To Max Stubblefield.

Little of what I have today would be possible without your guidance and friendship. Thank you for always sticking by me . . . and for being “singing guy.”

CONTENTS

Dedication

1 - A Turn for the Better

2 - The Rules of Unofficial Cohabitation

3 - Don’t Make Me Call Them Myself

4 - The Voice of an Angel

5 - How to Make an Entrance

6 - Cue the Hollywood Hunks

7 - Going Nowhere but Up

8 - Whoever Said Dreams Can’t Come True

9 - The Nature of the Business

10 - Larger Than Life

11 - Things Are About to Change

12 - An Entirely Different Person

13 - A Regular Cupid

14 - The Time of My Life

15 - Spicing Up a Story Line

16 - Bigger. Better. Brighter.

17 - A Little Red Carpet Thing

18 - A Short Communication Break

19 - Don’t Worry, Babe, I Still Like You

20 - Pretty Good While It Lasted

21 - A Star Waiting to Shine

22 - You Get One Chance

23 - A Lover, Not a Fighter

24 - Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You

25 - A Long, Emotional Road

26 - Look What the Cat Dragged In

27 - A Bright Side to Everything

28 - That Is Genius

29 - A Little Bit Brighter

30 - A Lot of History

31 - The Source of So Much Drama

32 - Another Chance

33 - Totally Unexpected

Epilogue - Moments in the Sun

Acknowledgments

Books by Lauren Conrad

Copyright

About the Publisher

Results for #TheFameGame

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@Becca B 1 min I thought I was over @MissMadParker but I MISS her. This show sux without her. #thefamegame

@Suzie Klein 1 min What is up w/Sophia? Girl is craycray. #thefamegame

@Becca B 1 min LOL, where’s Madison’s Makeovers when you need it? #thefamegame

@Emma1996 2 min What is Carmen wearing?? Gawd! #thefamegame #fashionpolice

@Emma1996 2 min Someone plz tell Kate 2 be less boring. Girl’s glued 2 couch & that Drew guy. #thefamegame

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Madison Parker poured two large glasses of iced tea and walked, slightly slower than usual, to the table in her sunny kitchen nook. “I have sugar,” she said, placing the glasses on two shell-pink linen cocktail napkins, “if you want any sweetener.”

Kate Hayes raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Madison noted that her friend must have finally started taking some of her beauty advice. Kate’s brows were perfectly tinted and shaped, as if she’d just stepped out of Anastasia Beverly Hills. Good-bye, strawberry-blond caterpillars, Madison thought. You won’t be missed.

“You have actual sugar?” Kate asked. “I thought you were a Splenda-only kind of girl?”

Madison sat down across from her. Carefully. The recovery from her most recent cosmetic procedure had taken a little longer than she’d hoped. She looked fantastic, but she still felt a bit sore. “I think it was left here from the previous tenant,” she allowed. “Along with that hideous mirror in the bathroom.”

Kate glanced around at the small apartment, as if she hadn’t been here a dozen times checking in on post-op Madison. Kate was the only person Madison had been willing to see, so she was Madison’s source for take-out sushi, issues of the weekly mags, and information on shoots for the new season of The Fame Game. Like how bad it was going. How flat the scenes were, how empty the fake-impromptu dinner parties. And Madison loved hearing it.

“Was that spider plant left over, too?” Kate asked, nodding her head in its direction.

“No,” Madison admitted. “That’s mine.”

She followed Kate’s gaze. The spider plant was dying, and—there was no getting around it—the apartment was pretty depressing. The kitchen was the nicest room in the whole place, which was ironic for a person who rarely ate and who definitely never cooked.

She’d moved into it the day after her sudden exit from The Fame Game, because it was cheap (for L.A., anyway) and available.

This lack of foresight, real-estate-wise, was only one of the things Madison had come to regret. The days immediately after her on-camera explosion at the hospital were dark ones. She hadn’t fully understood what PopTV meant for her, either personally or professionally. So, for the first time in her life, she was utterly alone, with absolutely nothing on her iCal.

Nothing but the remainder of her community-service hours, that is. Since she couldn’t face Ryan Tucker (her ex? her former friend-with-benefits?), Madison claimed a sudden onset of life-threatening pet-dander allergies and requested a transfer from Lost Paws.

Connie Berkley, the straight-talking paper-pusher from the L.A. County court system, granted it grudgingly, and Madison spent the next two weeks picking up beer cans, cigarette butts, and fast-food wrappers in a Los Feliz park. She had to wear bad sneakers and a hideous Day-Glo orange vest, and the three other people working with her were beyond offensive. But at least none of them were named Ryan. At least none of them had taken her heart and stomped on it.

Every day she came home, sweaty and hot, to an apartment filled with pretty but generic furniture she’d gotten free from Crate & Barrel (she promised them she’d do an “at-home” shoot for one of the weeklies). There was no Gaby to greet her, and there were no cameras to film her. If it weren’t for Kate, and for her dog, Samson, Madison would have been seriously depressed.

When she felt especially sorry for herself, Madison did her best to remember how things could always be worse. For instance: She hadn’t OD’d by mistake, the way Gaby had, and she wasn’t now in a locked-down rehab facility. (No at-home shoots there!) Gaby had been in treatment at the Hope Medical Center in Malibu for almost six weeks now. No doubt she was going to countless individual and group therapy sessions and getting really good at Ping-Pong.

Or was it mental hospitals where they played Ping-Pong? Madison would have to ask her, if it didn’t sound too rude.

They’d been in touch a few times since Gaby’s OD, but the Hope staff had confiscated Gaby’s cell phone and limited her computer time, so their interactions had been brief. Also, the moment Madison finished up her community service, she’d hopped on a plane to Mexico to regroup. It was her own personal emotional rehab.

She didn’t tell anyone she was going (except for Kate, who had agreed to dog-sit Samson); she simply vanished. And it felt great.

In a small town an hour outside of Cabo, Madison took long walks on the beach, ignored Trevor’s five thousand phone calls, and came to a major decision. She was not done with reality TV, but she was definitely done with trying to play nice. She’d been burned by Charlie, Ryan, and Sophie (twice). It was about time she remembered that a girl couldn’t trust anyone but herself.

“Madison,” Trevor’s voice mails always said, “we really have to talk.”

She took great pleasure in deleting each one. She’d talk to him when she was good and ready.

But all too soon, it was time for her to return to L.A. While Madison could plot her comeback beneath a palapa on a Mexican beach, she could hardly accomplish it from there.

When she arrived back at LAX, Madison’s very first phone call had been to her go-to plastic surgeon. It was time for some laser lipo, because those carbs she’d eaten when she was “happy” with Ryan were still hanging around her midsection. Dr. Klein, who had a keen nose for business (and had coincidentally done Madison’s nose), had given her a deal in exchange for her participation in his “I’ll never tell” press release. (“I look great after a visit with Dr. Klein. Where did he operate on me? I’ll never tell!”)

She smiled, thinking about it. She could probably work a similar deal with Dr. Burton the next time she needed a Botox touch-up. (She was definitely looking forward to the day when she was done paying off Luxe for the necklace Charlie stole; it was humiliating to barter for cosmetic procedures.)

“Earth to Madison,” Kate said, waving a hand in front of her face.

Madison turned to her. “What? Were you saying something?”

“I’ve only been asking you the same question for, like, five minutes,” Kate said, looking slightly insulted.

“Ask me again. Sorry, I’m listening.”

Kate took a sip of her tea and then got up to find the sugar. “Are you going to go see Gaby when they let her out? We’re all going to be there, you know. And that means the PopTV crew will be there, too.”

“May I remind you that I quit the show?” Madison asked.

Kate rolled her eyes. “No need. I was there,” she said. “But the day she gets out will be a big deal. And anyway, don’t you miss being on camera? Airtime is kind of like . . . well, air to you.”

Madison hadn’t filmed anything for six weeks now—of course she missed it. Whoever said diamonds were a girl’s best friend hadn’t stopped to consider a camera. “Not really,” she said dismissively.

Then Kate, who was still looking for the sugar, noticed the Gossip magazine that Madison just happened to leave out on the counter. “Hey, is that the issue you’re in?”

Madison nodded, unable to keep a small, satisfied smile from her face. The moment her bruises had vanished, she’d set up a photo op on the beach in Malibu and paired it with an exclusive sit-down with a reporter from Gossip. She’d talked about her “rewarding” community service, and how it made her rethink her priorities. She had skillfully dodged the reporter’s questions about trouble on the set of The Fame Game. Since Trevor hadn’t included her “I quit” outburst on the season finale, no one really knew what was going on with her. With only a couple episodes of season two having aired, the rumors were swirling, and Madison liked it that way. The less she said, the more people wanted to know.

