Chapter 6
Making Nice
“So this is the place, huh?” Drew asked, pausing outside Grant’s Guitar Shop in Santa Monica. He looked skeptically at the flapping awning and the weird mid-century rock work on the building’s front. “Doesn’t seem that impressive.”
Carmen rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’ve lived in L.A. your whole life, you pretend to play guitar, and you’ve never been to Grant’s.” She brushed past him and entered the small front room, which was packed, floor to ceiling, with stringed instruments: guitars, of course, but also mandolins, violins, banjos, and ukuleles. “You intern at Rock It! Records, for God’s sake. Hasn’t my dad made you come here for, like, research or something?”
“Nope,” Drew said, brushing over the slight about his guitar playing—he was the first to admit that he taught himself to play because girls liked guys with guitars—and seemingly unembarrassed by his ignorance. He shrugged. “He sent me to Largo last week, though.”
“Well, Grant’s is pretty famous. All kinds of amazing people have played here,” she said, making her way toward the back room where the shows took place.
Drew touched a hot-pink Gibson that hung from the wall as he followed her. “This early?” he asked.
Carmen smiled. She had to admit: 6 p.m. was not exactly party hour. But Laurel Matthews, who was a talent producer on The Fame Game (basically a production assistant, but somewhat better paid), had told her that this was where and when Trevor wanted to film—so here she was, miked and made-up and ready to be on TV.
Though actually, come to think of it, Trevor had wanted to film Carmen leaving her house in the Palisades first. Philip Curtis, however, had quickly refused. “If I wanted cameras in my face I’d live in Malibu,” he said. “Absolutely no PopTV crew on my property.”
Carmen had been surprised by his vehemence, but she wasn’t about to pick a fight with him. And as it turned out, she didn’t have to, because Drew’s dad said they could film at his Brentwood mansion. It was weird, though, driving over to his house—a place she practically never went—so she could act like she spent every Sunday night palling around with Drew and his dad, Dr. Botox.
Carmen was lucky (and a little surprised) that Drew had agreed to be on the show. After she’d officially accepted her role on The Fame Game, Dana had sat her down and run through a laundry list of questions about her life, her family, and her friends. One of the most important queries: Which of Carmen’s nearest and dearest was ready to be on-camera? Dana was obviously hoping that Carmen’s parents would be up for it; the Curtises would add a major dose of glamour (and legitimacy) to the show, even if they were middle-aged. “Uh, let me work on them,” Carmen had said, and while Dana tried to hide her disappointment so had Carmen. She had wanted to believe that Trevor had picked her because she was a rising star in her own right—he had assured her that was the case—but this exchange had made it harder to believe.
When Dana finished her questions, she folded her arms across her chest and asked Carmen if she would like to know who her fellow castmates were. Duh, thought Carmen, but because she was a nice person instead responded, “Yes, please.” And when Dana told her, she’d nodded and kept her face friendly and open, even though she was thinking less than charitable thoughts. Madison Parker: backstabber, fame whore. Gaby Garcia: sidekick, punch line. Kate Hayes: . . . who? Well, it didn’t matter, Carmen told herself; she’d make nice with all of them. She was highly skilled at the kind of friendliness that easily passed for actual warmth. It was just one of those things she’d learned being in the spotlight.
Carmen had been on her way out the door when Dana called her back. “Wait—your friend Drew—he works at Rock It!?” And when Carmen nodded, Dana’s dark eyes lit up and she looked happier than Carmen had ever seen her look. “Perfect,” she’d whispered, picking up the phone.
And that was how Drew and Carmen had ended up at tonight’s open mic, because—according to the story line—Drew had “heard some insanely talented girl plays here.” They’d even filmed a scene of Drew and Carmen watching the girl’s YouTube video. (Three different times, actually, because Drew’s dad kept wandering into the shot with a large glass of scotch in his hand.) And Carmen understood her mission: She was supposed to befriend the strawberry-blond-haired girl with the powerful voice and the unfortunate sense of style.
