L. A. Candy (21 page)

Madison lay back on her leather couch, the one that had cost more than a year’s rent at her last apartment, and surveyed the photos. Despite the photographer’s constraints—he’d had to take them from a distance, in the dark, and from the top of a tree branch—they were good.
Really
good. Thankfully, Jane didn’t believe in closing her curtains. The guy had captured her and Braden making out, with her in nothing but her bra and panties, and him in his boxer briefs.
Hmm, he’s definitely hot
. As an extra bonus, Jane looked awful, even though she was probably just tired and stressed out over what happened at Jesse’s birthday party. That should make for a killer headline.
HOLLYWOOD’S NEWEST IT GIRL HOOKS UP WITH BOYFRIEND’S BFF
.

Oh, Jane,
Madison thought.
You are so history after these photos are published.
And Jane deserved it. Didn’t she?

Madison picked up her glass of wine and took a long sip as she went through the rest of the photos. She was so
tired of hearing about Jane. Miss It Girl. America’s Sweetheart. Rising Star.
Gag.
She, Madison Parker, was the
real
star of
L.A. Candy.
And after everyone saw these photos of their precious princess behaving like a total slut, they would elevate Madison to her proper status.

When Madison reached the last photo in the pile, she hesitated, then held it up to the light. In it, she could see Jane’s face clearly. She looked confused and lost. Like a little girl. For a moment, Madison felt a pang of something. Guilt? Regret?

She glanced at the photo again. She knew that if she went through with this, she’d be crossing a line she wasn’t sure she was ready to cross. She wanted to be number one. She
deserved
to be number one. But these photos would destroy Jane’s reputation, her career, her life. Did she really want to be responsible for that kind of devastation? Jane, sadly, thought of Madison as her friend. Did she want to be the kind of person who could betray her friends? It’s one thing to trade harmless gossip, like the item she’d given to Veronica Bliss about Gaby hooking up with that C-list actor at Goa. It’s another to ruin someone.

Sighing, she rose to her feet, accidentally knocking over her wineglass, barely hearing the crash as the fine crystal hit the floor and shattered. She scooped up the photos and stuffed them back into the brown manila envelope.

I can always save them for later,
she thought.
In case of an emergency.

In the meantime, she would just have to keep trying
to persuade Veronica Bliss to write flattering pieces about her for
Gossip
in exchange for dishy little items about Jane, Gaby, Scarlett—or herself. Plus, she still had those cell phone pictures from Jesse’s party. Madison smiled serenely. She was on the right track. The more publicity about herself, the better. People would eventually begin to notice her incredible beauty, her charm, her style, her…star quality. And they would clamor to see more of her on
L.A. Candy,
and less of boring little Jane.

Patience, Madison,
she told herself.

Jane lay in bed, her room dark except for images that flashed across her muted TV. No Braden, no Jesse. She had told them both, separately, that she wasn’t feeling well and needed to stay in tonight.

After Jesse had left that morning, she had taken a long shower, then spent the afternoon trying to figure out what to do. Should she be with Braden? Or Jesse? Or neither? What had she been thinking, hooking up with Jesse’s best friend last night? This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t television. This was life—
her
life, and the lives of two guys she really, really cared about.

She’d gone out for a walk around the neighborhood, to clear her head, and returned an hour later with her decision. She needed time off from both Braden and Jesse. She wanted to be alone for a while, to think things through. And in the meantime, she needed to have zero contact with either of them. It was the only way.

An image of a couple kissing filled her TV screen. Jane winced, then picked up the remote and started clicking. News. Good. Nothing romantic about that. Keeping the volume off, she watched a story about a California wild-fire, then another about a bank robbery, followed by the weather…and then she forced herself to turn her attention to her phone and do what had to be done. Her phone was on her nightstand next to B, the stuffed toy puppy Braden had given her on the night of the
L.A. Candy
premiere. She opened her nightstand drawer and placed B inside. She didn’t need reminders.

She texted Braden first. HEY, I NEED SOME TIME 2 THINK, she composed carefully. PLEASE WAIT FOR ME 2 CALL U, OKAY? DON’T CALL ME. IF U CARE ABOUT ME, PLEASE RESPECT THAT. THIS IS ALL SO COMPLICATED. LOVE, JANE.

