Starstruck (19 page)

Kate felt like this lecture of Laurel’s had gone on long enough. “I said I was sorry. I’m tired. So give me a break, all right?” She tossed her purse down onto a side table; it gaped open and a Luna Bar wrapper fell out. Rather than picking it up, she kicked it under a chair. She was annoyed that she had to tape this hypnotherapy episode—hadn’t the yoga and the acupuncture and the EFT BS been enough?

Kate knew the answer to that, of course: No, they hadn’t. Trevor was going to make the most of Kate’s stage fright, turning a liability into a dramatic bonus. He’d film her performance at the El Rey tonight—which, thanks to the Xanax, would go great—and make it seem as if all this woo-woo crap had fixed what ailed her.

But Kate knew what really worked: pills. She and Drew had gone to an open mic the other night in secret, and Kate had rocked it: three songs played to perfection and a standing ovation (well, half of one, since some audience members were too cool to get up from their seats). She’d never played that well in front of a crowd in her entire life.

She couldn’t wait to tell Trevor that she was cured, but as it turned out, she didn’t even get the chance. Someone had posted a video of her on a local arts and culture blog, along with a glowing write-up of her performance. (
Kate Hayes: dreamy lovechild of Carole King and James Taylor with some Katy Perry pop chromosomes mixed in?
). And Trevor, whose spies had seen the article immediately (damn you, Google alert!), had been as annoyed as he was pleased. He was glad his star wasn’t going to die of a heart attack before a performance, but he didn’t like having to play catch-up. He didn’t like his girls going rogue.

But Kate was getting tired of being at Trevor’s beck and call. Sure, he’d finally let her quit Stecco, but then he’d forced her into these stupid therapy sessions. And what about the dates she kept having to go on? Lately it seemed like every day Laurel sent her another email with a photo attached:
What do you think of this guy?
she’d write.
Cute, right? He knows how to play bass!
Or
He grew up in Indiana!
Or
He’s addicted to sushi, too!
As if any of that mattered.

Last night’s date had been some aspiring model who Trevor had met at his gym. The guy was cute, and the date was fine, but Kate definitely didn’t feel a connection with him. Nor had she felt one with the previous two guys, either. When she’d mentioned this to Trevor, he’d only shrugged. “Well, there’s more where they came from. Besides, even a bad date makes for good TV.”

Which made Kate wonder: Did Trevor have a Rolodex of hot, single guys? And if he did, wasn’t that a little weird? Sure, she really could have used that back when she was looking for a prom date, but right now, she sort of wished he’d stop pushing the whole dating thing. Especially since some of the guys were a little strange. It almost felt like Trevor was sending her on dates he assumed would fail because he thought they’d be more entertaining.

Laurel reached down and picked up the Luna Bar wrapper. “You dropped this,” she said.

“Oh, you can throw it away,” Kate said breezily. “I don’t need it.” Then she gave Laurel a small, insincere smile that said
Lecture me all you want, but don’t forget who’s the talent and who’s the crew here
.

Laurel narrowed her eyes. “Be careful,” she said.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Kate answered. “I’m great. I’m ready to go. Let’s get this show on the road!” She clapped her hands sharply, startling the camera guy. She laughed. “Sorry!” She was starting to have a little bit of fun. She hoped Barry, the hypnotherapist, wouldn’t make her too calm, because she was enjoying her newfound edge.

The El Rey was bigger than Kate had expected, and everything—walls, carpet, seats, booths—was brilliant bloodred. A giant chandelier glittered above them, sending out sparks of light that danced around the room. Kate gripped Drew’s elbow, giddy with excitement. “Wow. I feel like I’ve time-traveled back to the 1930s,” she said. “This place is so cool.”

“I know, it’s awesome, right? I love Art Deco. Carmen and I used to come here to see shows in high school all the time.”

Kate was too nervous to wonder what qualified as “all the time.” Or if any of these shows had felt sort of like dates to Carmen or Drew. But anyway, she reminded herself, Drew was talking about high school. That was all of … well, less than a year ago for Carmen.

