The Fame Game, Starstruck, Infamous: 3 book Collection

Madison handed her AmEx to the hovering salesclerk. “The suit,” she said to him, “and these three ties and shirts. Have them sent to this address.” She handed him one of her business cards with an address scribbled on the back. “How long will it take?”

“A week,” he said.

“Perfect,” Madison said. And that word felt truer than ever.

* * *

Her next surprise was the really big one. Though she’d thought about inviting the PopTV cameras along, or at least a paparazzo or two (Madison and Dad kiss and make up!), she had decided, in the end, to keep the moment private.

She was supposed to drive Charlie back to the E-Z Inn, but instead she turned off La Brea onto Rosewood.

“Doll, I don’t know Los Angeles too well, but this doesn’t look like the way back to my place.” Charlie had lit a cigarette. Madison hated smoke (and the wrinkles it caused), but they’d agreed that he could smoke as long as the top was down.

“It isn’t?” Madison said, all fake innocence.

She pulled down a residential street lined with trees and manicured lawns. Her fingertips drummed the steering wheel with excitement. The place was absolutely perfect: a quiet neighborhood of modest, well-cared-for houses, close to Charlie’s job, Sophie’s apartment, and Madison’s own place. She turned into the driveway of a tiny brown bungalow. There was a white fence half-covered in roses and a front porch trellis practically dripping with bright fuchsia bougainvillea.

“Cute place,” Charlie said and took another puff on his cigarette. “One of your friends live here?”

“You could say that.” Madison smiled as she turned off her car. “C’mon.”

They climbed the front steps together and Madison pulled a key from her purse. She opened the front door to a sunlit room. The living room was modestly but tastefully furnished with a couch, an oversized chair, and a flat-screen TV. The dining area, attached to the bright kitchen, was big enough for a table of six. On the mantel, she’d placed an old photograph of her and Sophie and Charlie together. They were laughing, eating ice-cream cones.

“Do you like it?” Madison asked. Her dad wasn’t getting it. She smiled and a feeling of warmth flashed through her. Her father’s happiness was what she wanted right now most of all.

“What?” Charlie looked around the room. “Yeah, it’s really nice, but—” And that was when he saw the photograph. “Wait a second. Whose place is this?”

“Well, technically it’s mine,” Madison said. “But I want you to live here.”

Charlie gazed around the room in disbelief. “Here? You want me to live here?”

Madison nodded. “If it’s okay, I mean, if you want to, and you like it and—”

Charlie looked at Madison and then back at the picture of the three of them that he now held in his hands. “Nobody’s ever done anything like this for me. Not ever.”

His eyes glistened, and Madison watched as tears welled in them and then slipped down his cheeks. He ran the sleeve of his blue shirt over his face.

“Oh, don’t cry, Dad,” Madison whispered. “It’s just a little two-bedroom house. But it’s got two bathrooms, too, and a washer and dryer, a yard, a kitchen—”

“Wait,” Charlie said. His voice sounded almost sharp. Madison stopped and turned back to him. Oh no. He wasn’t happy—he didn’t like it after all!

“What is it?” she asked.

“Sweetpea, did you just call me ‘Dad’?”

A smile slipped over Madison’s face. She’d just called Charlie “Dad” without even thinking about it. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess I did.”

Madison’s good mood lasted for all of about fifteen minutes after arriving at the photo shoot for The Fame Game ads. Seeing Carmen perched in her chair, getting her makeup done and looking so damn nonchalant with all the primping and fussing, made Madison clench her fists in resentment. That little celebuspawn had probably had her first hair and makeup session before her first birthday. She was just so entitled.

Even worse, seeing Carmen reminded Madison of the auditions for The End of Love. That particular day had involved the sort of humiliation that Madison Parker did not want to experience again. Sure, she’d gotten a role, but it was as The Girl Who Gets Killed in the First Five Minutes. (That was really going to beef up her IMDb page, wasn’t it?) She glanced over at Carmen again: the lead. Of course they’d given that role to her. Madison had never had a chance against Carmen “My Parents Own Hollywood” Curtis, and Trevor Lord had known that when he pitted the two of them against each other.

