L. A. Candy

by Lauren Conrad

  Scarlett told him the address. Trevor pulled out a BlackBerry from his pocket and entered the information. “Right. I’ll have someone contact the owner of your building,” he said.

  “They want to start the week after next?” Jane managed to ask.

  “Yes. Maybe a night shoot at one of the clubs.”

  Jane looked a little concerned. “Because I work week-days, and—”

  “Yes! With Fiona. Her offices are beautiful. We just scouted them yesterday.”

  “Wait, you went there?”

  “Yeah. I actually had a meeting scheduled with her after this, but she just canceled. Some kind of floral emergency, I think.”

  “You talked to her?” Jane said, shocked. She couldn’t believe they had called Fiona. She was so embarrassed. Shouldn’t they have asked her before doing that?

  “She seemed pretty excited to be working with us,” Trevor breezed on. “She thinks that she’ll be able to get some of her bigger clients to let us film their events.”

  “Really?” Jane felt a little relieved. Although she was a bit surprised, too. Fiona didn’t seem like the type of person who would allow her space to be overrun by a camera crew.

  “We also spoke to your school,” Trevor said, turning to Scarlett. “We were able to get access to one of your classes.”

  Scarlett frowned. “You’re gonna film me in class? Why would anyone want to watch that? That’s more boring than watching me shave.”

  Ah, Scar, always finding a way to both charm and get the last word, Jane thought, though she could tell her friend was genuinely annoyed.

  “Well, that’s the thing about these shows. There’s no story line or scripts, so we never know when things are going to happen. For all we know, you could meet your next boyfriend in class,” Trevor explained.

  Jane laughed. “True. But Scarlett’s more likely to hook up with the professor than another student.”

  Trevor raised an eyebrow.

  “She’s kidding.” Scarlett glared at Jane.

  “Sorry,” Jane apologized. But she wasn’t totally kidding. In high school, Scarlett had had big crushes on their history teacher, Mr. Smith; their art teacher, Mr. Martinez; and their English teacher, Mr. Foster. It wasn’t because they were older, though; it was because they were smarter than most guys Scarlett’s own age.

  “What do you want us to wear?” Jane asked Trevor. “And what about our hair and makeup and stuff?”

  “You’re on your own for that. You should dress however you would normally dress. And I wouldn’t stress about makeup. Bill, our director of photography, is a genius. Everywhere you guys film will be lit perfectly and you will look beautiful. You’ll see.”

  A commotion on the other side of the white picket fence caught their attention. A man in his mid-thirties stepped out of a silver Bentley. The group of photographers that had been gathered out front now circled him, yelling over one another and snapping their cameras furiously. The man smiled as he made his way through them. Jane watched people all around the restaurant discreetly glance up at him. His face looked familiar, but she couldn’t place who he was.

  “Amazing what Dancing with the Stars will do for your career,” Trevor said drily. “I give it two weeks before he’s back in rehab.” He gazed thoughtfully at Jane and Scarlett.

  “Rehab?” Jane repeated. She read about stars going in and out of rehab in the magazines all the time. But she had never actually seen someone who’d been in rehab in person. The guy did look a little weathered.

  “I hope you realize that your lives are about to change,” Trevor said.

  His words and serious tone gave Jane more goose bumps.

  “With L.A. Candy, you will become famous. Every girl in America will want to be you. Every guy in America will want to date you. And someday”—he nodded his head in the direction of the man from Dancing with the Stars who had just taken his seat two tables away from them—“you’ll be back here, trying to have lunch while customers ask you for your autograph and photographers try to take your picture.”

  Jane laughed a little at the idea and tried to catch Scarlett’s eye, but she was staring at her water glass. They were about to take off on a big adventure, but Jane wondered if either of them was ready for it.

  It didn’t occur to Jane until later that night, as she lay awake trying to ignore her fear and excitement so she could finally fall asleep, that not once during their unspeakably glitzy, glamorous, life-altering lunch at the Ivy had Trevor actually asked them if they wanted to be on L.A. Candy. He had just assumed they would.

