Sugar and Spice (8 page)

Jane looked away. What was she supposed to say? There was no way in a million years she would ever get back together with him. She had learned her lesson about him—about
all
guys like him—the hard way.

But what if Trevor was right? What if she needed to tell Jesse what he wanted to hear so he could be motivated to get help? What if making Jesse think he had a chance with her was the only way to get him back on track?

“Why don’t we talk about it after you get sober?” she said.

Jesse beamed. “Yes! That’s awesome! You just made my day.”

Jane smiled back, but it was an effort. She had just done something really nice for someone she used to care about.

So why did she feel like crying?

Chapter 12
Sophisticated to Super-Slutty

Madison drove down “The Strip” trying not to get distracted by the passing scenery. She had been in Las Vegas many times before, with various boyfriends, but the main drag never ceased to amaze her: the (fake) Sphinx and pyramid at the Luxor Hotel, the (fake) Eiffel Tower at the Paris, the (fake) Coney Island–style roller coaster at New York-New York, the (fake) everything. It was the most artificially glamorous place in the world, and Madison absolutely loved it. On the street, dazed-looking tourists wandered alongside high rollers in designer clothes, and stretch limos glided alongside trucks with “mobile billboards” advertising strip clubs.

Madison spotted Jane’s Jetta a few cars ahead. Jane was driving, with Hannah in the passenger seat and Intern Boy in the back. The four of them were on their way to the Venetian to meet with the hotel staff and Aja’s reps to organize the pop singer’s engagement party. Much to Madison’s annoyance—as if having the party at the Venetian versus the Palms wasn’t annoying enough—Jane had announced at the last minute that there was no room in her car for Madison and her “huge amount of luggage.” WTF? All Madison brought were her three Louis Vuitton rolling bags, which wasn’t much for an overnight business trip, considering. A girl never knew which outfits (and shoes and purses and lingerie and other accessories) she might need in Vegas, and so Madison had brought a wide assortment, everything from sophisticated to super-slutty.

Still, being alone in the car for the five-hour drive from L.A. to Las Vegas had given Madison some time to think about Project: Sophie. Sophie had been living with her for the last ten days, drinking all of Derek’s liquor and trying to sneak out in the middle of the night to meet up with God knows who. Madison kept telling her that she had to stay out of sight until her transformation from Scary Goth Girl to one of L.A.’s pretty people was complete. Unfortunately, Sophie had never been the obedient type.

Sophie had never been the communicative type, either—although Madison
had
managed to get her to admit that she’d been using their grandmother’s identity and credit card (Grandma Mains had Alzheimer’s and was in a nursing home) and that Sophie had known what Madison was wearing at the
L.A. Candy
premiere before the preshow went live because of a cell phone picture that had been Twittered.

In the meantime, Derek was not happy about the whole situation—Madison had fed him a story about how the PopTV cameras were at the apartment practically 24/7 for a special story line, so he couldn’t risk visiting her there—and was making noises about cooling off their relationship. Which wasn’t good, since the apartment was his, and if they broke up—well, where would she live? There was no way she was going back to some two-room dive downtown. Between her “job” at Fiona Chen Events . . . filming . . . Sophie . . . press interviews . . . photo shoots . . . and trying to keep her married boyfriend happy, Madison was stretched to the max.

At least Sophie’s makeover was going well. A talented, discreet stylist Madison knew had gotten rid of the hideous black dye job and replaced it with a sleek platinum pageboy with bangs. Another discreet contact had performed a series of lip injections—not that Sophie’s lips needed plumping, but they needed to alter her appearance. Next would come waxing (the girl obviously didn’t believe in basic grooming), a full set of acrylics (she had always been a nail biter), spa appointments (had she never considered a regular skin care regimen?), contact lenses (green? brown?)—and last but not least, new clothes and new makeup. A nose job would have been the perfect way to further mask Sophie’s identity from the people back home, but there wasn’t time; recovery could take a month or more, and Sophie was already threatening to walk if she wasn’t introduced to Trevor and put on the show ASAP. Ugh. Still, Madison
had
to make Sophie understand how crucially important it was that no one ID her as Sophilyn Wardell—or ID the two of them as the Wardell sisters (since together, they were twice as recognizable). Then everything would be lost. Hollywood was fine with fakes, but it most definitely wasn’t fine with frauds.

