Star Power (7 page)

Emily, in the middle of this circus, seemed exhausted.

Mac studied her budding star suspiciously. “Have you eaten today?”

Emily gave Mac a weak smile. “I think so. . . .”

“Don't worry!” Mac commanded, in mother-bear mode. “I know what you need.” Mac knew Emily's favorite foods by now. She purposefully bounded out of the trailer and down the metal steps, where she ran . . . smack into Davey Woodward.

“Watch it, Mac Attack!” he said, rubbing a hand on his shoulder where Mac had just bumped him.

“Hi and 'bye! On a mission!” Mac smiled and started walking, barely looking at Davey. She had to be polite because Davey was her mother's biggest client, but she wasn't about to stop and chat. To her surprise, he started walking with her. “Emily's in the trailer,” Mac explained, figuring he'd turn around and go back.

“I was actually on my way to see you,” Davey said meaningfully. He looked like he was about to confess something serious, like he had a secret twin or horrible disease.

Mac paused, and actually looked at Davey. His skin was bronzed, making his bright blue eyes stand out even more—it was like they could see right through her. For a moment, Mac was speechless. Had he always been so cute? Why hadn't she noticed? She knew other girls went crazy for Davey—girls like Emily.

“Okay, suit yourself,” she said, and kept walking. She marched past the art department offices toward the catering tent, where the food was stocked like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Just before they reached the tent, Mac spotted Kimmie Tachman's live-blogging station. It was a pink table with a pink armchair, specially ordered by Kimmie's dad, Elliot Tachman.

“Mac!” Kimmie squealed. “Great Marc Jacobs dress! Where'd you get it?”

“Hey Kimmie,” Mac said, ignoring the compliment in a bored-but-polite voice. There was nothing wrong with Kimmie; she was just a little too dorky and usually looked like she'd vomited Pepto-Bismol all over herself. Besides, she could never take sides, and sometimes batted for the Rubybots instead of for the Inner Circle. Mac hated unclear friend loyalties.

“Mac!” Kimmie fake-scolded. “You have
got
to give me an exclusive with Emily. I want to be the firstreporter to get her before she becomes a megastar.” Then Kimmie pointed at Davey. “And I want you, too . . . for an interview, of course.”

Davey smiled, like he genuinely loved talking to the Tawker. Which was improbable, seeing as Kimmie was one of those nice-but-annoying girls who boys couldn't stand to be around because she talked way too much about clothes and gossip. She was like e-mail spam: harmless, but a nuisance. “Sure thing, Kimmie,” Davey said with an adorably dimpled smile.

“You know my name?” Kimmie giggled and ran her fingers through her curly hair.

“Of course! How could I not?” Davey said, oozing charisma the way most boys their age oozed BO.

“Great, when?” Kimmie asked, already flipping through her day calendar.

Mac knew this was her time to bounce. “I'll leave you two to figure out schedules,” she said. “I'm on a food run.”

“I'll go with you!” Davey called after Mac. “Talk to you soon, Kimmie. Let's set something up, and if I forget, be sure to remind me, okay?” And with that, he followed Mac to the food table.

Davey stood close beside Mac. She ignored her nerves and rolled up the sleeves on her Splendid cardigan. She set to work making Emily's favorite tuna sandwich: garlic mustard on onion focaccia, tuna with pickles and onions, plus a layer of potato chips in the middle. Even Mac's older brother, Jenner, who would eat anything, had been totally grossed out. He had dubbed it the Breathalyzer, but it was Emily's favorite comfort food from Iowa.

“You're quite the chef,” Davey teased. He was standing so close that Mac's elbows kept brushing his tan arms. A little shiver went up her back.

Mac smiled awkwardly. “Yes, well, thanks.” She clutched her sandwich and turned back to the trailer. “I should get this back to Emily.”

“It's nice you support her.” Davey smiled. “She's great. I'm really glad she's here—and that you are too.”

“Oh,” was all Mac could say. He was glad
she
was here? She gripped the paper plate tightly.

“I'm just . . .” Davey began, leaning in closer. The crocodile on his pastel pink polo shirt looked blurry. “I'm just really looking forward to spending more time with you,” he whispered.

Mac jerked back in surprise. A compilation of all her D.W. interactions flashed through her mind like a movie montage. She thought of all the times he'd been over to her house to “talk about projects” with her mother, but always had a Coffee Bean Iced Blended “just in case Mac wanted one.” Or the times he'd called Mac's cell phone looking for Adrienne. Or those VIP parties he'd invited Mac to attend. Did he . . .
like
her? Like
that
?

Mac felt that nervous energy again, like a tingling in her toes, and she had to admit she was . . . flattered.

But only for a millisecond.

Then the alarms blared in her head. Emily had luvved Davey since forever, and a M.L.A. + D.W. connection would be worse than L.C. and Justin betraying Audrina times a million. Mac was so shocked by this news bomb that she dropped her sandwich smack on the floor.

“Oh, shoot! I gotta make her another one!” Mac said. She turned and practically threw the mustard onto the onion bread, ignoring Davey's speechless stare. As she speed-walked back to Emily, Mac turned over her shoulder to holler at Davey. “Let's talk later!”

