way in. Funny how Fawn had developed a habit of casually dropping by whenever cameras were rolling. Not that Carmen minded. It was fun to have her actual friend be a part of her fake reality every once in a while.
Fawn waltzed into the room, flung her glasses on the couch, and put her feet up on the tiny part of the coffee table that wasn’t covered with costume accessories. “So I have a little information that might be of interest to you,” she said, “concerning one of your friends.”
Carmen thought first of Kate. Had Fawn heard from her? Then Alexis gave her a sharp poke in the ribs. “Put your shoulders back,” she snapped. “You’re not going to slouch like that on camera, are you? You’re a princess. Also, who is this person and why is she here?”
Carmen stood up straighter. She should probably be imagining herself as Julia Capsen, post-apocalyptic princess, even as she was being fitted. But she was dying to know what Fawn had to tell her. “Spill it,” she said to Fawn. To Alexis, she said, “She’s my friend. It’s fine.”
Alexis sniffed. “That means nothing to me. Daisy Dukes here can have five minutes and then I need silence.”
“So,” Carmen said, turning to Fawn, “tell me.”
Fawn couldn’t hide her smirk. “That bottle-blond bitch has been convicted of stealing that diamond necklace, and she has to pay back the store. Plus—this is the good part—she has to do like a million years of community service at Lost Paws.”
Carmen wasn’t sure she heard Fawn right. “Los Paz?” she asked. “The Mexican restaurant on La Brea?”
Fawn let out a delighted cackle. “No, dummy, Lost Paws. It’s an animal shelter. I just read it on TMZ.”
“Well, that sounds all right,” Carmen said. “I’d rather walk a stray dog than chop cilantro. I hate cilantro.”
“Oh no,” Fawn said, shaking her head. “My friend Jeff went there once, and he calls it Lost Cause. You won’t find any rescue bichons frises there. No cute little teacup poodles, unless they’re missing an eye and have a thing for eating your underwear. They take dogs that bite, cats that pee on your pillow … It’s like San Quentin for pets.” Fawn could hardly contain her glee. “It’s soooo good, right?”
“Wow,” Carmen said, as Alexis grappled her out of the golden dress and tossed a pair of leggings at her. “I mean, it’s not like I’m her biggest fan, but poor Madison.”
“Poor Madison nothing,” Fawn said. “That girl got off easy. She may have to spend the next couple months accessorizing around a pooper-scooper, but she committed a crime—a serious one—and she isn’t getting any time.”
Carmen looked pointedly at her friend as she struggled to pull the leggings over her calves. What was all this material they were using—had space engineers woven the fabric? “May I remind you that you might have gotten something similar, had not a certain person stepped in and taken the blame?”
Fawn’s eyes widened and she turned briefly toward the PopTV camera before stopping herself. “Oh, please. That tank top was worth less than two hundred bucks. I would have gotten a slap on the wrist.”
Oops, Carmen thought, remembering the camera. Well, no going back now. “But you didn’t have to get that slap,” she pointed out. “I got it instead.” If Trevor decided to use this footage, then the world would know that Carmen wasn’t a shoplifter after all. Maybe her dad would finally stop being mad at her for taking the blame for Fawn.
“Suck in your stomach,” Alexis hissed, and Carmen immediately complied.
Fawn sighed. She was clearly annoyed that Carmen had brought the matter up on camera, but was trying not to show it. “I know, and you’re an absolute angel. Do you have any Zone bars around here? I’m starving.”
Carmen couldn’t help but laugh again, which prompted Alexis to frown deeply at her. Fawn was so … Fawn. She was self-centered and gossipy, but she was also funny and smart. And she was a good actress, too. When they first met in that acting class in WeHo, it was Fawn who’d been the best student. As Carmen listened to her friend rooting around in the cupboards and drawers, she wished, under her breath, that Fawn would get a break one of these days. Her voice-over work was paying the bills, but Fawn wanted to be seen. Maybe if she made it past Trevor’s edit, someone would notice her.
“These Cheerios expired last year,” Fawn called. “Also, I don’t get this fat-free half-and-half crap. It’s half what, and half what else? Just drink the coffee black, for God’s sakes.”
Alexis looked up at Carmen from the floor, where she was adjusting the cuff of the leggings. “If you don’t get her out of here in the next minute, I am going to throw her out the window.”
Looking into Alexis’s fiery black eyes, Carmen could almost believe this.
“Hey, Fawn,” she called. “I sort of have to deal with this now. Want to meet later?”
“Always,” Fawn said, coming into the room with a handful of Zone bars. “You don’t mind if I take these, do you?”
“No,” Carmen said. “I don’t. If I want to wear these costumes without passing out, I’m going to need to eat air for the next few weeks. Air and lettuce.”
“Don’t lose more than three pounds,” Alexis said sternly. “Or I’m going to have to do this all over again.”
Having this costume fitting had seemed so glamorous until Carmen was actually in the middle of it. In reality, it was about as pleasant as a trip to the dentist.
“I won’t,” she whispered.
“That’s what I want to hear,” Alexis said. Then she smiled, and it was like being smiled at by a spider.
“Later,” Fawn called. She let herself out, but then poked her head back inside. “Oh, and those leggings you’re in now? I swear I saw it on that guy over on Robertson who wears Rollerblades and carries a boom box on his shoulder.”
Carmen raised her hand as if to wave good-bye to Fawn, but instead she gave her the finger.
“Kisses!” Fawn called, and then she was gone.
Carmen shook her head in amusement. It was appropriate that she worked in entertainment, because she certainly knew a lot of characters.
Madison sat in the parking lot of Lost Paws, sipping the cooling dregs of her nonfat latte and gazing grimly at the dirty white building in which she would be spending three hundred court-ordered hours. Its paint was stained and peeling; steel bars covered its small windows. On the other side of its chain-link fence was a mini-mart (Slushees only fifty-nine cents!) and a dingy-looking Laundromat. It was a Southern California no-man’s-land—a place of barren streets and merciless sun.
Her phone buzzed on the seat next to her. ICED COFFEES BY THE POOL LATER—YOU IN?
The text was from Kate. Madison appreciated how she reached out now and then—her concern seemed genuine (unlike, say, Sasha’s). But Madison would not be joining
