by India Lee
The figure crept closer to her. Gemma squinted, though not for long since she could recognize that shimmery blonde mane anywhere, in any lighting. “Madison,” she grumbled, the buzz from her escape instantly fizzling and dying at the sight of Madison and how annoyingly good she looked in her little black dress. “Why are you out here?” Gemma asked with annoyance.
“Oh. Um.” Madison held up a cigarette, looking embarrassed. “Smoke break. I didn’t want anyone to see.”
Gemma narrowed her eyes. “Why would anyone care?”
“I don’t know.” Madison looked down at the cigarette, which she twiddled with in her hands. “I… don’t want to ruin whatever image I have. Or am going to have. I don’t know.”
Gemma wanted to scoff and tell her that she wasn’t even famous yet, but she was too focused on trying to get out of the alley and back home somehow. “Cool. Well, gotta go,” she said curtly, brushing past Madison.
“Wait.” Madison grabbed Gemma’s arm but released it when Gemma looked down at it as if it’d been spit on. “Sorry. I just… there are paparazzi down there,” she said. She winced. “Kind of mean ones.”
“That’s most of them.”
“Right, of course. Thanks. But, um, if you’re trying to bail, you’re not gonna be able to wearing that totally conspicuous dress – which is crazy gorgeous, by the way.” Madison paused, laughing to herself. “It reminds me of the stuff Leah would freak out over when we were in high school and we’d all be looking at pictures of you in like, Us Weekly. I mean, not that we knew it was you back then.”
Gemma stared at Madison. Was she really trying to wax nostalgic to win her over? Was that going to be the angle of her little act? Gemma couldn’t figure it out, but whatever Madison was doing, she was unfortunately right about her one-of-a-kind dress being too conspicuous to sneak away in. Damn it, now what? Gemma thought.
Madison gave a hopeful look. “I can lend you my dress if you want.” Gemma cocked an eyebrow.
Within seconds, she was pushing an almost pathetically compliant Madison through the same awning window she’d escaped from. They went back through the adjacent door and into the powder room, where Perrin was impatiently pounding on the door. Shit. Without a thought, Gemma unzipped her coral dress and let it fall to the floor, stepping out of the puddle of ruffles and covering her chest with her hands before opening the door a crack.
“I’m changing. See? Just give me a sec!” Before Perrin could respond, Gemma slammed and locked the door again, turning to see Madison already in her own underwear, holding out her black dress. As Gemma reached to take it, she paused, caught off guard by the moment for some reason or another. But in a flash, she realized – the last time she’d been in her underwear around Madison had been high school, at Lucas’s birthday party where Madison arranged for a jock named Matt to wrestle and position Gemma into sexual positions while she recorded. Gemma stared at Madison’s dress, a peace offering that she suddenly was unsure if she wanted.
But as Perrin’s knocking started again, Gemma grabbed it.
“Thanks,” she said, still covering her breasts with one arm while she took the dress with the other. Turning around, she stepped into it and zipped the back on her own, all within a matter of seconds.
“Um, so… what do I wear?”
Gemma turned back around to see Madison gazing at the floor, where her beautiful coral dress lay in a shimmering heap beside the pile of dirty-looking belts. Gemma picked up her coral dress and held it to her chest.
“This is my baby. I designed it, so…”
Madison nodded, bending over with trepidation to pick up the hideous belt dress. Her face immediately twisted with bewilderment upon touching it. “Okay, um… how do I put it on?”
Gemma zipped her coral dress into Perrin’s black garment bag, taking one last glance at the spiked eyesore before shrugging. “I have no idea,” she said, not sure if she even felt bad for what she was doing. “But good luck.”
HOLLYWOOD NEWBIE ALERT: MADISON LENNOX’S FASHION BLUNDER!
Pop Dinner
July 13th
Yikes! The Rooftop Dancer? Call her The Wardrobe Malfunction!