She smiled grimly. That was probably why he called his show The Fame Game: Like in a round of poker, there were winners and there were losers. Carmen Curtis had been born with a full house, while Madison Parker had to fight for every lousy pair and bluff her way through the game.

“Madison,” Laurel called. “We need you in makeup.” She pointed to a chair to the right of the set they’d be shooting on. “Have a seat.”

Madison sighed and walked over. Normally she would have had her own team do her hair and face—she didn’t trust the PopTV people to get her look right—but she hadn’t had time because she’d been with Charlie. She’d just have to cross her fingers and hope for the best.

As some gum-popping dingbat blew out her hair, Madison watched her castmates in the mirror. Kate and Gaby were dressed and ready to go. Wardrobe had put Gaby in a chiffony coral dress, probably to hide how thin she was. Kate was wearing a little red number that was sleek without being particularly sexy. (Wouldn’t want to knock her too far out of her cargo-pant and Gap tee look!) There was an orange dress hanging on a rack for Carmen. And Madison—the star—would be wearing gold.

Trevor arrived then, flanked by two assistants. “Ladies,” he said, “are we excited or what?” He took off his sunglasses and gave Madison a wink. Madison offered him a sultry smile in return. No, she didn’t think Trevor was attractive, but he didn’t have to know that, did he?

“We’re going to shoot you against this plain backdrop,” he informed them. “And then in the posters, we’ll make it look as if you’re standing in front of the Hollywood sign. Like you’re way up above the city, looking down on it all—but you’re also standing with your heels in the dirt. It’s a study in glamorous contradictions.”

Kate nodded, wide-eyed. She was eating up his BS. Gaby wasn’t paying attention, but there was nothing unusual about that. Madison glanced over at Carmen, who was getting a final touch-up.

“I like it,” Carmen said as her makeup person dusted her cheeks with a bit of shimmery powder. “Good concept.”

Suck-up, Madison thought. Her own makeup person was lining her eyes with a smoky shadow. “Careful,” she warned. “Keep it close to the lash line. I don’t want to look like a raccoon.”

Carmen popped out of her chair and went to change into her dress. A moment later, she and Kate were over at the craft services table, picking at a giant tray of fresh fruit and laughing about something. Laurel joined them, and then all three shared some stupid giggle session.

Trevor walked over to stand behind Madison, and his eyes met hers in the mirror. “So, after the shoot, we’ll do the voice-over recording,” he said.

“Of course,” Madison said. “I’m totally prepared.”

“Great. I’m actually going to have everyone read—”

“What?” Madison interrupted.

“I’m going to have everyone read. I want to see whose voice makes the most sense—whose inflection is the most relatable.”

“You want to see whose inflection is the most relatable?” Madison repeated, aghast. “What the hell does that mean?”

Trevor gazed at her calmly. “It means I want to see who does it best,” he said.

Madison was speechless. He’d promised her the voice-over back when he’d asked her to be on the show. Whoever did the voice-over was the de facto main character—the star. The person through whose eyes the rest of the world would see Hollywood. Which meant that it had to be her.

“But Trevor,” she began.

Trevor held up a hand like he knew what she was going to say, and he didn’t want to hear it. Like he didn’t care that he was reneging on a promise. Honesty meant nothing to a TV producer.

Madison wanted to scream at him. She wanted to leap from her chair and tackle him. She wanted to tighten that ugly navy tie around his neck until he could no longer breathe. But she knew that this would get her nowhere. When he’d approached her back in June, Trevor had made it sound like The Fame Game was her show. But at the end of the day, it was always his show. And there was nothing she could do about it.

“Let’s get our pictures taken, shall we?” he said. His tone was light but his eyes were steel. They said to Madison: Do not fuck with me.

Her makeup and hair were done, so she slipped on the golden dress that wardrobe had laid out for her. It was small comfort, having the prettiest dress out of all the cast members.

Laurel positioned the girls in various groupings, and the camera shutter clicked madly.