Fame Game 03: Infamous

  He wondered what Madison would think about Sophia being let go. Their relationship was always a bit of a mystery to him. They had their sweet moments, but for the most part Sophia was nothing but a thorn in her sister’s side. Who would have thought Madison would put up with Sophia as long as she had? Was it family loyalty? Or was Sophia in possession of yet another secret Madison didn’t want to get out?

  Trevor wished that were the case, but he doubted it. Sophia had already outed Madison as the pudgy brunette from a trailer park—what worse secret could there be?

  “Maybe Madison’s actually a man,” Laurel had said, with a completely straight face.

  They’d had a good laugh over that one.

  He was actually chuckling about it again when Laurel burst into his office, knocking her hip on the doorjamb in her hurry to get to him.

  “Are you all right?” Trevor asked, watching her rub what was certainly going to be a large bruise.

  Laurel ignored the question. “Sophia’s filed a sexual harassment suit,” she said breathlessly.

  Trevor stared at her. “A sexual harassment suit?” he repeated. His brain seemed to be working slower than normal all of a sudden. “On what grounds? Her relationship with Stephen was consensual. And anyway, I fired him already.”

  Laurel sank into the chair opposite his desk. “No, Trevor,” she said. “The suit isn’t accusing Stephen of sexual harassment. It accuses you.”

  Trevor sucked in his breath. “What?”

  But Laurel didn’t repeat herself. She knew he’d heard.

  Trevor jumped out of his chair. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! She really is insane!”

  “Yes, we’ve confirmed that,” Laurel said. “Although maybe a little too late.”

  Trevor stalked over to the window and stared out at the L.A. skyline. The palm trees, waving in the wind, the stocky shapes of the buildings, the distant hills: They all seemed to taunt him. Suddenly he turned back to Laurel. “Actually,” he said, “that is genius.” He smiled wryly and began to shake his head.

  Laurel raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

  “She’s accusing me of assault because she can’t be fired if I’m being investigated for a crime against her.” He hit his palm on the window frame. “Stephen must have told her that he’d been fired. She saw the ax above her own head. And then she figured out a way to stop it.”

  Trevor couldn’t believe it. He knew that he was innocent, and that this would be quickly proven. But in the meantime, the court of public opinion could make his life a lot less pleasant.

  “I’m sorry,” Laurel whispered.

  Trevor waved her away. He picked up the phone to call his lawyer. This BS was going to cost him. He only wished there was a way for him to make Sophia pay.

  29

  A LITTLE BIT BRIGHTER

  Kate waited at the back of the room, Lucinda gripped tightly in her hand. There were more people than she’d expected. The last time she played an open mic there were about twenty people in the audience; tonight there was at least three times that. Maybe the guy who played the Jackson 5 covers—which sounded totally weird on an acoustic guitar—had finally developed the following he’d been working so hard for. (He’d given Kate and everyone else his card about a million times, while begging them to go to Vimeo to see the new videos he’d made.) Or maybe word had gotten out that this was the best place to see up-and-coming talent. Certainly no one was expecting to see Kate Hayes—in part because people with hit singles rarely played open mics, and in part because she’d signed up simply as Katherine (which she otherwise never used) and pulled a knit cap over her now-signature platinum pixie.

  Kate reached up and touched her nose, which felt slightly sunburned. She had taken a long walk that morning—solo, no cameras (except for the little Nikon she’d brought to take snapshots). She’d been thinking hard about her life, and whether or not it looked like the one she thought she ought to be living, and she decided that it didn’t. Not quite.

  Back during last season’s Operation Cure Stage Fright, a therapist had given Kate an exercise: “Think of three things you’re grateful for,” she’d said. “Examine them, celebrate them—and then let them go. Now think of three things that bother you. Examine them, evaluate them—and then let them go, too. Feel how your mind becomes clear, focused, and unafraid.”

  The woman seemed so certain of her advice, but Kate hadn’t bothered to take it. She’d simply popped a couple anti-anxiety pills and headed to the yoga class Trevor was making her attend (on film). Yoga didn’t involve thinking, after all, and Kate was so relaxed by then she could bend herself like a pretzel.

