“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 pool, 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.”
“Oh yeah? That’s cool,” Kate said. “I live by myself. Which is . . . nice.” She seemed uncertain about that.
Madison watched as Kate fumbled with a pocket, pulled out a BlackBerry, frowned, and then removed her hat and set it beside her bag on the ground. Laurel had clearly texted her something along the lines of LET’S SEE YR FACE.
Kate didn’t have sunglasses so she squinted at Madison. (It was usually a battle with the producers to wear a pair because they “shielded expression.” Clearly it was a battle she had lost.) “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I loved your show.”
“Which one?” Madison asked. “I starred in two, you know.”
“Both,” Kate said quickly.
Madison gifted her with a gleaming smile. “Thanks. My fans have meant everything to me. So tell me, what brings you to L.A.?”
Kate smiled back. “Music,” she said.
“Did you follow Mop Top out here?” Gaby asked. “I heard that when they relocated from Georgia, a whole bunch of their fans followed them.”
Kate laughed. “I’m not a groupie, I’m a musician. A singer-songwriter.”
“Oooh,” Gaby said. “Wow. Do you play an instrument?”
“Guitar,” Kate answered. “And a bit of keyboard and drums, if I need to accompany myself. And ukulele.”
“Wow. I took clarinet lessons when I was in third grade, but—”
Madison loudly cleared her throat. The world didn’t need to hear these two have a totally boring conversation. “Do you have any regular gigs lined up?” she interrupted. “A friend of mine has this club . . .” She trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence up to Kate’s imagination. The truth was, Madison didn’t know any club owners who were looking for corn-fed indie rock girls, but she might as well seem like she was the helpful type. For now.
“Not yet,” Kate admitted. “I’ve been pretty busy working. But I, uh, recently came into a little bit of money, so I’m going to start recording pretty soon.”
“Is that your dream? To make an album?” Madison said, raising her sculpted eyebrows.
Kate nodded earnestly. “I wished for it on every single birthday candle.”
“Awwww,” Gaby crooned. “That’s so sweet.” Madison sort of felt like kicking her.
“So what are you guys doing here in L.A.?” Kate asked. “Are you from here?”
“Yes, we are,” Madison said, speaking for both of them. “Gaby was born and raised in Long Beach, and I’ve been here for five years, which makes me basically a native.” She flashed another brilliant smile at Kate (and, by extension, the cameras).
“I’m a Buzz! News correspondent,” Gaby blurted, unable to contain herself any longer. “I just started. I haven’t done any reporting yet, but I know it’s going to be so incredible and I’m going to be amazing. It’s, like, totally my dream job.”
“Wow,” said Kate as she rolled up the legs of her cargo pants to reveal china-white shins. She turned to Madison. “What about you? Are you still doing Madison’s Makeovers?”
Madison frowned lightly. Why was Kate asking her about her canceled show? “I decided to take a break from that,” she said smoothly. “I helped so many girls, you know, and it was incredibly rewarding. But I felt like it was time to focus on other things.”
“Like tanning,” Gaby giggled, and Madison shot her a death-ray look.
“I’m exploring my options,” she said, taking a sip of her water. “There are so many.”
Kate looked suitably impressed. “I’m sure you’ll be able to do whatever you want to do,” she said. “You seem like that kind of person.”
Madison rearranged herself delicately on the chaise longue. “Thank you,” she purred. She wondered if Kate might actually be an ideal castmate. For one, she was clearly too nice for her own good, and for another, she did herself no favors with that awful clothing and that carrot-top hair. The camera certainly wasn’t going to linger on her, that was for sure. Which meant, of course, more time for it to focus on Madison.
“So, uh, since I’m sort of new to this neighborhood,” Kate began, “I was wondering if you guys wanted to, like, grab a drink or something tonight. Maybe you could show me the local hotspots. Or whatever.”
Madison had known that Kate was going to propose drinks, and she was all set with her answer. “Sure, that sounds fun. I was going to go out to The Spare Room tonight, but I’m actually feeling like being more mellow. We can do The Spare Room another night.”
“Great,” Kate said. “My friend Carmen might come, too. I’ll text her now.”
Kate bent her head down to her phone, so she didn’t see the fleeting look of displeasure cloud Madison’s face. So Carmen Curtis, the Hollywood golden child, was going to tag along. That was no good, because Carmen meant competition: for the notice of any fans they might run into, for the gaze of the PopTV camera, for the attention of the paparazzo who just might—on an “anonymous” tip—happen to be lingering outside the bar Madison would take them to.
She picked up an issue of Gossip and then put it back down immediately. She was too agitated to skim its pages.