“Don’t lie to me. I want my quarter million, and I want it now. Or I’m telling the entire world the truth. You’re not Madison Parker—you’re Madelyn Wardell.”
Madison bristled. “Do . . . not . . . call . . . me . . . that.”
“Why not? That’s your real name.”
“Not anymore.”
Sophie smiled meanly. “Yeah, well, I don’t think your fans are going to be too stoked when they find out you’re a total fraud. I’ve read the magazines and I’ve watched you on the talk shows. You’re running around pretending you’re some high-society heiress who went to boarding schools in Europe or whatever. Wait’ll they find out you’re a nobody who grew up in a trailer park in Armor Falls, New York . . . who ran away from home when she was fifteen and got a ton of plastic surgery so nobody would know how fat and ugly she was.”
“Don’t talk to me like that!”
Madison clenched her fists to keep herself from slapping Sophie. How dare she. How dare she! Sophie had no idea what she had been through all these years. Growing up in that depressing little town with a chronically drunk mom had been bad enough. On top of which she had been cursed with a weight problem, bad skin, mousy hair, and a big nose. Unlike Sophie, who had been born practically perfect, with her slim figure, massive boobs, gorgeous cheekbones, and naturally plump lips—not to mention her pale blond hair and luminous violet-blue eyes. It was so unfair.
Madison always knew that she was meant for a better life. She may have been plain on the outside; but inside, she felt like a glamorous actress or model or pop star, just waiting to emerge from her shell. And so she had made plans, carefully squirreling away her babysitting money and her measly paychecks from Wendy’s. By her fifteenth birthday, she had saved enough for a one-way bus ticket to Los Angeles, plus a little extra to live on. When she left, she didn’t tell a soul.
Once in L.A., Madison lied about her age and managed to get an under-the-table job sweeping hair and making coffee at a modest salon. The owner liked her and gave Madison her first decent haircut, highlights, and spray-tanning for free.
By her sixteenth birthday, Madison was a full-fledged platinum blond; she was also thirty pounds thinner, mostly because she could barely afford groceries. At which point Sugar Daddy #1 came along—being forty-something and married, he was willing to overlook the fact that Madison wasn’t a perfect California beauty (yet)—and introduced her to the world of cosmetic surgery. It was his idea, paying for those initial treatments: lip-plumping, breast enhancement, nose reduction, cheeks. Seemingly overnight (although the recovery actually took days, weeks, even months), Madison was transformed from an ugly-ish duckling into a glorious swan—the swan she always knew she was, inside. It was the way it was supposed to be.
And so began the upward climb—more (and better) sugar daddies, more (and better) procedures, more (and better) . . . everything. For her eighteenth birthday, she gave herself a new name: Madison Parker, after Madison Avenue and Park Avenue in New York City, where the rich and powerful people lived. It was a classy name, befitting her new image. She’d made it legal and everything.
It had taken Madison years to get from there to here, from her miserable existence in Armor Falls to her fabulous new life in Hollywood. And now her psychotic little sister was threatening to take it all away? Madison had to bring her around, and fast.
“Sophie, listen—” Madison began.
Sophie swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and rose to her feet. “Forget it. I’m outta here. You’ve got twenty-four hours to give me the money or I’m calling your favorite magazine. Gossip, right? Meet me here tomorrow, same time, with the cash.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Madison snapped. “I told you before. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Not my problem. Later, bitch.”
Madison took a deep breath. “Wait. I have another idea.”
“Sorry, not interested.”
“No, listen!” Madison knew she was probably about to make a huge mistake, suggesting this. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t let Sophie go to the media. “You could be on the show with me,” she blurted out. “I could talk to Trevor. He’s the producer, the head guy. You could be my little sister, except we’ll get you a makeover so you don’t look like . . . that. Or like Sophilyn Wardell, either. You can have just enough work done so no one back home will recognize you.”
Sophie crossed her arms over her chest. “Why would I want to be on your stupid TV show with you?” she said.
