Sweet Little Lies: An LA Candy Novel
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Gaby pouted. “Why is this taking so long? I’m starving.”
“There’re some leftovers in the fridge, I think. Help yourself,” Scarlett offered. The show usually had chips and pretzels as part of their craft service, which was hardly “lunch.”
“’Kay.” Gaby jumped to her feet and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
Scarlett sighed again. This was such bullshit. If only Jane were here, things would be different. They’d be watching lame Christmas specials they had TiVo’d or doing last-minute shopping together at the Grove while fake snow fell around them. Scarlett could spend Christmas at the Robertses’ house instead of jetting off to Aspen; Jane’s family was actually normal (in a good way) and nicer than her own family. Mr. and Mrs. Roberts didn’t sit in total, icy silence at the dinner table, CNN in the background, cutting quietly into their forty-dollar rib-eye steaks. They didn’t spend more time on the phone with their patients than with each other. They didn’t psychoanalyze their children with comments like, So, Scarlett—do you think your choice to go to USC rather than Harvard or Columbia has to do with your unconscious fear of success?
Where was Jane, anyway? The note Jane had left for Scarlett in the apartment five days ago said that Madison had taken her to Mexico to get away, and that she’d be back soon. The problem was, Madison was the person who had orchestrated the whole Gossip scandal in the first place, and Jane had no idea.
Before disappearing with Jane, Madison had whispered in Scarlett’s ear that Jesse Edwards was the one who had leaked those photos to Gossip. So Scarlett had gone to Jesse’s house to deliver a few choice words she had for him, personally. When she got there, Jesse told her that Madison was the guilty one, that Madison had tried to convince him to leak the photos to Gossip, and he’d refused (despite being beyond furious about his girlfriend hooking up with his best friend). And Scarlett had believed him. He was a drunk, ungrateful, publicity-hungry man-whore. But on this one crucial occasion, he had been telling the truth. She was sure of it.
Desperate to track Jane down, Scarlett had asked Gaby if she knew the location of Madison’s parents’ condo…or had any contact info for the Parkers. But Gaby had been clueless, as usual. Although it was surprising that she wasn’t more informed, since she and Madison always seemed to be hanging out. Scarlett had also Googled the Parkers but had turned up nothing. Which was kinda strange, given the fact that they were supposedly zillionaire real-estate developers or whatever. Maybe they preferred to keep a lower profile than their daughter, who would happily attend the opening of an envelope if there were cameras there.
Whatever. As soon as Jane returned, the two of them were going to straighten out this whole stupid mess about Madison and the pictures. And they would work on getting their friendship back on track. So many things (and people) had come between them in the last few months: the show, Madison, Gaby, Jesse. Their lowest moment was probably when Scarlett had to find out about Jane hooking up with Braden from a damned website. She and Jane never used to keep secrets from each other.
Alone in the room, finally—the crew members seemed to have spread out into the hallway—Scarlett walked over to her desk, in search of her passport. She would need it if she ended up having to go to Mexico herself and drag Jane home. As she was rifling through the topmost drawer, she heard a voice behind her.
“Hey, you doing okay?”
Scarlett turned around. It was Liam, one of the cameramen. Well, not just one of the cameramen. Scarlett had had a secret crush on him for the last few weeks (speaking of secrets). It was secret because, according to the PopTV rules, the “talent” wasn’t allowed to get involved with the crew (not that a crush was the same as getting involved, but the former could always lead to the latter). It was a secret, too, because Scarlett didn’t really have crushes. She had a long and perfectly happy history of hooking up with guys once, maybe twice, and then never seeing them again. It had always worked for her. It was certainly better than relationships, like Jane’s disasters with Jesse and her high school boyfriend, Caleb Hunt, who had (in Scarlett’s humble opinion) strung her along long-distance when he started college and then broken up with her with some very original excuse like “I love you, but you deserve better.” (Scarlett’s theory was that Caleb had been cheating on Jane at Yale, but that was all it was—a theory. She’d never found any proof.)
Liam, her noncrush, was standing there watching her with a friendly, concerned expression. Wow, his eyes were so blue. The same shade of blue as the bandanna that held back his long, light brown wavy hair, and the same color as the soft, faded tee that accentuated his slender but well-sculpted torso. Scarlett had tried to ignore him all morning during filming. But now, alone with him in her bedroom, she found it was not so easy.