The best part of the article was the end, in which the writer suggested that if Madison Parker were to leave the show, The Fame Game would be a total snoozefest.

“Community service made you ‘reexamine your celebrity lifestyle,’ huh?” Kate asked, looking up from the magazine. “You learned how ‘vitally important’ it is to give back?” She laughed. “You’re amazing, Mad, you really are.”

“I try,” Madison said. “Do you like how I dropped in the verrry subtle Carmen Curtis reference?”

Kate’s eyes scanned down the page. “‘“More young celebrities should perform community service,” Madison says, as she sips her green tea,’” Kate read aloud. “‘“No one should be above the law, whether they steal a car, a diamond necklace, or a designer top.”’” Kate looked up, her eyes wide. “Madison. That’s not exactly subtle.”

Madison shrugged. “Carmen doesn’t read those things anyway, and I doubt you’re going to tell her about it, even if she is your new roomie.”

“True . . . ,” Kate said. Trevor had made her and Carmen move into Madison and Gaby’s apartment; it was all set up for filming, and otherwise it would be sitting vacant. Madison knew that Kate wasn’t entirely happy with this arrangement. She wasn’t sure why Kate and Carmen had such a hard time getting along (though maybe it had something to do with their habit of picking the same guy to be involved with, whether he was a handsome Aussie actor or a tattooed musical intern . . .).

Samson trotted into the room and flopped down at Madison’s feet. She leaned over and gave his head a rub. “You’re my community service, aren’t you, boy? If it weren’t for my selfless heart, I’d have ordered myself a cute teacup Chihuahua like Paris Hilton’s.”

Kate choked on her tea.

Madison shot her a look. “What?”

“Sorry,” Kate said, wiping her mouth and smiling. “‘Selfless’ is maybe not the first word I’d use to describe you.”

“Of course not,” Madison said. “That would be ‘fabulous,’ right?”

“Oh, totally,” Kate agreed. “So, fabulous Madison, are you going to show up for Gaby’s release or what? Because I, personally, would really love to see you there and I’m sure Gaby would too. I guess Sophia’s supposed to be Madison two-point-oh these days, but I gotta say, it’s not exactly working out. I miss filming with you. It’s not nearly as much fun since you left.”

Music to Madison’s ears! “I want to be there for Gaby, but I’m not sure about the timing. . . .” She paused, relishing the moment. “Okay, confidentially? I do plan on coming back. I’m waiting for Trevor to meet my terms.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “Really? Oh my God, that is the best news ever.” She seemed like she might be on the verge of rushing over and giving Madison a hug.

Madison held up a hand. She liked Kate, she honestly did, but she was just never going to be the huggy type. Also, she was still sore. She got up and dumped the remains of her tea into her spider plant. (Extra nutrients, right?)

“Yes,” Madison said, smiling contentedly. “I think things are about to take a turn for the better.”

Despite her words, though, Madison did worry a little that Trevor might hold a grudge because she’d ignored him for so long. But so be it. Could Trevor really blame her? He of all people should know that all was fair in love, war, and reality TV.

Carmen tried the bathroom door—locked—and then knocked loudly on it. Yes, there was another bathroom in the apartment she shared with Kate, but that one didn’t have the tube of her favorite lipstick sitting on the counter.

“Hang on a minute,” called a voice. A male voice.

Carmen sighed. Drew. Again.

A month ago she’d been complaining that she hardly ever saw her childhood best friend, and now it seemed like he was everywhere she turned. At the breakfast table, eating her cereal. On the living room couch, watching a Lakers game. In the bathroom, holding her cosmetics hostage. Like Carmen’s dad sometimes said: Be careful what you wish for.

She flounced back into the dining room where the cameras had been set up. Kate was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of Froot Loops. She went through two or three boxes of it a week; she had the appetite of a twelve-year-old boy. Lucky for her, she seemed to have the metabolism of one, too.

“Cameras roll as soon as I finish this,” Kate said. Trevor’s aversion to filming them eating was well known. “I was starving.”

“No rush. I was kind of hoping to get my lipstick. . . .”

“You look beautiful, as always,” Laurel called.

Carmen laughed as she sat down at her designated seat at the table. “Like I can trust you,” she said. “You just want to get started.”

Laurel shrugged. “What can I say? Time is money.”

In another few moments, Kate was done, and Bret the camera guy had taken his usual place behind his Sony Hi Def, but Drew had still not emerged. Carmen was annoyed she hadn’t been able to get to her lipstick. Now she’d look washed out, which was fine when they were filming early-morning scenes, but less fine when it was 11 a.m. and she was otherwise ready to face the world. Her floral silk button-down practically demanded a coat of NARS’s Funny Face.

Kate brushed a Froot Loop crumb from her shirt and offered Carmen a small smile.

Carmen smiled back, though she was still annoyed, and then took a sip of her tea. (Drinking on camera was totally fine, of course.) “So, do you think Gaby’ll be different?” she asked Kate, exactly as she was supposed to.

“I think she’ll be in a better place,” Kate said.

Carmen laughed. “‘A better place’? I thought that was what you said when someone died.”

Kate looked mildly affronted. “You know what I mean. Like, emotionally.”

“Sorry,” Carmen said. “I was kidding.” Then she bit her lip and gazed down into her mug.

She’d been excited to move in with Kate for a couple of reasons—(a) she had no other place to live at the moment; and (b) she thought they might finally fully make up—but so far it’d been harder than she’d hoped. They kept offending each other in the little ways. Carmen, for example, had invited a few friends over without telling Kate. Then Kate had eaten all of Carmen’s leftover lo mein. Carmen had shrunk one of Kate’s two decent sweaters in the dryer, and then Kate had made some snide comment about Hollywood royalty not knowing how the real world worked. . . .

They still liked each other, they really did. But for some reason they were having a hard time showing it.

Carmen wondered if things would ever go back to the way they had been before Luke Kelly walked into their lives. Of course, Carmen was really glad that he had, but he definitely complicated things. Pre-Luke, Kate and Carmen had been great friends, and Carmen was realizing more and more how hard those were to come by.

She looked up again. Time to get on the ball and give the camera something. “Gaby sent me a letter a couple of weeks ago,” Carmen said. “She said she was learning how to let go of unhealthy influences and finding her inner strength. She said her mantra was ‘Healthy Choices.’” Then she giggled; she couldn’t help it. “I think that’s a brand of soup.”

“Well, if it works for her, I’m all for it,” Kate said. “But I bet she’s embarrassed at all this. I mean, wouldn’t you be?”

Carmen shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like she’s the first person to get confused about the right dosage of her medication.”

She shot Kate a look. Surely Kate hadn’t forgotten that she’d taken too much Xanax and turned into a walking zombie on national television. (Trevor would cut that line, no doubt, but Carmen hadn’t been able to resist.)

Kate only blinked at her, as if she really had forgotten.

“I’m actually really happy for her,” Carmen went on. “I think being at Hope was just what she needed. A break. Time to clear her head.”

Carmen wished she could have a break, too. Not at rehab, obviously, but say . . . a week at Miravel Resort & Spa? Having a few weeks off from filming had been great, but it wasn’t as if she’d been able to take a break from the rest of her life. From the tabloids, which continued to print lies about her, as well as some private truths. From Sophia, who had taken to calling her daily to talk about how cute their new producer was. And from Krew (or Date—they both worked), who were usually stuck together like Siamese twins.

Speak of the devil (or one half of it), Drew emerged from the bathroom. In a short pink towel.

Granted, he was out of the shot, but still—hadn’t he learned to take clothes into the bathroom? Wasn’t that one of the first rules of unofficial cohabitation?

He gave Carmen a small, apologetic wave. Kate hadn’t seen him, thankfully, so she was still focused on the scene. “I wonder if Madison will be there with us,” Kate said.

“Yeah. I wonder if Trevor’s going to be able to woo her back.”

Carmen knew that line wouldn’t make it to air, either, but it didn’t matter. Laurel had already informed them that they were going to shoot this segment several times. “So we have the right lead-in,” she’d explained. Since Gaby was getting out in two days and no one knew whether Madison would show up or not, they needed to cover their bases.

According to the reality of The Fame Game, Madison had taken a long vacation after finishing her community service. Some kind of Eat, Pray, Love thing, where she was finding herself and rededicating her life to . . . something or other. This explanation was buying Trevor time until he could get her back on the show. If he could.