“Because then you’ll have what I have. You’ll matter! And every guy on the planet will want to date you! And okay, so maybe I’m not a millionaire. Yet. But I will be, someday, if things keep going the way they’re going. You could have that, too!”
Sophie seemed to consider this.
“Well?” Madison said.
“Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
“Great! Come on, let me buy you another drink.”
“Fine.”
Sophie sat back down and signaled to the bartender, who was across the room wiping down some tables. Madison dug into her purse for some cash, wondering why her hand was shaking. She told herself to take some more deep breaths and chill, already. She had come up with the perfect plan to keep Sophie from spilling her secret to the entire world. Now all she had to do was persuade Sophie to agree; then she would finally—finally—be safe.
So why did she have a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach?
Chapter 10
So Who’s the Guy?
Scarlett studied the lunch menu at the übertrendy new vegetarian restaurant with the unpronounceable name, trying not to make faces at the prices for the entrees. (Twenty-four dollars for something called Green Tea-Infused Tofu?) PopTV was filming her girls’ lunch with Gaby today, and she planned to be on her very best behavior. Well, best-ish, anyway.
“Hey, Scarlett!”
Scarlett glanced up and spotted Gaby weaving her way through the tightly packed outdoor tables. She frowned in confusion. Gaby looked . . . different. Her light brown hair was longer. How had it grown six inches since STK, less than two weeks ago? It was also puffier and streaked with new ash blond highlights that screamed “look at my hair!” Her yellow minidress was trampy, unlike her usual pretty, tasteful attire. And her skin tone was several shades darker; either she’d spent some quality time in the sun recently, or she’d been hitting the self-tanning products in a major way.
And what was going on with her face? Her lips looked fatter, as though she’d had an allergic reaction to something. She was wearing an insane amount of makeup, too—nearly as much as Madison.
Scarlett recalled Gaby saying something recently about hiring a new publicist—Annette? Annabelle?—who wanted to “update” Gaby’s image. Too bad they went for “Hollywood fembot.”
“Sorry I’m late!” Gaby air-kissed Scarlett before Scarlett had a chance to stand up and give her a hug. Huh? When had they gone from hugging to air-kissing? Wasn’t that like going backward, friendship-wise?
Gaby sat down and set her massive gold Chanel bag on her lap. Scarlett did a double take. There was a tiny creature inside the bag. A tiny, ugly creature. “Uh, Gaby? What’s that?”
“What? Oh! That’s Princess Baby, my Chihuahua. I can’t believe you guys have never met!” Gaby scooped up the dog and thrust it at Scarlett. “Go on, Princess Baby, give your auntie Scarlett a big kiss!”
Scarlett turned away. “No, no! No doggie kisses! I don’t want to give Princess Baby my cold!” she improvised. She didn’t mind getting tongue-mauled by Tucker, but Princess Baby wasn’t her type.
“It’s time for her nap, anyway.” Gaby returned Princess Baby to her purse. “Soooo. How are you?”
“Fine. You look, um . . . different. I mean, you look great!” Scarlett reminded herself to be nice, for the cameras. This wasn’t the time or the place to interrogate Gaby about her Madison-style makeover.
Gaby beamed. “Really? Thanks! You look gr
eat, too! It’s probably cuz of your new boyfriend, right? Dr. Hottie?” She winked at Scarlett.
“Gaby! I don’t have a new boyfriend!” Scarlett glared at her friend and then at the cameras. “So have you been to this place before? What’s good?” she said, hoping to change the subject fast.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m just gonna have a tiny, itty-bitty salad and a big, huge glass of water with a slice of lemon. I’m trying to lose ten pounds,” Gaby said, shrugging.
“What? Why? You look fine the way you are.”
“Because. I need to drop two dress sizes.”
“You do not!”
Gaby shrugged again. The waitress came by to take their orders; Scarlett decided on a veggie burger and a side of sweet potato fries. “So. How’s work?” she asked Gaby.
“Lame. How’s school?”