“Hey,” Scarlett said, turning back to her desk. “I’m great, thanks. I’ll be even better when this shoot’s over.”
“No, I meant because…Jane. I’m sure you’re worried about her.”
Scarlett hesitated. Liam was the only person on the crew who had been thoughtful enough to realize this. And she hardly knew him. In fact, they had barely said more than “hi” to each other since he joined the show in September. “Um, well, yeah.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. And this whole stupid media circus—it’ll blow over as soon as the next national emergency happens, like some It Girl gaining five pounds or Leda Phillips wearing something ugly to the Wuthering Heights premiere.”
Scarlett cracked a smile. He was funny…and nice…and cute. Great. “They remade Wuthering Heights?” she said lightly. “Why?”
“Dunno. Leda Phillips is Catherine, and Gus O’Dell is Heathcliff. So lame compared to Merle Oberon and Laurence Olivier, right? And even lamer compared to Emily Brontë’s novel.”
“Charlotte Brontë,” Scarlett corrected him.
“No, Emily. Wanna bet?” Liam held out his hand, grinning.
Scarlett frowned. Then she picked up her BlackBerry (courtesy of PopTV, so they could always reach her…gag) and looked up Wuthering Heights on the internet. Hmm. Emily Brontë. Damn!
So Liam was funny, nice, cute, and knew his Brontë sisters. It was a dangerous—and irresistible—combination, especially for a voracious reader like her. (She plowed through novels in their original Spanish or French or Italian, just for fun.) Actually, she had seen Liam reading some of her favorite books during breaks: One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Marquez one time, and Middlemarch by George Eliot another. It was one of the reasons she’d noticed him.
“Yeah, okay, it’s Emily,” Scarlett admitted. “What, you a SparkNotes fan?”
Liam laughed and pretended to look hurt. “You don’t think I can read a whole novel?”
“Well, maybe a short one. Like a novella.”
“Oh, that’s—”
Their conversation was interrupted by footsteps: Gaby wandered in and sank onto the bed, chomping down on what looked like cold pepperoni pizza. “Whatcha talking about?”
“Nothing, just grabbing the rest of the stuff in here.” Liam picked up a rolled-up electrical cord.
Scarlett smiled and gave a little wave as she watched Liam walk out of her room. He’s just another guy, Scarlett told herself. So why did she feel a warm, nervous, giddy feeling in the pit of her stomach? What the hell was that feeling, anyway? Maybe she ate something bad? She eyed the pizza in Gaby’s hand and couldn’t recall when exactly she had ordered it. She watched Gaby take another bite…and said nothing. As long as Gaby was eating, Gaby wasn’t talking. And that was a good thing.
Later that day, Scarlett was sitting on the airplane just before takeoff when her cell rang. She looked at the screen but didn’t recognize the number.
GOT UR NUMBER FROM CALLSHEET, HOPE ITS OK. SHH DONT TELL DANA. MY ROOMMATES AND I R HAVING A NEW YEARS EVE PARTY. IF UR BACK FROM ASPEN AND WANT 2 COME TEXT ME AND ILL GIVE U THE ADDRESS. MERRY XMAS. LIAM.
Scarlett felt her heart race and her palms get hot. Flying always did that to her—didn’t it? She scrolled up and down, rereading the message. Why was Liam inviting her to his party? Was he just being polite? She reread the message again, trying to translate it, until the flight attendant announced that everyone had to turn off their portable electronic devices in preparation for takeoff. By then, it didn’t matter, though. Scarlett had the message memorized.
3 IS THAT THE GIRL FROM THAT SHOW?
Jane hurried toward baggage claim, eager to get out of LAX as quickly as possible. With Christmas only two days away, the place was packed. Good—she would be able to slip in and out without anyone bothering her. Her baseball cap and oversize Chanel sunglasses would keep her anonymous. Or scream, “I’m a celebrity in hiding.” Jane never thought she would actually crave anonymity, but she did. Now more than ever.
