Authors: Lauren Conrad
The Fame Game (23 page)
Madison didn’t normally sleep late—she had a regular 8 a.m. date with her trainer—but the morning after the premiere she didn’t wake up until 9. And then she lay around in bed, feeling generally pleased with life, for another half an hour. Outside the window she could see the brilliant red rosebushes that she knew Charlie carefully watered every day. She was glad she’d gotten him this house instead of a fancy apartment in the Marina; he took so much pleasure in having a yard.
Madison stretched out luxuriously against the 600-count Donna Karan sheets. Last night had gone almost as well as she could have hoped. She’d looked amazing, and she knew that when she logged on to her computer there would be hundreds of pictures of herself on gossip blogs and entertainment sites (
Madison wows in midnight! Madison sparkles in Luxe Paris!
). Her face felt sore from smiling, and her right hand was still stiff from all the autographs she’d stayed to sign.
The reaction to the show had been unanimously positive, and afterward people had rushed up to congratulate her, including an executive from PopTV Films and an actor on one of HBO’s series whom Madison had always thought was hot. He’d asked for her number and promised to call her next week when he got back from Cabo, where he and some friends were opening a restaurant.
Things had not been completely perfect, however. For instance, Carmen had gotten more lines during the introductions on the stage. Kate had flubbed the beginning of her song and had had to start over. (She really needed to get that stage fright under control if she ever wanted to make it in the music industry.) The whole evening Gaby had insisted on dragging around that moron, who kept telling Madison that she should date his best friend because he could tell she’d “totally love him.” As if she’d ever be seen with some cologne-drenched ex–frat boy with a Camaro and a collection of Ed Hardy shirts!
And while Charlie had smiled happily all night, he also seemed overwhelmed by the cameras and the hubbub. He’d been shy with the reporters: When he couldn’t avoid them completely, he had mumbled out answers to their questions. Madison had then had to translate: “He said it’s a dream come true, being back with his daughters! Yes, this is the first time he’s been to L.A., and yes, he absolutely loves it!”
Sophie, of course, had been the opposite of Charlie; she’d tried to elbow in front of Madison at every opportunity she had. Apparently the whole one-love, peace-on-earth, all-is-mellow business didn’t translate to the press line. Although it hadn’t mattered much, because Madison was the one that everyone had wanted to talk to. She had smiled and flirted and hinted at upcoming story lines like the pro she was, and everyone had eaten it right up.
The only really bad thing—the thing that she was trying not to think about—was that Trevor had chosen Kate’s song for the opening of
The Fame Game
. How had he not run this by her first? It was beginning to feel like Jane Roberts all over again. But maybe Sophie’s sweetness-and-light act had rubbed off on Madison a little bit, or maybe being back with her dad had reminded her that there were other things in life besides fame. Madison wasn’t sure, but she didn’t have the urge to call Trevor up right now and scream into his ear.
She snuggled down under the covers for one last moment. She’d probably change her mind later. But right now she’d just go drink some coffee in the kitchen and relax a little. Then she could read Trevor the riot act. But for now, he could enjoy his morning.
Slowly, lazily, she swung her legs out of bed. As she got dressed, she decided that she should take Charlie to breakfast. It would be a celebratory meal—she might even allow herself a pancake. She pulled her hair into a smooth ponytail and brushed a little mineral foundation over her face. On her way to Charlie’s room she put on some lip gloss and reminded herself to tweet about the color later.
His door was closed, so she knocked. No answer. “Dad?” She turned the handle and peered inside. His room was perfectly neat, and his made bed was empty. She shrugged and turned toward the kitchen. Well, Charlie was an early riser, too. Probably he’d run out to get them bagels. Or even donuts. He knew she’d always loved donuts, even if she never ate them. Madison decided that when he returned with half a dozen crullers, she’d allow herself half of one.
There was a pot of coffee ready, and Madison poured herself a cup. She was beginning to feel the rumbling in her stomach (maybe she’d eat a
whole
donut) when her BlackBerry vibrated on the kitchen table. She glanced down at the screen: Luxe Paris. She sighed. She knew that she had to return the necklace, but she wanted to wear it for a little bit longer. It would make even her nightgown look Oscar-worthy. She let the call go to voice mail.
After she’d finished her first cup of coffee, she checked her voice mail and found that the jeweler had called three times already this morning. Wow—it wasn’t even noon on the morning after the premiere, and Luxe Paris was lighting up her phone like she’d stolen the diamonds and fled to Rio. The nerve! They’d gotten great press out of her wearing that necklace, Madison knew that for a fact. (And the earrings, too, but of course those were hers.) Next time she’d go with a more established jeweler if they didn’t stop harassing her.
