Starstruck

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Kate snickered. Drew certainly had the tattoos to be Gaby’s type.

“What’s with the button-down?” Carmen asked Drew, plucking at his sleeve. “French cuffs and everything. Have you gone square on us?”

“You look like Jesse James’s accountant,” Kate added. She was happy to see him and even happier that his arrival meant she no longer had to sit next to Carmen.

“Uh, I’m still waiting for the kisses.” Drew laughed.

Kate saw Carmen smile, and then, as easy as anything, she leaned over and planted a giant one on his face, right near his mouth. Kate bit her lip. Drunk or sober, she was way too shy for something like that.

Drew turned to her. “Nothing from the left? Spurned by the singer-songwriter! In that case, I’ll take matters into my own hands.” And before Kate could say a word, he planted a sweet, warm kiss on her cheek.

Immediately she blushed and put a hand up to her face. “Gotcha,” Drew said, grinning and pleased with himself.

“Y-you,” she sputtered. She swatted him on the arm, and he laughed.

“Sorry. Had to take a little liberty there. I just came from a work party. That Miller64 must have gone to my head.”

“Wow,” Carmen said. “You guys really live it up at Rock It! Records.”

“You know it.” Then just as quickly as he’d sat down, he was up again. “Who wants another drink?”

“Oh, I’m sure someone will come by to take your order,” Carmen said.

Drew waved her off. “Ladies, I’m here to service—I mean, serve you.”

Carmen rolled her eyes at him.

“You’re sweet,” Gaby said to him.

“It’s true,” Drew said. “I’m probably the sweetest guy ever.” He held up a hand to stop Sophia’s syrupy cooing. “But I’m manly, too. I’m, like, masculine and tough. But I’m really, really nice. Right, my Carm?”

Carmen—“his” Carmen, whatever that meant— smiled at him. “You’re the best.”

Drew held out his arms. “So now who wants to kiss me?”

Sophia and Madison were laughing, and both Gaby and Carmen were smiling up at Drew, and even Kate felt the glimmer of a grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

How quickly the atmosphere in the room had changed! And they had Drew to thank for it. He’d simply walked into the room, happy and confident, and had magically, goofily diffused the tension. There was no more silence. No more staring down at your own feet. Suddenly everyone was talking and giggling and acting as if they’d been besties forever.

Kate could really learn something from Drew, she thought. She needed to lighten up. Take things less seriously. Remember that life was fun. Fun! To not enjoy it was not only stupid, it was downright irresponsible.

When Drew returned from the bar, Kate reached forward and raised her glass. “To friends,” she said. Because that’s what she hoped they all were (even if they got mad at one another now and then). Or could be. Or could act like, for the next hour anyway. Besides, Trevor loved a good “cheers” moment; any toast always made the episode. Kate might as well beat Madison to it this time.

Everyone lifted their glasses and clinked them together. “Friends,” they repeated. “Friends.”

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Stepping out of what had been a long and scaldingly hot shower, Carmen Curtis pulled a plush bathrobe around her, cinched its waist, and slid her feet into fuzzy slippers. She gave her dark hair a quick towel-dry and then walked into the living room of her trailer.

Calling it a “living room” was generous—it was about a hundred feet square, aka about half the size of her bathroom at her parents’ house—but Carmen was thrilled to have it. Her own movie trailer, with her name on the door and everything! It wasn’t glamorous, but it was all hers. She didn’t have to do anything but sit inside it to feel like she’d hit the big time already.

Or lie down inside it, she thought, flopping onto the cushioned bench under the window. She was utterly exhausted. Today’s shoot had gone over by three hours, putting it at a thirteen-hour day, and her call time tomorrow was six a.m.

She was tempted to take a nap, but instead she reached into the pile of magazines and newspapers that the PAs regularly replenished for her. Reading a trashy tabloid could be just as rejuvenating, right? Plus, she was curious to learn about the actress Samantha Mulder’s in vitro triplets and Lacey Hopkins’s latest scrape with the law. Heck, maybe there’d even be a mention of Madison Parker.

On the top of the stack was a copy of this week’s Gossip magazine. Glancing at it quickly, Carmen was startled to see one of the cover lines: LITTLE CC NO MORE, it said, right above a photo of her (dressed to the nines, thank goodness) shopping in Beverly Hills. The accompanying article was four paragraphs, all of which heavily quoted an unnamed “friend of the actress.” “Things are going really well for Carmen,” this “friend” reported. “But she’s stressed about all the pressure. She’s starring in The End of Love opposite Luke Kelly, who, in addition to being her current crush, is a more experienced actor. So she goes for a little retail therapy!”

Carmen bit her lip. “Current crush”? “A more experienced actor”? Normally her publicist was the source for these little pieces. But this definitely didn’t sound like something Sam would say. It was weird. She squinted at the picture. It wasn’t her best, but it wasn’t her worst, either. She could live with it.

Then she threw the magazine up in the air, rolled over onto her back, and kicked her legs in the air with glee. Live with it?! Hell! She was loving it! So what if the picture wasn’t perfect? So what if the article wasn’t completely accurate? Gossip magazines never got their facts right. As for the “friend,” these rags tended to use that term rather loosely. It could have been anyone claiming to know her. But still: What a crazy and thrilling thing. She mattered to people—people she had never even met and probably never would! And it wasn’t because of whose daughter she was anymore. It was because of her. It was so incredibly bizarre and so crazily amazing that she felt, for a minute, like she might jump out of her own skin.