She felt her bikini bottoms chafing against her hips. In her rush to leave the Parkers’ condo, she had slipped her jeans on over her bathing suit, practically running out the door with her hastily packed suitcase into the waiting cab. She glanced at the clock on the departures-and-arrivals board: 4:15. If she had stayed in Cabo, she and Madison would be catching the sunset on the beach…or mixing margaritas in the kitchen…or making plans for the evening. Jane had grown accustomed to the slow, lazy rhythm of their days, their carefree routine. The way Madison made Jane breakfast every morning (coffee, yogurt, and fresh fruit arranged in the shape of a smiley face), talked her down whenever she was in one of her funks, entertained her, distracted her, comforted her. Madison had been a perfect friend.
Jane passed an airport newsstand and turned her head to avoid catching a glimpse of the tabloids. She prayed her face was no longer plastered on any of them, but she didn’t want to risk looking. For a brief second, she had the impulse to turn around and get on the next flight back to Cabo. But she knew she couldn’t, and besides, Madison had probably taken off herself to meet her parents for the holidays in…Where exactly did Madison say she was going? Jane had asked her several times, and Madison had been vague about it. New York? Boston? London? Some island somewhere? But that was Madison: always full of fun, fabulous, half-formed plans.
As for Jane, it was time to face the music. Hopefully not all at once. Her immediate goal was to get to the apartment, unpack, repack, grab the Christmas presents she’d bought for her family, then jump into her car and drive up the coast to Santa Barbara. And at some point she might have to listen to the thirty-one messages that were waiting for her on her phone. She assumed it hadn’t taken long for her voice mailbox to fill up.
If she was lucky, maybe Scar would still be in their apartment, and they could talk in person. She knew that the Harps were headed to Aspen at some point, but she wasn’t sure exactly when.
Rounding the corner, Jane passed another magazine stand—and stopped in her tracks. There was her face, up and down one of the racks, on the cover of Talk magazine. It featured a photo of her with the cover line, L.A. CANDY STAR CAUGHT IN LOVE TRIANGLE.
Jane bit her lip, trying not to freak out.
Just days ago, she had been a rising star, “America’s sweetheart,” a normal girl with normal problems whom everyone could relate to and wanted to see on TV week after week. A few issues ago, Talk had dubbed her “Holly-wood’s Newest It Girl.” And now what was she? A slut who cheated on her boyfriend with his best friend? It didn’t get much worse.
How had her image gone from good to terrible in such a short time?
Jane had to get out of LAX, ASAP. She saw the sign that said, BAGGAGE CLAIM, and hurried toward it. Once there, she scanned the crowded carousels, trying to figure out which one would have her bag. Within a few minutes, she spotted her baby blue rolling suitcase rounding the nearest carousel. She picked it up and turned to go. That was easy, she thought.
She heard them before she saw them.
“Jane!”
“Over here, Jane!”
Jane whirled around, knocking her suitcase over. There were four in all: three photographers and a fourth guy with a handheld camcorder. They must not have noticed her at first.
“Jane, have you talked to Jesse?”
“How do you feel about the photos being released?”
“Is it true that you leaked your own photos?”
“Jane, why did you cheat on Jesse?”
They were shouting at her, their voices so much louder than the background noise of flight announcements and crying toddlers. Everyone around them turned to stare at her. She heard nearby murmurs—“Who is she?” “Ohmigod, is that the girl from that show?” “Jane! Isn’t she that actress?”—and saw people pulling out their cells and snapping pictures of her. Jane felt frozen in place—trapped.
Then she took a deep breath and remembered what to do. She picked up her suitcase, walked briskly past the shouting photographers and ogling crowd, and headed through the sliding glass doors in the direction of the taxi stand. With her hat over her eyes, her sunglasses in place, and her head held high…-ish.
“Jane, just one smile!”
“Come on, Jane…don’t you like taking pictures with your clothes on?”
They followed her all the way to the taxi stand, seemingly frustrated by the way she kept turning her face away from them. At one point they began holding their cameras only a few feet from her eyes and flashing. She could barely see where she was going.
It wasn’t until she got inside a cab, and they had pulled away from LAX and away from the photographers, that she allowed herself to slump down in her seat—and cry.
“Scar?”