Drew pointed them toward the sound technician, a pale, long-haired guy mostly hidden behind giant monitors. “Here—you have to meet Joe. He’s going to make you sound amazing.”

Kate shook Joe’s cold hand. He looked as if he’d never set foot outside. Like he spent his days in a basement, listening to heavy metal, and his nights running sound inside the all-ages club.

“So you’re the opener, huh?” Joe asked, sounding friendly but unimpressed.

“The opener for the opener, actually,” Kate admitted.

Joe nodded, now looking even less impressed. “Everyone starts somewhere,” he offered.

Drew put his arm around Kate’s shoulders. “She’s going to the top,” he said. “You’re going to be able to say, ‘I knew her when …’”

“Oh, yeah, man,” Joe said.

Kate couldn’t tell if he meant it or not (and she ought to assume he didn’t), but she flushed anyway.

“All right,” Drew said. “Nice to see you again, dude. We’re heading backstage.”

“Right on,” Joe said, and flashed them a peace sign.

Kate followed Drew down the edge of the long, red room to a door that led backstage. “Do you think he liked me?” she asked. “Do you think he thinks I’m a one-hit wonder?”

“No, of course not. But he’s a pro. Even if he hated your guts, he’ll still make sure you sound amazing.” He paused before the door leading backstage. “This used to be a movie theater, you know,” he said, motioning her in. “Crazy that I saw Lana Del Rey play here last week, and tonight I’m going to see you.”

Kate gulped. “Right!” she said, trying to sound brave. It was definitely time for her Xanax. Because that whole hypnotherapy thing she’d done earlier? That was a load of crap.

Backstage, it was dim and cluttered. “When’s sound check?” Kate asked, leaning Lucinda against the wall and reaching into her purse for the little blue pill.

“In a minute,” Drew said. “Relax, why don’t you?”

Kate smiled and sat down on top of a speaker. “I’m trying,” she said, knowing the pill she’d just swallowed would help. But she wanted to stay just a bit nervous: It would keep her on her toes.

When Joe was ready, the headlining band did their sound check. It was some Canadian group she’d never heard of, but obviously they were bigger than she was since it was their name on the marquee, not hers. After listening to them for a few minutes she’d decided that at least they weren’t as terrible as The Faze. Next came the opening indie duo—a guy on a guitar and a girl on a violin—and they did their sound check. When it was Kate’s turn, she got all of three minutes: She had time to plug her guitar into the amp, check to see that the sound came through the monitors, and make sure she could adjust the mike stand.

“Joe didn’t give me much time up there,” she said to Drew when she stepped offstage.

He nodded sympathetically. “Don’t worry. When you headline, you’ll have all the time in the world.”

She scoffed at that. Her days as a headliner were still a long ways off.

Before Kate knew it, it was time to go on. She waited for a moment, hidden behind the heavy red curtain, and then watched as it opened to reveal a room crowded with people. She felt her heart flutter, but—just as she’d expected—there was no hard knot of panic. She offered a small smile, and then began to play.

She played six songs, two of them brand-new, and she didn’t forget a single word, didn’t flub a single chord. The audience sang along to “Starstruck,” and a lot of them seemed to have heard her YouTube version of “Lost in Love,” too, because she definitely wasn’t the only one singing the chorus.

When it was over, the audience applauded thunderously, and Drew gave her a giant hug.

“I knew you’d be awesome,” he said.

“I didn’t mess up,” she said happily, hardly daring to believe it. “Oh my God, I love you, Dr. Garrison.”

“Huh?” Drew asked.

“Oh, nothing, never mind,” Kate said. “I’m starving. Can we please go get a burger?”

Drew patted his stomach. “Of course,” he said.

Gaby came running up to her and gave her a big hug. “Kate! Oh my God, you were amazing!”

Jay gave Drew what Kate referred to as a “bro handshake” then said to Kate, “Way to go, Kate Hayes. You didn’t choke this time.”

Drew gave her a look that said,
Yes, this guy is the douchiest of douche bags
. Then he grabbed Kate’s hand and squeezed it. “We’ve gotta head out.”

“Where are you guys going?” Gaby asked.

