Starstruck

“But there aren’t any animals in here,” she said, her voice tight. She didn’t want to open her lips very much because she was afraid of letting the horrible smell into her mouth.

“Nope!” Glory said. “But there will be. And that’s why I need you to clean these cages.” She pulled a bucket and a giant bottle of bleach down from a shelf. “The water in that faucet is cold,” she said, pointing to the small industrial sink. “If you want hot, you’ll have to hoof it back to the break room.” She gave Madison what was clearly an insincere smile. “All set, then?”

Madison was so shocked that she didn’t even know what to say. And by the time she thought of something—Wait, what? Are you kidding me? Get me a kitten to pet, stat!—Glory was gone.

She stood silently in the dank, smelly room, surrounded by metal bars and shining locks. She looked in panic at Bret, the cameraman, and noticed he had a bandana wrapped over his face to mask the smell. It felt, she realized suddenly, a lot like jail. But jail, no doubt, was nicer.

“I’m not doing this,” she yelled to the empty room. “I am so not doing this!”

It was all she could do not to turn to Bret and mouth “What the fuck?” There was no way in hell she was going to clean all these cages. She remained motionless in the center of the room for a minute, and then she stormed back into the hallway. The camera quickly followed behind her. She found Glory by the front desk, showing one of the twins how to work the computer.

“No way,” Madison said. “You can’t make me do that.”

Glory looked up, her eyes glittering. “Oh, but yes, my dear, I can. This is your court-ordered community service. You can either clean those cages, or you can go back to the judge and see what other punishments he can find for you. I hear they need people at the morgue….”

Madison shuddered.

“Anyway,” Glory said. “I don’t make the job assignments. Ryan does.”

“Who’s Ryan?” Madison demanded.

“You’ll meet him later,” Glory said. “Now go clean.”

The next three hours were pure hell. Madison nearly passed out twice from the stench of the dirty cages. She broke a nail, and the soapy water destroyed her Chanel flats. (She made a note to wear her Jimmy Choo hunter boots the next time around.) And no one came to check on her, to see if she was hungry or if she needed help or if she could use a break. She threw a mini fit around lunch-time, but only the PopTV camera paid any attention.

By the fourth hour, Madison was cursing to herself. “I think we’re done here,” said Bret. “The smell is kind of getting to me. And they said it’ll probably take you the rest of the day to finish.” He looked thrilled to be leaving, and no wonder.

So now Madison was utterly alone. Until she turned around and saw the hot guy she’d spotted earlier, leaning in the doorway.

“Oh, hey,” she said, giving her hair a toss and trying to muster as much sex appeal as possible (which was not much, considering her state of disarray). Maybe Trevor had hired this guy to spice up her community-service story line. “Did you come to rescue me?” She smiled.

The guy shook his head as he took a step into the room. He did not look charmed by Madison’s smile; in fact, he was looking at her the way she’d look at gum stuck to the bottom of her Louboutin. “I’m Ryan,” he said. “And no, I didn’t.”

Well, that was enough to wipe the smile off her face. He wasn’t another volunteer at all. “So I have you to thank for this fantastic job,” she said, suddenly finding Ryan a lot less attractive.

“Fun, isn’t it?” he asked, offering a small smile. Dimples appeared in his tan cheeks.

Five hours ago, Madison might have fantasized about reaching out and touching one of those dimples. Or thought about running light kisses along his collarbone, or slipping her hand inside his shirt and feeling the warmth of his smooth skin. Instead she suddenly wanted to hit him with her purse. The big one with lots of hardware.

“I’m in charge of the volunteers,” Ryan said. “And you too, of course. I’ll be signing your attendance sheets and reporting on your progress to the judge.”

“Well, I hope you’ll tell him that I did a stellar job today,” Madison said bitterly. “And that I ruined a pair of six-hundred-dollar shoes in the process.”

“I’m pretty sure no one cares about that but you,” he said. He walked over to the cages and ran a finger along the now-gleaming bars. “Not bad,” he said. “Better than I expected.”

Madison ignored this. “How come you weren’t on camera?” she blurted.

“I didn’t sign a release,” said Ryan. His voice was brusque. “I don’t like cameras.”

“Huh. I thought that was practically a prerequisite to living in L.A.”

Ryan gazed at her. His green eyes were cool. “Not everyone’s a fame whore,” he said. And then he turned and left.

Madison reached down, took off her ruined shoe, and threw it after him. She missed, though, which was probably a good thing. No need to add assault to her charges, too.

