wanted to know which PopTV genius had the idea to film at Santa Monica Pier, that tacky, run-down tourist trap jutting into the Pacific Ocean. Was Trevor trying to torture her by sending her to a place with gross food and grosser people? Or had he farmed out this shoot to Laurel, who seemed to enjoy watching Madison squirm?
Of course, the location wasn’t even the worst of it. Maybe, if she held her nose and wore her biggest, darkest sunglasses, she could tolerate being among the unwashed masses, their stupid carnival games and their greasy funnel cake carts. But could she face it with her sad-sack father and her sociopathic sister in tow? She wasn’t feeling her typical confidence.
Part of her bad mood came from her audition for The End of Love, which was weighing on her. She knew that some people accused her of having an overly inflated opinion of herself. Fine. But she wasn’t the type to lie to herself. In many things, Madison Parker was downright awesome. But in her reading with Luke Kelly, she had completely and totally sucked. The only saving grace was that the PopTV cameras were only permitted as far as the waiting room.
When Trevor pitched her this story line (it was more like he told her to go to the audition if she wanted screen time not with her freeloading family), she knew it wasn’t going to end well for her. She would look like exactly what she never wanted to be: an oblivious wannabe. Even if she could emote like Meryl Streep, there was no way in hell any director would take a chance on Madison. Nobody who came from reality TV had gone on to be taken seriously as an actress. (That girl from The Real World didn’t count—that was the ’90s, which was practically another lifetime.) But somehow she’d forgotten all that while she was learning her lines and rehearsing with Gaby. She’d let in a sliver of hope that she didn’t suck and that she’d have a chance, and for that she’d never forgive herself, or Trevor.
She cringed at the memory of stumbling over her lines. When she mispronounced the name of a minor character, she’d heard a snicker at the back of the room. She couldn’t relax at all; it was as if she’d split into two people, one of whom was trying desperately to do a decent job of reading the script and another who was hovering nearby, witnessing her failure. She wished she’d gotten her hands on some beta-blockers, or at the very least a Xanax, before the reading.
Now, as she turned around so the sound guy could attach a mike box to her bra strap, Madison tried to convince herself that she’d have another chance to do it better. She’d never acted before—surely Colum McEntire didn’t expect her to be perfect her first time!
Though, admittedly, in a way she’d been acting ever since she’d moved to L.A. Even before she was on L.A. Candy or Madison’s Makeovers or The Fame Game, she’d been pretending to be someone she wasn’t. She’d dyed her hair, spray-tanned her skin, and nipped and tucked in the places that needed it. Ever so carefully, she had constructed a new person; and, just as carefully, she had given that new person a fitting history.
Madison had dreamed up glamorous, wildly successful parents who were camera-shy, old-money jet-setters (which explained why no one could ever find them and put their pictures in a tabloid). She had told stories of a childhood spent mansion-hopping and teen years spent abroad.
Madison had been imagining better parents for herself ever since her days in Armor Falls. And, when she stopped to think about it, that was when she began her acting career, too. She’d acted as if she wasn’t embarrassed to be wearing the same pair of dirty jeans to school day after day. She acted as if she’d forgotten her lunch, when in fact there was no food in the house. She acted as if her mother was sick with the flu, as opposed to puking her guts out from a massive hangover (which Sophie, at least, always believed). She acted that she didn’t mind being unpopular, when every single day her loneliness was like a tiny knife piercing her heart.
Yes, Madison Parker was a born actress. Too bad she could only deliver lines that she herself had written.
Her BlackBerry buzzed, and she read Laurel’s text: LOOK TO UR LEFT.
Doing as she was told, Madison saw Sophie in the distance, slowly wending her way through the crowd. She knew she had a few more minutes before the cameras began to roll.
SO WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS? Madison texted back.
IT WAS A JOINT EFFORT, Laurel wrote.
Madison took that to mean that she’d come up with it and Trevor had approved. She also assumed the smiley face was sarcastic. Bitch.
She put her BlackBerry back into her purse. “You better not have us on any rides,” she yelled. “Those things are filthy.”
“Only the Ferris wheel,” Laurel called back. Then she quickly ducked behind the cameraman, as if she thought Madison might throw something at her.
Great. Madison hated heights. But this wasn’t something she wanted Laurel or Trevor to know, otherwise they’d schedule some outing where all The Fame Game girls went skydiving.
“And after the Ferris wheel we’ll do cotton candy and the shooting range,” Laurel added.
Madison rolled her eyes. Processed sugar and firearms. Perfect. Sophie was getting closer, and she squared her shoulders. It was time for some family bonding, maybe a trip down memory lane. She couldn’t think of anything she’d like less. Except for maybe riding the Ferris wheel.
“Maddy!” Sophie yelled, belatedly spotting the cameras and bounding toward them. She wore a giant floppy hat, another maxidress, and a pair of Birkenstocks. Her look was boho—hold the chic.
“Namaste,” Sophie said and wrapped Madison in a patchouli-scented hug.
Madison peeled her sister’s arms off her. She hated patchouli. And what was with the yogi act? The cameras weren’t even on yet.
“Where’s—you-know-who?” Madison said. She didn’t exactly want to call him Charlie, but she still had a hard time with Dad.
“Parking the car.”
Laurel walked toward them, grasping her earpiece. “Okay, on it,” she was saying. She turned her attention to them. “I’ll be right back. Stay here, and we’ll start in a few minutes.” Laurel jogged toward the far side of the pier, her ever-present travel mug of coffee in hand.
Sophie reached out and clutched Madison’s arm. “Dad desperately wants your forgiveness. This anger you’re carrying around really puts off bad energy. It’s affecting everything around you.”
“Cut the crap,” Madison said, tugging her arm from Sophie’s grasp. “That might play on-camera, but it’s just you and me right now.”
Sophie blinked at her with her beautiful, long-lashed eyes. “This is who I am,” she said. “I’ve spent a long time becoming this person—”
“Six months?” Madison scoffed.
“A person of forgiveness and love. It’s really good. You don’t have to be filled with rage and pain.”
Madison rolled her eyes. “Screw you.”
“I can see the anger in your aura. It’s bright orange.”
Madison barely stifled a guffaw. “Oh really? My aura? Well, I’ll be sure to get it bleached along with my roots next time I’m at the salon. Seriously, Sophie, give it a rest.”
Sophie pressed her palms together in front of her chest and bowed her head. “What are you doing?” Madison asked.
“Seeking the love of the Divine Goddess for you,” Sophie said, without looking up.
Madison turned away in disgust. Either Sophie had taken some acting classes or she was insane. Or, Madison thought, both.
She saw a hand waving eagerly at them then: Charlie. He still looked like he’d dressed himself out of the Goodwill reject box, but he was trying. His shirt was pressed and his khaki pants looked cleaner.
“Good morning, Madison.” He rubbed his palms together and appeared uncertain