  But, six months later, as she hiked through Griffith Park under the sunny March sky, she wondered if she ought to give the woman’s exercise a try. Kate’s mind was an agitated jumble—maybe it would help, and it certainly couldn’t hurt.

  So as Kate walked along the dirt path, she began to remember: the sound of her voice through the monitors at Studio Nineteen; the times she’d lost her nerve onstage; the disastrous showcase; the sweet, lonely feeling of playing Lucinda late at night in an otherwise empty room; the magical feeling when a song began to come together in her mind. She went further back, remembering the finger exercises her dad made her do, the silly songs he made up on the spot to sing along. There once was a frog / who thought he was a dog / so he tried to eat a bone; / but it stuck in his throat / so he jumped on a boat / and paddled right back home . . .

  Kate felt the prick of tears in her eyes. It had been a while since she’d thought about her dad. Maybe that was the way life went; in order to keep moving forward you had to not look back. Or maybe, somewhere along the way, she’d lost touch with who she really was and what she wanted to be.

  She didn’t want to be KATE HAYES, that name in lights, surrounded by handlers and stylists and security specialists. Not really (though she really needed a stylist—or so said Madison). Kate wanted to be herself—with her strawberry-blond waves and her admittedly sloppy style. She wanted her songs to make people feel things. She didn’t want to be disguised behind layers of digital sound. She didn’t want her music to be Auto-Tuned the way she had allowed her life to be.

  She wished her dad were still around to give her advice; he was always so good at it. But she thought she knew what he’d say: Focus on the music, Katie. The music is what matters. Everything else comes and goes, and it’s not something to worry about.

  Kate felt a surge of hope. She knew how to focus on the music. It meant forgetting her manager and her chances for another showcase for the time being. It meant ignoring Trevor’s rules about “going rogue” and playing surprise shows without PopTV cameras; it meant doing it by herself, her way. Without anyone to help her.

  Not even Drew.

  Maybe Taylor Swift had said it best: “People haven’t always been there for me, but music always has.”

  And music was why Kate had moved to L.A., against her mother’s wishes; not because she wanted to be famous, but because she wanted to write songs that people would hear. She wanted people to smile when they heard them come on the radio. She knew how corny it sounded, but she wanted to try to make the world a little bit brighter.

  Now, as the singer who was on right before her began his final song, Kate took a deep breath. She wasn’t thinking about her performance, though—she was thinking about melody. The way one note built on another and the next, and the way something beautiful could be conjured right out of the air. She thought, again, of her dad, but this time she smiled.

  When she heard her name called out, she walked to the stage. In the front row sat Madison, who waved and blew her a kiss. Beside her, Ryan gave Kate a big smile. Kate looked at him a little surprised; she hadn’t been expecting him. But she was glad he was there for Madison’s sake. Kate thought he was good for Madison, even if Madison sometimes claimed she wasn’t so sure.

  When Kate took her place in the center of the stage, the room went silent for a moment. Then she
heard someone whisper, “Is that Kate Hayes?” The words went flying around the room, and in seconds her cover was blown. Kate adjusted herself on the wooden stool and offered them a smile. “Hey, everyone,” she said softly, and immediately the applause was thunderous.

  She could feel their anticipation, their high spirits. She wasn’t going to let them down. She leaned forward into the microphone. “This is a song that I used to sing with my dad,” she said, and then she began to play.

  “God, I wish I could have gotten that on tape,” Madison said later, as she handed Kate the bowl of steaming, salty microwave popcorn. It was just the two of them now back at Kate’s apartment. “It’d get a million hits in five minutes on YouTube. Those new songs were amazing. And you! You didn’t even screw up at all!”

  Kate laughed. Leave it to Madison to make a compliment sound backhanded, even when it wasn’t. But she was feeling too good to mind—and anyway, what Madison had said was true. The open mic had gone even better than she’d dared hope. “Finally I didn’t humiliate myself,” she said, grabbing a handful of buttery popcorn.

