If Ira had one regret, and he wasn’t one for regret, but if he did have one, it would be the way Tommy had been forced to say what Ira had known from the start—Tommy Phillips was his son.
What Tommy had no way of knowing was that Ira had spent the last eighteen years watching from afar. Walking into Farrington’s that day was anything but random.
Some might say he’d been too hard on Tommy. But Ira would disagree. Maybe he wasn’t paternal in the usual way, but there was no doubt he played a large part in the sort of man Tommy had become.
Into his phone, he typed:
Thought I’d stop by and say good-bye before you leave. That okay?
Tommy was quick to reply:
Sure. We’re at Aster’s new place. I’ll text you the address.
Ira wrote:
Got it. See you there.
Tommy now commuted between his place in LA and Layla’s place in New York. Though Ira was happy for them, Aster’s choice to attend UCLA wasn’t exactly the future he’d envisioned at the start.
All along he’d been positioning Aster to be an A-list actress. And yet, while she definitely had the looks and charisma required, she lacked the sort of relentless tenacity needed to make it to the top of the heap. Not everyone could be Madison Brooks. And in the end, there was a part of Ira that was glad of that. Over the course of the summer, he’d come to think of Aster as a daughter. When he saw the look of fear on her face after finding him bound and gagged, he realized she cared for him too. So maybe it had all turned out for the best.
It was like Marilyn Monroe had once said: “Hollywood is a place where they’ll pay a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul. I know, because I turned down the first offer often enough and held out for the fifty cents.”
More than anything Ira liked people to feel indebted to him, and yet he’d grown fond enough of Aster that he no longer wanted that for her.
“Got a moment?”
Ira pushed his phone aside and waved Emerson inside.
Emerson stood at the edge of Ira’s desk and handed over the file Ira had requested.
He flipped it open and quickly skimmed the first page. “You sure about them?”
Emerson nodded. “I think you’ll like what you find. An Instagrammer on the rise, a model with an impressive number of followers, an up-and-coming actress—and, of course, a musician.”
“Any artists? Like a painter, sculptor, graphic arts, anything like that?” Ira regarded Emerson closely. He’d shown a lot of promise when he’d worked in marketing. And when Ira had asked him to take on the additional assignment of keeping tabs on Layla and tracking her whereabouts, Emerson had been quick to comply, no questions asked.
“That wasn’t on the list of gets, but I’ll be sure to look into it.”
“Good,” Ira said. “No need to repeat the exact formula, no matter how well it worked before. And what about James—he ran all the usual checks?”
“Says they’re good and ready. He’s training Priya to take over.”
Ira grew silent. James had been one of his best employees, and though he’d miss him, no one was ever irreplaceable.
“Okay then.” Ira closed the file and met Emerson’s gaze. “You ready for this?”
“Of course,” Emerson said. “Just . . .”
Ira waited.
“How do we top the last competition? It’s not like we can actually kidnap anyone.”
Ira grew thoughtful. He looked at Emerson. “We may never top it. But I’m not sure we have to. With a list as young, driven, and hungry as this, something is bound to happen.”
He reached into his desk to retrieve a stack of flyers. “Start with these. See that they’re widely distributed. We’re shooting for a record turnout. We want every kid who interviews to think they stand a chance.”
“The Hollywood dream,” Emerson said.
“Works every time.”
FIFTY-ONE
THE PRETTIEST STAR
Madison Brooks sat calmly in her front row aisle seat at the Dolby Theater. With Blue at her feet—she’d taken him as her date—and a fully recovered Paul by her side, life had never felt sweeter.
Six months after the tragedy at RED, Madison’s star continued to rise. She’d already won the Golden Globe for this role, and with Heather Rollins now buried and gone, she’d taken Madison’s secrets along with her. From this point on, Madison had nothing to fear. She could look forward to living out the rest of her life free of the burden of constantly looking over her shoulder.
Paul nudged her side. The nominees for Best Actress in a Leading Role were being announced. When her name was called, Madison faced the camera with the serene expression she’d been practicing with this exact moment in mind.