Suddenly no longer tired, she got up and stood in the center of her living room. She was about to commence an impromptu oh-my-God-I’m-famous dance when a knock sounded on her door.

“Who is it?” she asked, startled and extremely glad she hadn’t already begun said dance.

“It’s your loooover,” said a voice that she immediately recognized as Luke’s. “Your lover … on-screen—and in real life.” Then Carmen heard a laugh. “Can I come in?”

She sat down and composed herself, checking her robe to make sure she wasn’t showing too much cleavage. “Yeah, it’s open.”

He stepped up into the trailer, even more handsome now that his face had been scrubbed clean of its makeup. “Did I hear cackling in here?” he asked.

Carmen widened her eyes and placed her hand so that it covered her picture in Gossip. “What? Me? No!” She smiled. “I’m just relaxing with some tea!” She nodded toward the mug of chamomile she’d made for herself and then forgotten about. “Do you want some?”

Luke looked at it and wrinkled his nose. “Is that herbal tea? Because, as a subject of the British crown, I must frown upon anything that is not Earl Grey or PG Tips.” He laughed. “Also, forget tea—it’s happy hour. Do you have any tequila?”

Carmen pointed him toward her mini refrigerator. “I don’t know. Do I?”

Luke walked over and perused the fridge’s shelves. He held up a tiny plastic bottle, like the kind they served on airplanes. “Patrón!” he said. But then he exhaled and put it back. “Actually, I’m too tired to drink it. If it wouldn’t call my manhood and patriotism into question, I’d absolutely have some tea.”

Carmen patted the seat beside her. “Sit,” she said. “Relax.” When he complied, she said, “I can keep it a secret if you want the tea.”

He smiled and yawned. “You’re a love.”

That was what Carmen’s grandma said to her, but with Luke’s sexy accent it sounded totally different. Totally better.

His eyes fell to the cover of Gossip magazine, which she had forgotten to keep covered. “‘Little CC no more,’ huh?” he said, green eyes twinkling. “Check you out.”

She yawned, too—it was contagious—and then giggled. “I’m sure the article, if you want to be generous and call it that, talks all about you, too.”

Luke shrugged. “Probably,” he allowed. “Seeing as how I’m your loooover.”

“Stop saying it like that.” She laughed.

“Loooover,” he whispered, grinning.

Carmen threw a pillow at him. “I saw us on D-Lish,” he said. “Not that I, uh, check that or anything.”

“It’s so weird,” Carmen said. “Don’t you think?”

Their pictures were all over: Perez, Just Jared, Life & Style, Celeb! According to Cassandra Curtis, who— incredibly—had a Twitter account that she actually checked regularly, “#LukeandCarmen” had trended high for the last eight days. Their fake relationship was making them a hot topic. Because what was more fun than a new Hollywood couple? Especially one playing lovers in the next Colum McEntire blockbuster?

But it was strange, too, because it was just more acting. Sam had even suggested that Carmen walk off set holding hands with Luke. The paparazzi had been camped outside every End of Love location lately, hoping to get photos of the two of them leaving. Carmen had always made an effort to avoid their lenses. After a day of acting in caked-on makeup, obscure hairstyles, and fitted costumes, the last thing she wanted was her photo taken.

Besides, she couldn’t stand those creeps. It was one thing to show up to a red carpet—polished, brushed, powdered, and fitted—to pose for photographers with press badges. But the street photographers that waited outside celebrities’ homes and hid in bushes across from elementary schools? They were a different breed. The idea of giving them exactly what they wanted didn’t sit well with Carmen, but after some persuading she had reluctantly agreed.

“They’re going to get their photos one way or another,” Sam had pointed out. “Might as well make it on your terms.”

Carmen had mentioned the idea to Luke earlier that morning, in a break between scenes, and at first he’d seemed unsure. He’d gazed out over the set, a wistful look on his face, and Carmen wondered if he was thinking about Kate. But then his manager had called with news about a script that Scott Rudin wanted Luke to read—some political thriller or something—and Luke had mentioned the cute-couple photo op.

His manager had been shocked at Luke’s reluctance. “It isn’t a coincidence that all these offers are rolling in after you two have come out as a couple,” he’d said. “Your star is on the rise, and Carmen has a lot to do with it! You’re a known quantity now. Go with this, Luke.”

So Luke had agreed. And why wouldn’t he? Since Kate had basically told him she never wanted to talk to him again, what did he have to lose? It wasn’t as if he could piss her off much more than he already had.

But the more Carmen thought about it, the weirder she felt. Because Carmen probably could piss her off more. Based on their hesitant but not totally unfriendly interactions at the Library Bar, it seemed like there was a chance for Carmen to repair the damage that the faux-dating had done. Like—if Kate would ever call her back so Carmen could apologize.

On the other hand, what good would an apology do if Carmen kept flaunting her fake romance with Kate’s ex? Following Sam’s PDA instructions in order to get tabloid coverage would probably make her apology seem pretty bogus. Carmen thought back to her costume fitting and her resolution of being more honest. Maybe she and Luke should come clean—or feign a breakup. Which wasn’t exactly being honest, but it was close enough.

She cleared her throat. “So I was actually thinking about this whole you-and-me business,” she began.