Of course Gaby couldn’t sear tuna any more than she could tell you what the capital of California was. But Trevor wanted to make it look like Gaby was capable of making something besides sludge-colored smoothies, so they’d ordered the dinner from M Café and hidden the takeaway containers.
The room was hot from all the extra lighting that shooting required, and Carmen wished she’d thought about that before selecting her A.P.C. henley sweater ensemble. She looked around the table, noting somewhat resentfully that the burden of making conversation seemed to have fallen on her thus far. Kate was picking at the salad (those cupcakes had ruined her appetite, just like Carmen said they would), Gaby was now gazing vacantly into her water glass, and Madison was emailing her publicist on her bedazzled iPhone. (Rhinestones were so four years ago.)
“So,” Carmen said, turning to Madison, “how did your audition for The End of Love go?” Laurel had instructed her to ask this; personally, Carmen didn’t really care. She knew Madison wasn’t any competition for her.
Madison tossed her hair back and smiled faintly. “It was fine,” she said. “I thought Colum McEntire seemed sort of arrogant, though.”
Arrogant? Now that’s the pot calling the kettle black, Carmen thought. But of course she kept that observation to herself. “I know what you mean,” she said. “He’s tough.”
“I’m not sure I’d even want to work with him,” Madison said. “If he offered me a good role, I don’t know . . .”
Way to lay the groundwork for not getting the part, Carmen thought. Way to pretend like you don’t want what you can’t have.
“I’m sure you’ll get a great role,” Gaby said loyally. She smiled, but the expression seemed slightly painful for her. She’d gotten more fillers since Carmen saw her last, and her skin looked shiny and puffy. “Pillow face”: that was the tabloid term for it. And it was really unfortunate, because probably all Gaby needed to do to fill out her face naturally was eat something besides the odd lettuce leaf now and then. She hadn’t touched her tuna; she’d just cut it up and moved it around to different places on her plate.
“Totally,” Kate said. “You’ll totally get something.”
But Madison just shrugged and took a drink of Prosecco.
“What about you, Carmen?” Kate asked. “How did your audition go?”
Carmen had already told Kate all about it, of course, but the cameras hadn’t been rolling. “It went really well, I think,” she said. “I was pretty nervous, but it was great that I know Romeo. I mean Roman. Being able to read with someone you know and like makes it a lot easier.”
“That makes sense,” Kate said, blushing a little, probably because she knew “Roman” too. Carmen had considered mentioning to Kate that she and Luke had hooked up all those months ago, in the interest of full disclosure and being a good friend, but then decided it wasn’t even worth mentioning. It would only make Kate feel weird—and obviously Luke hadn’t said anything about it to her.
“Whenever I performed with my ex, Ethan, I hardly had stage fright at all,” Kate added.
“Maybe you should be part of a duo,” Madison said, obviously eager to change the subject. “Like Zooey Deschanel and whatever his name is.”
“She & Him,” Kate said. “They’re good.”
A new text from Laurel reminded Carmen that Kate was supposed to play her guitar in this scene. Kate’s next open mic was still a ways off, and Trevor thought the audience would need to be reminded just what she did with her time. So Carmen, ever helpful, said, “Do you know how to play that song of theirs—‘Change Is Hard’?”
Kate looked startled. “What? Oh, yeah.” She got up from the table—she wasn’t eating anyway—and sat on the loveseat in the corner with her guitar. Slowly she began to strum the chords to the song Carmen had requested.
Carmen smiled as she watched Kate play. She was really good. Dana’d had a lucky strike the day she ducked into that Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. Carmen felt like it had been lucky for her, too. It’d been a while since she’d made a new friend. After all, when you were the semi-famous daughter of two very famous parents, figuring out who was interested in you and who was interested in your connections could be tough. That was why Carmen tended to stick with Drew and a handful of other people she’d known forever. They had no tabloid-fueled preconceptions of her (celebutard; party girl; shoplifter), and she felt normal with them. Free. Before Kate, Fawn had been her newest friend. But they’d met two years ago now (in an acting workshop with Carmen’s favorite teacher, well before Fawn developed an interest in taking things that didn’t belong to her).
“I was never no / never no / never enough,/ But I can try / I can try / to toughen up,” Kate sang softly.
Carmen could see the camera’s focus tightening in on Kate and hoped she wouldn’t notice. Kate’s stage fright occasionally extended to the camera lens. But Kate seemed oblivious, quietly singing and playing while in the background Gaby began to clear the table.
Laurel made a slicing motion across her throat; the sound of clinking silverware was overpowering Kate’s singing. Gaby stood uncertain for a moment, a plate in her hand, and then sat back down again. Laurel looked relieved.
When the song was over, Carmen and Gaby clapped. “Another,” Gaby cried.
Madison raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know we were in for a sing-along.”
“No one’s singing but Kate,” Carmen pointed out. She was expecting some kind of snappy comeback, but Madison didn’t say anything; she just drained her wineglass and reached for the bottle. What was this new meekness about? Carmen wondered. She considered exploring how far it went. Could she tell a dumb blonde joke? Could she talk about the hazards of tanning beds? Could she ask Madison about her sister, Sophia or Sophie or whatever her name was? She was weighing her options when Gaby spoke.
“So,” Gaby said, too loudly, “Madison, have you heard from your dad since the other day?”
Madison flinched at the question, which Laurel had obviously just instructed Gaby, via text, to ask. Kate looked up from her guitar, her hair shielding half of her face but her expression of curiosity nevertheless evident. Madison never willingly brought up her family, so now that she was forced to, everyone wanted to hear what she had to say.
“No, I haven’t,” she said stiffly.
“Oh, did you run into him again?” Kate asked. “After that lunch?”
“Oh, it’s so boring,” Madison said, stifling a fake yawn. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“It didn’t sound boring to me,” Gaby said. “It sounded fun.” She turned to Kate and Carmen. “Madison and Sophia and their dad went to the Santa Monica Pier, just like tourists,” she told them. “They rode rides, they got cotton candy—”
“So, like six-year-old tourists,” Carmen interrupted. She couldn’t help herself. Madison shot her one of her trademark evil glares, and Carmen smiled sweetly back.
Gaby nodded and breathlessly began to recount the Wardell family day. “It sounded to me like her dad was trying to be nice, but Madison was all against him or whatever, but then she found out that he’d sent her all these letters over the years, like he hadn’t totally abandoned his kids to their drunk mother, and—”
“Gaby, shut up,” Madison hissed.
Gaby looked hurt. “What?”
Madison’s eyes blazed. “Do I go around airing your dirty laundry? Do I tell the world how you never eat anything but celery sticks and spirulina? Do I talk about how you’re practically a pincushion for your aesthetician’s Botox needle? Do I mention that when you go