Carmen looked around the room at Grant’s, which was less than half full, and wondered where Laurel was. She and Laurel had gone to the same high school, and though they weren’t really friends back then (Laurel was three classes ahead), she’d always thought the older girl seemed cool. Not seeing any familiar faces except the sound guy who’d given her the mike pack earlier and the camera guy next to him, Carmen reached for Drew’s arm and gave it a little squeeze. She was feeling uncharacteristically nervous. It had only taken her about ten minutes of filming to realize that it was one thing to recite memorized lines in front of a camera and another thing to try to be yourself. She wondered, briefly, if being a trained actress was going to make reality TV harder for her.
Her BlackBerry buzzed in her purse, and she reached in to fish it out. A text from Laurel:
YOU ARE SITTING IN FRONT. COME DOWN NOW.
She turned to Drew and smiled. “We’re on,” she said. She took a deep breath and then a little louder, for the camera, said, “Let’s go sit up front.”
As they walked toward the stage, Carmen noticed how the other audience members were also being directed to sit in the closest rows. Clever Laurel, she thought, front-loading so that when the PopTV cameras did reverse-angle shots of the audience, it would look like Kate had a full house.
“Do you think she’ll be any good in person?” Drew asked.
Carmen shrugged. “Don’t know,” she said. “I hope so.”
The host took the stage to a hearty round of applause and offered up a passable cover of a Foo Fighters song before turning the stage over to a skinny guy with a Van Dyke beard and a battered twelve-string.
Carmen scanned the room for Kate and spotted her in the corner, nearly hidden behind a standing bass. Carmen would have recognized Kate even without the PopTV cameras that flanked her, their red lights blinking, because she was wearing practically the same too-big blouse and faded jeans she’d worn in her YouTube video. Kate’s hands were gripping each other and she looked almost green with fright.
Carmen nudged Drew. “There she is,” she whispered.
Drew craned his neck to see. “She’s kind of cute,” he whispered back and gave Carmen a wolfish grin.
“Pig,” Carmen returned.
As Van Dyke left the stage to polite applause and Kate took his place, Carmen had the opportunity to inspect her soon-to-be-friend (or, rather, soon-to-be-“friend”) more closely. Her strawberry-blond hair fell in soft, unstyled waves past her shoulders. She wore little visible makeup, but she had long lashes and naturally red, full lips. She had a great figure, too, which for some reason she seemed intent on hiding beneath layers of sloppy clothes.
Kate sat on the stool and leaned into the microphone. “Thanks for coming,” she whispered.
Carmen could see her long fingers trembling as they found their places on the neck of her guitar. She watched Kate take a deep breath and steel herself. The girl strummed a few chords, cursed softly, and stopped. She looked up at the audience through a lock of hair. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Starting over.”
This time, Kate’s fingers seemed to go where they were supposed to. She began to play, and after a few moments Carmen recognized the opening to “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Of course PopTV had asked Kate to perform her “hit.”
I come home in the morning light, Kate sang.
Her voice was low and breathy and haunting. It sounded like she was confessing something unbearably private. Beside her, Carmen could feel Drew tense.
“What?” she whispered.
“She’s amazing,” he whispered back.
Carmen felt the tiniest twing
e of jealousy, like the sudden prick of a needle. When had Drew ever thought she was amazing? But she quickly brushed this thought aside and focused on the music. The room was utterly silent, as if everyone in it was holding their breath. Kate’s voice washed over them all.
When Kate strummed the final chords, Carmen clapped as loud as she could. The girl was really, really good, but she obviously needed a lot of encouragement. She still looked ill.
Kate leaned forward again and spoke, this time a little louder than a whisper. “And now for something I wrote.” The PopTV camera zoomed in for a close-up.
The song was in a minor key, so it sounded eerie and sad, even though the lyrics were about sunshine and summertime. Carmen found herself nodding her head in time to the beat. Yes, she thought, this is really good.
