The Fame Game

  Gaby glanced down at her questions again. “Are you excited to be working with Colum McEntire?” she asked.

  Carmen kept her smile even. Hadn’t she just said she was? Poor Gaby: No one had told her that if your interviewee answers a question spontaneously, you don’t have to ask it again. You can skip ahead to the next one. “Yes,” she said. “I thought he did an amazing job with One Way Out, and I think this movie is going to show the world what an incredible artistic vision he has.”

  Gaby nodded. “What about Luke Kelly? His star is ascending.”

  Carmen was pleased to hear Gaby pronouncing “ascending” correctly. “Yes, I think people are really going to sit up and take notice once they see him on the big screen. He’s a fantastic actor and an all-around great guy.”

  “He’s cute, too,” Gaby noted.

  Wow, Carmen thought, an actual ad-lib. She laughed prettily. “Yes, he’s a handsome guy,” she said.

  Then Gaby read a question card for a very long time as Carmen shifted tensely in her seat. She’d like to see how Buzz! managed to edit this into a reasonably competent interview.

  “Can you tell us a little bit about the story?” Gaby asked.

  “Of course,” Carmen said brightly. And she went off on a riff she’d practiced: about how, in the distant future, Roman and Julia are the children of warring families in a society where love is a crime. And how she and Luke fall in love despite adversity, and how they vow to restore the world back to the way it was. “And you’ll just have to see it to find out more,” she finished.

  Gaby’s eyes were wide. She was trying to process this information, but it seemed as if the cranial wheels were just spinning, going nowhere.

  “Ask a question,” someone hissed.

  “Do you think the story has any revelance—I mean relevance—for our time?”

  “I think love is always a good subject,” Carmen answered. “It’s part of everyone’s life—either its presence or the lack of it. Though I hope not lack, of course.” She smiled in a way she hoped would suggest she had more love than she could possibly deal with. In truth, there was a distinct lack of love in her life these days. But maybe she’d get to live vicariously through her character, Julia. Of course, she hoped she wouldn’t die from it, the way Julia did. (Spoiler alert!) “When the movie begins, Julia’s love is unrequited,” she went on.

  “What’s ‘unrequited’ mean?” Gaby whispered.

  It was as if Carmen could hear every eye in the room rolling. “See, Julia loves Roman, but Roman doesn’t even know she exists at first.”

  “Oh,” Gaby said, “I get it.”

  Carmen doubted this was actually the case.

  After another awkward ten minutes of discussing Carmen’s parents, her favorite summer vacation spot, and her new reality TV show, the Buzz! people emerged from the shadows and told Carmen and Gaby to take a break. “We’re going to see what we’ve got,” said a pinched-looking blonde. “We might do a few more questions, but I’m not sure there’s time.”

  Gaby followed Carmen to the side of the set, where a ring of folding chairs had been set up. “I was bad, wasn’t I?” she said.

  “No,” Carmen assured her. “You were fine! You’re just nervous, and that’s okay. They’ll edit it so you seem as professional as Barbara Walters.”

  “Who’s Barbara Walters?” Gaby asked.

  Seriously? “She’s a very famous interviewer,” Carmen said, pulling a water bottle from her purse.

  “I don’t want to be an interviewer,” Gaby whispered.

  “What do you want to do then?”

  “Honestly, I just liked getting people their coffee.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Gab,” Carmen said firmly. “You’ll figure it out. I promise.” She wasn’t actually convinced of this, but Gaby could use a little more confidence and ambition in her life. (Unlike her best friend, Madison, who had too much of both.)

  Laurel yelled, “Great job, ladies!” reminding Carmen that the PopTV cameras were still rolling. She had honestly forgotten since they were in a roomful of cameras that at least one of them was still pointed at her. “You’re done for the day,” Laurel continued.

  After the girls handed over their mike packs and Laurel and the crew started packing up, Carmen plucked her phone from its pocket so she could check her email. There was a new message from Fawn. Something you aren’t telling me? it said.

  What are you talking about? she wrote back.