She had a message from Trevor, too. No doubt he wanted to work his magic on her and try to make her complaint disappear.
She showered, drank a second cup of coffee, and finally picked up her phone when Luxe Paris rang again.
“Seriously,” she said, “you guys could let a girl sleep in.”
“Madison Parker?” said a cool, French-sounding female voice on the other end.
“Speaking,” Madison said. “Obviously.”
“This is Adele Pinchot from Luxe Paris. I’m afraid we have a situation.”
Madison sat up a little straighter; the woman’s tone was not friendly. “What?”
“We are missing some jewelry,” Adele said. “This was discovered in inventory late last night. The missing items were last seen when you and your father were—”
“Wait a second,” Madison interrupted. “Are you trying to say that—”
But two could play the interrupting game, and Adele cut in. “I’m saying that we reviewed the security tape, and it shows a man in a blue shirt holding a pair of earrings, and then slipping them into his pocket.”
Madison stood up so angrily that she knocked over her chair. “A man in a blue shirt? That could be fifty percent of the L.A. population.”
“The earrings missing were the same pair you were photographed wearing last night,” Adele continued.
“My father bought those earrings! He put them on a payment plan!”
“Ms. Parker, I can assure you—”
But Madison had already hung up the phone. She paced around the living room, still in her bathrobe. She wanted her dad to get back to the house right now so she could tell him about the insane people at Luxe Paris. How long did it take to get a dozen donuts? she wondered. She cursed the fact that she hadn’t bought him a cell phone yet. It was next on her to-do list.
She should get dressed, she thought, so she hurried into her room for a pair of jeans and a cap-sleeved sweater. (Madison Parker would never be so casual as to wear a T-shirt.) There, on the nightstand, was the blue suede box from Luxe. She pulled it to her chest, almost hugging it—if she had the money she’d buy this necklace today, although she wouldn’t want to give them the business after what had just happened.
Well
, she thought, setting the box down on the bed and lifting its lid,
someday soon I will have the money, and I will spend it on diamonds from Cartier.
And then her heart seemed to stop: The earrings were lying there on the silk, but the necklace was gone.
Where
were her diamonds—or, rather, where were Luxe Paris’s diamonds? She remembered putting them in the box last night after she and Charlie got home, after they’d had a cup of tea in the kitchen. Madison
always
put beautiful things back where they belonged: Her Louboutins lay nestled in their boxes; her silk clutches were wrapped in tissue paper on a closet shelf; and her gowns were hung in perfect rows, inside labeled canvas garment bags.
Fear coursed through Madison’s veins like ice. She walked into her bathroom and looked around the vanity.
Think, think, think!
She hadn’t even been tipsy when she got home. She hadn’t drunk anything at all, in fact, because Charlie didn’t drink and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.
She scoured the bathroom, her room, the kitchen, everything. “Dad!” Madison cried out. “Dad!” Her voice grew desperate. She knew he wasn’t in the house, but she wanted him here, right now, to calm her down. To help her look. Where the hell was he? How long did it take to buy a box of fucking donuts?
She walked back into his room, and that was when she noticed what she should have seen before: The door to his closet was ajar, and the hangers were empty. There was no new suit, no chinos, no work boots, nothing.
She sank down on to the bed. She clutched at her heart, which was beating fast and hard in her chest. Gaby’s accusation flashed in her mind. Almost unconsciously, she dialed her sister.
“Have you seen Dad?” Madison asked, without even saying hello.
Sophie cleared her throat. She was obviously just waking up. “Since last night? No. You’re the one who lives with him.”
“He’s not here.” Madison closed her eyes and gripped the phone harder. “I need to find him. Now.”
“He probably just went out for a walk or something,” Sophie said sleepily. “Call me later when he shows up.”
“No. I’m coming over, so get dressed. I have to find him, and you’re going to help.” Her BlackBerry buzzed—Luxe Paris was on the other line. “Seriously, Sophie. Get your kombucha-loving ass out of bed. We don’t have much time.”
Trevor sat alone at a table for five on the Chateau Marmont patio, enjoying the sun, the September breeze, and a very large Bloody Mary. Normally he saved his cocktails until after 5 p.m., but today he had a reason to celebrate. The overnight ratings for
The Fame Game
had been fantastic—so great, in fact, that he’d called the girls this morning and told them to meet him for a congratulatory lunch. “Come break those pre-red-carpet diets in style,” he’d said. “The eggs Benedict are the best in the city.”