She knew music because she’d grown up surrounded by song. (Sometimes literally: Once, when she was seven and sick with the chicken pox, the members of No Doubt had gathered around her bedside to sing her a get-well tune.) People called her dad “the hitmaker” because of his legendary ability to produce platinum albums, but as Philip Curtis always said, he didn’t make the hits so much as recognize them. Carmen couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but she had inherited his ear for talent. Carmen was the one who’d insisted her dad go check out Aja all those years ago. And then he’d signed her and made her a star. It was too bad Carmen didn’t want to work at Rock It! Records; she would have made a brilliant A&R exec.
“Encore,” Drew shouted when Kate’s song was over. “Encore!”
But the open mic had rules: two songs, seven minutes, and you were done. So they had to sit through the rest of the show (five more musicians, and not one of them with half of Kate’s talent) until they could make their way to the corner of the room where Kate was perched on a folding chair, biting her fingernails.
Carmen felt the eyes of the camera on her and Drew as she approached. Now was the moment that she would meet her castmate; she’d better hit her lines, whatever they would be.
“Hey,” she said, smiling. Wow, super-original, she thought.
Kate looked up, the tip of her index finger still in her mouth. “Hi.”
Carmen thought about sticking out her hand for Kate to shake but then decided against it. “I’m Carmen,” she said, “and this is Drew.” She pointed to her best friend, who grinned and said, “Dude, you were amazing.”
Kate immediately flushed and looked down at her feet. “Thanks. I wish I wouldn’t have screwed up so badly when I started, though.”
There was something so innocent about her that Carmen felt immediately protective. Her own nervousness disappeared. “You know what?” she said. “Something like that only makes the audience root harder for you. I know one guy who pretends to mess up at least one song every show. He says his fans like it because he seems more human that way.”
This appeared to cheer Kate up a little. “Really?” she said. “So there’s hope for me?”
“Of course,” Carmen said.
Kate smiled and nudged her guitar case with her foot. “You hear that, Lucinda? Carmen Curtis—the Carmen Curtis!—said I’m not completely hopeless.”
Carmen was a little surprised. She didn’t think Kate was supposed to know who she was. Weren’t they supposed to find out all about each other as the cameras rolled? As they became “friends”? It was already so confusing trying to distinguish between real truth and TV truth.
“I saw you in The Long and Winding Road,” Kate went on. “You were fantastic. When you and your sister didn’t have enough money at that gas station and you had to, like, basically beg for a fill-up? I actually cried!” She giggled. “I know, I’m lame.”
Now it was Carmen’s turn to blush. “Thanks,” she said. “But this is your time to bask in the glow of success. Let’s talk some more about how great you were.”
“Yeah,” Drew piped up. “Your bridge on that second song was totally inspired.”
But Kate, laughing, waved away their compliments. “Stop, you’re embarrassing me. Let’s talk about where you can get a burger around here. I was so nervous I couldn’t eat all day, and now I’m starving.”
Carmen slung her bag over her shoulder and nodded toward the door. “I know just the place,” she said. “Let’s all go for a drink and something to eat.”
A second location had already been cleared for them down the street, so Kate suggesting a burger was expected. Carmen was impressed by how naturally she had done it. Maybe she had underestimated this girl at first glance.
Carmen watched Kate gather up her guitar and her things, feeling optimistic about her new castmate. As they headed out into the warm Santa Monica night, it occurred to her that she might not need the quotation marks around “friend.”
Chapter 7
Basically a Native
Madison stretched out one long, toned leg and then the other, enjoying the feel of the warm sun on her skin. Beside her was a giant bottle of Voss water and a stack of gossip magazines. (She liked to fold down the corners of pages that mentioned her and keep them neatly stacked in her closet to flip through on lonelier nights.) But Gaby, who lounged beside her wearing a plum-colored bikini the size of a cocktail napkin, simply would not shut up.