Before hitting the Send button she copied the message and sent it to Jesse.

Veronica Bliss was in her office, trying to finalize the upcoming issue of
Gossip
. She had to go to press by the end of business. Should she go with one young actress who might or might not be addicted to diet pills, or another who had returned to rehab yet again?
God, I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel,
she thought, just as her intercom buzzed.

“Veronica? Madison Parker here to see you,” Diego announced.

“Send her in.”

For once, Veronica actually didn’t mind the little fame-whore dropping by to see her. She had given her an assignment to dig up dirt on Jane Roberts and Jesse Edwards. She’d heard through other sources that the loving couple had had some sort of fight during his birthday party at Goa. What she needed now was details…and more important, pictures. Unfortunately, she’d found out about the party too late to send her own people.

Madison walked into the room, grinning from ear to ear like she owned the place. Veronica took a deep breath, quelling the impulse to take the girl down a notch. Maybe she had something. It was worth being polite, at least for the next forty-five seconds.

“Hi, Veronica,” Madison said smoothly.

“Madison. What do you have for me?”

Madison reached into her bag and pulled out her cell phone. She handed it to Veronica. “You’re gonna love these pictures,” she said smugly. “Just click on the arrow—there are six of them, total.”

Veronica took the phone and began scanning through Madison’s photo gallery. The first picture showed a guy who looked like Jesse Edwards, sitting at a table, grabbing the hand of some girl who was standing with her back to the camera. Was that Scarlett Harp? It was hard to tell.

The second picture was almost impossible to make out too: a guy with his arm around a blond girl, taken from a distance. The other pictures were equally blurry, grainy…useless.

Veronica shook her head and tossed the phone back to Madison. It fell near her feet, and the battery popped out, clattering loudly across the floor.

“Shit, what are you doing?” Madison said angrily, bending down to pick everything up.

“What are
you
doing is a better question,” Veronica said curtly. “I can’t use these pictures. Next time, use a real camera, with a flash.”

“But these are hot! They’re from Jesse’s birthday party at Goa. He was flirting like crazy with Scarlett—as in Jane’s best friend? And the other pictures? He was practically making out with this random blonde with thirty-eight double D—”

“What random blonde? Do you have a name?” Veronica interrupted.

Madison frowned. “Um…no. But maybe I could ask around.” Her face lighting up, she added, “Oh, and I have something else, too. I’m ninety-nine percent sure Jane has an eating disorder. She’s lost weight. And at Jesse’s party, she threw up in the bathroom. She forgot to turn off her mike, and the whole crew heard—”

Veronica raised her hand, silencing Madison. Enough. “That’s not an eating disorder, Madison, that’s a diet,” she snapped. “One of my photographers saw Jane on the street yesterday. She looks better than ever. Seriously, unless you give me something worth printing, I’m not wasting any more time or magazine space with your coattail-riding ass. Now, give me something good, with pictures I can actually use, or you’ll be lucky to make the ‘Stars Are Just Like Us!’ section showing you buying zit cream at CVS.” She glanced impatiently at her watch. “Your time’s up. And I’m not just referring to your fifteen minutes.”

Madison’s eyes blazed with cold fury. She seemed to be considering something.

“Fine,” she said after a long moment. “You want pictures? I have pictures. Clear your next cover.”

“
Excuse
me?”

“I said, clear your next cover. Believe me, it’ll be worth it.”

Veronica glanced at her watch again. But she wasn’t actually looking at it. It was just an excuse to think. She had to admit that she was a little intrigued. “What pictures? Let me see them.”

“I’ll have them sent to you this afternoon—by a special messenger. He’ll make your story even hotter.”

“He? Who’s
he
?”

“You’ll see.”

He was waiting for her at a corner table, nursing a watered-down-looking scotch and smoking a cigarette. It was two in the afternoon, and the bar was almost deserted. The only other occupants were a couple arguing in a corner booth. The place was a little depressing. But it was private.

“Hey, Jesse.” Madison slid into the chair opposite him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

The guy looked like crap. He had stubble on his face; his eyes were bloodshot. He’d either been drinking too much, not sleeping enough, or both. His two-hundred-dollar Thomas Pink shirt was badly wrinkled and untucked carelessly over his jeans.