For the first take, Kate and Carmen talked a bit about Madison’s vacation, and how she was still “in Mexico.” (This was awkward, because Madison had already been photographed at the airport last week returning from Mexico, and Gaby’s release date would be written about—so the timing wouldn’t work. But Carmen had her directions, so she followed them.) Next they shot a conversation in which they suggested that Madison, while back in L.A., was still too upset by Gaby’s overdose to face her. Finally, there was the cliff-hanger scene: Madison had told Kate she’d be there and had told Carmen that she wouldn’t. Which would it be? The world holds its breath!

That was the winner, Carmen thought, no question. Trevor could never resist a cliffhanger.

Drew passed by again, this time fully clothed and in view of the cameras. And Kate. Her eyes followed him into the kitchen, and there was a love-struck look on her face. “I wish Madison—and Gaby—could find a good guy,” she said.

Carmen put her head in her hands. Was it possible to die of annoyance? Because she felt like she might.

Then she looked up. “We could lend them Drew,” she said, smiling.

“We?” Kate asked.

Carmen shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” Kate asked, a slight edge coming into her voice.

God, what was her problem? Carmen stood up. “Well, anyway,” she said, pointing to her watch. “I’ve gotta go meet with my agent.”

“Yeah, that’s a wrap on this scene,” Laurel called, stepping out from behind Bret. “You are both free until the day after tomorrow, when we welcome Ms. Garcia back into reality.”

Carmen hurried into the bathroom to fetch her lipstick, thinking how those words were probably the last ones that would apply to whatever was going to happen to Gaby.

Trevor sucked grimly on an ice cube as he sat in the editing bay at PopTV Studios. Before him were half a dozen computer screens, and each displayed raw footage from the past few weeks of season-two shooting. Kate and Carmen shopping. Sophia trying to bend Kate into pigeon pose. Carmen on a phone call with her publicist. Kate and Drew curled up on her couch, recapping her most recent performance. Each clip made him want to—well, depending on his mood, either fall asleep . . . or jump out a window.

He spun around in his swivel chair, and Laurel eyed him nervously. He’d already thrown one fit today, and she was probably bracing herself for round two. He’d promoted her to executive producer, but the old listen-to-Trevor-when-he-freaks-out part of her job description remained.

“That Kate and Drew scene could be intercut with shots of Carmen looking wistful,” she suggested.

“Oh really?” he said facetiously. “I never would have thought of that.”

Trevor crunched the ice cube from his latte and fished another one from his cup. With Gaby in rehab and Madison AWOL, he was trying to make a show with half his regular cast. He’d managed to patch together the final few episodes of season one, using old footage of the main girls and some new footage featuring Sophia more prominently. What a nightmare that had been. He’d used an army of interns to comb through unused scenes, and there were too many continuity problems to count. Gaby had had a Restylane mishap (for a couple of days it looked as if she’d been punched in the mouth), Madison had put on a few pounds during the Ryan weeks (though it looked great on her), and Kate had taken a weekend trip to Palm Springs, but she might as well have taken a nap in a tanning bed (she came back looking more like a Jersey Shore reject than an up-and-coming musician).

Then the ratings came in, which showed a troubling dip; in particular, audiences did not respond well to Sophia’s bigger role. They liked her in the background well enough, but the moment she stepped into the spotlight, people starting changing the channel.

At least Gaby’s OD, while unfortunate for all sorts of reasons, had played out well on screen. He’d found footage of Madison and Gaby at a café, in which Madison looked worried about her friend, so he’d used that. He’d even been able to fall back on the footage of her storming out of the massage room that day, cleverly editing it so it looked like Gaby’s drug problem was what had made Madison so upset.

Yes, he had managed to create an excellent season finale, if he did say so himself. The shots of the girls in the waiting room, their eyes brimming with tears—well, that had been some seriously moving television.

There was a knock on the door, and Trevor barked out, “Who is it?”

Stephen Marsh, the newest Fame Game producer, poked his head in. “Hope is trying to renege on their offer to let us film on site,” he said.

Trevor glared at him. “Don’t let them off the hook,” he said. “And don’t make me call them myself,” he added. He turned to Laurel. “Make sure he handles this right, okay?”

Laurel nodded and followed Stephen out, and Trevor returned to his thoughts.

He’d given his girls a break over the holidays, but now it was time to get things rolling again. Carmen’s regular appearance in the tabloids was good for ratings (the fight with her mom was great, though it killed him that he hadn’t captured it on film), and he hoped it would last. Carmen was a smart girl; she knew what made good TV. The problem was, she didn’t always bother to make it. For instance, she seemed to be involved with Luke Kelly again, this time for real. Why couldn’t that guy just go away? He’d served his purpose for the show, and now he was simply a nuisance. He wasn’t even in the country, and yet he was monopolizing Carmen’s romance story line.

On the bright side, Laurel had suggested that the Kate-Drew hookup might be getting on Carmen’s nerves. Trevor had moved Carmen and Kate into Madison and Gaby’s old place. He’d figured he’d get good footage of the show’s two rising stars living together—but he hadn’t predicted Drew’s near-constant presence. If Kate didn’t stop hanging all over him, Carmen Curtis—the privileged girl who’d always gotten her way—was going to snap.

It would take only a tiny little push. . . .

And Kate Hayes, while certainly not the most charismatic girl he’d ever filmed, was now huge in the Midwest. (If he ever sent her back to Ohio again, he felt certain she’d be carried away by a mob of screaming tweens.) Trevor felt confident that Kate’s appeal would only grow as she pursued her music career more fully in season two.

There was always good old Jay, too. For reasons that Trevor couldn’t fathom, Jay had become a fan favorite. Maybe there was something about his blend of frat-guy fart jokes and pseudo-philosophical BS that really appealed to the Fame Game audience. So, even though Gaby said they’d broken up because of one of her steps (she couldn’t remember which it was, but it had something to do with “taking personal inventory”), Trevor would make sure they had lots of run-ins over the next few months.

The only real problem was Madison Parker. The show needed her desperately. He knew she was back in town and that she was at least open to talking—or her agent was, anyway. What Trevor didn’t know was what it would take to get her back in front of the PopTV cameras. He supposed he’d find out soon enough how dearly he’d have to pay for her return.

“So where’s our third roommate?” Carmen asked, wandering into the living room and flopping down on one of the giant floor cushions.

Kate looked up at her, trying to decide if Carmen was being jokey or snide. “He’s at Rock It! I think. But I’m not sure. It’s not like I know where he is every second of the day.” Just most of the seconds, Kate added silently.

She and Drew had been dating since she got back from Ohio. It was as if everything had suddenly fallen into place. They didn’t wonder if dating would ruin their friendship, or if other people in their lives would complicate things too much (Carmen and Luke, ahem). They saw each other on the morning after Gaby’s incident, and they’d pretty much spent every day together since. It was, in a word, fantastic.

“Is his internship still going well?” Carmen asked.

“Totally,” Kate said. “He’s been promoted from intern to paid intern since he’s returned to school. It’s only minimum wage, but it’s something.” She smiled.

Carmen nodded. “Awesome,” she said, and then began picking at one of her fingernails.

Kate turned back to the fan mail that she’d been rifling through. On Drew’s and Trevor’s advice, she’d finally gotten herself a manager, Todd Barrows, who had forwarded on the large stacks of letters. Todd was an old pro (he’d repped $erena when she was starting out, and that girl had five songs on the charts). Kate was learning a lot about the music business from both him and Drew. Though their advice often contradicted each other’s.

She was also learning from her own experience. Such as: Success is not lasting, and it is never guaranteed.

That was a lesson she hadn’t enjoyed much. “Starstruck” was no longer on every playlist, and her follow-up song didn’t become the hit she’d hoped it would. She did not plan on being a one-hit wonder, and she’d been working like crazy to get another song ready to record. She was up until two the night before, and planned to be up at least that late tonight. (Laurel had even told her to take it easy: “Your under-eye bags are showing on camera. You either need more sleep or a good concealer,” she’d said.)

Kate picked up an unopened letter and tapped it against her palm. She knew that reading it would make her feel better; each note was a vote of confidence, and an ego boost. She still couldn’t believe that she, little Kate Hayes from Columbus, Ohio, was getting fan mail. So far she’d managed to write everyone back (teen girls from all over the world, plus a handful of sensitive boys), but as the stacks grew taller—and they would; they already were, despite her dip in the charts—she’d have to give up that goal. She had her Twitter account and her Facebook fan page, so she could stay connected, but she was going to feel guilty once she stopped answering letters.

“So what’s up with your music?” Carmen asked, having successfully removed her hangnail.

Kate sighed. “A lot—and also sort of nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as you probably know, Trevor wouldn’t let me sign a record deal before, because he felt like it was a quote-unquote ‘season two story line.’ So he basically made me put my life and career on hold because it suited him and his show.”

