Fame Game 03: Infamous (13 page)

24

DON’T CALL US, WE’LL CALL YOU

INT. COFFEE SHOP; DAY

LEORA sits at a corner table. Her head is bent low as she stares intently at a textbook.

At a nearby table, NOAH is staring intently at LEORA. We see him take in her long, tangled hair, her pale, nervous hands. There is interest in his eyes—and already, perhaps, the spark of desire.

NOAH

Um, excuse me—but is that
Elements of Moral Philosophy
?

LEORA

(Looking up sharply)
What’s it to you?
(Looking back down and then mumbling)
Why don’t you drink your pumpkin chai latte and mind your own business?

Carmen bit her lip as she paged through the script. She’d already read it through twice, and while it didn’t thrill her, it also wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever read. (That was the thriller about the college student who discovers that the kid she’s babysitting is in fact a state-of-the-art robot. And it’s carrying highly classified information that, in the wrong hands, could bring down the world’s financial markets. Talk about dumb with a capital D.)

So Carmen was keeping an open mind about
Hearts on Fire
. She knew that Trevor was anxious for her to sign on to a new project, and she was getting a little restless herself. Restless in a larger, existential sense—there were only so many afternoons she could spend hanging with Fawn—and also right in this moment. She’d been waiting in the small, nondescript room of the casting agent’s office for ten minutes, and neither the agent nor the leading man was anywhere in sight.

“What’s it to you?”
she whispered
. “Why don’t you drink your pumpkin chai latte and mind your own business?”

Then Noah—already being played by indie darling Matt Benson—would stutter, blush, and ask her who pissed in her decaf soy skinny half-caf.

Today was a chemistry read: Carmen and Matt would be videotaped reading a handful of scenes to see whether or not they’d be believable enemies, then lovers. She looked up in relief as the doorknob turned.
Finally
, something was going to happen around here.

“Hey, Carmen,” Matt said, striding in and leaning down to give her a hug. “How’s tricks?”

Carmen almost didn’t recognize him. She’d met Matt at a party less than a year ago, when he was new in town, nervous and starstruck. Now he was tanned, toned, and more confident. Why did Hollywood do that to
everyone
?

“Oh, things are great,” Carmen said, tapping the script on her lap and feeling suddenly nervous. “Congratulations on getting the part of Noah.”

“Thanks, man,” Matt said. “I, like, petitioned so hard it was totally embarrassing. I even sent Andrew Flynn a variegated agave cactus.”

“A
cactus
?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, he collects really rare ones. I read about it in
Vanity Fair
.”

Carmen was pondering this when Wendy Liston, the casting agent, and Andrew Flynn, the director, entered the room. Suddenly there was a lot of handshaking and earnest smiling (on Carmen’s part, anyway—Wendy offered her a tight-lipped semi-grimace and Andrew wasn’t smiling at all. Maybe his cactus had died).

Carmen had been hoping for a bit of small talk, to break the ice, but Andrew apparently had a doctor’s appointment across town. (“He’s a little under the weather,” Wendy whispered.) So there was barely enough time for the tech guy to turn on the video camera before Carmen and Matt became Leora and Nate: strangers, then friends, then lovers, and then strangers again, all while drinking an absurd amount of expensive coffee. (It was an indie movie, after all, so it couldn’t have a happy ending or anything.)

Carmen easily inhabited the prickly Leora character, and Matt was charming as sweet, sincere Noah. Things were going well, Carmen thought as she flipped to her fourth scene. She still wasn’t in love with the script, but she was an
actress
: She could pretend to be.

But then came the scene that mattered most. She and Matt (or Leora and Noah, rather) have a fight, and then they kiss. The fighting part—that was no problem. But when it came time to make up, and to kiss, Carmen and Matt knocked their teeth together. Which hurt. They straightened that out quickly enough, but then Matt’s tongue felt giant and clumsy and much too wet. Their noses kept getting in the way of things. And Carmen couldn’t forget that Andrew was only three feet away, either, breathing loudly through a stuffed-up nose.