While attending Friday’s Makeup World Tour soiree hosted by Queen Bee and Oro Records, Madison Lennox showed up wearing a heinous “dress” that appeared to be made from the old dog collars of a pitbull. Sound bad already? Don’t forget that all night, Lennox also flashed her pink underwear through the gaps of her ghastly get-up. Whoops! Looks like someone needs to spend her first paycheck on a stylist – it’s got to be way too early in Lennox’s young career to be making such humiliating mistakes!
Let’s just hope that the girl gives a good performance in Sidney Willis’ upcoming drama, Carbine. If she bombs, the name Madison Lennox will forever be remembered as the starlet that never was – or at least the trashy, hilarious Wardrobe Malfunction!
“So that crazy dog leash dress was supposed to be on you before Madison bailed you out?” Damian asked as he dropped to his exercise mat in a plank position. It was a few days after the sponsor party that they’d both left early, missing what Kate described as “the worst wardrobe malfunction in the history of Hollywood and probably the entire universe.” Since he’d soon be returning to the Bay Area, Damian suggested Gemma meet him at the private gym he often used that belonged to an old UCLA coach. It was the perfect place to meet, tucked away in a secluded spot downtown, hidden from the prying eyes of the paparazzi.
Gemma had opted not to tell Tyler that she was spending the day with Damian. She had convinced herself that having to pre-warn Tyler about anything regarding Damian would appear more suspect than not. Nonetheless, the notion of Tyler seeing a photo of her and Damian in a context he was unaware of made her uneasy. Gemma felt like it was unlikely photographers would find her in the obscure location though she thought Andro and James standing outside the door like soldiers made it kind of obvious where she was.
“Yeah, it’s part of my record label’s plan to redo my image. They were pretty pissed about the stunt I pulled.”
“What’s wrong with your current image?”
“It’s an exact representation of who I am?” Gemma guessed dryly. She reached into her purse and slid Romy’s CD case to him. “This is who they based Q.B off of.”
“Oh. Wow.” Damian held the box. “That’s a lot of skin.”
“I know,” Gemma laughed, taking it back. “She’s sexy and edgy and all that and I’m just some little girl playing dress up.”
“Please,” Damian laughed. “They could put you in nothing but a pair of underwear and boxing gloves and you’d look ten times as sexy, but it would be totally unoriginal.”
Gemma smiled. She gazed down at the ridiculous CD cover. “Maybe we should listen to it before we say anything,” she said with a grin.
Damian winced. “I have a bad feeling about this. But I’ll do it for you,” he laughed, taking the case and heading over to the sound system. Gemma sat herself down on the bench as the first song came on. The sound of synthesizers and basses barreled through the speakers and filled the small room.
“I’ve heard this before,” Damian looked up, trying to recall how he knew the song. “Oh, Nicki’s played this in the car. I think it’s called Flytrap. That’s the only word I ever catch in the song.”
“Really?” Gemma continued listening to the intro. It was immediately clear that their style of music was vastly different. When the long intro of synthesizers began to die down, the sound of a girl humming took over. Despite the obvious presence of autotune, Gemma could feel the blatant sex appeal Romy was going for in her languid vocals.
You think I’m pretty/I know you do/I’m made of honey/I’m made of glue/You can’t forget me/You’ve got no clue/How to escape me/Baby, you’re through.
“Intense,” Gemma pursed her lips as she shot a quick glance at Damian. He returned the look.
“I’ve never really listened to these lyrics,” Damian said, shrugging with a smirk on his face.
My trap is wild/My trap is strong/Once you’re inside it/It won’t be long/You are my prisoner/I know it’s wrong/I’ve got you baby/Where you belong.
“Oh. My God,” Gemma covered her mouth, blushing. Damian had a similar reaction, sitting in stunned silence. “Does she think she’s being subtle?” She laughed loudly, finding the lyrics so disturbingly hilarious that she didn’t have the energy to consider that this was the mess that Oro wanted her to emulate.
You can’t resist me/I got you locked in good/You’re in the flytrap/You know it’s understood/Won’t wanna leave me/Not that you even could.
“She sounds possessive,” Damian added, shaking his head with a smile on his face. Gemma laughed, barely able to hear herself over the blaring music.