“Which is also our show,” Carmen pointed out.

Kate waved this obvious fact away. “Of course, but back in the fall people were calling me. My song was everywhere, and now it’s only on that stupid Nokia commercial.”

“Hey! That stupid commercial paid for your Mini Cooper.”

“True,” Kate said, brightening. She loved that car. “Anyway, Trevor says I can sign a deal now, but all of a sudden, my phone’s not ringing.”

“Oh, you’ll have your pick of labels,” Carmen assured her. “Your songs are great.”

“Thanks,” Kate said. “Maybe people are still interested, sure. But it wasn’t any fun to put them off, you know? Imagine if Colum McEntire had told you he wanted you to star in his movie, and you were like, Yeah, sounds great, but can you please wait for three months, because my dad grounded me for shoplifting?”

Carmen laughed. “Ouch. You know I never actually stole anything, right?”

Kate looked at her in surprise. “You didn’t? And here I was, thinking Trevor must have an eye for the thieving type.”

“I can’t believe I never told you,” Carmen said. “I took the fall for a friend.”

“Wow, that was really nice of you.”

Carmen shrugged. “It seemed like the right idea at the time.” She sounded like she might have had second thoughts. “My dad was furious at me.”

“Honestly, I felt awkward ever bringing it up, but now that I know you didn’t do it, you have to tell me what really happened,” Kate said.

“It’s not really that exciting,” Carmen said. “I didn’t have to go to court like Mad.”

Kate laughed. “Thank goodness there was no ‘giving back to the community’ required of you! Because why on earth would you want to do that?”

“Yeah,” Carmen said faintly.

Kate wondered if she’d managed to offend her. Again. Why was it so hard for them to get along? It was like they couldn’t help pushing each other’s buttons. She’d simply meant that it was good Carmen didn’t have to go to court, but it had come out sounding like Kate thought she was a spoiled brat.

“Soooooo . . . ,” Kate said, after an awkward moment of silence.

“So Luke called,” Carmen said suddenly. “He said filming’s going great.”

“Oh! That’s great.”

Lately it seemed as if Carmen mentioned Luke about twenty times a day. Not that Kate minded—she was completely over him. Carmen and Luke could absolutely have each other . . . for the five minutes that they’d actually be into it. If there was one thing Kate had learned about these actor types, it was that they changed partners as often (at least) as they changed roles.

What she had with Drew, on the other hand, was real.

Kate tapped the unopened letter against her hand once more and then tore it open. She didn’t mean to read it while she and Carmen were in the middle of a conversation, but she couldn’t help but glance down.

—think it’s so, so unfair when people say you’re boring and stuff, because you’re the sweetest one of—

Kate looked back up, feeling deflated. Thanks for the backhanded compliment, Misty from Nebraska, she thought. As if she weren’t perfectly aware of the nasty things that got said about her—that she was a doormat, she was as exciting as watching paint dry—some “fan” had to go and remind her.

She tossed the letter into the garbage. She’d start her policy of not writing back with Misty.

Carmen handed her another letter and then got up. “I’m heading to bed. Gotta get my beauty sleep before Gaby’s big day. Otherwise D-lish’ll post about how beat-down I look or something, and they’ll be right.”

“Night,” Kate called out. She gazed at the next envelope for a moment before opening it. It was sent from here in L.A., and the handwriting was small and exquisitely neat. J.B. from Studio City: The initials and the handwriting were familiar. He’d written her before, hadn’t he? Yes, and she’d sent him a signed head shot. He was probably writing to thank her—after all, not every TV personality would be so generous with her time and photos. She opened the letter, feeling rather pleased with herself for being so nice, and with J.B. for being so polite.

Dear Kate,

Thank you so much for the photo. I have it framed next to my bed. I’ve watched you since the very first episode of The Fame Game. You are a great talent, and you are better and more beautiful than anyone else on that show. I love your voice. It’s the voice of an angel.

Kate smiled. Now this was more like it. She read on.

I wish that your voice could be the first thing I heard in the morning and the last thing I heard at night. Sometimes when I see you on TV, and your blue eyes turn toward the camera, I swear that you are looking straight at me. Telling me that you see me, and you want to get to know me. Well, I want to get to know you, too. I know it sounds silly, but sometimes I tell people you are my girlfriend—and who knows? Maybe someday you will be. I mean, look how close we live to each other.

Kate looked at the second page enclosed in the envelope. It was a map with what she assumed was his home circled and a line leading to a second location. She looked a little closer and realized it was their apartment. Sure, a few photographers had figured out where they lived after following them home, but Trevor had always assured them that most people didn’t know.

Kate looked up. “Uh . . . Carmen?” she called.

“Brushing my teeth!” she yelled from the bathroom.

“Can you come out here and look at this letter?”

A few seconds later, Carmen came and took the letter and the map from Kate, her eyes quickly scanning the pages. “Oh no,” she said as she read. “Ewww.” When she was done, she handed the letter back to Kate as if it were contaminated. “You need to tell someone about this.”

“It’s not some random weird thing I can, like, ignore?”

Carmen shook her head. “That guy sounds like a stalker and he clearly knows where you live. Where we live. My mom’s had about five hundred stalkers, and trust me, they’re bad news. You need to get rid of him, stat.”

“Really? I mean, sure, it’s kind of weird,” Kate said. “But it’s not like he wrote ‘I’m outside your window’ or something.”

“Kate, people can be crazy. They watch the show and see you in your bedroom talking about your life and think that they know you.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Kate said. “He’s just some weirdo—”

“Yeah,” Carmen interrupted. “He’s a weirdo. And angry weirdos are exactly the kind of people you want to be careful around. They can be dangerous.”

Kate, admittedly, had been sort of freaked out by the letter. But something about Carmen’s response annoyed her. Couldn’t she simply have a rabid fan? Why did he have to be some sort of threat?

“I don’t think—”

“You don’t need to think,” Carmen interrupted. Again. “Turn the letter in to Laurel and she’ll give it to whoever heads security at the network. If anything, they like to have these things on file.”

Kate couldn’t help herself then. She was annoyed and she lashed out. “Maybe you’re jealous,” she whispered. “Maybe you wish you’d gotten a letter like this.”

Carmen stared at her in disbelief. “Girl, if you think that, you are even more out of touch than the creep who wrote you that letter.” Then she turned and stomped away.

Kate looked at the letter again. It was written on scented stationery.

Love always,

J .B.

P.S. Hope to see you very soon.

She shuddered, and then pulled out her phone and texted Laurel. Immediately after that, she texted Drew. CRAZY FAN LETTERS. CARM SAYS I SHOULD WATCH OUT. CALL ME?

But Drew did better than call her. He left Rock It! right away and drove to her apartment, even though she tried to tell him that it wasn’t necessary.

The moment she opened the door and saw him, clutching a spray of daisies, standing there so tall and strong and reassuring, she couldn’t believe she’d tried to convince him (and herself) that he shouldn’t come.

It ended up being one of the best nights ever. They streamed Walk the Line, the Johnny Cash biopic, on Netflix, and cuddled on the couch. As Kate rested her cheek against Drew’s warm chest, feeling his arm tight around her shoulders, she thought about the irony of it all: how the very day that Carmen seemed to think she could be in some kind of danger was also the day that she felt the most taken care of. The most safe.

Kate looked up at Drew, and he looked down at her. They smiled at each other—wide, silly, happy grins. It was great.

And then they kissed, and that was even better.

In the parking lot of Hope Medical Center, the girls were miked and directed to stand near the building’s portico awaiting Gaby’s arrival. The sun felt blazingly hot; L.A. was in the middle of a freak January heat wave, and Carmen hadn’t dressed appropriately for it.

“I wonder if Gaby’ll get some kind of diploma,” Kate said. “My cousin’s kid got a diploma from her daycare.”

Wow. Was Kate trying to sound as dense as Gaby? “I got a diploma from driving school,” Carmen offered.

“All I got was a key chain that said ‘Stay Alive—Drive Fifty-Five.’ I mean, how old do you think that thing was? The speed limit hasn’t been fifty-five since before I was born.”

Carmen laughed. “It’s vintage! Maybe it’s worth something.”

“Doubtful. Anyway, I threw it away.” Kate squinted at the rehab. “When are they releasing Gaby?” she wondered.

“They probably already did,” Carmen said drily. “And Laurel’s making her wait on the other side of the door until Sophia arrives and we can film.”

“Did I hear my name?” Sophia hurried up to them in a cloud of lavender essence and kissed them both on the cheek. “So good to see you,” she said, giving Carmen’s arm a squeeze. “I wish Madison could be here, too.”