Her friends were all watching at Aster’s new apartment, and she wondered what they’d make of her gift of the black-and-white photographs that had once hung in her entry. She didn’t care if they displayed them or buried them deep in their closets. It was more her way of acknowledging something they’d suspected all along, while thanking them for their continued silence.
It felt strange to have friends. Not that they texted every day or hung out on most weekends. Everyone was busy. They each had their own lives. Still, when they did get together, their connection was deep. Like survivors of something the rest of the world could never comprehend, they were forever bonded after that night at RED in a way that was impossible to explain.
Blue perked his head up, and Madison grinned and leaned down to scratch between his ears. Ever since they’d been reunited, he’d barely left her side. His constant presence gave Madison comfort and also seemed to delight the countless tabloids, bloggers, and glossy magazines that detailed her every move. The same top designer responsible for her pale pink dress had also designed the various doggy tuxes Blue wore during award-show season.
“I’m thinking like Nicole Kidman just after she separated from Tom Cruise,” her longtime stylist, Christina, had said when they were choosing between the numerous designs on offer. Madison had wanted to go with a fiercer look to honor all she’d been through, while Christina did her best to sway her in the opposite direction. “You want to look delicate, almost to the point of fragile. It’ll convince people to root for you.”
“They’re already rooting for me,” Madison said. “They consider me a hero.”
“You’ve overcome a lot,” Christina was quick to agree. “You had to convince the public those blog posts were the result of a deranged mind.”
“Which they were.” Madison had glared.
“Clearly.” Christina blushed furiously and fought to recover. “Still, for a fairy-tale event like the Oscars, you want to be seen as a princess. Soon as it’s over, you can put on your Wonder Woman cape and conquer the world.”
Madison had halfheartedly agreed. But after walking the carpet and seeing the hushed deference paid to her, she had to admit Christina was right. In a town like Hollywood, the truth didn’t matter: perception was king.
Absently, she traced a finger over the place where the tracker had been removed, and focused on the big screen. Luckily, the tracker was only one of many precautions Paul had put into place. Though he’d been shadowing Gerald Rawlins’s contacts for the last decade, it was only recently that he’d been able to confirm Heather’s true identity. Once that was established, it was simply a game of follow the leader, which had ultimately led him to Death Valley. Madison shuddered to think what might’ve become of her if Paul hadn’t shown up when he did.
Mistaking her shiver for nerves, Paul reached over and squeezed Madison’s hand. She was quick to squeeze back. It was probably normal to feel butterflies, but Madison wasn’t worried, not in the least. There was no one left to deny her, no one left to stand in her way from claiming Hollywood’s most valuable prize.
The clips of all the nominated roles were done playing. She nudged Blue with her foot, preparing him for the moment they’d practiced at home.
The presenters
fumbled a joke that didn’t quite land. Then one opened the envelope and handed it to the other, who looked into the camera and said, “And the Oscar goes to . . .”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Finishing a series is always bittersweet, but I’m grateful for Katherine Tegen and Claudia Gabel for making Beautiful Idols such a pleasure to write.
I also want to thank the HarperCollins global team for all their hard work. What a thrill it’s been to see this series launched all over the world!
And of course, I have an abundance of gratitude for my excellent agent, Bill Contardi, my amazing husband, Sandy, my lovely and supportive family and friends (you know who you are!), and of course my readers, who allow me to live this wonderful dream.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Nancy Villere
ALYSON NOËL is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of over twenty novels, including the Immortals, Riley Bloom, and Soul Seekers series. With millions of copies in print, her books have been translated into thirty-six languages and have made numerous international bestseller lists.
Born and raised in Orange County, California, she’s lived in both Mykonos and Manhattan and is now settled back in Southern California, where she’s working on her next book. You can visit her online at www.alysonnoel.com.
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COPYRIGHT
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
INFAMOUS. Copyright © 2018 by HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Front cover photograph by Noël Alvarenga
Cover design by Erin Fitzsimmons
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017943404
Digital Edition APRIL 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-232460-3
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-232458-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-06-279645-5 (international edition)
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1819202122CG/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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Alyson Noel, Infamous
(Series: Beautiful Idols # 3)
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