Madison eventually reached the Venetian (okay, so it
was
kind of spectacular, like an over-the-top Italian palace with real gondolas gliding along real canals) and pulled up to the valet stand. The PopTV crew was already there, as were Jane, Hannah, and Oliver. Madison noticed Oliver wrap his arms around Hannah as they stood on the curb, giggling idiotically about something. God, had the two underlings hooked up? Madison had noticed a certain vibe between them at the office, and more than once, she had spotted them leaving on the elevator together, at the end of the day. (Not that Madison usually stayed at the office that late. Who had the time to work when there were so many other important things to do?) Madison had no idea what Oliver saw in Hannah—she’d originally pegged him as gay, because she’d asked him out for a drink on his first day at Fiona’s and he’d begged off with some lame excuse. He obviously had no taste in women.

One of the PopTV sound guys gestured for Madison to roll down her window, then handed her a mike pack and a roll of tape. Eyeing her skintight, low-cut black tank shirt, he said, “I’m not sure how you’re gonna manage this.”

“I’ll manage. Unless . . . you wanna help me?”

“Uh . . .”

The director—Matt?—called out to the sound guy just then, and he took off hastily, leaving Madison to fend for herself. Sighing, she slipped the mike pack onto the back of her skirt. It bugged the producers when the thing was visible; but she worked hard to be in shape, and she didn’t like the awkward bump it created on her back when she wore it under her shirt.

After a moment, Matt signaled for her to get out. Checking her makeup in the rearview mirror, she opened the door and emerged slowly, seductively, making sure the camera got a good angle on her five-inch black stilettos, her slender, spray-tanned legs, her super-short skirt, and her impressive (even by Hollywood standards) cleavage. She had a mental image of her fans crowding around, cheering, shouting out her name. Without thinking, she smiled and gave a little wave to no one in particular before handing her car key to the valet.

“Who are you waving to?” Dana asked, appearing with the camera crew. “Are you miked? Good. I need you to go say hi to Jane and the others and walk into the lobby with them. Then stay put for a min while we move the cameras inside. If you can, suggest lunch at Postrio. We just got it cleared, and the guys need to start lighting right now if you can get them all to go. Also, you should say something to Jane about having to drive separately.”

“Got it,” Madison said. So Dana wanted her to pick an on-camera fight with Jane about the car thing. Personally, Madison would much rather humiliate Jane about her ex-boyfriend’s DUI, which everyone was talking about, or her truly unattractive teal dress (some people just couldn’t pull off that color). But, whatever. Madison knew it was important for her to do whatever Dana told her to do, since Dana took her orders from Trevor.

Jane, Hannah, and Oliver were heading toward the front entrance. “Hey, wait up!” Madison called out, rushing to catch up to them. “Jane, why couldn’t I ride with you guys? Are you mad at me for some reason?”

Jane turned to her. Madison blinked innocently.

“I told you, Madison. It was a space issue. Next time, why don’t you rent a bus, and we can all ride together with all your luggage?” Jane suggested sweetly.

Bitch,
Madison thought. “Sounds like a plan. Hey, so . . . when’s our first meeting? Two, right?” She peered at her diamond-studded Chanel watch. “That means we have time for lunch at Postrio. After we check into our suites, that is.”

“I think us girls are sharing a room,” Hannah said quickly. “We were thinking of just ordering room service while we prep for our meeting.”

Madison stifled a scream. Room service? Sharing a room—with Hannah and
Jane
? Was this for real?

“We can meet in Oliver’s room in, like, ten minutes—we can spread out there—and go over our notes,” Jane added.

“I brought my camera so we can get shots of the different banquet spaces,” Oliver piped up, patting his jacket pocket.

Madison took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. She gazed at her three Louis Vuitton bags, which a bellboy was loading onto a luggage cart. Grabbing a club sandwich in Intern Boy’s room was not quite what she had packed for.

“We had a couple of ideas we wanted to run by you,” Jane said.

