Famous (13 page)

I'M SITTING IN THE PINK POWDER ROOM IN WILLOW'S MANSION
—a digital gold mine in my hands—hearing voices in my head.

Me: “Can I really do this? Destroy Willow's career in order to advance mine?”

Carla: “Darling, are you crazy? This is your ticket. Everything you've dreamed of since day one. People would kill for this kind of opportunity. You think if it was the other way around—if Willow Twine needed to wreck your career to advance her own—she'd hesitate for a second?”

“But Willow and I are friends.”

“Oh, please! You've known her for exactly one week.”

“You don't know. You haven't been out here with us.”

“My dear, they were calling me an old-timer in this business back when you were still in Pampers. I've seen and heard it all. Believe me, I know.”

My BlackBerry vibrates. I slide it out of my pocket and check the number. Speak of the devil. It's Carla. I almost answer, but something stops me. We spoke yesterday. She said we'd speak again when I got back to New York. So why is she suddenly calling?

Instead of answering, I let the phone take a message and then listen to it. “Jamie, sweetheart. Wuzzup, girl? So listen, there's a rumor going around that Willow was partying with old Rexxy last night. Any truth to that? You wouldn't happen to have any shots, would you? Let me know, because those shots could be worth their weight in gold.”

Huh?
I stare at the BlackBerry, seriously puzzled. This is totally beyond strange. How in the world could Carla know that Willow and Rex were partying last night? That was supposed to be top top secret.

The BlackBerry rings again. This time it's Edie McGovern, one of the editors from the
Weekly Dish
website. Again I don't answer and wait instead to listen to the message. “Hey, Jamie, s'up, babe? Heard you're out in LA hanging with Willow. Any truth to the rumor she
was out with Rex last night? We'd give any pix you've got big money and big play. Here's my direct line in case you don't have it.”

Even as I listen to this message, another call is coming in, and I listen to that message next. It's from Suzie Feld at the gossip website
Hear It Here First
. “Jamie, darling, listen, there's word on the street that you may have hit the mother lode. Whatever you do, talk to me before you sell those shots to anyone else. I could make this huge for you. Call me as soon as you get this message. I'm giving you my personal cell phone number, the one I never give out.”

I've hardly finished listening to that message when the phone vibrates again. It's Carla. “Jamie, what's going on out there? I'm swamped with calls about these photos you're supposed to have. They're going nuts. I'm getting offers sight unseen. You have to call me immediately.”

The phone keeps vibrating, but I stop paying attention. How do all these people on the other side of the country know about Rex and Willow? Why do they think I have photos when I only found out about all this a few minutes ago? It's as if they knew about it
before
I did. How is that possible?

Rapid footsteps are approaching in the hall outside the powder room. I hear Willow's personal assistant, Doris Remlee, urgently asking, “Zach, have you seen Jamie Gordon this morning?”

“Yeah, uh—” Zach begins.

“Where?” Doris impatiently cuts him short.

“Out by the pool.”

“When?”

“A little while ago. She went into the kitchen. I guess she was getting coffee or something. Oh, and she asked me if I'd seen her camera.”

“Oh, God! Did you?”

“Well, yeah, I told her I thought I saw it on the kitchen counter. Why? What's going on?”

“Go out to the front gate and make sure it stays closed. No one is to come in or go out, understand? No one. Then get over to the guesthouse. See if she's there. If she is, grab her and don't let go. Under any circumstances. You hold on to her
and
her camera. If she's not there, search her things. I want every camera she has.”

“Why? What's going on?” Zach asks.

“Just do it!” Doris shouts.

Footsteps slap as Zach leaves. This is crazy. Obviously Doris knows about the photos. But how? How can she know about them when I just found them on my camera? Now other footsteps approach at a run and a voice high and tight with panic asks, “Does anyone know where she is?”

It's Willow. And she's hysterical.

“No, but she can't have gone far,” Doris answers. “Zach says she was here just a moment ago.”

“We have to find her,” Willow gasps. “Oh, my God,
we
have
to! Have you checked the guesthouse?”

“Zach's doing that right now,” Doris says. When another set of footsteps approaches she commands, “Daphne, I want you to disable the Internet connection immediately. Wireless and hardwire.”

“That'll disconnect the television and phone,” Daphne counters.

“I don't care if it disconnects the plumbing, just do it!” snaps Doris. “And make sure that includes the guesthouse.”

“Wait, Daphne.” It's Willow's voice. “Is it possible to transfer photos from a camera to a BlackBerry and transmit them?”

“If you had the right software. But it's not a common thing to do. So it sounds like we think Jamie has some pictures we don't want to get out?”

“That's exactly what it sounds like,” says Doris. “Go disable the Internet. And if you see Jamie, grab her and call me immediately.”

From the other side of the powder room door I hear footsteps depart and assume that's Daphne leaving. Which means Doris and Willow are still out in the hall.

“Don't worry,” Doris says as soothingly as possible. “Stay calm. She's not going anywhere.”

“When I find that little bitch,” Willow growls under her breath, “I will shove that camera down her pudgy little throat.”