No reply. Jane closed the door behind her and threw her keys on the hall table. The apartment was totally quiet: no TV, no music, no Scar conjugating Spanish verbs out loud. On the counter, Jane noticed an empty to-go cup from 7-Eleven. Ah, so the crew has been here filming, she thought. She was really, really glad she’d missed them. She didn’t need the cameras spontaneously documenting her “homecoming,” especially with her feeling so crappy and her face streaked with tears.
Jane thought about the ambush at the airport and felt a fresh wave of distress—and anger, too. She decided to hide out in her apartment until late, at least midnight, before hitting the road for Santa Barbara. It was the only way she could be sure not to be followed by more of them.
She walked into the kitchen and saw a big note plastered on the marble counter:
Janie, it’s 2 p.m., and I’m off to catch my flight to Aspen. I have my cell, so call me!!!!!!!! Love, Scar, 12/23
Jane realized that she had just missed Scar. In fact, maybe they were at LAX at the same time?
There was another note next to the first one:
To the person from Angelo’s Pet-sitting Service: Penny is in the last bedroom on the right. Plz feed her the fish food that’s next to her bowl.
Scar had added her cell phone number in case of an emergency.
Aw, Jane thought. That was so sweet of Scar to remember Penny. Especially since Jane had taken off for Cabo without remembering to ask Scar to take care of her (yet another thing she felt incredibly guilty about).
The kitchen was really clean: no dirty dishes in the sink, no empty pizza boxes piling up next to the trash can. In general, Scar tended to be much neater and more organized than Jane. (Except in the grooming and fashion departments, although Scar was so naturally stunning that she always got away with not brushing her hair, putting on makeup, or wearing anything other than jeans and a wrinkled tee. Jane, while pretty, required a little more effort.) Although, speaking of the trash can…Jane noticed dozens of Post-it notes and scraps of paper spilling out of it. She fished them out.
They were all messages from Scar to her, dated between five days ago and today:
Janie, call me!
I’m off to the library to return books. Back by 9 a.m.
I have to talk to you about Madison ASAP!
Your mom called.
Call me!
Trevor called like fifty times—can u call him back?
Fiona Chen’s office called.
At the gym (new personal trainer!), back noon. If you’re home wait for me!!!
Call me!
Starbucks, back in an hour.
Trevor called again.
Last exam for the semester, back by dinner.
Fiona Chen’s office called again.
Your dad called.
Filming at some stupid club, back by midnight.
Janie, call me!!!!!
And more of the same.
Jane’s chest tightened. Scar had obviously been worried about her and trying to connect with her at every opportunity. And Jane had completely blown her off. Okay, so she didn’t have cell reception or internet at Madison’s parents’ condo. She should have called or texted Scar from the Cabo airport or LAX or wherever.
She scanned the messages again, pausing on the one about Madison. What did Scar mean, she had to talk to her about Madison ASAP? That seemed so random. Jane knew that Scar thought Madison was a shallow, pretentious bitch who only looked out for herself. No emergency there. Like all of Scarlett’s opinions, she wasn’t shy about voicing it. But as far as Jane could tell, Madison had always been friendly to Scar, inviting her to parties, spa outings, and more. Scar was the one who turned her nose up at stuff like that. She prided herself on being different, apart, an outsider.
But that was Scar. She could sometimes be too intense and critical when it came to people, especially people in Jane’s universe. Jane knew Scar was just looking out for her, but still. Scar had been this way with a couple of Jane’s friends in high school, and with some of her boyfriends, too, including Caleb (Scar was totally against their long-distance relationship when he started college) and Jesse (whom she rarely referred to by his name, preferring “man-whore” and similarly flattering nicknames).
Scar was Jane’s best friend, though. And Jane was way overdue in reaching out to her. Her friendship with Scar wasn’t going so well these days. Like everything else in her life.
Jane pulled her cell out of her bag and quickly typed:
SCAR, IM SO SORRY IVE BEEN OUT OF TOUCH BUT IM BACK AT APT NOW AND ON MY WAY TO SANTA BARBARA. IM OKAY. LUV U, JANE
Jane hit Send and smiled to herself. That was that. She had made first contact after her self-imposed exile. That wasn’t so hard, was it?
Now she just had to do the same thing with her mom and dad and Trevor and Fiona and whoever else had left messages for her. Yeah, piece of cake, she thought.
