Almost Famous, a Talent Novel (17 page)

Mac hoisted the enormous silver platter onto her shoulder and headed to the expansive, glass-walled party room, plastering another huge fake smile on her face. Now the BAMS kids were dancing to an electronic version of Miley Cyrus’s “Girls Night Out.” Ruby was standing in the center of the room, in the middle of a circle of Rubybots, with a bored smile on her face, barely moving her hips from side to side while she danced. Kimmie Tachman, Ellie Parker, and Haylie moved around her. They looked like they were trying to look bored. But they probably didn’t have to try very hard.

Mac walked carefully around the partygoers like she was stepping around land mines. Her BAMS class-mates were talking in huddled groups or sprawled out on lush red chaises and couches that lined the edges of the L-shaped room. She gingerly placed a tray of quesadillas in front of each person like she’d seen waiters do at her parents’ parties. “Goat cheese quesadilla?” She cringed when she got to Lukas and the water polo boys, who were on a couch by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“You havin’ a good time?” he asked, his brown eyes twinkling
.
His hair was mussed in that perfect stylish/ effortless way that some guys could pull off naturally.

“Sure,” Mac said. What could she say? That she felt like a total loser? That she probably
was
a total loser? “This rocks.”

“I’ll bet,” Lukas said, laughing.

Mac wasn’t sure if he was laughing with her or at her as she blushed and hurried back to the kitchen, the empty tray feeling even heavier now than when it was loaded.

At first, the BAMS kids seemed baffled by (and almost scared of?) Mac’s goodwill, like they were on
Pop Fiction
. For Mac, it was torture to stand there while her social inferiors practically ignored her. Each tray seemed to take forever to finish.

Once, when she was holding a tray of tartlets on her shoulder, she had to wait for an extra ten minutes while Jaden and Slate debated whether or not they wanted another. Mac did her best to hide her scowl, knowing full well they were just trying to be obnoxious. But she had made a mental note to pass by them with the other sixteen trays.

Somehow, five hours, thirty-five trays, and plenty of A-level humiliation later, Mac was done. She stood alone in the Getty kitchen, her arms feeling weak and gelatinous. She hugged herself to stretch out her aching biceps. She wished she could magically transport herself to Becks’s house for the Inner Circle slumber party. She leaned against the silver refrigerator and closed her eyes, tuning out the squeals of laughter from the party. And then she noticed: Ruby’s cell phone was by the tray of mini cupcakes.

And it was blinking.

It would be so easy to peek into the phone/read her messages/respond to texts or seriously sabotage Ruby. She imagined sending the Rubybots text messages from Ruby’s phone. Like: U GUYS! I HEART THE SHEAN TWINS! Or better yet: EVERYONE B NICE TO MAC. She could order them to stop dressing the same. Mac smiled wistfully at the fantasy, and then realized she was wasting time instead of changing out of her maid getup. She wandered into a bathroom to put on her Habitual jeans.

When she turned on the lights, she realized she hadn’t walked into the bathroom—she’d walked into a giant pantry, stocked with rows and rows of Barilla pasta and tall, thin bottles of extra-virgin olive oil with curved silver spouts. Mac was about to leave and find the real bathroom when she heard hushed voices just outside the door.

“I can’t believe she’s working for you!” a girl said. Mac froze. She tilted her body so she could peer out the door. It was Ruby and Maya Hulse, a BAMS soccer star, sticking their fingers in the leftover mini cupcakes and eating the chocolate icing. Ruby certainly seemed to have forgotten her diet.

“What happened to Mac? She used to rule BAMS, and now she’s a party butler?” Maya continued. She was so tiny that even next to Ruby she still looked petite. Her brown hair was cut in a shag like Katie Holmes’s and her brown bangs framed her wide-set eyes. She looked a little bit like a doll. “Mac really peaked last year. How sad.”

“Times change.” Ruby licked her index finger like a cat.

Mac squeezed a box of Barilla pasta to keep from bursting out of the closet and throttling Ruby. But that would end the conversation, and she had to remind herself of the basic rule of Hollywood: Information was power. (Side bonus: If Ruby kept eating icing like that, she would sabotage herself).

“And you should see what I’m doing to her little project, Emily,” Ruby chuckled. “Let’s just say . . . stay tuned for Spazmo.”