  He had been right.

  13

  TWO BEDROOMS, A POOL, AND A VIEW

  “Oh, Jesus,” Trevor muttered. “This place is depressing.”

  Staring intently at his laptop screen, he clicked through a series of pictures. He had sent one of his PAs—production assistants—down to scout Jane and Scarlett’s apartment. Peeling stucco walls in desperate need of a paint job. Spitting distance from the 101. A couple of cracked windows. A cheerless sign that read:

  SUNNY PALMS APTS FOR RENT

  STUDIO • 1BR • 2BR

  Within seconds of buzzing for his assistant, Kimi, she came into his office, speaking to someone on her headset. “That was Tom. He’s in New York trying to close the deal,” she said, clicking off. “He needs you to call him before the end of business. Don’t forget they’re three hours ahead, so you’d better call soon. What do you need?”

  “We need to find them a new place to live,” Trevor said, sounding annoyed as he rubbed his head.

  Kimi nodded. She didn’t even ask him who “them” was. That was one of the things he liked about her, versus the seven other assistants he’d been through in the last two years. “No problem. Starting when?”

  Trevor went through his mental calendar. “Starting Saturday.”

  “Saturday, as in the day after tomorrow?”

  “As in the day after tomorrow.”

  She nodded again and then was gone.

  Trevor scrolled through his address book and made the next call on his list.

  “Hello?” It was Scarlett who answered.

  “Scarlett. It’s Trevor. How are you?”

  “Broke!”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, Jane and I spent the day shopping. Apparently my whole wardrobe is ‘soooo last season.’ She’s like a mad-woman. I believe her exact words were, and I quote, ‘What are credit cards for? We’ve gotta look good for TV!’”

  Trevor chuckled. “Smart girl. She’s right.”

  “So what’s up?”

  “I spoke to the owner of your building, and he wouldn’t give us the clearance to shoot on his premises,” Trevor said. The lie came easily, in part because he didn’t believe in arbitrary labels like facts and lies. “Something about disrupting the other tenants’ privacy. Anyway, I’m arranging for the two of you to move to a new apartment, starting this—”

  “Wait! What?”

  “—starting this weekend,” Trevor went on, ignoring her interruption. “The network will take care of the details, like the security deposit, monthly rent, and movers and so forth. Do you want to run all this by Jane, or should I call her separately?”

  “Wait. You want us to move? We just moved in here. Like a month ago! And I have a history test tomorrow and two papers due next week and—”

  “We need to be able to film you guys at home, Scarlett.”

  “Seriously…Jane hasn’t even unpacked yet. She’s kinda slow with stuff like that. She was making a fort out of her boxes yesterday. And we signed a lease here.”

  “Don’t worry about the lease. And we’ll find you guys an amazing apartment. We’ll get you one with a pool and a view. My assistant will email you the details this afternoon, including photos.”

  “You’re fucking with me! We get a pool and we don’t even have to pay rent?”

  After hanging up, he buzzed Kimi on the intercom. “By the way, make sure the new place has a pool.”

&
nbsp; “No problem.”

  Lacing his fingers behind his head, Trevor sat back and stared out the window, at the all-too-familiar row of billboards and palm trees and overpriced cafés. He spent way too much time in his office. But really, that was fine with him, especially now that he had L.A. Candy. It was going to be off the charts. He could feel it. He had the girl next door; a gorgeous brainiac; a spoiled, rich heiress; and the loveable ditz, for comic relief. It was a perfect formula. This is what he was good at—people. Knowing what makes them tick and presenting that for America’s entertainment. That’s why he had been the top reality producer in Hollywood at one time, before the last couple of mistakes. And that’s why he would be the top reality producer in Hollywood again, with L.A. Candy.

  14

  IT ISN’T AN ACTING JOB. IT’S REALITY.

  Pop!

  Scarlett watched, amused, as Jane uncorked the bottle of champagne. A stream of white, frothy bubbles came shooting out of the top. Squealing, Jane angled it away from her, spilling some on the new cream carpet.