4 YOU’RE DOING THIS FOR A GOOD REASON
Considering that it was Christmas Eve, the Blue Dolphin was surprisingly crowded. The blinking neon Santa Claus and the Christmas lights and fishing net that decorated the walls were more depressing than festive and did nothing to disguise its cheap vinyl booths, dingy pool tables, and lame jukebox. (Jimmy Buffett? Seriously?) It was the kind of place where a mostly older crowd could drink a lot of cheap beer, play darts, and yell at whatever game happened to be on the minuscule TV set above the bar.
It was also perfect for twenty-year-old Madison Parker’s purposes tonight. These people were not PopTV fans; no one would know who she was. And while she usually loved to be seen, she didn’t want to be recognized this evening. As much as she would have preferred meeting her contact at her office—or better yet, over martinis at Bar Marmont—she didn’t dare take the chance, not so soon after the story had broken. Maybe she was being overly paranoid, but better safe than sorry.
She sat in one of the booths in the corner, her body angled so that she had a view of the room but no one could see her face.
When her phone buzzed, Madison expected to see a text making excuses about traffic or whatever. She reached into her quilted Chanel bag and pulled out her cell.
It was from Jane:
THANK U FOR CABO! U SAVED MY LIFE! IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE YOU AS A FRIEND. MERRY XMAS! LUV U, JANE
Madison’s fingers trembled slightly as she clutched the phone. Her reaction should have been annoyance. She should be scoffing at this sweet little message from sweet little Jane, whose sweetness generally made her want to puke, but for a moment she felt a pang of…what? Guilt? Regret? Jane thought of her as a friend. A good friend. And for those few days in Cabo, Madison had been just that. It had been fun hanging out on the beach and talking about clothes and boys. Being away from L.A. and from the twenty-four/seven pressure of being “on,” Madison had almost relaxed into normalcy with Jane. Madison had never had a best friend growing up. In some ways, ironically, Jane was the closest thing to a best friend she’d ever had.
Madison shook her head sharply. Stop it, she told herself. You have to focus. You’re doing this for a good reason.
After all, it wasn’t like she was hurting Jane. Sure, Jane was upset now, but she would get over it. Any publicity was good publicity, right? If no one knew who Jane Roberts was before, they sure did now. And if Jane ended up with really minor story lines because of this—or off L.A. Candy altogether—then it was for the best. Hadn’t she told Madison the entire time they were in Cabo that she wished she’d never signed on to do the show? Madison was just helping Jane get what she wanted.
Besides, Jane was not meant to be the star of L.A. Candy. She didn’t even want it. Madison, on the other hand, needed this, and would never take it for granted. Paparazzi were part of the job. Madison would never have run away from a scandal. In fact, she would have made sure to get a Maxim or FHM cover out of those photos. And loved every second of it.
“Traffic was a joke, and what bar doesn’t have valet?”
Madison glanced up, startled. She hadn’t noticed Veronica Bliss standing there. She was holding a glass of what looked like scotch on the rocks, which she set down on the table next to Madison’s untouched glass of white wine.
“Hi, how are you?” Madison said brightly.
“Fine, fine.”
Madison watched Veronica as she slid into the seat across from her. The forty-something woman was tiny—five feet tall and petite—with short red hair and piercing light blue eyes behind stylish black Chanel frames. Her simple black suit with pearls was at odds with the tacky decor in the Blue Dolphin.
Even though Veronica was physically diminutive, most people in Hollywood were terrified of her. And for good reason. As the editor in chief of Gossip magazine, Veronica could make or break a person’s reputation and career with just one well-timed, well-placed story or photo.
A person like, say, Jane Roberts.
“Enjoy yourself in Cabo?” Veronica asked.
“The weather was to die for.”
“Anything you want to share?” Veronica gazed squarely at Madison.
Madison stirred uncomfortably. Veronica had the weirdest way of staring at a person and not breaking eye contact, even for a second. It was creepy.
“You know, it was all baking on the beach and downing margaritas,” Madison said, shrugging.
Veronica took a sip of her drink. “Well, I certainly appreciate your emailing me from Cabo with your location. My photographer flew in and got some great shots of Jane.”
“Did he get any of me?” Madison said, remembering the guy with the aviators. At Veronica’s silence, she continued, “I had to sneak into town to send you that email, ’cause our resort has no internet access, and—”