  Seconds later, she received a link, which, when she clicked on it, took her to a gossip blog splashed with a huge picture of—what? Her and Luke at the coffee shop the other day? NEW LOVE ON-SCREEN AND OFF!!!!! the title read, and the blog’s author had drawn hearts around their heads with Photoshop.

  “No way,” she whispered.

  “What?” Gaby said, leaning closer.

  Carmen tilted the screen toward her so she could see the picture.

  “You’re dating Luke Kelly?” Gaby asked. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Then she smiled slyly. “Oh, I get it. You’re secret lovers, like in the movie. That’s so awesome! That’s, like, perfect publicity once it all comes out.”

  “No, no, no,” Carmen said. “I’m not dating Luke!”

  Gaby raised an eyebrow as far as the Botox would allow her, which was not very far. “You sure look like you are. I mean, you’re holding hands.”

  Carmen shook her head. “No, we’re not. I just grabbed him right then because I was trying to make a point.”

  “A point about how much you looove him?”

  “Gaaah,” Carmen said, slapping her forehead. “No.”

  She looked again at the silly hearts around her head. It was almost funny, the way the gossip sites could make something out of nothing. And it was almost funny that even Gaby refused to believe that she and Luke weren’t together and Fawn assumed it was true (“back for seconds,” she’d written, since of course Fawn knew they’d hooked up—they were all at the club together that night).

  But less funny? Imagining Kate’s reaction. She hadn’t been exposed to the Hollywood rumor mill yet. She didn’t understand the way photos and videos and even direct quotes could be manipulated. And she’d seen the way Carmen liked to flirt. How could Carmen persuade her that things weren’t at all how they seemed?

  Welcome to reality TV, Carmen thought. Where, as the Beatles put it—and her father often sang it (badly)—“nothing is real.” She just hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to convince Kate of that.

  Chapter 21

  Little Miss Hollywood

  “Met you, then forgot—what a crazy night that was / Amid the glitter and the music and the champagne buzz,” Kate sang softly. “Now days and nights and afternoons / Aren’t even all the times I think of you. . . .”

  She let the notes of the chord fade into silence. Did that song suck? She sighed. Yes, it probably sucked.

  She got up and walked over to the window, gazing down at the pool that flickered, aquamarine and inviting, in the late August sunlight. The tune felt familiar, like maybe she was stealing it from somewhere she couldn’t quite recall. And then there was the questionable choice of writing a song about Luke. Things were going great between them, but still—they hadn’t even been going out for a month. Luke might be flattered, or he might think she was completely psycho and trying to move things along a little too quickly. Or both.

  He could have his pick of girls in L.A., Kate thought. He could be with someone like Carmen, and yet he’d chosen to be with her. She didn’t want to do anything to screw it up.

  Like write a terrible song about him.

  She peeled herself away from the window and returned to her spot on the couch. She picked up Lucinda and plucked out a melody, slightly different from the one she’d been working on before. What if the song was about heartbreak, or growing up, or being lonely? What if it was about the new shoes she’d gotten at Fred Segal? What if it was about how good the tacos were in L.A.?

  Kate leaned over and burie
d her face in frustration in one of the couch pillows. She had to get her act together, because she was going to go into the studio next week. Swing House Studios, to be exact, where everyone from The Donnas to Shakira had recorded. There was going to be a giant mixing board, a million fancy microphones, a badass sound engineer . . . not to mention all the PopTV cameras and crew. She couldn’t go in there and sound like any other nineteen-year-old with a guitar and a dream. The world was too full of those already; she’d been in line with them for the American Idol auditions, and most of them had failed. Just like her.

  She wished she could spend one hour with Carmen’s dad talking through some of her songs. Even ten minutes would do. He would know exactly what was missing and would help her lame attempt become the next big hit. But she would never ask this of Carmen. That would feel inappropriate.

  She looked at her watch and realized that it was time to stop beating her head against the wall (or the pillow, in this case). Her old roommate, Natalie, would be arriving in half an hour. Kate was going to figure out this song before she walked through the door, even if it killed her.

  She sat back up and wrapped her fingers around her guitar, then closed her eyes and began to play.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Natalie said, kissing Kate on the cheek. “I got lost. Cute haircut!”