Jesse sat up a little straighter. “How’s Jane?” he said, without even bothering to say hello or how are you or any of the other usual niceties. Rude. “Have you seen her? Do
you know if she’s ready to talk to me? She said she needs her space, and I’m trying to respect that, but it’s making me a little crazy.” He sounded miserable, desperate. “I don’t understand what’s going on with her. I went to her apartment on Saturday morning, and I thought everything was cool between us. Then I got that text from her on Saturday night. Has she said anything to you?”

The bartender caught Madison’s eye, but she shook her head, indicating that she wasn’t drinking today. She had to stay clear-headed for what she was about to do. For a brief second, she thought about backing out. After all, what she was about to do would humiliate Jane. And Jane trusted her.

No,
she told herself firmly.
You’ve gotta stay strong.
It was all Veronica Bliss’s fault, anyway. If she hadn’t been such a smug, awful bitch that morning, Madison wouldn’t have changed her mind about using the photos.

“Jesse, you’ve gotta give up on her. She’s not good enough for you.”

“What are you talking about? Of course she is.
I’m
the asshole, not her.”

Madison leaned forward and placed her perfectly manicured nails on his arm, silencing him. She let her lips curl into a meticulously calibrated smile: a little bit sympathetic, a little bit flirty. He glanced at her in surprise, then smiled back. It was a ghost of a smile, but it was definitely a smile. God.
Men.
They were so easy sometimes.

“She’s not good enough for you,” Madison repeated, keeping her hand on his arm. “You’ve seen the show. She exudes this image like she’s this perfect little princess. But I know her. She puts on a good act. Deep down, she’s not who you think she is. Who
anyone
thinks she is. She’s just as messed up as the rest of us.”

Jesse picked up his drink and took a long swig, his eyes never leaving her face. “What are you talking about?”

“So you wanted to have a little fun on your twenty-first birthday. So what?” Madison breezed on. “It’s totally understandable. Everyone does it. Why did she make such a huge deal out of it?”

Jesse shrugged and took another swig of his drink. He looked thoughtful.
Good.
He was starting to come around.

“Jane, on the other hand, didn’t have an excuse for what she did,” Madison continued.

Jesse frowned. “What
she
did? What are you talking about?”

Madison reached into her bag and pulled out the brown manila envelope. She hesitated a moment before sliding the envelope across the table. “I’m sorry, Jesse,” she said gently. “I really am. But I didn’t want you to see these somewhere else first.”

“What’s this?”

“Just look inside.”

Jesse stared at the envelope for a long second before picking it up and opening it. He pulled out the pile of
photographs and tipped them up to see them in the dim light.

The first one was enough. The one of Jane lying on her bed dressed in nothing but her underwear, with an almost-naked Braden next to her, his hands all over her. Jesse’s face tightened—first with shock, then hurt, then pure, hot rage.

“What…the…fuck?” he spat out.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Madison whispered, squeezing his arm. “It happened last Friday night.”

“Friday night?”

Jesse went through all the photos again—twice, three times, four times. They were all variations on the same sordid theme: his girlfriend cheating on him with his best friend. It couldn’t get worse (or, from Madison’s perspective, better) than that.

“What…the…fuck?” he said again. He looked mad enough to kill someone. “Where did you get these?”

“From a reliable source. But that’s not important right now,” Madison said. “What’s important is…
this
is the real Jane.”

Jesse sat there for a long moment, saying nothing. He lit another cigarette and began smoking again. She waited a moment to let him digest everything. Then she made her next move. If nothing else, she was the queen of timing.

“She’s been lying to all of us. America’s Sweetheart isn’t so sweet.” Jesse looked up and Madison worried that he’d detected anger in her voice. Quickly recovering, she
said, “I just hate what she did to you. You’re a good guy. You deserve better.” Madison moved even closer to him so that he could see her perfectly molded cleavage, smell her warm perfume, sense just how deeply, deeply sorry she was for his heartbreak. “There’s someone you need to take these photos to. Someone who will know exactly what to do with them.”

“Who?” Jesse asked her.

Madison told him.