Madison leaned back in the plush leather chair and checked out the other occupants in the conference room. In addition to herself, Jane (who was leading the meeting—why?), Hannah (who was studiously taking notes like a lowly secretary), and Oliver (who was doing the same, because he clearly had nothing useful to contribute), there was Aja’s publicist, Wanda, Aja’s personal assistant, Anna Luisa, and two guys from the Venetian’s event-services department, Xavier and Hank. Two PopTV camera guys were set up in opposite corners of the room, filming.

“We know Aja wanted ‘big and bold,’ so we came up with a couple themes with that in mind,” Jane went on. “The first one is a Caribbean theme, playing on Carnival in Martinique, which is called Vaval. The second one is—”

“
My
idea. A Venetian masked-ball theme, which would work soooo well with the setting here at the Venetian,” Madison cut in. She smiled at Xavier and Hank. “We could have the party in St. Mark’s Square, with Aja and Miguel making their entrance on a special gondola. What do you think?”

Jane glared at Madison, her blue eyes shooting daggers. Madison tried not to burst out laughing.
Take that, bitch.
The Venetian masked ball had been
Jane’s
idea, not hers. Trevor was going to love this and would no doubt pull together an awesome episode with footage from an earlier meeting at which Jane had suggested the ball . . . followed by footage from today’s meeting, with Madison taking credit.

“We’ll have to run both ideas by Aja, but they seem great,” Wanda the publicist spoke up. “Are they doable, logistically?” She turned to the two guys.

“Absolutely,” Xavier said, pulling something up on his laptop. “Let’s see . . . we’re talking about a sit-down for five hundred guests, right?”

“I believe we’d need to incorporate the restaurant patios in St. Mark’s Square as a private-party buyout,” Hank piped up.

As the group continued discussing details, Madison studied Jane, who was doing her best to maintain her game face and act like . . . well, a professional event planner. Madison had to give her credit. Jane seemed good at her job and was somehow managing to keep her cool despite Madison’s efforts to derail her. If their roles had been reversed, and Jane had stolen Madison’s idea during an important on-camera meeting, Madison would have thrown a full-blown tantrum and stormed out in a fury. Which of course would have made for killer TV.

Was it only a few months ago that she and Jane were BFFs-slash-roomies? Madison flashed back to those nights when the two of them would stay in, wearing sweats and fuzzy slippers and no makeup. They would pig out on junk food and gossip about Trevor and Dana and watch DVDs until 4 a.m. (Jane’s favorite movie was
The Notebook
, and she always cried at the exact same spots.) It was . . . “real” was the word that came to Madison’s mind. Just two girls hanging out at home, relaxing and having fun. Madison wondered, If things had been different, would she and Jane still be friends? Madison’s personal contact list wasn’t exactly overflowing these days. Gaby, who used to be handy for shopping, clubbing, or spa outings, seemed to be avoiding her lately. (Besides which she had been totally MIA during filmings this past week—Madison heard she was on vacation in Mexico?) And of course there were the usual wannabes at Fiona Chen Events who kept sucking up to Madison, clearly angling for their fifteen minutes. As for boyfriends . . . well, besides Derek (who might not be one for much longer), Madison had a stable of faux-romantic interests—mostly models or actors wanting to get into the business—to escort her to events and fawn over her in front of paparazzi. But those relationships, if they could even be called that, were only for show. If Madison ever found herself in a burning building, she doubted any of those guys could be bothered to pull her out, unless there was media present.

Bottom line, the closest person to her these days was Sophie, her little sister and blackmailer. Which was beyond pathetic. Madison wondered what she could do to remedy that situation. And if she even cared enough to bother.

Maybe someone as powerful, ambitious, and beautiful as Madison was meant to be alone? Madison glanced at Jane, who was jabbering on about the guest list now. Madison had always wanted—and
deserved
—to replace Jane as the star of
L.A. Candy.
She was so close now; all she had to do was keep her eye on the prize and not get distracted by sentimental feelings about Jane or anyone else. And, of course, make sure Sophie kept her big mouth shut.

To hell with other people. It may be lonely at the top, but it was totally worth it.

Chapter 13
Boy Trouble

“How was Vegas?” Scarlett asked Jane. “And I want the real dirt now, before the crew gets here. You know Dana’s gonna make us repeat this conversation for the cameras, so you can give me the
L.A. Candy
–coated version then.”