  Madison delicately took a single kernel, inspected it, and then tossed it into her mouth. “Not bad,” she said.

  “Have more,” Kate urged.

  “Don’t you know me better than that?” Madison asked, faking a stern look.

  “Well, people change,” Kate said. “What if I’ve become a singer that can actually perform?”

  “Well, if tonight is any indication, you are well on your way. But I will never be a person who eats carbs. I tried that once, remember? And then I had to get lipo.”

  “How could I forget?” Kate asked. “I waited on you hand and foot. Like a servant!” She grinned and reached for more popcorn.

  Madison pooh-poohed this. “I don’t remember the servant part. I seem to recall you spending most of your afternoons with me mooning over Drew.”

  At that, Kate’s face fell.

  “What?” Madison asked. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Kate shook her head. “No, it’s not you. It’s just . . .” She sighed. “I don’t think Drew likes Rocker Kate as much as he liked Regular Kate. It’s almost like there’s a part of him that wants me to be on the verge of success forever—but not actually ever reach it.”

  Madison frowned. “That’s weird. Are you sure?”

  “No,” Kate said after a while. “I don’t really know. Maybe I’m telling myself that to explain why things are so off between us. He said he thought we should take a break. And that it was because he wanted me to be able to focus on my career, but that doesn’t make sense, because he was helping me. Why would he need to run away?”

  Madison leaned back and put her long, slender legs on the coffee table. “Who knows,” she said. “I gave up on the idea that I’d ever understand what a guy was thinking.” She paused. “Except for Jay. I always know what he’s thinking. ‘Dude. Where’s the Jim Beam? Bro, do you like my ass tattoo?’”

  Kate laughed. “Yeah, I think Drew is a little more complicated than that.”

  “It’s hard not to be,” Madison said. “But really, Kate, there are more fish in the sea. How about you have a little rebound fling with one of your security guys? That one with the green eyes is seriously hot.” She mimed fanning herself.

  “They’re all gone,” Kate said, feeling even lower. “I didn’t tell you that? Even my stalker broke up with me.”

  “What?”

  Kate nodded. “He said he’s in love with Miley Cyrus now.”

  Madison was clearly trying not to laugh, and Kate appreciated that. “Someday,” Madison said after a moment, “you’ll look back on this and laugh.”

  “I sure hope so,” Kate said.

  “Anyway, I’m not too sorry that Drew’s gone. He’s a nice guy, but you can do better. You’re free now, Kate.”

  Free, Kate thought. In more ways than one.

  30

  A LOT OF HISTORY

  Carmen slid into the booth across from Drew at Factor’s Famous Deli. He looked up from his menu and smiled—a little warily, maybe, but still. It counted.

  “I’m not going to kiss you,” Carmen said immediately. “So don’t worry.”

  This sparked a sudden burst of laughter. “Hi to you, too,” Drew said. “It wasn’t a concern, but thanks.”

  “If you say so. But you gotta admit, you look like you’re ready to make a run for the exit.” Just for fun, Carmen began to lean toward him, as if she were aiming for another kiss. “Boo,” she blurted, and then settled back down in her seat.

  “Very funny,” Drew said, slightly testily. But then he smiled again. “Do you want to split a sundae?”

  Carmen glanced at the menu but didn’t open it. This was the diner they’d come to the night they first met Kate. It felt suddenly odd that her roommate wasn’t here, too. But she’d made her peace with Kate. Tonight was between Carmen and Drew.

  “Sure, why not? But I know what splitting means to you. It means I get two bites and you eat the rest in under five minutes,” she teased. (Her waistline could certainly afford a few bites of an ice cream sundae, and now that she knew she wouldn’t be reading about her “out-of-control emotional eating,” it would taste all the better.)

  Drew laughed. “Technically that is splitting. I didn’t say anything about equal portions.”

  After the waitress had taken their order—two Diet Cokes and a sundae inexplicably called the Mt. Vesuvius—Carmen turned to Drew, a serious look on her face. “I wanted to tell you in person how sorry I am about what happened at the party.”