“The usual.” For a moment, Scarlett considered telling Gaby about her college transfer applications. Gaby was surprisingly good at listening and giving advice. But it would not be smart to have that convo in front of the cameras, unless Scarlett wanted the whole world to listen in. This had to stay strictly confidential until she decided what to do, and after she talked to Jane and Liam about it. She would have to get Gaby’s take on it later, when the microphones were off. “Hey, did you hear Jane’s organizing Aja’s engagement party? You’re a big fan, right?”
Gaby started to reply, then glanced down at something in her lap. Her ugly dog? Her phone?
“Jane and Madison are organizing it together,” Gaby said after a moment. “That must be super-awkward. I mean, Jane still blames Madison for Jesse finding out about her secret hook-up with that guy.”
WTF? “Gaby? Why are you talking about this?” Scarlett whispered.
“Madison’s apologized, like, a million times, but Jane won’t even speak to her! And now they have to work together!” Gaby said loudly.
Scarlett frowned. This didn’t sound like Gaby—this sounded like Dana and one of her famous text-messaged stage directions. Scarlett had seen Dana talking to one of the camera guys earlier, so she was definitely on the premises.
Gaby was smiling eagerly at Scarlett, waiting for her response. Scarlett smiled back, trying to mask her confusion. What was up with Gaby? Usually, she was nice, fun, chatty, and most of all, herself. Today, she was acting—and looking—like someone else altogether. Like a tool.
“Do you think Jane and Madison will ever bury the hatchet?” Gaby persisted.
Scarlett thought for a moment, then said, “Hey, Gaby, can I borrow your phone? I need to make a super-important call, and my battery’s dead,” she lied.
“What? Oh, sure.” Gaby slid her phone across the table.
The waitress came by with their food and drinks, and Gaby began picking at her mini-salad. Scarlett held Gaby’s phone under the table, pretending to dial a number but instead carefully extracting the battery. She held the phone up to her ear. “Hey, your battery’s dead, too!”
“It is?” Gaby looked alarmed. “But it was totally fine a second ago!”
“Yeah, these things can be soooo temperamental. Guess we’ll just have to manage without our phones for a while.”
Gaby peered around the restaurant with a worried expression. Scarlett tried not to smirk as she took a bite of her veggie burger. Yum. Now, maybe she and Gaby could have a normal conversation.
That is, if Gaby would go back to being Gaby.
“So who’s the guy?” Liam said casually.
“What are you talking about?” Scarlett put her bare feet up on the dashboard and admired her dark purple toenails. After lunch, she and Gaby had decided to go to a salon for pedicures. Fortunately, Gaby had started acting a little more normal once she and Scarlett were away from the cameras. Although Scarlett hadn’t been able to get any answers out of her as to why she was behaving so strangely. She wasn’t too forthcoming about her new publicist, Annabelle, either. Perhaps these things were related . . .
Liam was driving them to their favorite sunset-watching spot on Venice Beach. She had the night off from filming—finally—and was incredibly happy to be out with him. Between the show, school, and his job-hunting (he’d landed some temporary freelance gigs, but nothing permanent), it was getting harder and harder to find time to be together.
But why was he asking her about some guy?
“I had a dentist’s appointment this morning,” Liam explained.
“O-kay. Are we subject-surfing now?”
“I was reading this magazine in the waiting room. There was a picture of you and Jane leaving some restaurant with two dudes.”
Uh-oh. “Um, don’t you remember?” she said casually. “That was the dinner you bailed on because you were meeting some director. Those ‘two dudes’ are Caleb and Naveen. Janie and I went to high school with them.”
“Oh . . . right.”
“I told you about it. Naveen’s the one who goes to UCLA. I told him you went there, too.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, sweetie. Just forgot.”
“Anyway, I haven’t seen the picture, but you know those stupid photographers. They love to take something totally innocent and make it look like something totally scandalous.”
“Yeah, I know. I guess this means you don’t have a secret boyfriend, then.”
“Nah. I can only handle one secret boyfriend at a time,” Scarlett joked. She reached over and kissed his cheek, then his ear, then let her lips trail down his neck.