Suddenly the whole audition seemed completely insane to her. Why would anyone sit that close to two people who were making out? Why was Matt such a bad kisser? Had he even remembered to brush his teeth that morning? Why did the script have so much
coffee
in it? Was it some kind of product placement deal with Starbucks?

She broke the kiss off too early, and after that, Andrew ended the audition. He seemed to be trying to hide his disappointment. But it was definitely a don’t-call-us-we’ll-call-you (not) sort of farewell. Wendy told Carmen she’d done just fine, but Carmen knew better.

She also knew that if they actually
did
call, she wouldn’t pick up the phone. She wasn’t going to kiss Matt Benson again for all the booties in Barneys.

The one bright spot of the whole disaster? At least the
Fame Game
cameras hadn’t been around to capture it.

Fawn met her outside the office. “So?” she demanded, jumping up from the bottom step. “How was it?”

“Oh my God,” Carmen gasped. “It started out fine but then it got
awful
. I was terrible—but Matt Benson has the worst breath in the world. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he had an onion bagel for breakfast.” Carmen did a face-palm, and then began to laugh.

Fawn nudged her with a bony elbow. “Oh, poor you! Kissing hot guys!”

“Yeah, but one who’s in desperate need of a breath mint,” Carmen said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a box of Tic Tacs. “Why didn’t I hand him these?” She paused as a young girl, a casting intern most likely, passed by on her way out, probably to fetch one of the fancy coffees that Andrew Flynn was clearly obsessed with. Carmen tipped a few Tic Tacs into her palm, then held out the box to Fawn. “And Andrew Flynn does
not
understand personal space. He was practically sitting on my lap. Whoever is going to have to work with that bunch—well, I feel sorry for her.”

Fawn tucked her arm through Carmen’s. “Oh, to have your Champagne problems! Speaking of which, let’s go get cocktails and forget all about it,” she said.

Carmen threw her head back and laughed. “That sounds like an excellent idea,” she said.

“So you’re not going to audition for the robot baby film, I take it,” Cassandra said the next night, winking at Carmen. She was stirring a pot of red sauce on the stove and sipping wine from a goblet nearly as large as a fishbowl.

Carmen shook her head as she chopped olives for the salad. “Nope. I also passed on the
re
-remake of
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
.”

“And the one starring that guy from the kickboxing movies,” Fawn added. She’d invited herself along for dinner, and she was supposed to be peeling carrots, but she seemed to be incapable of operating a peeler.

Carmen wondered if Fawn had ever done a moment’s housework. “Have you ever peeled a carrot before?” she finally asked.

Fawn looked at her in surprise. “Of course not. What do you think cooks are for?”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows at Carmen when Fawn wasn’t looking. Neither Cassandra nor Philip had ever forgiven Fawn for letting Carmen take the shoplifting fall. Philip, especially, thought Fawn was a spoiled Bel Air drama queen. Cassandra, though, found her amusing. Fawn could certainly be hilarious and charming when she felt like it.

“I heard that Jordan Becker is going to start auditioning for a role in his next film,” Cassandra said, shaking a bit of salt into the pot. “It’s not a starring role, but it sounds amazing.” She glanced up at Carmen. “Actually, I’ve already spoken to him about it.” She paused. “About you, I mean,” she clarified.

Carmen felt a tingle of excitement. “Jordan Becker? I
love
his movies. He’s, like, Wes Anderson for people who don’t do twee.”

Cassandra tasted the sauce, frowned, then tossed in a handful of rosemary. “The role is for a troubled daughter . . . of Maryn Wright and Tom Wade.”

Carmen couldn’t help it. Her jaw dropped. Maryn Wright and Tom Wade? They were only two of her
favorite actors of all time
. Carmen had grown up watching them, first as they starred in teen dramas, and then as they moved onto rom-coms as well as serious movies. Maryn and Tom turned up in art-house films and thrillers alike. They weren’t married in real life, but they’d played opposite each other in so many films that people often thought they were. They’d been friends forever and seemed to have the perfect artistic relationship. (At the height of her obsession, Carmen had read one of those dime-store biographies that Walgreens stocked next to
Tiger Beat
magazine. So she knew kind of a lot about them.)