  “Really, Carm, we don’t have to talk about it,” Drew said. “It’s no big deal. It’s not like we’ve never kissed before.”

  Carmen remembered a party about a year ago, when they had fumblingly made out in someone’s basement and then, the next day, pretended as if it had never happened. They’d never quite been able to figure out their feelings for each other, and it seemed like in some ways, that was still the case. She smiled faintly. “Yeah, but when we kissed back then, you weren’t seeing anyone. Especially not my roommate.”

  Drew grimaced, then tried to hide it by taking a quick sip of water.

  Carmen eyed him carefully. “You are still seeing her, right?” She’d certainly wondered, but she hadn’t wanted to ask Kate for fear of upsetting her.

  Drew looked down at his hands. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Not exactly right now. This whole thing with Kate wanting to be a superstar—I’m just not into it. It’s not the music I want to make, and all those producers and sound mixers and managers and stuff—they aren’t the kind of people I want to hang out with.”

  “You’re her boyfriend, not her manager. You are dating her, not her music. Also, you work at a major record label and probably deal with those people daily.”

  “Yeah, but I’m in, like, the indie wing. We don’t do Katy Perry; we do the Lumineers. Give me a mandolin over a synthesizer any day.”

  Carmen dipped her spoon into the sundae that the waitress had placed between them and thought about this. She knew that Drew liked music he thought was raw and real. And she’d been hearing Kate play her guitar almost constantly the last few days, and from what she could tell, Kate was definitely sounding rawer. Realer.

  Like maybe she didn’t want to be Katy Perry after all. She’d even mentioned something about playing an open mic. And playing well, of all things. Not a second of stage fright.

  “I sort of wonder if Kate might be rethinking her musical direction,” Carmen said.

  Drew raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

  Carmen told him what she knew about Kate’s open mic, which wasn’t much. Kate hadn’t told her about it until it was over, after all. Carmen tried not to feel offended that Kate had managed to invite Madison, who was definitely not her idea of a supportive crowd, despite the peace she’d brokered between them.

  “So she didn’t panic? She kept her cool?” Drew sounded both surprised and happy.

&nbs
p; “Apparently she was great,” Carmen said. “Not a single slipup.” She wished she could have seen it. She still respected and liked Kate a lot, despite the various problems they’d had, and she was glad they were on friendly terms again. She wanted to make sure they stayed that way. Kate might have her annoying moments, but she’d never willfully hurt anyone. Unlike Fawn.

  “Good for her,” Drew said. “That’s awesome.”

  “You should help her out. Put in a good word with your bosses. They might really love Indie Kate,” Carmen suggested.

  Drew nodded thoughtfully. “Like, say, your dad?”

  “Couldn’t hurt. And you should also call her,” Carmen said. “To talk.”

  “I will,” Drew said. “Soon.” His eyes searched her face. “I think she always thought there was something between you and me so the kiss really struck a chord,” he said quietly.

  Carmen laughed breezily to cover up the jolt she felt at those words. “There are quite a few years of friendship between us, Drew,” she said. “We’ve got a lot of history.” She knew that wasn’t what he was talking about, but she wasn’t ready to let the conversation head in that direction. She was finally feeling like she was on her feet. The last thing she needed was something else to knock her off-balance.

  “Right. Which was why I was so hurt when you didn’t tell me about your pregnancy,” he teased.

  Carmen put her face in her hands. She couldn’t believe she still had to hear about this. “That’s over, you know,” she said, looking up at him again. “I’m sure Kate told you, but I figured out that it was Fawn all along. And then Laurel talked to some people who knew her, and she found out that Fawn basically stalked me. She signed up for the acting class I was in specifically so she could meet me. She manipulated her way into being my friend. And when I didn’t help her career as fast as she thought I should, she turned on me.”

  Drew nodded. “That’s pretty crazy. Craving fame does weird things to people. I’m sure she was a decent girl once.” He took an enormous bite of sundae, nodded approvingly, and then helped himself to another.