Fell in the gap/Right in my lap/Another tapped/I’ve got you trapped in my flytrap baby.
She watched as Damian doubled over in laughter as well, his eyes crinkling as he joined her. The song continued, the thinly veiled metaphor growing increasingly over the top until Gemma had to run and shut it off.
“Oh my God, I’m in trouble if that’s what they want from me,” Gemma gasped for air, wiping tears from her eyes. “That was ridiculous. I mean, I’m scared out of my mind that they’re going to want me to write something like that now but I needed the laugh.”
“So did I.”
“I kind of feel both awful and great now,” Gemma said, turning to Damian. “I know that sounds weird.”
“No, I get it. I’ve kind of felt that way recently too.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” Damian shrugged. “Just feeling the pressure of the season I guess. Getting Rookie of the Year was everything I could ask for in my first year but it’s a lot of pressure too. I want to be my best for everyone.”
“You always are.”
“You’re biased,” he smirked, throwing her words back at her. “Because you’ve known me for so long.”
“Well,” she smiled. “Maybe a little.” Gemma leaned forward to wrap his arms around his neck for a hug as he stayed seated on the bench. He leaned his head into her shoulder and touched his hands briefly to her waist before opting to drop his arms from her body altogether. Gemma had noticed he had been more conscious of the way he touched her. She wondered if he was letting the tabloids get to him too. Sensing his discomfort, she stepped back, pretending to busy herself with her purse.
“I feel like I’m keeping you from getting a good workout,” Gemma said. “I should probably head out. I’ll see you again before you leave, right?”
“We have the photo shoot,” Damian said. “We’re still under contract, remember?”
“Oh, right,” Gemma stopped in her tracks. She had forgotten they had another shoot scheduled with Thierry Marc the following week. With the worry that had consumed her over her interview with the notorious Frances Browning, she hardly had the time to think about the rest of her schedule. She had heard that the original photography team had dropped out of the project to pursue an art installation piece in Vienna but Gemma was still nervous over the possibility of being forced to do another salacious shoot. Gemma sighed, wondering if she had the strength to hold up against all the challenges her career and relationships were throwing at her. Suddenly, she just wanted to be alone. “I’ll see you then, Damian.”
She burst out the doors, right past Andro and James. Gemma could feel them at her heels and she knew it was a matter of seconds before she’d be subjected to their overbearing presence. She inhaled sharply, holding her breath and closing her eyes as she continued to march forward. If she was only going to get two seconds to herself, then that was what she’d take.
Chapter 7
On the day of her interview with Frances Browning, Gemma found herself awake in bed at the crack of dawn. Lying beside Tyler, she listened to the sound of his light breathing, almost meditating as she recollected all the tips she’d been given the day before by her media coach. Don’t speak with upward inflections, be aware of micro-expressions, don’t look off to the side before answering, never look directly downward, especially not while talking about Elizabeth. The list of do’s and don’ts went on and on in order to assure that Gemma exude the dauntless confidence that Oro demanded in order to match Q.B.
“We’re just trying to cover everything here because you haven’t spoken to the media in five months and this is going to be the most watched interview of the year,” Perrin said in that mechanical tone that always conveyed that she meant business. “You don’t have any facts to mess up, but you do have the task of giving a completely flawless interview, which means ensuring that you come off perfectly and exactly as Oro wants you to. After the stunt you pulled at the sponsor party, it would be a gross understatement to say that they’re unhappy. So there’s no room for you to give a single answer that is anything short of perfect.”
The words rung in Gemma’s head that afternoon as a sound mixer from the film crew fixed her with a microphone, clipping it to the lapel of her strong shoulder blazer. It was finally happening – the interview that the world was waiting for. She sat across from the legendary Frances Browning on Tyler’s patio, which overlooked his infinity pool. Perrin had suggested something or another about having water in the background of the interview to signify “catharsis” and “rebirth.” Gemma had to force herself not to retch at the attempted symbolism, especially since Frances seemed to like it so much. An older woman in her fifties, she wore her nearly black hair in a bowl-shaped bob. The delicate string of pearls around her neck did little to soften her look, which Gemma remembered to have been harsh since her childhood, when she would sometimes stay up with her parents to watch the late-evening news programs that Frances hosted. She was that veteran of a reporter. It was slightly daunting. Just tell her the truth. That was the whole point of coming out anyway, Gemma resolved as she watched Frances faced the rolling camera, opening the interview with a quick and seamless summary of her career.