“That was you?” Maya asked, incredulously. “I heard Kimmie’s really into that play.” She tossed a cupcake back onto the tray and reached for a quesadilla.

“Duh. She is. Kimmie can’t be mean.” Ruby snickered. “But all she has to do is make people watch her play. That’s torture enough.”

“Shhh!” Maya giggled. “Kimmie will hear you!”

“I hope she does.” Ruby rolled her eyes. “Someone needs to save her from herself. She actually thinks she’s going to be a writer. Can you say delusional?”

“You’re totally running BAMS!” Maya squeaked. “Is that why Haylie is dance captain?”

“Let’s just say every skinny girl needs a big BFF.” Ruby tossed the rest of the cupcake back into the tray. “Standing next to her is the fastest way I know to look ten pounds skinnier.”

“You are cra-zee!” Maya teased. “So what’s next for Team Mac?”

Ruby lowered her voice. “Believe me when I say this is only the beginning.”

The beginning?
Mac froze, still clutching the now-mangled box of pasta. Wasn’t this all supposed to be over at ExtravaBAMSa?

The girls turned and went back to the party, leaving Mac simmering alone in the pantry. As quietly as she could, Mac slid out of the closet, out of the kitchen, and finally out of the Getty.

Pax Rubana was a total sham. Ruby had never intended to honor her promises.

Erin was waiting in the Prius, eating dried mangoes with chili powder from a Whole Foods bag, when Mac slumped into the passenger seat.

“Hi, sweetie!” Erin said cheerfully.

Mac looked at her mom’s personal assistant with new eyes. Suddenly she didn’t see Erin as a girl who over-quoted Oprah—she saw her as a Brave Survivor. Erin ran errands, took coffee orders, and schlepped the Armstrong family every single day, never complaining. “
How
can you stand your job, Erin? It’s like being a servant!”

“Yeeaahhh,” Erin sighed melodically. It went on for many syllables, like she was warming up for a concert. “It can be rough.” She smile-nodded.

Mac stared at Erin. “No, seriously. How do you do it?”

Erin played with the pine tree-shaped air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, probably debating how truthful she could be with her boss’s daughter. “Okay. Honestly, there are days when I think,
I graduated from Princeton! Hello? What am I doing with my life?
”

Mac nodded. This made sense.

“But see, I wouldn’t last if I thought of myself as a servant,” Erin continued.

Mac scrunched her eyebrows in concentration, very curious as to how Erin spun her job.

“ ’Cause I’m
not
a servant,” Erin added. “I’m a home staffer with some cool perks.” It made Mac a little sad to hear Erin’s self-talk. “Don’t tell your mom, but last night I got a reservation at Osteria Mozza just by saying I worked for Adrienne Little-Armstrong. I call it dropping the A-bomb. Works every time.” Erin winked. “Aaaaaand I have access to really cool people. I know about big deals that go down. And how else would I be friends with you?”

Mac smiled. Even if it was just Erin, at least someone still thought she was cool.

Erin started the car. “Plus, when you’re an assistant, people forget you exist. They say things in front of you they would never say around anyone else. I mean, if I were
a different
kind of person”—Erin looked at Mac intently, narrowing her eyes mock-sinisterly—“I could do some real damage.”

“Like what?” Mac asked, suddenly interested in the
damage
of it all: She thought back to all the conversations she’d heard that night. And all the conversations she could have heard at Ruby’s house if she’d made that her goal.

“I mean—I would neh-ver do this—but you know, I
could
call up the tabloids or write a tell-all book under a fake name. I could even turn my experiences into a one-woman show. I could just really abuse all this access. Thank goodness I’m not crazy.” She winked at Mac for the second time that conversation.

“Yeah,” Mac said, not fully sold on the whole Erin not-being-crazy thing, but she wasn’t thinking about Erin. She was thinking about her future, and how she could go back to being the master of it, taking the reins from Ruby Goldman. Suddenly life became obvious, like the ending of a Katherine Heigl movie. There was no sense in playing by the rules if she and Ruby weren’t even playing the same game. Screw sucking up. Mac smiled as the car sailed down Mulholland Drive, overlooking the twinkling sea of lights.

It was time to play hardball. Fortunately, that was Mac’s favorite game.