Jane grinned as she reached for an avocado from a painted Mexican bowl, then looked frustrated as she squeezed it. It was rock hard, which was not conducive to guacamole making. Scarlett wondered if they should just order in. So far, their dinner preparations weren’t going too well. Aside from the unripe avocados, there were onion pieces splattered everywhere, thanks to a food processor malfunction (well, actually, due to Scarlett forgetting to put the top on before pressing the Chop button). And Jane had spilled a jar of salsa on the floor, which Tucker was now lapping up. It had been a while since the girls had cooked dinner . . . much less cooked dinner for guests . . . much less cooked dinner for guests for the cameras, which were due any minute.

The guests being Caleb and Naveen. And no Liam.

“Do you want the good news first, or the bad news?” Jane said, reaching for another avocado. “Hmmm, are these things fruits or vegetables?”

“Um . . . I’m not sure. Why don’t you tell me the good news first?”

“The good news is, they all loved my masked ball idea—and so did Aja, when her publicist and assistant told her about it! Yay! The bad news is . . . Madison.”

“God. What did that psychopath do now?”

“Well, first, she took credit for my idea in front of everyone. Second, she told the two guys from the Venetian that she was in charge of the party and that they should contact her for anything and everything. Third, she was a total nightmare while Hannah and I were sharing the room with her, and—”

“Wait, what? You guys had to share a room?” Scarlett interrupted.

Jane shrugged and sighed. “I’m sure Trevor and Dana set that up. It was easier to film, and you know . . . more drama. The Venetian would have comped each of us a private room.”

“I would have smothered Madison with a pillow while she was sleeping.”

“Believe me, I was tempted. Anyway, you’ll get to see all this lovely footage in a few weeks when the episode airs.” Jane’s face lit up. “Ohmigod, I forgot to tell you the best part! Guess who didn’t sleep in our room?”

“Um, who?”

“Hannah!”

Scarlett wasn’t sure where Jane was going with this. “Because she was sleeping . . . where?”

“In Oliver’s room,” Jane said giddily.

“Who’s Oliver?”

“I told you about him, Scar! He’s the new intern. He goes to UCLA part-time. He and Hannah have been flirting nonstop since he started working at the office. I guess they finally took it to the next level.”

“Wow. Good for her.” Scarlett mostly knew Hannah from her scenes on the show, which consisted of her being Jane’s office confidante. She seemed nice—and kind of smart, too, except for the multiple times she advised Jane to stay with Jesse no matter what. Yeah, that turned out well.

Scarlett wiped her sour cream–covered hands on her black T-shirt and gazed at Jane thoughtfully. “Speaking of guys . . . are you okay with tonight?”

Inviting Caleb and Naveen over for dinner had been Trevor’s bright idea. He’d told Scarlett and Jane that viewers would love hearing stories about their old days at high school, and that there had to be some boys in their story lines—even if the boys were “just friends”—since Jane wasn’t seeing anyone and Scarlett’s BF couldn’t be filmed. Which actually made sense, in a Trevor sort of way. Didn’t it? Fortunately, Caleb and Naveen had been completely fine about being filmed tonight. Scarlett knew they weren’t dying to be on TV or anything, but they were happy to help out the girls.

Jane frowned at Scarlett’s shirt and handed her a dish towel. “I guess? Why? Are you sorry Trevor talked us into it? Scar, you need to change. That’s gross.”

“Yeah, I know.” Scarlett frowned at the sour cream smears on her shirt. “Are you going to be okay with, you know, Caleb? He was all over you at STK. Seriously, I think he might want to get back together.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Jane said, looking away.

Uh-oh. Why was Jane avoiding eye contact? “Plus, you went out on that date last week. Dominic’s, right?” Scarlett persisted.

The doorbell rang. “That’s the crew! Oh, crap!” Jane cried out as she stepped in the puddle of salsa. Tucker began licking her bare foot. “Tucker, stop that!”

“You want me to get you a paper towel?”

“I can do it. You need to change, right now! And it wasn’t a date! Don’t bring that up on camera. Seriously, Scar!” Jane grabbed a roll of paper towels and headed for the front door.

“Okay, okay!”