Yeah, I’ll bet you do, thought Carmen.

“This is such an important moment,” Sophia went on, beaming at them.

“Didn’t you spend some time in this place?” Carmen asked, referring to Sophia’s own rehab stint, which had begun not long after she’d joined the cast of L.A. Candy.

“No, I went to Promises,” she said breezily. “I learned so much there. It was a fantastic experience, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Any minute now, ladies,” Laurel called.

Carmen smoothed a strand of hair away from her face. She’d forgotten how much of filming was standing around, waiting. Movies were a thousand times worse in this regard, but at least you got a trailer to hang out in.

A long black town car pulled into the lot, right next to the PopTV van. A moment later, the back door opened and Trevor emerged. He gave the girls a nod and a half smile.

“What is Trevor doing here? He never comes to shoots,” Kate said.

“Only the really big ones,” Carmen corrected her. She wasn’t surprised to see their executive producer here. Not out of concern for Gaby, of course, but for the footage. This would be a crucial scene for the show, so it made sense that he’d want to keep a close eye on how it went.

She watched him as he walked over to Stephen Marsh, the new producer, and she was about to ask him if they could start filming before all their makeup melted off when she saw, out of the corner of her eye, a flash of red.

She looked back toward the town car and watched, in shock, as Madison Parker emerged from the backseat, in a fantastic scarlet Dolce, looking tan, thin, and triumphant. (A bit overdressed, but still—stunning.)

Sophia gasped.

Carmen watched with grudging admiration as Madison approached them. The girl sure knew how to make an entrance.

“Oh, shit,” Sophia whispered.

Carmen turned to her with a smile. She, for one, was glad Madison was back. They might not like each other that much, but no one could argue that Madison didn’t make things interesting. “Like my dad always says,” Carmen whispered back, “be careful what you wish for.”

“—And once, I ate thirty hot dogs in fifteen minutes,” bragged the blond, blue-eyed guy sitting across the table from Madison at Fig & Olive. “My friends were like, ‘Dude, you should take it professional.’”

Madison flagged down the waiter, who was obviously unnerved by the PopTV film crew he’d been instructed to ignore. “Vodka and soda,” she said, the instant he was within earshot. “A double—and the sooner the better.”

Trevor hadn’t wasted any time getting her back on camera, once they’d settled on terms. He’d come crawling to her in the end, appearing on her doorstep all smiles and promises; she’d simply handed him an envelope from her lawyer, which contained her new, extensive demands listed on four pages of creamy white paper.

Trevor may have put his foot down at Madison’s request for white peonies at every location (hey, it had worked for J.Lo), but she’d put that in there precisely so he would have something to refuse. It was business negotiations with a dash of psychological warfare. It helped that she knew from Kate how much Laurel and Trevor wanted her in the Gaby’s-release scene. The look of unhappy surprise on Sophie’s face when she saw her was an added bonus.

She would move in with Gaby again (in the Park Towers penthouse), do her best not to freeze out Sophie, and do a better job of tolerating the presence of Jay whenever Trevor sent him over. She’d also agreed to develop a romance story line. Not because she was searching for romance—she was done with that business (do you hear that, Ryan Tucker?)—but because she wanted screen time. There simply weren’t enough dates during season one, and both she and Trevor knew it. So: Cue the Hollywood hunks.

Such as Greg, the blond, blue-eyed surfer type, currently boring her to death with a story of the “time he hooked up with Lindsay Lohan” and a bad Jon Hamm impression. Yes, she was going to need more than patience to get through this date.

This documented date.

Madison managed to smile at the drink when it appeared, and then transferred that smile to Greg’s strong-jawed face. It was really too bad he couldn’t keep his gorgeous mouth shut.

“So,” she said, “how long have you lived in L.A.?”

“About two years now,” Greg said. “I moved here from Nebraska.”

“And what do you do here?” Madison already knew the answer. It was the same thing that almost everyone who moved to Hollywood from flyover country did. They acted—and by “acted,” they meant they bartended by night and auditioned by day.

“I’m an actor,” Greg said, putting a giant hand into the paper cone of truffle fries and pulling out a fistful.

“Really? What would I have seen you in?”

Greg paused for a moment. “A few, uh, independent shorts. I also do a little modeling on the side.”

“So, right now, you aren’t exactly a working actor?” She smiled slyly.

Again, Madison knew very well the answer to this question. If Greg had a paying acting job, he would not be sitting across the table feigning interest in dating someone he had nothing in common with, hoping to gain the exposure that would result in his being “discovered.”

“We’ve all gotta start somewhere, don’t we? Not everyone can get paid to be on PopTV getting frozen yogurt and shopping with her friends,” Greg said through his own sly smile.

Madison sat up straighter. This date wasn’t going anywhere and she knew it. Trevor would never air the footage if it continued like this.

“Let’s order you another drink,” she said, patting his hand. “And then you can tell me what it’s like to attend acting classes all day while still being supported by your parents.”

Greg’s eyes got wide. “Excuse me?” he said, looking caught off guard.

Madison winked at him.

Behind Greg’s head, she could see Julian the camera guy focusing in. She suspected he felt sorry for Greg.

“Dude,” Greg said, “I don’t know what your problem is, but . . .”

“I don’t have a problem. I’m simply curious how you are an actor if you don’t actually act.”

“I’m acting right now,” he said sharply. “I’m acting like I actually want to be on this date with you, even though you’re a total bitch.”

Madison smiled calmly. “And once again you aren’t getting paid, so this must be right up your alley.”

Then she stood up, grabbed her Celine bag, and exited stage left. Sure, she’d agreed to go out on dates—but she’d made no promises about staying out.

“Okay, let’s take a look at the latest candidates for the job of Tolerable Dinner Date.” Kate slid in a DVD vaguely labeled AUDITIONS 1/2013 and then hurried to join Madison on the couch.

Madison put her feet up on the coffee table and settled in. That was the good part about a bad date: A girl could get home early. “Gab, can you please turn down the tango music?” she called.

Trevor had promised Gaby an audition for Dancing with the Stars. And while watching Gaby attempt fox-trots around their new living room got tiresome, at least it had the potential to spice up her story line. Because at this point—as terrible as it was to say—the best thing Gaby had ever done for the show was overdose on painkillers.

Gaby obediently turned down the stereo and came bouncing over to the couch. “Where’s the eye candy?” she asked.

Madison hit the remote. Her spirits lifted as a handsome black-haired guy walked into the frame of the screen and sat down on a stool. If she was going to play the game and go on the dates, it was only fair that her producers found her some guys who weren’t utter cretins.

“Tell us your name, please.” Laurel’s voice came from somewhere out of frame.

“Jackson Trask,” the guy said.

Madison noted his broad shoulders and his toned—but not too beefy—arms. So far, so good.

“Where are you from, and what brought you to L.A.?”

Jackson shifted in his seat and smiled right into the camera lens. Madison smiled back as if he could see her. He was a natural. “I’m from Wisconsin—go Packers!—and I’ve been here for a year and a half. I live in Studio City now.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m developing my portfolio . . . and, uh, waiting tables at Mr. Chow’s.”

“Your portfolio?” Laurel asked. Madison was pretty sure she could hear her take a sip of coffee.

Jackson nodded. “Modeling. I’ve done a few shoots. I could have done more, but, well, sometimes the photographers ask for . . . special favors.”

“Mmm,” Laurel said.

“Oh my God, I’ve heard about that,” Gaby said. “You know what he means, right? He means sexual favors.”

“Shhh,” Madison said.

Then Laurel asked Jackson if he’d dated girls in L.A., and if he considered himself a romantic, and what he was looking for in a girlfriend.

“I like to bring a girl flowers,” Jackson said. “I like a girl to look good, so I don’t mind shopping with her.”

Then he went on to talk about how close he was with his mother, and how he loved kids, and how he was protective of his female friends—even his exes (only two!). “I mean, feminism hasn’t quite caught up to our basic biology,” Jackson said. “I think that women, no matter how strong they are, still want someone who can take care of them. And I want to be that guy.”

By this point, Madison was ready to fling up her hands and flee the room. “This guy is one hundred percent lying,” she said. “Like a girl with half a mind can’t see through his lines? Next!”

“I thought he seemed really nice,” Gaby said softly.

“No way,” Kate said, shaking her head. “Mad’s right. That guy was making everything up. He’s probably not even from Wisconsin.”

Gaby shrugged. “Well, I don’t like nice guys that much, anyway.”