Becks passed a bag of Crummy Brothers orange blossom chocolate chip cookies to Emily and Coco, who each robotically reached into the brown paper bag and took one. They were sitting at the farmhouse picnic table in Becks’s kitchen, which had been redesigned so that “chi could flow” (as Clutch put it). As far as Becks could tell, there were just more bamboo shoots dotting the emerald green granite island.

They sipped their ginger wheatgrass smoothies, which had been graciously forced upon them by Clutch, who joyfully claimed, “Ginger ’s a mood booster!” Normally they made jokes whenever Clutch served up his vegan treats. But tonight no one had the energy. Humiliation was exhausting. Even the chocolate fondue fountain, which Clutch had custom built for his only daughter, sat ominously untouched, a reminder of happier times.

Becks reached into her pocket and realized the business card from Chad Hutchins was still there. She took it out and left it on the picnic table, a stark reminder of how Ruby, via Ellie, was ruining her life. Becks couldn’t wait for Mac to hurry up and make them all feel better. It was almost midnight, and still no Mac. She kept checking the security monitors in the kitchen to see if the Prius had pulled in front of the garage.

“Girls, why the long faces?” Clutch sauntered back into the kitchen in his khaki shorts and Tommy Bahama luau shirt. At thirty-nine, Clutch Becks was tall and rangy and still looked and acted like a teenager. “You’ve had the smoothies and you
still
look bummed? This must be serious.” He poured himself his own special smoothie concoction from a pitcher. Becks wrinkled her nose. He was on day two of the total body cleanse, which meant he didn’t eat any solid foods and only drank a bizarre brick-colored beverage. It contained maple syrup, lemon juice, and a dousing of Worcestershire sauce. “Do we have to bust out the S’More Machine? Will that bring back the smiles?” Clutch gave a knowing grin to the girls, clearly hoping for one in return.

Becks stuck her hands in the front pocket of her Maui & Sons sweatshirt and sighed. “It’s a long story, Pops,” she said, not wanting to get into the saga of Ruby and social chair and Austin.

“Well, let me guess. . . .” Clutch pressed his hands to his tanned temples and pretended to concentrate really hard, like a fortune-teller. He had started taking acting classes with Ivanna Chubbuck, and he was always improvising. “I know!” He opened his twinkling blue eyes. “Global warming!”

Becks shook her head.

“Oh, shoot, thought I had it.” Clutch pretended to be bummed out. “Um, give me three guesses. . . .” He resumed his fortune-teller position, then snapped his fingers. “Endangered pandas!”

Emily and Coco giggled for the first time that night.

“Oh, I know! Deforestation, right? That’s got to be it!”

Becks groaned. “No, Pops. It’s BAMS drama.”

“Oh,” Clutch said, taking a swig of his smoothie. “Real problems.”

Becks rolled her eyes, but still managed to smile for the first time that evening.

“So I guess your old man is too much of a geezer to hear all the good gossip, huh?” He put his hands on his lower back, and spoke in a fake-grandfather voice. “Getting too old for this! Oh, my achin’ bones! Too old for the BAMS gossip.”

Becks blew a strand of strawberry blond hair out of her eyes. She didn’t want her dad to feel left out—it had been just her and him for as long as she could remember—but this was about school drama
and
boy drama. Boys complicated eh-ver-ything. Besides, the last time she’d tried to talk to him about Austin, it had been so awkward that they’d never even finished their conversation.

“Well, speaking of BAMS”—Clutch puffed out his lean chest—“I’ve agreed to offer our beach for ExtravaBAMSa this year. I just got off the phone with some girl named Ruby and they’re using our backyard for Surffest!”

Emily, Coco, and Becks dropped their jaws.

“Uh-oh,” Clutch said, looking like he was seeing a tsunami headed his way. “I take it you girls don’t like that. Should I call her back and say no?”

“No, that’s cool, Pops,” Becks said hastily. She didn’t want her dad to feel bad about trying to help. “It’s just that I’m not feeling very into Surffest this year.”

“Wait a second!” Clutch said, making the timeout sign with his tan hands. “
You
aren’t into Surffest? Well, maybe the fact that Austin Holloway is going will change your mind. I figure you never get to see him now that he’s in high school, so I made sure to invite him.” Clutch winked. “Catch y’all laters, girls,” he said, saluting. “Gotta learn my lines. If I’m not off-book, they don’t let me come to class!”