“As recently as February, Queen Bee was still known as the secret-identity pop megastar who chose to keep her real name a well-guarded secret. Though earlier years of her career saw the secrecy as branding, perhaps even a gimmick, Bee’s tumultuous past twelve months proved the necessity of being so thoroughly private.” Her eyes seared into the camera, taking on a grave expression. “After going public with her relationship to the highly coveted pop idol Tyler Chase, one blogger among a league of Tyler Chase super-fans made it her mission to out Queen Bee’s identity so that the ‘Tyler Chasers’ could locate, harass, and hurt Bee… as she eventually did herself. Tonight, we give you an exclusive interview with Queen Bee as she speaks for the very first time about Elizabeth Clarke, the stalker who haunted her for a year, and the life of truth she has faced since coming out as Gemma Hunter.”
After that, it felt as if the questions about Elizabeth came fast – and easy. Perhaps it was Frances’s little opening that put Gemma to ease, summarizing her past year in just forty-five seconds, as if it weren’t a big deal at all. Or maybe it was that the questions just really were easy. Suspiciously so. “When did you first meet Elizabeth Clarke?” “Did you or anyone around you have any suspicions of Elizabeth while she worked for the charity?” “Do you think her mission came from hatred of you, or is hate too strong a word?” “Detail your encounter with Elizabeth the night she assaulted you.”
But then finally:
“The media has been very hard on Tyler in the wake of this ordeal, for being what they deem an inadequate boyfriend or protector.” Frances squinted, touching her square chin. “How do you react to those accusations?”
Gemma blinked and stared, caught off guard and then pretending that she hadn’t been. She wanted to look at Tyler, to find him on the patio and make sure he wasn’t upset, but she knew that looking off camera before speaking would make her eventual answer appear untruthful. Inwardly, she gathered herself.
“I couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend than Tyler,” she responded genuinely. Once the word
s were out of her mouth, she smiled. “Since the ordeal, he’s shown that he cares about me more than I could ever imagine. About my safety, my feelings – everything.”
Frances nodded, pressing her lips into a strained smile. The attempt at warmth lasted all of a second before she dropped her bombshell. “Did he factor in your feelings when he began a working relationship with your high school tormenter, Madison Lennox?”
Gemma froze, stunned by the information that she didn’t think anyone even knew. But apparently, Frances knew and because of that, the whole world soon would too.
“According to former Beauford classmates, not only was Madison Lennox a bully of yours in high school,” Frances began, filling the void of Gemma’s stunned silence. “She was the one you referenced in your famous speech at the Kick Bullying charity ball. She wasn’t just any high school tormenter – you said that she was vicious and often caused you to run and hide. So do you think that Tyler factored in your feelings when he decided to play her love interest in the film Carbine?”
Swiftly, Perrin interrupted.
“She won’t be answering that question. Can we please move on with the questions approved in the script?”
Frances obliged without a beat missed. “Alright then. Bee, I’d like to talk about the speech you gave at the Kick Bullying charity ball. Is that okay with you?”
Though she knew she was stepping into a trap, Gemma answered, “Yes.”
“You spoke about a friend who helped you through the tough times in high school, and that friend was Damian Evans, whom you once dated and remain very close with.” She made sure to emphasize it. “Can you elaborate on what your relationship with him is like today and why it’s lasted through the journeys of your separate success?”
Crap, Gemma cursed. She knew that this was the trick question – the one that would be analyzed to death in the tabloids no matter how she answered it. Ugh, come on, Frances! Apparently the only difference between Frances Browning and the tabloids was a designer dress suit and a major network. She still asked about the dirt – she just did it underhandedly.