She got up and did a quick little dance routine around the living room, and Madison took the opportunity to once again appreciate her new place. Trevor’s penny-pinching plan to put Kate and Carmen into Madison’s old apartment had certainly backfired: By the time Gaby got released from rehab, Kate’s former pad had been rented out to a pair of Las Vegas newlyweds. The only available apartment big enough for filming was the penthouse, which had four large bedrooms, three giant bathrooms, and a soaking tub so enormous Madison could practically swim laps.

“Ready for bachelor number two?” Kate asked, poking Madison with the Vogue magazine she’d been flipping through.

“I guess,” Madison said.

Next they listened to an interview with a BMX biker—not because Madison would ever date him, but because he was comic relief—and then they sat through a conversation between Laurel and a Seattle native named Brian, who was in his first year of law school at UCLA. He seemed perfect until it was revealed that he didn’t like dogs. Madison picked up Samson and gave him a giant kiss on the nose. “We can’t have that, can we, Sammy?” she cooed.

“This is harder than I would have thought,” Kate noted. “Like they say, ‘Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.’”

“Maybe Trevor’s picking jerks on purpose,” Madison mused.

“Payback for the drama?” Kate asked, smiling. “The quitting?”

“Yeah, and for the extensive, expensive rider,” Madison answered. She still felt a little thrill every time she thought about her revised contract. Her (and her trusted attorney’s) powers of negotiation had served her well over the years, from landing her first menial job in L.A. to securing her latest triumph, a campaign with an up-and-coming British makeup line (time to grow her brand on the other side of the pond!).

“You want to borrow Jay for a night, Mad?” Gaby asked.

Madison tried not to scoff. “Um, no thanks,” she said, unable to hide her disapproval.

“My counselor said he didn’t think Jay was good for me, but Trevor says he’s fine. And I feel like Trevor’s always looked out for me,” Gaby said.

Madison couldn’t precisely agree with that. When had Trevor looked out for anyone but himself? (Which, of course, was a trait Madison respected. Especially since her recent efforts to look out for other people had resulted in criminal charges.)

“Just admit that you still like him,” Kate said, poking Gaby with a toe.

Gaby nodded. “Yeah, I totally do. What can I say? I like bad boys. Also, oh my God, you should see the new Harley he got.”

Madison remembered when she felt that way about bad boys, too. Then Ryan Tucker—responsible, sane, generous Ryan Tucker—had changed everything.

Damn him.

As much as Madison wanted him out of her mind, Ryan simply wouldn’t go. When she’d been with Greg earlier, she’d found herself wishing desperately that he would vanish, and that Ryan would appear in his place. Even if that meant the camera had to vanish, too.

Carmen dipped her spoon into her frozen yogurt, carefully mixing in the bits of Heath Bar. She hadn’t been to Yogurtland in months, and she wanted to savor her first bite.

“You gonna eat that or just gaze at it lovingly?” Fawn demanded. She was halfway done with her Death by Chocolate cone already.

Lily laughed. “Carmen knows how to pace herself, unlike some people.”

“Whatever,” Fawn said, taking another big lick. “It’s going to melt all over her blouse.”

Carmen put the spoon in her mouth and closed her eyes. Salted caramel. Delicious.

Kate had been home when she left and had asked what she was up to, as if she wanted to hang out, but lately Carmen felt happier and more at ease without her. So she’d lied and said that she was going straight to her parents’ house. But things were never tense with Fawn and Lily like that. Once those two had gotten over their initial mistrust of each other, they’d all hung out constantly. It was fun. Easy. Silly. Of all the amazing things that had come from scoring the lead role in The End of Love, getting Lily as her makeup artist was among the top. Lily had turned into a great friend.

“Whatever yourself, Fawn,” Lily teased. “You look like a binge eater over there.”

Fawn stuck out her tongue, all gooey with chocolate. “So I hear the bitch is back,” she said, changing the subject.

“Yeah, and believe it or not, it’s actually better this way,” Carmen said. “I mean, Mad and I aren’t exactly BFFs, but without her, things got kind of boring.”

“You should have had me on more,” Fawn said. She seemed to think that Madison’s absence meant there would be more screen time for her. And she wasn’t subtle about it.

“Right, totally,” Carmen said, keeping her voice neutral. She hadn’t told Fawn that the powers-that-be thought she was around too much already. Lose the shadow, Trevor had told Carmen. She doesn’t play. They seemed to like Lily better, but Lily wasn’t particularly interested in being in front of a camera. She was more like Drew that way—or like how Drew used to be. Fine being in the background, but not interested in being a main story line.

Anyway, Carmen liked having friends who weren’t on the show. It was good to be able to hang out without needing to cover a list of talking points. With no cameras around (except for Lily’s iPhone, which was like another appendage), she didn’t have to worry about public embarrassment if she spilled a bit of yogurt on her new top, which she’d just done. Oops.

“So I did makeup for Mona Moore yesterday,” Lily said, chewing on the end of her straw.

“Oh, I love her talk show,” Carmen said as she attempted to wipe up the spot on her top with a napkin.

“Me too. She always has such crazy conversations with her guests. They tell her everything! That one where Gemma Kline basically confessed to being anorexic? That was insane! But FYI, Mona herself is completely lying about her age,” Lily said. “If she’s thirty-five, then my mom’s twenty.”

“So when she was born, she was already pregnant with you!” Fawn giggled.

Lily nodded. “Exactly.”

Carmen savored another bite of yogurt. There was no way this was fat-free. “That’s totally creepy, Fawn,” she said.

“No shit,” said Fawn. “So’s Gemma Kline. Have you seen that movie where she gets that awful disease and she turns all blue and stuff? I thought it was her best work, but maybe it’s because I enjoyed seeing her suffer.”

Carmen hadn’t seen it. She didn’t go to movies that much anymore. She knew she ought to, though. She ought to see what her competition was up to. For instance: What films had the girl who was currently shooting with Luke done? Carmen had no idea.

“So . . . what’s up with you lately, Fawn?” she asked. “Any new voice-over work?”

“Oh, I’m keeping busy,” Fawn said evasively.

“Faaaawn,” Carmen said. She knew Fawn wasn’t particularly proud of her voice-over jobs. “Come on. You can tell us. We’re friends, remember? Friends.”

Fawn gazed down at the remains of her yogurt cone. “I taped a tampon commercial,” she admitted.

Carmen and Lily both squealed with delight. “Oh my God,” Carmen said, “tell me it wasn’t the one where, at the end, the tampons all line up and dance the Macarena.”

Fawn turned scarlet. She wouldn’t look at them. “I plead the Fifth,” she said.

Carmen threw her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Hey! Don’t ever be ashamed of acting work,” she said. “(A) it pays, and (B) you’re on your way.”

“To where, though?” Fawn asked, looking suddenly more vulnerable than Carmen had ever seen her look.

Carmen gave her a squeeze, “To the top, hon,” she assured her. “To the top.”

Then she grabbed the hands of both of her friends. “We’re all going nowhere but up. Am I right?”

“Please, God, let her know what she’s talking about,” Fawn said to the ceiling.

“Nowhere but up,” Lily repeated.

Of course, that wasn’t what the tabloids were saying about Carmen (and they weren’t saying anything about Lily or Fawn). This week’s exaggeration: WITHOUT HER LEADING MAN, CARMEN CURTIS IN ROMANTIC FREE FALL. The headline was a pun on Luke’s new movie, in which he played a World War II parachutist. The cover showed a photograph of Luke Kelly and his hot new costar looking very cozy (it was for a scene so it didn’t bother Carmen) and next to it was a photo of Carmen talking on the phone, looking depressed. She knew exactly when it was taken—she’d seen the paparazzo lurking behind a newspaper stand. And she’d looked that way because she was listening to an old friend’s breakup story.

I’m looking sympathetic in that shot, you idiots! she wanted to yell. Not depressed!

It was really, really annoying. But by this point, Carmen was almost used to the mix of half truths and blatant lies. Sure, D-lish had gotten her lunch order right the other day—CARMEN CURTIS LOVES THE EGGPLANT PIZZA AT LAUREL HARDWARE!—but what about their claim that she’d gained five pounds in Luke’s absence? (It was only two!) And the bits about how “Little CC” and “indie darling Kate Hayes” are having “tense times”—that really bummed her out. How did they know?

On the bright side, at least they hadn’t mentioned anything about her interest in Scientology—something she’d jokingly mentioned to Fawn (who’d been so absorbed in selecting lipsticks at Sephora that she’d probably taken Carmen seriously).

“I’m so glad I have friends like you guys,” Carmen said now. “Let’s hit Maxfield’s and burn off some of these calories with shopping.”

“I thought you were going to your parents’ house,” Lily said.

“Later,” Carmen said. “First, I’m going to spend a month’s rent on shoes.”