Her words make me wince.
So much for being friends.

“Where's Sam?” she asks.

“Haven't seen him this morning,” Doris answers.

“For God's sake!” Willow blurts.

Faint electronic beeps follow. “Sam? It's Doris. Get over here immediately. We need you now. I'll explain when you get here. And if by any chance you spot Jamie Gordon on the way, grab her and don't let go.”

Another beep.

“I'm going out to look for her,” Doris announces. “Will you be okay?”

“I'll be better when this is over,” Willow answers in a quavering voice.

A moment passes. Then Doris says, “I'll take care of this, darling. In the meantime, there's someone else you need to deal with.”

Footsteps leave. But only one set. I assume they're Doris's, which means Willow's still out there in the hall. Why? What's she doing? Is she staring at the powder room door right now? Is she about to reach for the knob and open it?

SUMMER IN THE CITY. SO HOT AND HUMID I SOMETIMES TOOK TWO
or three showers a day to get the sticky grime off my skin. Nasim had gone to Iran to visit cousins, and Avy spent July living in a college dorm in LA attending some superfancy summer performing arts program. I think it was his parents' way of trying to make up for not letting him take the role on
Rich and Poor
.

I was so happy to hear his voice when he called and said he wanted to meet for dinner at El Caribe, our favorite cheapo Cuban-Chinese hole-in-the-wall. We ordered shredded beef, some fried plantains, and a heaping plate of black beans and yellow rice. Avy was tanned and
glowing with good health. His curly brown hair had been lightened by the California sun. Something else looked different as well.

“Is it my imagination, or have you gotten taller and thinner?” I asked.

He grinned with delight. Was it also my imagination that his teeth looked whiter?

“Grew one and one-quarter inches this year,” he said. “Doctor says I might actually reach five ten before I'm done.”

“How was the program? How long have you been back from LA?”

“It was great. Got back a week ago.”

I felt a frown emerge. “A week? Why didn't you call sooner?”

“I'll tell you in a minute. First, how's the job?”

“Okay,” I answered with an unenthusiastic shrug. I was interning for the summer at a photography studio, mostly airbrushing pimples off newlyweds' faces, making double chins disappear, and thinning plump arms.

“Gone on any stakeouts?” Avy asked.

“Not many. The rich and famous are away for the summer. It's been really hot, grimy, and slow. I haven't sold a shot in months.”

“What about that Alicia Howard exclusive?”

“Nothing came of it,” I answered with disappointment. The memory of that experience still stung. I'd been
so excited, and I'd had to argue so hard to get Mom to let me take the days off from school. I think she only relented because I wore her down until she was too tired to say no. But in the end it turned out to be a great big nothing. I took the two and a half days off from school and shot a zillion pictures. Alicia was always nice to me, but also sort of distant, and it quickly became obvious that even though I was fifteen too and she'd specifically asked for me to do the shoot, she was going to treat me the way she would any other photographer.

“They paid you, didn't they?” Avy asked.

“Yes, but you know what?” I said. “That's almost beside the point. I really wanted them to use those pictures.”

“Did they ever tell you why they didn't?”

I shook my head. “Carla said it was Alicia's money and she could do whatever she wanted with those shots. Maybe her plans changed, or maybe she just felt ugly that week.” I knew I sounded glum, so I added, “Hey, it's all part of the business, you know? It'll get better in the fall when everyone comes back.”

Avy nodded and leaned his elbows on the worn gray Formica table. His eyes were shining. It was obvious that he was excited about something. “I'm going back to LA.”

“For August?” I asked.

“For . . .
ever
.”

“You got a role?” I asked excitedly. “On a series or something?”

“Not yet.”

The excitement drained away. “Then . . . why?”

“Because LA's where it's happening, Jamie. It's where I've got to be.”

“But you live here. What about school?”

He took out some tickets for trains from New York to LA. I gave him a puzzled look.

“It's real, Wonder Girl,” he said. “The reason you haven't heard from me is, I've been busy all week selling stuff on eBay and finding an apartment on Craigslist.”

I stared at him uncertainly. “Avy, you're fifteen.”

“No one has to know that. Look, it's a done deal. I'm going.”

You could have scraped me off the greasy linoleum floor. I was stunned. “Why?”

He talked about how certain he was that he could make it in Hollywood. Acting was all he'd ever wanted to do and was all he would ever want to do. He talked about how scared and excited he was, and how deep down he really, truly believed he could make it on his own. He talked and talked, as if he needed to convince himself as much as he did me.

The shredded beef, yellow rice, and black beans sat half-finished on the table between us. Finally there didn't seem to be anything more to say, which was strange when it came to Avy and me. Usually we could talk forever. We paid the bill and stepped out into the noisy, humid New
York night. Cabs and buses trundled past and we stood on the sidewalk hugging tearfully and promising each other we'd text a hundred times a day.

“The next time I come back here,” he said, “it'll be either first class or private jet. And I'll tell them the only photographer I want taking my picture is you. And that's the way it's going to be, Wonder Girl. You and me. We're going all the way to the top together.”