Carmen settled herself onto a stool next to them. “Better,” she said. “You guys aren’t going to believe this, but . . .” She paused, biting her lip and smiling hugely at the same time.
“But you’ve finally taken my advice and booked your first Restylane treatment,” Gaby said. “I’m telling you, it’s going to change your life. Say good-bye to nasolabial folds!”
Carmen looked at Gaby as if she’d lost her mind. “What? No!” She was all but bouncing up and down on her stool. “I got the part in The End of Love.”
Kate flung her arms around her friend. “Oh my God! I knew you could do it! Congratulations!”
“That’s amazing,” Gaby said. “What part?”
“The lead,” Carmen squealed, and Gaby clapped her hands excitedly.
“This calls for a bottle of Champagne,” Gaby said, signaling the waiter. “Bring us some Dom,” she called. “We’re celebrating!”
Kate saw that Carmen’s entrance and the flurry of their excitement had brought attention their way; there was a trio of girls staring at them now, their faces revealing a mix of awe and longing. Kate gave them a little wave, even though, as far as they were concerned, she was a nobody. One of the girls raised her eyebrows in a Who the hell are you? expression. Kate smiled. Maybe, in a few weeks, after The Fame Game premiere, that girl would remember this moment and realize that Kate was someone famous, too.
Famous. She shook her head at the thought. It really was just too weird to imagine.
“—and so Colum was like, ‘You really surprised me. I wasn’t expecting to be so moved,’ and I was like, ‘You have no idea how thrilling this is,’” Carmen was saying. She was talking a mile a minute. The waiter had poured them all Champagne by then, but Carmen hadn’t even noticed.
“What about Madison?” Gaby asked hopefully. “Did she get a part?”
This stopped Carmen’s breathless monologue. She frowned lightly. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t think to ask.”
Kate glanced surreptitiously in Laurel’s direction. She would know, wouldn’t she? Laurel met Kate’s eyes and shook her head.
Poor Madison, Kate thought. Wherever she was now, she was not enjoying a bottle of celebratory Champagne.
Trevor Lord was feeling very pleased with himself. This was not exactly a rare occurrence—he tried to find reasons to be pleased with himself on a daily basis—but this afternoon’s sense of self-satisfaction was a particularly sweet one.
The Fame Game premiere was a month away, and already he had the seeds for a full season’s worth of plotlines: Madison’s family drama, plus her desperate and occasionally misguided attempts to make it to the next level. Madison’s ongoing makeover of girl-next-door Kate. The blossoming friendship between Carmen and Kate, which he could complicate (at least on-screen) by playing up the tension between Carmen and Madison. Carmen’s new role in what was sure to be a hit movie. And of course there was Gaby, who was ever a source of comedy (Did she really say that?) and speculation (Has she gotten even more work done?). Although it was getting harder to fake continuity with her, since her face and body were constantly changing. He had sat her down last week and requested she hold off on any more face work until they wrapped the season.
Yes, there were many things to be happy about. “We’re missing something, though,” he said to Dana, who was typing madly on her BlackBerry and didn’t look up. He cleared his throat. “We just need one more element.”
Finally Dana looked up. “Pardon?” she asked. “We need what?”
Trevor smiled at her. She worked so damn hard. He should give her a vacation someday. But he probably wouldn’t. “Romance,” he said. “The only thing this series is lacking is a love interest.”
Dana nodded. “Right. What about that Drew guy? Carmen’s friend?”
Trevor shook his head. “I thought he’d do something for us, but he’s a nonstarter.”
“Well, Jordan said—”
“Who the hell is Jordan?” Trevor interrupted.
“He’s on the crew,” Dana said. “He’s a location assistant. Anyway, he just mentioned that he saw Carmen looking pretty chummy with that Australian actor.”
“Australian?”
“You know, what’s his name? He’s going to be in the movie with her. God, all these actors look the same to me. Nick—no, wait—Eric—no, Luke. Luke Kelly.”
“Luke Kelly, huh? Very interesting.”
In fact, it was much more than interesting. It was all Trevor could do not to rub his hands together with glee. Luke Kelly, the next It guy and the lead opposite Carmen in The End of Love. Come to think of it, Colum McEntire had mentioned that the chemistry between those two had been undeniable. He smiled wolfishly at Dana. This was brilliant. If this was true (and frankly, even if it wasn’t) he had his romance angle, complete with a charming accent.
Yes, things were going well, for him and for the girls. Kate had done great at her second open mic, and Carmen had been so good in her audition that Trevor hadn’t even needed to twist an arm for her to get cast. Gaby was Gaby; she’d always say the wrong thing at the right moment and be fine. Then his thoughts shifted to Madison, the one he’d told would be his shining star.
Her audition had been terrible, and she and everyone else knew it. He’d had to beg for her to get a role, and he really did hate begging. But he’d gotten her one. It was small, but it was enough. Enough to keep Madison happy? Probably not, especially since he had to practically twist her arm to get her to that audition. But enough to keep fueling the rivalry between Madison and her more talented castmate, Carmen? Yes. And that was all that really mattered in the end.
One way or another, Trevor would make sure that sparks would be flying on The Fame Game.
“These are almost perfect,” Madison said. She plucked a minuscule piece of lint from the charcoal wool slacks her father wore and flicked it onto the floor. “I want a cuff on them, though,” she directed.
The salesman, his mouth full of pins, nodded and began to fold up the hem. Charlie stood stock-still, but he smiled at Madison in the mirror.
They’d spent a lot of time together since her visit to his motel, both on- and off-camera. Sue Beth had finally sent the box of his letters that she’d kept hidden, and Madison had read them all in one tear-soaked sitting. (Dear Maddie, It’s fall so you must be getting ready to start sixth grade. I hope you have a pretty new dress to wear on your first day of school. . . . My dear Mads, Your old man misses you so much! I bet you’re getting taller by the day. . . .)
After