When Carmen got to her parents’ front door that evening, she paused and wondered if she should knock. Sure, she had a key—but she didn’t live here anymore.

She rang the doorbell, and a moment later her mother was standing in the doorway, backlit in golden light from the hall chandelier.

Cassandra laughed gaily. “Come in, you goose, and never ring the doorbell again. Doorbells are for canvassers and Jehovah’s Witnesses.”

“Uh, I forgot my key,” Carmen said.

She didn’t want to make her mother feel bad. Now that they’d made up (even if the tabloids were continuing to report otherwise), she was careful not to make things weird between them again. They’d had lunch a couple times since their fight, but tonight was the first time Carmen had been back to her childhood home.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Cassandra said. “I’ve got a giant chicken in the oven.”

Carmen followed her into the spotless white kitchen, fragrant with garlic and rosemary and lemon. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Having a place to call her own was great in a lot of ways, but the kitchen she shared with Kate never smelled like anything but burnt coffee or takeout.

Compared to her Topanga Canyon home, living in her Park Towers apartment felt like living in a hotel. One lacking room service and a maid.

Carmen swiped an olive and a cherry tomato and popped them both in her mouth at the same time, one salty and the other sweet. “Where’s Dad?”

“Stuck in traffic. He’ll be here soon.” Cassandra emptied a container of arugula into a big wooden salad bowl. “So, what’ve you been up to lately?”

“Well, we’re filming the second season, but other than that, I’m sort of taking a break. Figuring out what to do next. What about you?”

Cassandra shrugged. “Not much. A Stevie Nicks tribute concert at Club Nokia. That’ll be nice. I like playing the smaller clubs. Reminds me of when I was starting out.” She slid a baguette toward Carmen. “Would you slice this for me?”

Carmen obeyed, and then whisked a quick vinaigrette for the salad without being asked. Her mother always put too much garlic in her salad dressing.

“How’s Luke?” Cassandra asked as she rummaged through a drawer. “Where is that meat thermometer?” she muttered.

“He’s good. I think.” Carmen paused. “We talked the other day, but what with the time difference and the long shooting hours—”

“Distance can make keeping in touch difficult,” Cassandra said.

Carmen nodded. She missed Luke a lot, actually, and she wished she knew if it was more than she ought to. Things were so . . . unstated between them. Was he thinking about her as much as she was thinking about him? There was no way to know.

Unless, of course, she simply came out and asked him. But she didn’t have the guts. How ironic: In the role of Julia Capsen, Carmen swears her undying love to him. But as herself, she couldn’t ask if she was his girlfriend. “Well, I’m sure things will work out between you two,” her mother said with a smile.

That was Cassandra: always the optimist.

Of course, it was also possible that she simply wanted to change the subject. Because when Carmen made a vague noise of assent, Cassandra launched into some long story about a feud between two of their neighbors that had ended with one of them taking a golf club to the other one’s vintage Corvette.

The chicken was done and resting on the counter, and Carmen had heard more about her neighbors than she ever cared to know, when Philip Curtis burst in through the back door.

“Smells delicious in here,” he said. He gave Cassandra a kiss that lasted a bit too long for Carmen’s taste, and then came over and grabbed Carmen in a bear hug. “I’ve missed you, CC,” he said into her hair.

Carmen hugged her dad back. “I missed you, too,” she said. “You big oaf.”

He put his hands on his ample belly. “I’ll have you know that I’ve lost two and a half pounds in the last month,” he said.

“Careful, Dad, you might waste away,” Carmen teased.

“I know,” he said. “Hurry, let’s sit down and eat.”

At the table, Philip raised his glass in the same toast he’d been making for as long as Carmen could remember. “A toast to my amazing wife and daughter. May they remain forever beautiful and never grow tired of me.”

“Never,” said Cassandra, beaming at him.

“Where’s Drew?” Philip asked, turning to Carmen. “I thought he’d be here.”

Carmen sliced into her chicken. “I believe he’s spending the evening surgically reattaching himself to my roommate,” she said.

“Oh! Well then,” Philip said. He took a sip of wine. “I guess we’re the ones who’ll have all the fun.”

Cassandra smiled gently at her daughter. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Carmen said breezily. “I’m super happy for him.”

This was about ten percent true. Maybe twenty on a good day. Her mother’s glance suggested that she might understand this. But thankfully, she didn’t press the issue.

Carmen leaned back against the leather cushion of her chair. It was so nice to be home. The rooms were big and beautifully decorated. The couches were soft and draped with cashmere throws. Her bathroom was still stocked with her favorite beauty products, and her childhood bed, with its pale blue quilt and pristine white sheets, was upstairs, practically begging for her to crawl into it.

Oh, and the chicken her mother had made tasted even better than it smelled. Even with all of L.A.’s finest restaurants minutes from her doorstep, Carmen would choose her mother’s cooking every time.

She remembered how Madison had moved in with her father but pretended to still live with Gaby. Could she do that? Live here in Topanga, where the air smelled like lavender and eucalyptus and the refrigerator was always stocked with organic salads? Everything would be so much easier.

“So, you guys,” she said, sparingly buttering a slice of baguette. “I was thinking about my . . . living arrangements.”

“Oh, I’m glad you brought that up,” Cassandra said. “Your father and I have been talking about it.”

They’re going to invite me back home, Carmen thought happily. That is so fantastic, because I am really sick of Sushi Express.

Cassandra beamed at her. (She was doing a lot of beaming tonight, wasn’t she?) “We are so proud of you for living on your own. You’re learning so much—more than you even know. Remember that both your father and I left home at seventeen.”

“Yeah, yeah, and you fell in love when you were twenty-one,” Carmen said. She knew the whole gooey, romantic story and she didn’t need to hear it again. She wanted to get to the part where her mom told her she should move back in.

“Anyway, we think that it’s exactly the right thing for you at this time in your life,” Cassandra said. “As much as we miss you, we feel that it’s important for you to be independent.”

Carmen, surprised, looked toward her father. He nodded.

“Independence,” he said. “It’s one of the greatest gifts a parent can give his child.” He paused to spear a piece of chicken. “Besides good looks. But your mother handled that, didn’t she?” He mugged for her, but Carmen couldn’t smile.

She felt like she was having trouble breathing. But she wouldn’t let them see that. “Sure,” she said. “Of course. That’s totally what I was thinking.”

She was too proud to ask them about taking the block off the credit card. She’d have to suck it up. Which meant she’d probably need to take back those Rick Owens boots she bought with Lily and Fawn a mere three hours ago.

It was ironic, Carmen thought. You spent your whole childhood wanting to be a grown-up, and then when you became one, you wished your parents would just keep on taking care of you.

And when they refused? Well, you were on your own.

She thought back to her afternoon with Fawn and Lily and felt grateful to them all over again. Thank goodness she had friends to count on.

Kate gazed out the window of Todd P. Barrows’s office in downtown L.A. She could see the Staples Center in the near distance, its red lights flickering in the misty, late January rain.

“Carrie Underwood played there the other night,” Todd said, appearing over her shoulder. “Didn’t quite sell out, though.”

Kate turned around to face her new manager. “How could you sell that place out? It must seat, like, fifteen thousand people.” She couldn’t imagine ever playing somewhere like that.

“Try twenty,” Todd said, steering her over to a chair on the opposite side of his desk.

Kate felt too agitated to sit, but she knew she needed to give PopTV “the most felicitous camera angle,” as Stephen Marsh had put it. So she sat down before he could send her a bossy text. (Kate found the new producer totally annoying, and couldn’t for the life of her understand why Sophia thought he was cute. Sometimes she wondered if the feeling was mutual—though she was pretty sure that was a wedding band on Stephen’s finger.)

Drew was seated in the chair next to her, looking oddly relaxed. He smiled at Kate, and she knew that if she were capable of being calmed down, Drew would be the one to do it. He’d brought her breakfast in bed that morning—Froot Loops, of course—and he’d offered his opinions on all nine outfits she’d nervously tried on, attempting to find the right mix of perky and punk. (Luke never would have had the patience for that: Drew was The Best.)

“Can I get you some water?” Todd asked. “Tea? Coffee?”

Kate shook her head so quickly it hurt her brain. She really needed to chill. “No thanks.”

Todd smiled. “Don’t be so anxious. It’s not like you’ve never been here before. Also, Drew—tell her about the beverage rule.”

Kate raised her eyebrows. Beverage rule?

Drew grinned. “Basically, anytime you take a meeting with someone, they’re going to offer you something to drink. And you should always say yes, even if you have no intention of drinking it. It’s polite.”

“That’s right,” Todd said, nodding. “We have interns whose entire job description is Beverage Fetching.”