Kate would have told her, but she’d bring Jay along, which would definitely ruin her celebratory mood. So instead she pretended as if she hadn’t heard the question. “Thanks so much for coming, Gab,” Kate said as she let Drew pull her away from them. “See you soon, okay?”

As they made their way out of the El Rey, Kate was suddenly mobbed by teenage girls. All of them were clamoring for her autograph, and as she signed their little books, they took pictures and begged her to follow them on Twitter.

Drew hovered protectively by her side, and after the frenzy had gone on for while, he gently drew her away. “Thanks, girls,” he called, waving. “Kate Hayes loves you!”

Kate turned back to the knot of giggling girls. “I do!” she yelled and waved over her shoulder. Then she looked up at Drew and smiled. She couldn’t tell if she was more exhausted or exhilarated. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

On Monday morning, Madison skipped the ninety-minute beauty ritual she’d been performing every day for as long as she could remember. Instead she washed her face and smoothed on a bit of tinted moisturizer. She applied two thin coats of mascara and slicked the barest hint of pale pink gloss on her lips. Then she pulled her long blond hair back into a simple, loose ponytail.

Traffic on the 405 was strangely light, and she got to Lost Paws twenty minutes early. She was sitting on the steps, sipping her green tea and watching the seagulls peck at a mound of old French fries, when Ryan arrived.

An odd look came over his handsome face. “Welcome back,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “Turning over a new leaf?”

She smiled politely at him, ignoring the implied insult of her past performance. No, she wasn’t going to take the bait, and she wasn’t going to bitch or whine. She was simply going to do her work and go home, and then come back tomorrow and do it all again. Today, she hoped, would be a day free of drama.

Possibly her first. Ever.

Ryan stepped past her and unlocked the doors, and she followed him inside. The smell of pee was, by this time, familiar to her. She hardly even noticed it anymore.

“I’ll go ahead and get started,” she said, “if you want to tell me what I’m doing today.”

“We have a bunch of dogs who need a flea bath,” Ryan said. “How’s that sound?”

Of course, he didn’t actually care how it sounded to her at all; she understood that. “Sounds fine,” she said. “Show me the way.”

He looked at her quizzically once more and shook his head. “Come on, then.”

Madison spent the morning hosing down, soaping up, then rinsing off shivering dog after shivering dog. She was bitten twice, peed on once, and shed upon constantly. Her clothes were ruined. The wellies that Ryan had given her were full of water. Even with gloves on, she could feel her hands burning from the chemicals in the flea shampoo. But she didn’t make a single complaint. (If only the PopTV cameras could see her now!)

After four hours of hard labor, Ryan appeared in the doorway. He watched as Madison gave Samson, the hideously ugly mutt who had moved her to tears a week ago, a final rinse.

Madison pretended she didn’t know he was there. “You’re doing so good, Sam,” she said soothingly to the dog, who stood trembling under the spray. “This is going to make you feel so much better.” She washed the last bits of lather from his fur and then guided him to the corner and wrapped him in a worn but soft towel. “There,” she said, rubbing him vigorously. “Now you’re nice and clean.”

Samson whined and tried to lick her. A haircut and bath had helped, but he was still pretty unfortunate looking. “Oh, you,” she said, smiling. “Keep your tongue in your mouth. You’re just like all the other guys.”

Ryan came over and squatted down beside them both. “We want him to look as good as he can,” he said. “We’re taking his Last Chance shot today.”

Madison put her hand protectively on Samson’s head. She didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

Ryan reached out and rubbed Samson under his chin, and the dog practically purred—oh, to be petted by two people at once! But Ryan’s voice was grim. “We take a photo and send it out in an email blast. It’s the last thing we can do for him before …” He trailed off.

Madison paled. “You aren’t going to kill him, are you?”

Ryan shrugged, unhappy but resolved. “We do the best we can, Madison. But Lost Paws isn’t a no-kill shelter.”

She gazed at Samson. He really did look so much like a mop crossed with a rat. One ear stood up and the other flopped down, and he would probably always look mangy. Who in the world would adopt him? “You can’t do that,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. Samson whined and looked at her with his cloudy, sad eyes.