Liam grinned. “If you don’t stop that, I’m going to crash the car.”
“Mmm, whatever.”
“Okay, I’m stopping the car right now.”
As Liam put the car in park and pulled Scarlett into his arms, kissing her, she felt a little bad that she still hadn’t told him the whole story about Naveen. But maybe she had missed her window of opportunity? Liam had just asked her about Naveen, and she had just told him there was nothing going on (which was true), and if she brought up the Hendry’s Beach incident (which was ancient history) . . . well, it might sound like a bigger deal than it was. Better to leave that story where it belonged: in the past.
Chapter 11
Boys
Jane sat at the bar of Dominic’s, twirling the cherry around her Dirty Shirley and staring absentmindedly at the Dodgers game on TV. Caleb was meeting her at six, and she was early. Which was good, because it gave her some time to sort out her thoughts. She felt more scattered than usual lately, with everything happening at work, on the show, and with all the boys she’d sworn to take a break from (but hadn’t).
Like Caleb. What was she doing, meeting him for a drink? He had texted her this afternoon, asking if she was free tonight, and she had replied yes without thinking. She’d told herself later that it was just a drink, no biggie, and that she would go home afterward, alone, so she could take a long, hot bubble bath and turn in early in preparation for two work events over the weekend and a business trip to Las Vegas on Monday. She hadn’t seen Caleb since dinner with him, Naveen, and Scarlett two Fridays ago, although they had talked on the phone and IM’d. Unfortunately, he had managed to get on Trevor’s radar, probably because of those tabloid pictures from STK—Trevor had asked Jane about him and whether or not they were “reconnecting” these days, which translated into “can we send cameras to get some footage of you flirting (or more) with your very attractive ex-boyfriend?” Jane had no interest in dragging poor Caleb into the wonderful world of reality TV, so she would hold Trevor off for as long as possible.
As for Braden . . . she’d gotten a couple of friendly (just friendly-friendly—not romantic-friendly) emails from him since he left for his shoot in Banff. Their night together had been amazing—they’d made out and watched silly movies on cable and fallen asleep in each other’s arms, and woken up at 6 a.m. so he could pack for his trip and race off to LAX. Their good-bye had been short and sweet, with no what does this all mean? or where do we go from here? analysis. As always with Braden, it was all unspoken . . . below the surface . . . and so incredi
bly complicated.
Of course, since then, Jane often found herself wondering: What did this all mean, and where were they going from here? Willow seemed to be out of the picture, finally. But there was still the show to worry about. Braden hated being part of that universe, and Jane couldn’t figure out how to date someone who couldn’t (or wouldn’t) be on the show. Sure, Scarlett was managing somehow with Liam. But Jane knew it wasn’t easy for them.
Jane liked Braden. Really, really liked him. She wasn’t sure how Braden felt about her, though. And even if he really, really liked her back, was a relationship in their cards as long as she was on L.A. Candy? Probably not. Of course, her current contract was up after Season 2. And after that . . . well, maybe she would be ready to take a break, especially for a guy as awesome as Braden? (Unless that awesome guy didn’t feel the same way about her . . . but would she ever know?)
And then there was Boy #3, Jesse. Jane had taken Trevor’s words to heart and actually called Jesse, leaving him a message: Hey, Jesse, it’s me. I wanted to talk to you about something kinda important. Can you call me when you get this? But she hadn’t heard back from him. Of course it had only been a couple of days, but still . . . she wondered if Trevor was wrong, after all, and that she had little or no clout with Jesse these days. Clearly, he had moved on. Or was he too perpetually wasted to check his messages?
“Jane!”
Janie glanced up and saw Caleb heading toward her, smiling and waving. She had a fleeting sensation of déjà vu: senior year, the two of them having dinner on a Friday night at their favorite pizza place in Santa Barbara. Except then, he wasn’t wearing a black button-down shirt and she wasn’t wearing an LBD that cost more than her entire high school wardrobe put together. Some things had definitely changed, but somehow, being around Caleb was as great as it had been in high school.