As Scarlett walked to her room, yanking off her T-shirt, she thought about Trevor’s comment that Jane wasn’t seeing anyone these days. It might appear that way, but the truth was, Jane had more than her share of off-camera boy-drama in her life. Jane had confided in Scarlett about hooking up (again) with Mr. Unavailable, aka Braden James. (Who conveniently had to leave for Canada the next day, for a couple of months. Way to avoid the aftermath or any responsibility at all, Braden!)

Jane had also fessed up about Jesse’s DUI and the crazy lie she told him afterward, about possibly dating him again, to get him sober. Jane knew how much Scarlett detested Jesse, and she probably wouldn’t have mentioned that little tidbit if not for the tabloid pictures that popped up on various websites over the weekend, of Jane fighting back tears as she left Cedars-Sinai on Caleb’s arm.

And of course, there was Caleb. Scarlett was sure he wanted to be more than “just friends” with Jane. And from the way Jane was acting, she seemed to be toying with the idea, too. But hadn’t she been there, done that already, and gotten burned?

As Scarlett scrounged through her dresser for another black T-shirt, she heard the crew bustling into the apartment and starting to set up in the living room, then Jane shouting: “Scar! They’re heeeere!”

“Just a sec!” Scarlett shouted back.

Pulling a shirt over her head, Scarlett realized that she would have to play serious Musical Chairs tonight to keep Jane and Caleb far away from each other. Jane was her best friend, and it was her job to protect her from Boy Trouble.

Except . . . there was also Naveen to worry about.

The problem was, she hadn’t told Liam about tonight. She’d simply told him that she and Jane were filming at their apartment. Of course she would have to clue him in, eventually, before the episode aired. But there had been something about his little jealous moment last week, when he saw the tabloid pictures of her leaving STK with Naveen, that rubbed her the wrong way. She wasn’t used to being reined in. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t been trying to rein her in, exactly. But it had felt that way to her . . . like he didn’t trust her or something.

Scarlett wondered how Liam was going to react when she told him about tonight. Or, for that matter, when she told him the news about
Maxim
. She’d gotten the call from the PopTV press department this afternoon, telling her that
Maxim
wanted to book her for a cover. She had started to say no but changed her mind after giving it some thought. After all, she was the new, cooperative Scarlett Harp. And magazine covers were good for the show. It was all a part of the job of being famous. (She tried not to mentally choke on that word, “famous.”) Besides, it wasn’t as though she had anything to hide.

Oops. Wrong choice of words. Scarlett had become excellent at hiding things.

“This looks good,” Caleb said politely.

Scarlett and Jane exchanged a glance as Caleb dug his fork into the guacamole. Or rather, the rock-hard avocado chunks mixed with lemon juice, chopped onion, cilantro, and Tabasco sauce.

“Um . . . thanks?” Jane said sheepishly, waiting for him to take a bite.

“We also made fish tacos. Do you guys like fish tacos?” Scarlett asked quickly. The tacos had turned out well, and seemed semi-edible, unlike the guacamole.

“Fish tacos are my favorite,” Naveen said.

“Yeah, mine, too. Janie, you remembered!” Caleb said, looking pleased.

Scarlett noticed Jane opening her mouth to say, “I didn’t,” then clamping it shut. The fish tacos had been Scarlett’s idea, because she had a super-easy recipe that consisted of four ingredients (tortillas, frozen fish sticks, shredded cabbage, and bottled sauce) and a microwave.

Jane glanced down at her lap, then up at Caleb with a fake smile. “Yeah, well, do you remember my favorite food from high school?” she asked him.

Scarlett rolled her eyes. Dana must be texting Jane directions. She could tell the difference between her friend’s real tone of voice and her
Dana is making me say stuff
tone of voice.

Caleb looked thoughtful. “Hmmm. Definitely your mom’s homemade clam chowder.”

“Wrong! It was pizza from Paesano’s,” Scarlett corrected him.

Jane laughed. “You’re both wrong. I was obsessed with mac and cheese. Remember, I used to make it all the time?”