“So the set is, like, totally amazing with all these lights and cameras and rotating stages and stuff,” she was saying. “And I met Chase Davis already. He is soooo cute, and really nice, too. And oh my God! Did you know that all the guys wear makeup?”
Gaby was on cloud nine because she’d been hired to be a correspondent for Buzz! News, covering minor events around Hollywood. Trevor had obviously gotten her the gig, Madison thought, because no sane person would hire Gaby to do anything more challenging than remember her own name.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, the way the teacher in the one and only yoga class Madison had ever attended had instructed. (Yoga burned the same amount of calories as shopping—so why not just shop?) She and Gaby were killing time by the pool until their new neighbor, Kate Whatever-her-name-was, showed up. (Though, in truth, Kate lived two floors down from Madison and Gaby. Trevor had hoped the girls would all live next door to each other—like in Melrose Place—but it turned out his powers of persuasion didn’t extend to people who weren’t on his show; the couple in the apartment next to Madison had refused to budge.) Madison brought the bottle of water to her lips. Why, oh why, couldn’t they kill time in silence?
“—so I get to go to this ribbon-cutting ceremony, and I’m supposed to talk about the history of the site, and how, like, before they built this new club there, it was a vacant lot with this huge population of, like, fearful cats—”
“I hope you won’t have any trouble reading the teleprompter,” Madison said under her breath.
But Gaby didn’t hear her. “What is a fearful cat, anyway? Is that like a certain species or what?”
“I think you mean feral. But, yes,” Madison lied. “It’s a whole new species.”
Gaby droned on while Madison wondered idly what this new Kate girl was going to be like. She already knew the basics because she’d called Trevor and bullied him into telling her Kate’s background. Madison certainly didn’t want another surprise like she’d gotten at the Togs for Tots benefit, where she’d learned that Carmen Curtis was on The Fame Game only by cleverly spotting her mike pack. But she was reassured to find out that Kate wasn’t anything like Carmen. Her mom was a teacher and she was from Ohio or Indiana or some other flyover state. She was nineteen and relatively new to L.A. In other words, she would be no threat at all to Madison when it came to competing for screen time.
“Do you want to get in the water?” Gaby’s voice broke through Madison’s thoughts. “It’s kind of hot out here.”
Madison opened her eyes and looked at her friend as if she were crazy. “Chlorine is horrible for your skin, Gab. Everyone knows that.”
“Oh,” Gaby said, sounding deflated. “Okay.”
Then Madison spotted, on the other side of the po
ol, a small figure wearing what looked like a boy’s ribbed tank top, a pair of (gasp) cargo pants, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. Oh, and a beat-up pair of dollar store flip-flops.
Wow, Madison thought. That’s one way to stand out in L.A.
She watched as Kate Hayes approached, trailed by two TV cameras. Though there were about a dozen empty chairs on the other side of the pool, the Midwesterner—no doubt acting on the director’s blocking instructions—was heading for the one nearest them.
Kate dropped a canvas bag full of books and papers onto the cement and then sank down on the chaise longue next to Gaby. And Gaby, eager for a new audience for tales of her mind-blowingly awesome new Buzz! gig, turned toward her immediately.
“Hi,” Gaby chirped. “Hot out here today, huh?”
Kate, her face invisible under the hat (And let’s keep it that way, thought Madison), nodded.
“I’m Gaby,” Gaby said.
“Kate,” said Kate. “I just moved in.”
“Oh yeah? Awesome. Welcome to the building!”
Madison sat up, making sure to cover her stomach with one slender tan arm. If the angle of her body was too sharp, sometimes there was a little wrinkle of skin above her belly button, which made her appear less than 100 percent perfect. And less than 100 percent perfect was, of course, 100 percent not acceptable. Hence the arm—just in case. “I’m Madison,” she said. “Gaby and I live together.”
The Fame Game Page 5