Everyone had jumped at the chance—everyone except Madison, who wasn’t picking up her phone. Trevor found this somewhat strange, especially since he’d been half expecting an early-morning call from her, reaming him out over having chosen Kate’s song for
The Fame Game
opening. Or for not devoting 75 percent of the first episode to her. Or for filming her from the left side too often. (She preferred the right.) Or for any number of other supposed slights, infractions, or missteps. Madison had always made sure to make her needs and preferences known. Calling her a squeaky wheel was putting it mildly. But she was a squeaky wheel who brought in an audience.
Trevor gazed contemplatively at a vaguely familiar starlet and her tattooed boyfriend, who were drinking coffee in the corner. He wondered if Madison was already on her way to the restaurant—if she was saving up her venom so she could dish it out in person. He wouldn’t mind; he had grown accustomed to it.
Somehow, though, he doubted this. Having Charlie around had softened Madison a little. It made her a more complex character, one that the audience could really sympathize with. And that was fine with Trevor—to a degree. He couldn’t have everyone being nice to each other all the time, though, or else he’d lose viewers faster than you could say
Jersey Shore
. No, he relied on Madison to be cutthroat. Or, at the very least, shamelessly self-serving. (He
loved
how she couldn’t quite keep the scorn from her face at events she deemed beneath her; it looked so good on- screen. He’d have to send her to the ribbon cutting for a new strip mall or a pool party sponsored by Summer’s Eve in the next few weeks. . . .)
He also thought about how to ratchet up the tension between her and Carmen. Considering Carmen’s privileged, happy family and Madison’s poor, crazy one, they seemed like natural antagonists. So it was surprising that Madison hadn’t gone for Carmen’s throat by now.
But then again, he reflected, there did appear to be some friction between Carmen and Kate. They’d seemed like buddies for weeks, but something was going on with them at the premiere, and his instincts told him it would be a story worth sharing. Kate, especially, was congenitally nice; why would she be angry at Carmen? He’d have to dig deeper on this one. That was one of Trevor’s greatest strengths: He found a button, and then he pushed it. Hard, if he needed to. He located a psychological wound, and then he stuck a knife in it.
But wasn’t it all ultimately in service of his girls? (And ratings, his reputation, and his year-end bonus, etc.?) When he won, they did, too. Ratings for him meant attention for them, and that’s what they were after, wasn’t it? In the end everyone benefited in their own way.
He fished a pickled lime out of his Bloody Mary and placed it on the table. Yes, he’d have to give more thought to Kate Hayes, too. Funny how she hadn’t mentioned her pathological stage fright when she was auditioning. It had certainly been a surprise when she flubbed her song so badly at first, in front of all those people. He’d thought he might have to race up on stage and whisk her away to the bar—then, after three or four tequila shots, he’d send her up again. But she’d recovered her courage, and she’d ended up playing very well. And in a way, he thought, her mistake had made the crowd like her more; their applause had been wild. Yes, he could definitely make her stage fright work for the show. Maybe she could see a vocal coach. Or a hypnotherapist? He made a note in his BlackBerry to have Laurel investigate the possibilities. Hiring Laurel had definitely been a smart move. The girls liked her a lot more than they liked Dana. Laurel was like a peer, which meant they no doubt trusted her more. It was Laurel who’d helped get Kate’s song to work for the show, directing Trevor to one of Kate’s outtakes for better lyrics. It was even Laurel’s suggestion to change the title from “Lovestruck” to “Starstruck.”
He turned his thoughts toward Gaby next, who had been her usual ditzy self last night at the premiere, leaning on the arm of some Venice Beach caveman. She was on thin ice at
Buzz! News
, he’d been told; apparently she showed up late for work and then spent most of her time hanging around the green room, looking for celebrities. Judging from her on-camera interviews with Lacey Hopkins and Carmen Curtis, Gaby didn’t have much of a future in celebrity journalism.
When
Buzz!
News
fired her, which they inevitably would (and which would be a good scene to film, of course), Trevor would have to find her another gig. A friend of a friend was looking for a cohost for a late-night nightlife guide show—someone who could go to clubs and restaurants and ask a few questions of the owners. Surely Gaby could handle that, right? The stakes were lower than they were for
Buzz! News
.
He was musing on this when he heard the volume of voices around him rise. Without looking up, he knew: His girls were entering, and not without being noticed.
“That’s that singer from
The Fame Game
,” Trevor heard the starlet tell her boyfriend. “I loved her song.
Lovestruck, starstruck, ready for the game
,” she sang. “It’s so damn catchy.”
Trevor smiled to himself. He considered ordering another Bloody Mary—a little extra celebration. He was imagining the bigger office he’d be getting any day now. And maybe another car. A Maserati this time, perhaps?
When he finally looked up, he saw Kate, Gaby, and Carmen coming toward him, smiling as the others on the patio whispered and pointed.
Yes, Trevor thought,
The Fame Game
had begun. And he already felt like he was winning it.