“Mom, I
have
to audition,” Carmen said.

“I thought you weren’t going to take any more supporting roles,” Fawn interjected.

“Are you kidding? I would be an
extra
for these people,” Carmen said. “Girl at Laundromat. Supermarket Checker. Whatever.”

Cassandra laughed. “I doubt you’ll have to take a part
that
small.” She gave the sauce one final taste and then nodded. “Time to eat,” she said.

Carmen’s dad had set the table and was already sitting down and digging into the garlic bread.

“Your mother already tell you about the movie?” he asked, wagging a finger at her. Philip kept saying that he wanted Carmen to enjoy her break, to experience a moment of real life (as much as that was possible when she appeared on a weekly TV show), but Carmen could tell he was excited about the role.

Carmen nodded. “I’m calling my agent tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Cassandra said. “I can call up—”

Carmen held up a hand. “Mom, I’ll do it the official way,” she said. “But thank you.”

Once again, her family connections were proving to be extremely helpful, and she could practically hear the nepotism gossip already. Well, as the saying went:
Haters gonna hate
.

Beside her, Fawn speared a lettuce leaf pretty aggressively. “Must be nice,” she muttered.

Carmen turned to her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Fawn said, smiling brightly.

“Even if it doesn’t work out,” Cassandra said, “the audition can’t be worse than the one you had for
Hearts on Fire
.”

Carmen looked up, startled. “How do you know about that?”

“Google Alert, darling. I need to keep up with my baby when she forgets to return my calls.” Cassandra smiled.

“But it happened
yesterday
. How is it news already? And also—who told? There were only three other people in that room!”
And not one of them was Lily
, she thought. Carmen looked questioningly at her friend.

Fawn put her fork down. “Oh my God, it was that girl—the one on the steps,” she said. “Remember? She heard everything you were telling me.”

Carmen shook her head. “I am so sick of this. Why is everyone up in my business?”

“It’s pretty harmless, darling,” her mother said.

“It’s not like anyone is accusing you of shoplifting anything,” Philip added, shooting a look at Fawn.

Fawn seemed not to notice. “Personally, I don’t understand why everything you say is so interesting to the gossip blogs,” she said huffily. “Every time I check
D-Lish
it’s, like,
Breaking News: Carmen Curtis Drinks a Glass of Water
.”

“The one about your supposed kombucha addiction was actually kind of funny,” Cassandra said.

“Kombucha,” Philip said, making a face. “Can’t stand the stuff. Tastes like salad dressing.”

“I don’t know what kind of kombucha you were drinking, Dad, but it’s not supposed to taste like that. It’s delicious.”

“Maybe it
was
salad dressing,” Cassandra said. “You know how absentminded you can be, dear.”

Philip pretended to be offended. “I’m not absentminded; I’m deeply focused.”

“But
not
deeply focused on whatever you’re doing at that particular second,” Cassandra said. “Remember, Carm, the time he grabbed that glass of what he thought was lemonade?”

“And it was
cold chicken stock
,” Carmen said. She and her mother had plenty of stories about the things Philip had eaten or drunk mistakenly.

Philip raised his glass in a toast. “To the beautiful women who tease me mercilessly,” he said.

Carmen clinked her glass against his and he winked at her. In a way, these were the times she felt the luckiest. Not when she was having her picture taken on the red carpet, or seeing her face on a two-page spread in
Nylon
, but when she was with her family, and they were laughing, and, barring some weird press rumors, everything seemed like it was all right with the world.

The ringing of a phone cut through their laughter. Carmen reached out to Fawn’s iPhone and snatched it away. “No phones at the dinner table,” she said. “Family rule.”

She glanced down and saw Jimmy Landis’s name flashing on the screen. The same name of the reporter whose byline always accompanied the stories about her on
D-Lish
. Carmen felt the breath leave her lungs in a rush. “Why is Jimmy Landis calling you?” she demanded.

But by the look on Fawn’s face, Carmen knew
exactly
why he was calling.