  Kate laughed. “Thanks. And don’t worry—I still get lost all the time. Come on in.”

  Natalie whistled as she stepped into the foyer. “Wow, this is all yours?”

  “Well, not mine. PopTV’s.”

  Natalie ran her hand along the curved, glossy white wall that led into the living room, with its sleek, modern furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows. “Is that an Eames chair? Is that an Alex Katz print? Dang, if I’d known the digs were going to be this sweet, maybe I would have tried to be on the show, too.”

  Kate laughed. She had no idea who’d designed the furniture or who’d made the art, but Natalie was right: Her place was pretty awesome. There was a jetted tub, a huge walk-in closet, and a state-of-the-art kitchen she had used primarily to microwave frozen dinners on the nights she didn’t go out. (How much was the rent? she wondered. Twice the mortgage on her mom’s house? More?) The only unfortunate thing about the apartment was that it never felt like home to Kate. They had done their best to camouflage the large Kino lights that had been built into the ceilings of each room and were careful to keep all of their extra equipment in its designated room, but it always felt like more of a set than a home.

  Natalie flopped onto a low settee. “Oof,” she said. “It’s not as soft as it looks.”

  “Sorry, I should have warned you. You want something to drink? I’ve got V8, lemonade, Pellegrino . . . and some milk that’s probably expired.”

  “I’ll have the sour milk,” Natalie said. “Please.”

  Kate poked her head out of the kitchen and said, “Seriously?”

  “Fine. Pellegrino, then, thanks. So tell me, what’s it like, having cameras around all the time? Living a new lavish lifestyle? Hanging out with celebrities? Et cetera.”

  Kate padded into the room with two tall glasses of sparkling water. “Well, a lot of it is amazing,” she said. “I mean, I’m going to record at Swing House Studios. Do you know how long it’d take me to pay for one hour of their time with just my old paychecks? Probably the rest of my life. I can get into any club I want. I got this haircut for free because it was part of the Madison-fixes-the-hick plot so the salon will be prominently featured in the episode. And every month I get a paycheck that’s more than anyone should make for ad-libbing in front of a camera, but it’s helping me get out of debt, so . . .”

  She knew she was focusing on superficial things, but she didn’t want to rub her new friendship with Carmen Curtis in her old friend’s face. And Luke? Well, she’d get to him later. “And I’m getting used to the cameras. I hardly even notice them anymore.”

  “That’s great,” Natalie said. “Who knew you’d be such a natural?”

  “Yeah, right?”

  “So, do they actually follow you around twenty-four/seven? Are there cameras in this apartment?”

  Kate laughed. “You’d know if they were here, trust me.” She readjusted herself so she was sitting cross-legged on the couch. “No, I usually talk to the producer, this woman Dana, and let her know what I’ve got going on, then I get a schedule at the beginning of every week, telling me what my ‘reality’ will be. Some of it is stuff I’m actually doing that they want to film—like they filmed me at work the other day, which was of course fascinating”—she rolled her eyes—“but a lot of it is stuff they set up for me, like the studio time and going to dinner or lunch or clubs with the other girls.”

  “That definitely sounds more fun than Draping and Garment Construction,” Natalie said. “I mean, you get paid to socialize and sit around and make up songs!”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Believe me, it’s not as fun as it looks.” Although she had made some improvements to her new song, so that was something.

  “What about your castmates? What are they like?”

  Kate thought about this for a moment. “Carmen is awesome—she’s totally not some spoiled celebrity child like everyone thinks. Gaby is sweet and kind of dumb. And Madison is . . . well, she’s complicated.”

  “How tactful of you,” Natalie said. “What was her tagline for Madison’s Makeovers? ‘Beauty’s a bitch’?”

  “Yeah, something like that. And it’s not exactly inaccurate. But look—she helped me pick out this top!”

  “I thought you were looking a little less discount bargain-y,” Natalie said, and laughed as Kate pretended to take offense. “Well, it sounds like everything is going kind of perfectly for you.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Kate allowed.

