volunteers following her. As Hazel (or was it Ivy?) passed by her, Madison readied herself to smile again. She had to be nice to her fans, even under these unfortunate circumstances. But the girl stared out from beneath her greasy bangs and said, “Scarlett should have challenged you to a cage match, you backstabbing bitch.”
Madison flinched. That wasn’t what she’d expected. But she sat up straighter and smiled. “Sure,” she said sweetly. “And I would have kicked her skinny, angsty college ass.” Then she turned away and stared at the ancient coffeemaker and the dusty vending machine until Glory returned.
When she did, Madison held out the gloves. “These must be for Stan, right? The guy with the arms? Because they’re giant.”
Glory smiled pertly. “Nope. They’re for you. Try them on.”
Reluctantly Madison did as she was told. What was she going to have to do? The gloves were much too big and they smelled like a petroleum by-product. She flexed her fingers. “I feel like my hands are paws.”
“Then maybe it’ll give you some empathy for the animals,” Glory said.
“I have plenty of empathy,” Madison retorted.
“Oh, I’m sure you do, dear.” But bubbly Glory sounded pretty darn sarcastic.
Madison decided not to pick a fight. She could convince these people of her compassion some other time. Or … not. Whatever. “Anyway,” she said. “Show me which cute little puppy you want me to walk.”
Over in the corner, that gorgeous guy made a noise in his throat. Was it a cough? A laugh? Madison couldn’t be sure.
“Uh, right,” Glory said. “Come with me.”
The cameras followed them down a narrow hallway lined with laundry hampers and mop buckets. Wild barking was coming from somewhere, and from somewhere else, a terrible, high keening that sounded almost human.
“Here we go,” Glory said brightly. She opened a heavy metal door and gestured for Madison to walk in.
The room was windowless; it held stacks of metal cages. The air was thick with excremental stench, and Madison nearly stumbled from the olfactory assault.
“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