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Kate eyed her cocktail with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. It looked delicious, but then the bartender had referred to it as a Nutty Bloody Scotsman, which had given her pause. It had whiskey and blood-orange juice or something, which sounded fine enough—but why nutty? Why bloody? Whatever happened to nice drink names, like the Tequila Sunrise or the Pink Lady?

She stirred the pinkish liquid with her cocktail stick and gazed around the dimly lit room. So far she and Gaby and Carmen and Madison were the only ones in it, unless you counted the bar staff and the PopTV camera crew. But the Library Bar at the Roosevelt was so tiny that it almost felt crowded.

Gaby had just filmed a spot here for her new job as the host of some late-late-late-night party-and-lifestyle show, and Trevor took the opportunity to get two scenes out of one location by gathering the whole cast here after Gaby’s shoot and turning it into a girls’ night out. It was the first time they had filmed all together since the premiere, and Kate was nervous. (That was how she’d ended up with the Scotsman: “Surprise me!” she’d told the bartender.) Things were tense with Carmen and awkward with Madison, and being able to have a satisfying conversation with Gaby was never guaranteed.

She snuck a glance at the exit. What if she just pretended like she didn’t feel well? Would Laurel let her leave? It was doubtful. Plus she hadn’t faked illness since third grade, when her mom stopped falling for it.

So Kate reached for her drink and bravely took a sip. She turned to Gaby, who was sitting next to her. “Not bad!” she said brightly. “Actually, it’s pretty good. What’s yours?”

“I got a Bad Habit,” Gaby said. “I don’t know what’s in it, though.”

“A Bad Habit? That’s appropriate,” Madison noted. “If only your glass had a picture of a tattooed guy on it.”

Gaby sniffed. “I don’t only date guys with tattoos,” she said. “It’s just—what’s that word?” She looked pensive for a moment. “A coincidence. It’s just a coincidence.”

Carmen laughed and tried to meet Kate’s eyes, but Kate looked away—not out of anger so much as confusion. Now that a little time had passed and practically everything in her life felt different, exactly how mad at Carmen was she? Kate had been ignoring her texts and messages because she wasn’t sure how to answer that question. A moment later, her BlackBerry buzzed. The text was from Laurel. TRY NOT TO LOOK LIKE UR BEING TORTURED.

Right! This was fun, wasn’t it? Girls’ night out!

Kate thought of the first time she’d gone out with her castmates, when filming had only just begun. That was the night she met Sophia, who was now officially part of the Fame Game lineup, although in a supporting role (which Kate knew annoyed her). It was also the night she’d met Luke Kelly.

Almost imperceptibly she shook her head: Best not to go down memory lane. Best to focus on what had changed for the better rather than for the worse. For instance, her wardrobe. Granted, she still needed helpful texts from Laurel (DRESS CUTE: MAYBE NEW NUDE DRESS & GIVENCHY BOOTIES?), but still. The old Kate wouldn’t have even known what Givenchy booties were. It was a miracle Luke had spent more than a minute with her.

Gaaah, stop thinking about Luke, Kate told herself. But the fact that she couldn’t was what made things still weird for her with Carmen. Carmen probably saw Luke every day, either at work or on a fake date. Of course, after Kate learned that the two had history, their attraction seemed a little less fake.

She fixed a bright smile on her face. Her job was to make conversation and have enough fun to fill four minutes of airtime, max—how hard could that be?

She took a deep breath and dove in. “So, Madison, I saw your picture in Life & Style the other day,” she said. But then she bit her lip in dismay. She was such an idiot: How could she have forgotten that the editors had Photoshopped Madison into a prison jumpsuit? Kate coughed loudly and tried to recover. “Your hair looked amazing,” she gushed. “Aren’t you the spokesperson for Joolie heat-styling spray?”

Madison nodded slightly as she crossed one slim, tan leg over the other. “I have a lot of endorsements,” she said. “Unlike some people.” Her eyes darted toward Carmen.

Carmen smiled slyly at this. “And maybe, thanks to your work at the shelter, you’ll get even more. Like, for a pet product or something,” she said.

Madison scoffed. “Weren’t you the face of that zit cream a couple of years back, Carmen? Of course, that wasn’t so much an endorsement as it was a testimonial, because no one had any idea who you were without your mom by your side.”

Kate saw Carmen’s cheeks flush. She’d had no idea that Carmen had done commercial work; she always seemed so … indie.

“TV ads pay great,” Carmen said, her voice sharper. “If you do enough of them, you can afford to buy your own diamonds.”

Madison inhaled and stiffened. Kate waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. She just turned away and took a sip of her pink-tinged drink.