  “Really? What’s not perfect?”

  Kate felt the sudden desire to whisper, even though there were no mikes around. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “Well, take this apartment. I feel like I’m living on a TV set. I keep waiting for someone to pop out of a closet and tell me to call my ex-boyfriend and tell him how much I miss him. You know, for romantic drama.”

  Natalie raised an eyebrow. “Do you miss him?”

  Kate smiled, thinking of Luke and the way he had surprised her the other day with a trip to the Getty to see an exhibition of Helmut Newton’s photography (“He’s a fellow Aussie,” Luke had said proudly). “No, actually.”

  Natalie gave a little hop on the settee. “Oh my God, I know that expression! You have a crush on someone, don’t you?” she squealed.

  Kate flushed but didn’t answer. “Let’s go down to the pool,” she said. “I’ll tell you there.”

  And she wouldn’t say another word until the two of them were stretched out by the water, baring their fair skin (how un-Hollywood!) to the sunshine. Kate had brought her laptop in case the muse of song lyrics should choose to pay her a visit.

  “All right,” Natalie said as she smeared SPF 45 on her arms. “Go.”

  “So I met this guy,” Kate confessed. “At a club a few weeks ago. It was embarrassing, because Carmen had introduced us, but then ten minutes later I ran into him again, and it was like I’d never seen him before in my life.”

  “Sounds like he makes a great first impression,” Natalie said drily.

  “I mean, it was just all sort of hectic and crazy. But we started talking and we have all this stuff in common. He plays bass and he’s teaching himself the mandolin—”

  “So he’s a musician?”

  Kate bit her lip. This was the weird part: admitting to her friend that she was dating an actor who she now realizes is semi-famous. Someone Natalie might see in Stars—They’re Just Like Us!, putting gas into his motorcycle.

  “He’s an actor, actually,” she said.

  “Ooh, have I heard of him?”

  “Maybe? I mean, I hadn’t, when I met him, but you know more about this stuff than I do.”

  Natalie looked at her in surprise. “Check you
out, Little Miss Hollywood! Who is it?”

  Kate couldn’t keep the goofy smile from her face. “His name is Luke Kelly,” she said.

  But instead of squealing happily, Natalie looked puzzled, and then slightly disturbed. “From Boston General?”

  “Yeah—what, do you think he’s a bad actor or something? I’ve never seen the show.”

  Natalie shook her head. “I’m sure he’s a fine actor. I just think—how do I say this? Uh, I thought he was dating your new BFF Carmen Curtis.”

  Kate paled. “What are you talking about? He and Carmen are in the movie together. You must have misunderstood the headline.”

  “No, I read about the movie, but it also said—”

  Kate was already whipping out her laptop.

  “You brought your computer to the pool?” Natalie muttered. “So if I’m too boring you can scroll through Facebook or something?”

  “I bring it everywhere,” Kate said, banging at the keys. “In case musical genius strikes.” Her email program popped up, and there was a message from Carmen.

  It’s not what you think, read the subject line.

  Then Kate went to D-Lish and saw a picture of her new friend and her new boyfriend in a coffee shop, looking mighty—suspiciously—chummy.

  She read her friend’s subject line again. It’s not what you think.

  Kate slowly closed her computer. Oh, really? she thought. Then what exactly is it?

  Chapter 22

  Bad Romance

  “I’m telling you,” Trevor said, meeting Veronica Bliss’s eyes across her desk at Gossip’s West L.A. offices, “there’s romance in the air.”

  The editor of the magazine batted her eyelashes at him. “Oh, Trevor,” Veronica said, “you’re a married man.”

  Trevor smiled grimly. He didn’t have time to play this little game with Veronica today, but he was obliged; he needed to stay on her good side. With L.A. Candy, he’d had to pretend as if tabloids and gossip blogs didn’t exist—but with The Fame Game, they played a crucial part of the story (and in the success of the show). In fact he was hoping for a cover in the next few weeks leading up to the premiere (or at the very least, a nice two-page spread). He was cutting the trailer this week, the Buzz! interview with Carmen was in the can, and this was the next piece of the puzzle.