Caleb and Naveen laughed, too. Scarlett was surprised that they seemed so comfortable with two PopTV cameras practically on top of them, filming everything. Maybe it was the pomegranate margaritas (which were kind of strong) . . . or maybe they were just naturals at this . . . or maybe Dana was texting them lines, too. Whatever the case, the evening was going smoothly so far, and Caleb and Naveen were being really charming. Scarlett found herself almost relaxing and having fun. Almost.

“So, Scarlett. How’s school going?” Naveen said, touching her arm lightly.

She pulled away quickly and said, “It’s fine.”
You’re on camera. Say something! Act friendly and casual!
she reminded herself. “I had my photography class today.”

“Digital or film?”

“Digital. The professor doesn’t believe in Photoshopping, so we have to learn to take really, really good images.”

“Wow, no Photoshopping? That’s so not-Hollywood.”

“Yeah, right? It’s kind of refreshing.” Scarlett took a bite of the guacamole. Hmm, not good.

Naveen grinned. “Could you imagine if Photoshop was never invented? And you got to see pictures of celebrities as they really are, with wrinkles and muffin tops and massive zits and cankles—”

Scarlett cracked up, covering her mouth with her hands. “Stop! You can’t make me laugh when I’m eating!” she mumbled.

Naveen leaned over as if to tickle her. “Really? Why not?” he said innocently.

“Stop it!”

“Caleb and I are going to make another pitcher of margaritas,” Jane announced, standing up. Caleb stood up, too. Was Scarlett imagining things, or was Jane a bit wobbly on her feet? Maybe more margaritas weren’t such a good idea. “Stay out of trouble, you two!” she added, wagging her finger playfully at Scarlett and Naveen.

Oh, God. Did she seriously just say that on camera? “We’re just going to finish off this yummy guacamole!” Scarlett said as Jane and Caleb headed into the kitchen, hoping to divert attention from Jane’s remark. Although that was probably wishful thinking, since Trevor would no doubt edit out Scarlett’s guacamole comment and replace it with—oh, maybe a shot of Naveen’s hand lingering on Scarlett’s arm. Or a shot of Naveen pretending to tickle Scarlett. Or a shot of Scarlett giving Jane some sort of intense, loaded,
just between us girls
look, lifted from some random portion of the evening.

Scarlett sighed, dreading the conversation she would have to have with Liam when this episode aired. It wasn’t a double date. No, he wasn’t trying to cop a feel. Jane was drunk, she didn’t mean that.
No, I
wasn’t
drunk, I was totally
sober
and I was
not
flirting with him.

Scarlett glanced sideways at Naveen. He was staring at her, and it made her uncomfortable.

“So I have this assignment I have to do for photography,” Scarlett blurted out. “I have to take a portrait in the style of one of my favorite photographers.”

“That’s cool. Which photographer did you pick?” Naveen asked her.

“I was thinking of Richard Avedon or maybe Irving Penn.”

“Good choices. Do you have a model yet?”

“No, but I’d better line one up soon. The assignment’s due, like, next week.”

“Well, if you’re desperate, I’m happy to volunteer. I’m cool having you shoot me,” Naveen said, grinning. “And since I’m so naturally good-looking, I never require Photoshop.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes at him. She knew he was joking, but as far as she could tell, he was physically practically perfect—no Photoshop or other enhancements required. Of course, she meant this in a purely objective, artistic way. Unlike that night at Hendry’s Beach, when he’d peeled off his T-shirt, and she’d almost stopped breathing at the sight of his sculpted abs and . . .

Stop it!
she told herself. She stood up abruptly. “Uh, I’m just going to check on Jane in the kitchen.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m good! I’m great! Just stay here and eat more fish tacos!” Scarlett insisted.

The camera swiveled to follow her as she headed toward the kitchen. Camera, singular. Scarlett noticed that the other camera guy was planted in the kitchen doorway, filming. She had to get away from Naveen. She didn’t want to give Trevor any more opportunities to edit her in a compromising light, making it appear as though she and Naveen were milliseconds away from hooking up. Despite his slight jealousy, Liam was the most awesome boyfriend she’d ever had—actually, the only real boyfriend she’d ever had, period.

“’Scuse me,” Scarlett muttered, inching past the camera guy. “Hey, Janie, do you need some help with—”

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Jane and Caleb were leaning against the sink, kissing.

Uh-oh,
Scarlett thought.