It wasn't a
total
lie, but if
later
never came, that would be just fine.

emily

E
mily sat in her trailer, polishing off the last bite of the Breathalyzer. She wasn't used to eating while people fussed with her hair and makeup. Ahem, correction: She wasn't used to people fussing with her hair and makeup, and had no idea if it was rude to eat while they did. But she was ravenous—she'd been so nervous about her first day of shooting that she'd forgotten to get food. She devoured the last corner of her sandwich while Tina doused her eyelashes with black mascara and Robyn tousled her bangs.

There was so much to be excited about. First of all, there was an entire crew of people waiting to film her. Plus there was a
second
crew, just to shoot behind-the-scenes footage for the DVD. And on top of all that, she was minutes away from seeing . . .

Davey.

Farris.

Woodward!

Emily studied herself in the mirror. She had an orange glow, ridiculously rosy cheeks, and poufy hair—but apparently on camera it would look just right. She hoped Davey would understand that she didn't normally wear so much makeup. She'd learned in his March interview with
Access Hollywood
that he liked the natural look.

Mac sat on the white couch behind her, reading. “I'm thinking of getting you into this.” She gestured toward a dog-eared script. “You'd play Leighton Meester 's little sister.
And
it's shooting in London.”

Emily was about to say how amazing that sounded when the door burst open. It was Chris. He looked terrified. His face glistened with sweat and he was out of breath.

“We have—to change—the shot list—” he gasped. “Shane needs Emily on set, like, yesterday. We're starting with the last scene.”

Robyn shook his blond head and waved his flat iron around. “No no no no no no!”

Tina stopped powdering Emily's face and glowered at Chris. “I can't work like this.”

Robyn pointed the flatiron at Chris like a sword. “Listen—you—I forgot your name—I've spent two hours getting her ready for first scene.”

“Guys!” Chris pleaded. “I'm just the messenger.” He looked down at his clipboard. “Same hair and makeup as before so we're all good.”

Tina and Robyn exchanged huffed glances, but they were quiet.

Chris turned to Emily. “Shane wants you to improvise, so don't worry if you don't know your lines yet.”

Emily wasn't sure why it was such a disaster to everyone that they were shooting in a different order. She looked at Mac for instructions, but Mac was already packing scripts into her Balenciaga bag.

Emily turned to Chris. ‘“No worries, I'm ready to go!” she fibbed.

Chris looked at Emily as if she had just saved his life. “Bless you!” Then he whispered into his microphone, “Emily flying to set.”

Freshly made up, Emily bounded down the trailer in white True Religion jeans and a lavender Nanette Lepore tank top, gripping Mac's arm. Tina and Robyn followed, their makeup and hair products tucked into giant black belts around their waists. They all followed Chris past the grip truck and the catering tents to a fake grassy mound that was supposed to resemble the New Hampshire countryside. Gold leaves were sprinkled everywhere. In the center was a giant white gazebo. Shane was holding a leaf to the light, as if to make sure it was the perfect hue.

“Dollface!” Shane lit up when he saw Emily.

There was insta-silence on set. Emily could feel hundreds of pairs of eyes—crew, agents, makeup artists, and extras—watching her every move. She felt like her performance had already started.

Shane turned and inspected Emily. “Love the hair! Love the makeup. Love, love, love.” He clapped his hands every time he said the word
love
. “You look even better than that young lady,” he added with a laugh, gesturing behind him toward the gazebo.

And there, in the gazebo, standing tall and aloof, with a half-smile on his face, was Davey Farris Woodward. Even though Davey was dressed like a girl, in a wig, white shirt, and plaid skirt, all Emily saw was tanned skin, chiseled cheekbones, and steely-eyed gorgeousness. D.F.W. was so stunning in person that it was hard to believe he was human. There was something about real-life movie stars, Emily thought. They just glowed. She wondered if someday, after the movie came out and people saw her acting opposite Davey, someone would think
she
glowed. Maybe some of his glowiness would rub off on her. Maybe when they had their kissing scene at the end of the movie. . . .

Suddenly, in a stomach flip-flopping rush, Emily remembered:
This
was the end of the movie. The scene was where Davey's character confessed he was really a guy. The scene where he took off his wig. And . . .

. . . they were supposed to
kiss
. . .

. . . and she'd just eaten . . .

. . . a tuna sandwich . . .

. . . and not just any sandwich . . . THE BREATHALYZER.

Emily covered her mouth like she was about to vomit. She
absolutely could not and would not
kiss Davey with fish breath!

Emily wanted to ask for gum, but she didn't want to interrupt Shane, who was rattling off directions for the next scene, “
Do what you did in the audition! Don't look right at the camera!
” Emily heard the words, but she wasn't listening. Frantically, she reached into the pockets of her jeans, checking for Orbitz that wasn't there.

“Iowa!” Shane snapped his fingers in Emily's face. “I need you to stand right in the gazebo.” He pointed a finger toward Davey.

Numbly, Emily marched to position like she was walking down a gangplank. She had not even said two words to Davey since her audition, and now she was going to ruin their relationship before it began. She racked her brain for a way out of this scene. She quickly nixed fainting (too dramatic), faking a seizure (too unattractive), and feigning amnesia (too crazy).