folks how brilliant Kate’s recordings were. “She’s having a rough day,” he said. “Her grandpa died. Here, have a mini-bagel.”
The executives nodded sympathetically but left looking grim, as if their attendance had been a colossal waste of time.
Which it was, Kate thought, feeling the tears come for real now. She’d done a terrible job. Everything was riding on today, and she was blowing it. Where in the hell was Drew?
After Todd closed the door behind the Dragonfly group, he turned to her, his face dark. “I have a feeling that another pep talk isn’t going to do it for you today,” he said.
Kate wiped her cheeks and said nothing. The tears kept coming.
“So—I think we should cancel the rest of the showcase.”
If it was possible to feel relief and horror at the same time, Kate felt it now. “But—”
“I’m sorry,” Todd said, his voice taking on an edge. “You get one chance with these people, Kate. I’m not going to risk you blowing the next three sets.”
She sank down onto one of the couches, which sighed beneath her weight. How had she failed so badly? It was one thing to screw up an open mic, but a showcase? That was a whole other level of train wreck.
She wished she had a time machine. She needed a do-over.
She also wanted to crawl into her bed at home and have her mother soothe her. But she was across the country.
And Drew? He might as well be, too.
23
A LOVER, NOT A FIGHTER
Madison reached out and patted Kate’s hand. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think it was,” she said.
Kate shook her head and dug her hand into the bowl of tortilla chips. “It was worse. You’re on this stage, but it feels like you’re in some corporate conference room. No one’s having a good time. No one’s drinking a beer. There are no good vibes at all. These people aren’t there to party; they’re there to judge you.”
Madison moved the bowl out of Kate’s reach. Kate had eaten half a bag of Sesame Blues already, and if she kept going, she’d be too bloated to fit into those Joe’s jeans she always wore. “You’ve got to stop obsessing about it. You’ll have another chance to prove yourself.” She heard the front door open. “Here comes Carmen,” she said quietly.
Kate looked up and groaned. “Awesome. That’s exactly what I need.”
Madison knew that the roommates had done a good job avoiding each other recently (until now, apparently). She also knew that Kate was mad at Drew for missing her showcase, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that things weren’t going so great in Luke-and-Carmen Land either.
What a whole lot of trouble was brewing! And for once, Madison hadn’t been the cause of it. It was almost enough to make her feel nostalgic for the old days, when she made a practice of betraying Jane Roberts almost weekly.
Carmen stopped short when she saw them on the living room couch. “Oh—” she said, and made as if to turn around.
Madison held up a hand. “Wait, Carmen. Don’t leave.”
Carmen raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because your roommate here is having a really rough time, and from what I gather things are not particularly amazing for you at the moment, ei
ther, so why don’t we sit down and hash things out?”
Both Carmen and Kate stared at her. Madison gave a faint smile, and Carmen narrowed her eyes at her, no doubt trying to determine what nefarious reason underlay Madison’s sudden burst of concern.
But Madison didn’t have a nefarious reason at all. Although she had a slightly self-serving one (nothing wrong with that!). She knew that if Kate and Carmen made up, the lack of drama in their story line would drive Trevor to look elsewhere for stories . . . for instance, to Madison herself.
But she genuinely liked Kate, and seeing her so down in the dumps was a bummer. And Carmen didn’t feel like a threat to her anymore: Her follow-up to her starring movie role, after all, seemed to be wandering around L.A. aimlessly, eating fro-yo with that annoying hanger-on Fawn.
Madison patted a cushion on the couch. “Have a seat, Carm.”
Looking very wary, Carmen reluctantly sat. Kate reached toward the chip bowl but Madison pushed it out of her reach again. “Look, you two,” she said. “You’re fighting over nothing. Kate, Carmen was drunk, and she’s really sorry about what she did. Right?” She looked over at Carmen, who nodded. “And honestly, Kate, Carmen kisses everyone.”
“Yeah, especially my boyfriends,” Kate said.
“I do not kiss everyone,” Carmen said.
Madison laughed. “Oh, face it, Carm, you’re a bit of a kissing slut. But that’s part of your charm.”
Kate snorted into her hand.
“That is so not true,” Carmen said.
Madison shrugged. “I’ve been reading about you making out with people for years,” she said. “Starting with your sweet sixteen at Chateau Marmont, when you tried to plant a big one on Leonardo DiCaprio.”
Fame Game 03: Infamous Page 13