Kate looked back and forth between them. She couldn’t tell if they were kidding or not, and she didn’t want to be a dope and ask. Todd was gazing at her expectantly.

“Um, I’ll have a water?” she said.

He clapped his hands. “Excellent,” he said. He pressed a button on his phone and told the voice that answered to bring him three bottles of Pellegrino. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Now we can begin. Rumor has it you’ve got a new song I should hear.”

Kate nodded as she pulled Lucinda from her case. Keep calm, she reminded herself. This is an audience of two. Well, plus the PopTV camera crew, but she was used to them by now.

She’d already warmed up in the parking lot outside, so she dove right into the song. A melodic, catchy intro, and then the words: “I never had a day like this / I dreamed about a kiss like this / Whoever said dreams can’t come true / Has never met someone like you . . .”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Drew tapping his foot. Todd’s face, though, was blank.

“All the things I should have said / When I woke up next to you in bed / They didn’t matter anymore / Just hold me close and lock the door . . .”

When she was done, she set Lucinda back in her case and took two deep breaths before she looked up at her manager.

His expression was dark. He hit a button on his phone. “Hello? The Pellegrino?” he demanded. Then he turned to Kate and smiled. “That was great,” he said. “Smart, sassy, poppy. Perfect.”

As his words sunk in, she felt her phone buzz beside her in the chair. NICE WORK, Stephen had texted, thereby breaking Laurel’s rule against unnecessary texts during shooting.

“Yes,” Todd went on, “I’ve got some good news for you, Kate.”

“You do?” Her heart fluttered hopefully in her chest.

“We’re going to have you do a showcase. You’ve got a handful of great new songs, so you’re ready for it. We’re going to give the labels who’ve expressed interest a chance to see what you can do. Up close and personal.”

Kate sucked in her breath. “Wow, that’s amazing. I think? I guess I don’t actually know what a showcase means, but it sounds good.” She glanced over at Drew. His expression was unreadable.

“That’s what I’m here to tell you,” Todd said. He snatched the waters from the flustered-looking intern who’d finally come in, and then he explained the concept of the showcase.

Kate’s mind whirled as she listened. Todd’s management company would rent a fancy rehearsal room, complete with an engineer and a full stage. They would invite A&R executives from various labels, and Kate would perform two or three songs for each group of executives. And, to hear Todd tell it, by the end of the day, she’d have a record deal.

“That sounds . . . terrifying,” Kate said. She didn’t want to be ungrateful, but “terrifying” actually didn’t even come close to describing how it sounded.

“It is,” Drew said. He sounded grave. “I’ve sat on those couches, watching bands perform.”

“You’re going to be great,” Todd said.

Kate looked to Drew. She wanted to believe Todd, but Drew knew her. He understood how she still struggled with stage fright. Even though she had come a long way, she still wasn’t always comfortable in front of a crowd.

“What do you think?” she asked him. “Does that sound good?”

Drew gazed out the window for a moment and then turned back to her. “Sure, it’s one way to do it. But there are other ways.”

“Like what?” Kate asked.

He shrugged. “I mean, personally? I think you should keep playing around town and building up your confidence. And I think you should have another handful of songs. You should have more of a demo album. Something to send to the A&R guys.”

Todd exhaled loudly. “So it can sit in a stack of four million other demo albums? No, they need to see Kate. I mean, look at her! Those blue eyes! That smile! They’re going to love her.”

Kate flushed. “I don’t know about that,” she said, then gave a nervous giggle.

“Well, you can think on it,” Todd said, looking pointedly and perhaps somewhat angrily at Drew, “but don’t think too long. In this business you have to strike while the iron’s hot!”

“I know,” Kate said. “I’d hate to miss my chance, but I also want to do this right. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

Todd said to Drew, “See? Looks and brains. I mean, come on, Drew, you think she’s the bee’s knees. Why won’t everyone else? Don’t hide her light under a bushel. Remember: Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Kate wondered if Todd was going to bust out any more clichés. Apparently, Drew had the same thought.

“I’m more the ‘a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’ type,” he said. “She has solid interest from two mid-sized labels. I don’t know that she should chase them off by going after the big guns with a showcase. But Kate, the decision is yours. Just remember, you only get one chance at a first impression.”

Kate bit her lip and knocked her toes against the leg of Todd’s desk. Should she do the showcase? Take the risk?

Her phone buzzed again. YES YES YES, Stephen had written.

Of course PopTV would want her to agree to it—a showcase would make for a much more exciting story line. They probably already had the space scouted and cleared.

She could almost imagine Trevor rubbing his hands together in excitement. Either she’d do great and get signed to a record label, which would majorly raise her profile—or else she’d utterly bomb, and then Trevor could make it a centerpiece of a “heartbreaking, bittersweet” (or some other BS) episode of The Fame Game.

She knew she owed it to her producers to say yes. She owed it to herself to do what was right for her career.

She stared down at her feet in their new Belle by Sigerson Morrison booties. Why should those things be mutually exclusive? If Todd said she was ready, shouldn’t she listen to him? That was what she was paying him for, after all. As amazing as Drew had been, he was just an intern. He still had a lot to learn about the music business. They both did.

She set her jaw. This was her career. Her life. She couldn’t keep sitting on the sidelines. “I say we go for it.”

She smiled at her decision and turned to Drew.

He looked significantly less pleased.

Carmen fished a leather Gucci key chain from the bottom of her oversized purse and let herself into Luke’s cozy Venice bungalow. Then she dropped down on the worn olive-green couch and exhaled a sigh of relief. She was blissfully alone.

She hadn’t exactly jumped at the opportunity to keep an eye on Luke’s house while he was filming abroad. Even though she really liked him, and kind of owed him for letting her crash there, she didn’t like the idea of driving all that way to visit an empty house. (If he’d been lying in bed, waiting for her—that would have been a different story.) But back then Carmen hadn’t known that she’d be living with a couple who were currently in the most annoyingly lovey stage of their relationship, either. So in a way, Luke’s house had become something of a refuge.

Earlier that afternoon, when Drew came in after class and went straight to the refrigerator as if he had stocked it himself, and when Kate had hurried in and wrapped herself around Drew as if she hadn’t seen him in weeks, Carmen piped up and said: See ya! Gotta check on Luke’s!

So here she was, grateful for silence and solitude.

Missing Luke. Wondering how the filming was going, and if he was thinking about her as much as she was thinking about him. . . .

And wondering if she could live here instead of at her parents’, while pretending to still live with Kate and Drew. Was there any way Trevor would go for it? If not, could she hide it from him? There was no way he could know where she was all the time. (Though with the caravan of paparazzi that routinely followed her each day he’d quickly catch on.)

Carmen got up and poured herself a glass of water in the kitchen, and then gave some to the potted succulents by the sink (miniature jade plants, a cactus with a strange red protrusion on top, and a sad-looking aloe). She remembered eating breakfast with Luke as the sun poured in through the window. How he’d smile at her, all sleepy and rumpled. How the air held the delicious smell of coffee, and how sometimes the ocean breeze came whistling through the eaves. And how she’d smile back at him, still a little bit shy, and the next thing she knew he’d be pulling her onto his lap, his warm hands finding the buttons on her shirt. . . .

Carmen took a gulp of water. Those were the days, she thought, and she wished they could have lasted longer. Maybe the two of them could have figured out what was going on between them. As things stood now, they weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but they weren’t not boyfriend and girlfriend. They were in a weird Limbo Land, which was a fine enough place to be when they were both on the same continent, but it got lonely with him thousands of miles away.

She knew it was good for Luke’s career, but she really wished he hadn’t booked that part last minute and jetted halfway across the world.

For the next three months.

Maybe part of the problem was that she didn’t have anything to do with herself lately. Not that filming The Fame Game wasn’t work—it was—but there was nothing else on her iCal but lunch dates and salon appointments. She’d gotten used to the crazy hours of movie shoots, and now that she wasn’t on set, the days seemed long and empty. Especially with Luke gone, and with Krew in her face all the time.

But she wasn’t ready to dive into another project, especially because she wasn’t finding the perfect Next Thing. She’d turned down a role in a romantic comedy because she’d hated the director’s previous movie, as well as a part in an animated feature because she felt it was too small. After all, she’d just starred in a guaranteed blockbuster. No more supporting roles for this girl.

These were, to use her mother’s term, “Champagne problems.” Problems someone like Fawn would kill to have. Which was why Carmen didn’t talk to her about them much: Fawn would try to be supportive and understanding, but as a person whose most recent job was the voice-over for an embarrassing tampon commercial, there would be limits to her sympathy. Carmen could imagine her staring in disbelief: You turned down a role in an Actual Movie? she’d shriek.