  “Yes, Jane, I thought the carpet looked too clean, too!” she said. “We’ve been here an hour and you’re already making a mess.”

  Jane handed her the bottle. “What do you care?”

  Scarlett tilted the bottle back and took a swig. The champagne tickled her mouth. She glanced around their new apartment. The movers had left only an hour ago. The place was much larger than their last one and it looked practically empty. It wasn’t like their last move. With the last apartment, they had moved themselves and it had taken forever. These movers had packed up their stuff and trucked everything over. Trevor had arranged it all. And sent over a bottle of champagne with a nice note about new beginnings, on beautiful blue stationery.

  Scarlett was starting to change her mind about him. Maybe he wasn’t a totally full-of-shit TV producer who made a lot of empty promises. Maybe he was the best thing that had happened to her and Jane since they had moved to L.A. They might not become famous like he’d promised, but Scarlett figured that their days of waiting in lines at clubs were numbered. And paying for their own drinks. Airtime was like currency in this town.

  As for the apartment…it was amazing. They might not be here in a couple of months, but in the meantime…Scarlett stretched out across the cream carpet and stared up at the impossibly tall ceilings. The bare walls were freshly painted white. On one side of the room was a small fireplace that was controlled by a switch on the wall. In a corner, Penny swished around merrily in her new, larger fishbowl that Jane had bought for her at the pet store. Jane had remarked that it was only fair that Penny get an upgrade as well.

  “I can’t believe we live here.” Jane looked around the apartment. “It’s so much less depressing than the other one.”

  “Hey! You said it was ‘charming.’”

  “I was just trying to keep a positive attitude while we lived there.” Jane reached for the champagne and took a sip. “But now that we’re here…well, it was charming. A charming piece of crap.”

  Scarlett laughed. “Yeah. It was pretty bad.”

  Jane’s cell began buzzing and vibrating next to her. She picked it up and checked the screen.

  Her face lit up. “It’s Braden!”

  “Oh, really? You mean, the same Braden who texts you like a hundred times a day? Or a different Braden?” Scarlett teased her.

  Jane had started typing. “Huh? What did you say?”

  Scarlett shook her head. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, was going on between Jane and Braden. She knew they were friends. She knew he had told Jane that he and Willow were on-again, off-again. But in her experience, “on-again, off-again” usually meant that the guy was not available for a relationship—or at least not a real relationship, beyond an occasional hookup that never went anywhere because the on-again, off-again girl was always waiting in the wings. She and Jane had been living in L.A. for more than a month now, and Jane hadn’t been on a date yet. Scarlett wondered if she was holding out for Braden, which would be a huge mistake, with Willow in the picture. She had told Jane as much—not that it had done any good.

  “You told Braden the news about the show, right? What did he say?” Scarlett asked Jane.

  “He’s really happy for us,” Jane replied. “I get the feeling he’s not that into reality TV, though.”

  “Sour grapes,” Scarlett said. “He’s just jealous because you got an acting job before he did.”

  “It isn’t an acting job, Scarlett. It’s reality,” Jane reminded her.

  “Whatever.”

  While Jane exchanged text messages with Braden, Scarlett glanced at the piles of boxes in the living room. Trevor had asked them not to move anything for a few days. The TV crew was coming over at some point to film the girls unpacking their things.

  She spotted a basket near the top of an open box and dug it out. It contained bottles of nail polish, nail polish remover, cotton balls, emery boards, nail clippers, and a cuticle kit. She set it down on the chrome coffee table and chose a purple polish.

  “Can you hand me the pale pink?” Jane said, barely glancing up from her phone.

  “Sure.”