25

A LONG, EMOTIONAL ROAD

Kate held the letter lightly in her hand, turning it over and over but not opening it. She’d recognized the handwriting instantly; her stalker had sent her another love note. She knew she ought to hand it to one of the security guys and ask him to open it. Or else—and this was probably the better idea—she should simply throw it away.

But it was so strange to her that he kept writing, when he’d been chased down the street by SoCal Security after appearing on the Park Towers grounds. She was kind of fascinated by his dedication and persistence. She knew now that there was no way he’d ever get close to her—not with Rick and Mitch and the rest of the security team hanging around 24/7. So why didn’t he give up? They were
never
going to be boyfriend and girlfriend the way he so desperately hoped.

Kate sighed. Speaking of boyfriend and girlfriend . . . she rolled over onto her back and stared glumly at the ceiling. She hadn’t seen Drew in days, and she was starting to wonder if those terms even described the two of them anymore.

He’d told her that he had a last-minute exam the morning of her showcase, and that he couldn’t call her because his phone had died.

She thought that excuse was believable but pretty lame, and told him so. The showcase would have gone completely differently if he’d only bothered to show up—she
knew
it would have. One single exam versus her entire future—was there really any comparison?

But, unfortunately, Drew didn’t see it that way.

“I can’t drop everything to be your cheerleader anytime you need me, Kate,” Drew had said, his voice clipped and angry. “You have to be able to do this stuff on your own. You have the talent—all you need is a little more confidence.”

“I don’t expect you to drop everything whenever I ask, but you
knew
this particular day was important,” she’d retorted. “And you said you’d be there.”

“What was I supposed to do? Ditch my class and fail my exam?” Drew had asked. “It’s not just the Kate Hayes show, okay? I had a
major test
. I’m going to
college
. And I have a
job
. You seem to have a problem remembering that.”

When she didn’t say anything—she’d never heard him speak so harshly before and was taken aback—Drew began to apologize. He was such a nice guy, he couldn’t help it.

“No, no, you’re right,” she’d said, waving him off. “It’s okay.”

She was lying, though; it wasn’t okay. She understood that he had a point, but she couldn’t forgive him. And they’d hardly spoken since.

But she had to admit, as she got up and went to the kitchen for another spoonful of Chunky Monkey, that the person she was most mad at was herself. She had been dreaming of a career in music ever since she started guitar lessons in grade school. She’d worked hard for over a
decade
, and she’d been given fantastic opportunities. But she’d let her crazy, stupid stage fright get the better of her almost every single time. It was infuriating.

She wondered if she should try that EFT tapping business again, or the yoga class for stress relief that PopTV had filmed her taking during Operation Eliminate Stage Fright. Those things had helped a little, hadn’t they? And Kate couldn’t overdo it on acupuncture or yoga the way she could—and
had
—on Xanax.

She wished she had someone to talk to about it all. She knew Madison would be more than happy to listen, but Kate sort of wanted someone who wasn’t part of the Fame Game, both real and metaphorical. She would have loved to talk to her old roommate, Natalie, for instance. Natalie had always been such a reliable friend, not to mention a good source of advice. But Kate didn’t think she ought to unload all her problems on her when she hadn’t even called to say hello in weeks.

Kate had been playing phone tag with her sister, but Jess wouldn’t be any help in this situation, either. She didn’t understand the world of reality TV at all, and her advice would come in the form of annoying sports metaphors. Kate did
not
want to be told to “keep her eye on the ball” or some such athletic-sounding encouragement that didn’t apply to anything in her life.

As Kate dipped her spoon into the ice cream carton, she looked down and realized she’d consumed almost an entire pint that afternoon. That meant probably fifty trips into the kitchen, each time to sneak one tiny bite.

She put the ice cream back in the freezer and tossed the spoon into the sink. She needed to get out of the apartment. Immediately.

“Madison’s not here,” Gaby said, blinking sleepily at Kate. Then she smiled, looking slightly embarrassed. “Sorry. You caught me napping. My therapist says that naps are a time of, like, rejuvenation and healing.”