  As she began painting her nails, Scarlett’s thoughts wandered to the events of the last month. So much had happened so fast. First, the move to L.A., then starting school, then L.A. Candy… and now this new apartment. It almost seemed too good to be true. Sure, school wasn’t perfect. Her classes seemed pretty interesting, so far. On the other hand, she was sometimes haunted by that familiar old feeling that she was smarter than everyone else in her class, that she was…different. And as for L.A. Candy—well, Trevor had hooked them up with this gorgeous place. And it was going to be a crazy experience being on TV. But there was also a big, huge question mark hovering over everything. As happy as she was with Trevor now, today, she didn’t totally trust him. You weren’t supposed to trust Hollywood producers, right? You were supposed to let lawyers, agents, managers, and people like that advise you about them. The problem was, Scarlett didn’t have anyone to ask for advice about this whole business. Forget about lawyers, agents, and managers. She didn’t even have a kind, wise dad or a business-savvy mom to ask about stuff. When she had called her parents to tell them about L.A. Candy, their response had been to ask her if the show was going to interfere with her studies and affect her grades. Her father had added something about the harmful effects of reality TV on teen self-image and society in general. What bullshit.

  “You want more champagne?” Jane said, holding the bottle gingerly between two freshly manicured fingers.

  “Why not?” Scarlett said, reaching for the bottle. She didn’t feel like thinking about L.A. Candy anymore.

  15

  BUY THE GIRL A DRINK FIRST

  It was late on Monday night when Scarlett and Jane hopped out of a cab down the street from Les Deux. They had opted to get out on the corner, rather than run up the meter while waiting in the line of cars that extended down the block.

  Jane was wearing a charcoal shift dress. The back dipped into a low V accented with a large black chiffon bow. A layer of delicate black lace peeked out from the bottom of her dress. Her long blond hair was pulled back tightly into a straight ironed ponytail. Her makeup was simple: coral blush on her cheeks and a gunmetal shadow brushed under her blue eyes.

  Scarlett wore dark skinny jeans and a thin black T-shirt with a deep V. She had several gold necklaces layered over her tanned chest. Jane had even persuaded Scarlett to wear a little more makeup than usual. Even if it had required practically pinning her down, Jane had managed to apply mascara, bronzer, and lip gloss to her face. Scarlett had also reluctantly allowed Jane to tidy up her smudged black eyeliner into sleek lines. She looked lovely, like a slightly more polished version of her usual self.

  The street was extra busy tonight. Closer to the parking lot, Jane noticed what appeared to be doors to another club. She hadn’t noticed it the last time they were there. A large crowd of people spilled out of the mes
sy line and into the street. She and Scarlett made their way past the mass of clubgoers and walked through the parking lot of Les Deux.

  As Trevor had promised, Dana had called over the weekend to arrange for tonight’s shoot—their very first. She had told the girls to find the tech van in the lot next to the club. She would meet them there so they could be miked and given further instructions.

  Scarlett peered around the lot. “Did she say where they would be?” she asked Jane, frowning. “Can you call her?”

  Jane pulled out her phone and dialed the producer’s number.

  “Jane!” Dana sounded anxious when she picked up. “Are you and Scarlett here yet?”

  “Um, yeah. We’re in the parking lot. Where are you guys?” Jane asked, looking around her.

  “We’re in the very back. Look for two white vans.”

  While walking farther into the lot, Jane spotted two minivans parked side by side at the far end. They were a little more soccer mom than she had expected.

  “There!” Jane pointed as she started heading toward them.

  Scarlett’s eyes followed. “Oh my God! They’re rocking minivans! They’re like you at sixteen.” She laughed.

  When Jane got her driver’s license, she had been so excited to pick out her first car. Unfortunately, due to her less-than-stellar GPA, her parents had refused to buy her a new car. Instead, she was forced to drive the family minivan for the first six months. She had hated that car so much.

  As they got closer to the vans, they saw a bunch of crew members, dressed in various versions of all-black outfits. There had to be almost a dozen people from PopTV to film her and Scarlett. A few of them were unloading large pieces of camera equipment out of the back of one of the vans. Jane wondered how the camera guys would maneuver those huge cameras in the crowded club. She was about to ask Scarlett when the passenger door of the second van swung open.