“Sounds nice,” Kate said. “And they’re a lot better for you than what I did, which was eat almost an entire carton of ice cream without realizing it. Apparently I have the self-control of a four-year-old.”

Gaby laughed. “I don’t know when Mad’ll be back. But you want to come in anyway?”

Kate was disappointed that Madison wasn’t home. She’d come to rely on Madison’s unique yet often relevant perspective. But she didn’t want to hurt Gaby’s feelings by turning around and going back downstairs. So she followed her into the penthouse, marveling again at its size. It was very clean, unlike her own apartment, and Madison was always changing some item of decor or another. (She knew this drove Trevor crazy because of the continuity issues it created, but she didn’t seem to care. Or maybe that was the point.) Today there was a new, huge mirror in the shape of a sun above the mantel. Kate caught a glimpse of herself and wondered, once again, if cutting all her hair off had been such a great idea.

“So what’s up?” Gaby asked, sitting back down in the place she’d clearly been napping.

Kate perched on top of a brightly printed Missoni pouf. “I’m a little stressed,” she said. “But what else is new?” She gave Gaby a careful look. “What about you? How are things . . . since, you know?”

Gaby pulled her hair into a ponytail, then let it fall to her shoulders, and then pulled it back again. She looked at her hands as if they belonged to someone else. “Sorry. I also have a lot of nervous energy. I guess it wasn’t clear to anyone, though, because of the pills.” She began to braid her dark hair. “But I’m actually doing really good,” she said. “Things are different, of course, but they’re better. I don’t wake up unable to remember what I did the night before, so that’s good.”

Kate nodded. Yes, retaining memory was definitely a step in the right direction. But she wasn’t sure Gaby was staying quite as sober as she was supposed to. “Did I hear that your parents are in town?”

Gaby frowned—or tried her best to, through the Botox. “They’ve been threatening to pull me from the show, but so far I’ve managed to keep them from doing it.” Then she gazed at her toes and sighed. “I mean, sometimes it’s actually a lot harder for me than I like to admit, but that doesn’t mean I want to give it all up.”

She looked so lost in that moment that Kate almost got up and hugged her. Instead she said softly, “Gaby, if you’re really that unhappy, why don’t you leave? Is it really worth the pain?”

Gaby hugged one of the throw pillows against her chest. “Yes,” she said, her voice strong again. “This is what I want, Kate. Do you know what people would give to have this opportunity?
Everything
. All I need to do is hold it together through the end of filming.”

Kate said, “Actually, what you need to do is hold it together for the rest of your
life
, Gab. Filming isn’t a reason to stay sober. Taking care of yourself is.”

Gaby laughed. “I know. I’ve never been very good at that, I guess.”

Kate didn’t say anything. She was glad that Gaby seemed to grasp what she’d done to herself in the name of celebrity. But would she cancel the cosmetic surgeries she’d lined up post-season? Would she stop seeing Jay? Because it seemed to Kate like not popping pills was only the beginning of Gaby’s road to healing.

Kate stretched herself out on the carpeted floor, with her head on the pouf. It was a surprisingly comfortable position, and suddenly she was very, very tired. “What does your therapist say about naps again?” Kate asked sleepily.

“They’re healing, physically and emotionally,” Gaby said. She laughed. “We’ve got a spare bed, you know, if you can’t make it back to your place.”

Kate sighed. “I just want to close my eyes. . . .”

“You dropped something,” Gaby said.

Kate felt around on the floor and found the letter from her stalker. “Oh, right,” she said. “I was trying to decide whether or not to read the latest creepy stalker letter.”

“I always open my mail,” Gaby said. “But I don’t get as much as you guys. You should see the piles Madison gets.”

And so Kate opened her letter and scanned down the page. Halfway down, she paled.

“What?” Gaby asked. “What is it?”

Kate looked up at her. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So she read the letter out loud. “ ‘Dear Kate, Being in love with you has been a long, emotional road for me. But all good things must come to an end. My heart now belongs to Miley Cyrus. Best wishes.’ ” She met Gaby’s eye. “My stalker,” she said, holding up the letter. “I think he broke up with me.”

And then she laughed harder than she’d laughed in forever.