Lauren Conrad - Infamous

Then the ratings came in, which showed a troubling dip; in particular, audiences did not respond well to Sophia’s bigger role. They liked her in the background well enough, but the moment she stepped into the spotlight, people starting changing the channel.

At least Gaby’s OD, while unfortunate for all sorts of reasons, had played out well on screen. He’d found footage of Madison and Gaby at a café, in which Madison looked worried about her friend, so he’d used that. He’d even been able to fall back on the footage of her storming out of the massage room that day, cleverly editing it so it looked like Gaby’s drug problem was what had made Madison so upset.

Yes, he had managed to create an excellent season finale, if he did say so himself. The shots of the girls in the waiting room, their eyes brimming with tears—well, that had been some seriously moving television.

There was a knock on the door, and Trevor barked out, “Who is it?”

Stephen Marsh, the newest Fame Game producer, poked his head in. “Hope is trying to renege on their offer to let us film on site,” he said.

Trevor glared at him. “Don’t let them off the hook,” he said. “And don’t make me call them myself,” he added. He turned to Laurel. “Make sure he handles this right, okay?”

Laurel nodded and followed Stephen out, and Trevor returned to his thoughts.

He’d given his girls a break over the holidays, but now it was time to get things rolling again. Carmen’s regular appearance in the tabloids was good for ratings (the fight with her mom was great, though it killed him that he hadn’t captured it on film), and he hoped it would last. Carmen was a smart girl; she knew what made good TV. The problem was, she didn’t always bother to make it. For instance, she seemed to be involved with Luke Kelly again, this time for real. Why couldn’t that guy just go away? He’d served his purpose for the show, and now he was simply a nuisance. He wasn’t even in the country, and yet he was monopolizing Carmen’s romance story line.

On the bright side, Laurel had suggested that the Kate-Drew hookup might be getting on Carmen’s nerves. Trevor had moved Carmen and Kate into Madison and Gaby’s old place. He’d figured he’d get good footage of the show’s two rising stars living together—but he hadn’t predicted Drew’s near-constant presence. If Kate didn’t stop hanging all over him, Carmen Curtis—the privileged girl who’d always gotten her way—was going to snap.

It would take only a tiny little push. . . .

And Kate Hayes, while certainly not the most charismatic girl he’d ever filmed, was now huge in the Midwest. (If he ever sent her back to Ohio again, he felt certain she’d be carried away by a mob of screaming tweens.) Trevor felt confident that Kate’s appeal would only grow as she pursued her music career more fully in season two.

There was always good old Jay, too. For reasons that Trevor couldn’t fathom, Jay had become a fan favorite. Maybe there was something about his blend of frat-guy fart jokes and pseudo-philosophical BS that really appealed to the Fame Game audience. So, even though Gaby said they’d broken up because of one of her steps (she couldn’t remember which it was, but it had something to do with “taking personal inventory”), Trevor would make sure they had lots of run-ins over the next few months.

The only real problem was Madison Parker. The show needed her desperately. He knew she was back in town and that she was at least open to talking—or her agent was, anyway. What Trevor didn’t know was what it would take to get her back in front of the PopTV cameras. He supposed he’d find out soon enough how dearly he’d have to pay for her return.

“So where’s our third roommate?” Carmen asked, wandering into the living room and flopping down on one of the giant floor cushions.

Kate looked up at her, trying to decide if Carmen was being jokey or snide. “He’s at Rock It! I think. But I’m not sure. It’s not like I know where he is every second of the day.” Just most of the seconds, Kate added silently.

She and Drew had been dating since she got back from Ohio. It was as if everything had suddenly fallen into place. They didn’t wonder if dating would ruin their friendship, or if other people in their lives would complicate things too much (Carmen and Luke, ahem). They saw each other on the morning after Gaby’s incident, and they’d pretty much spent every day together since. It was, in a word, fantastic.

“Is his internship still going well?” Carmen asked.

“Totally,” Kate said. “He’s been promoted from intern to paid intern since he’s returned to school. It’s only minimum wage, but it’s something.” She smiled.

Carmen nodded. “Awesome,” she said, and then began picking at one of her fingernails.

Kate turned back to the fan mail that she’d been rifling through. On Drew’s and Trevor’s advice, she’d finally gotten herself a manager, Todd Barrows, who had forwarded on the large stacks of letters. Todd was an old pro (he’d repped $erena when she was starting out, and that girl had five songs on the charts). Kate was learning a lot about the music business from both him and Drew. Though their advice often contradicted each other’s.

She was also learning from her own experience. Such as: Success is not lasting, and it is never guaranteed.

That was a lesson she hadn’t enjoyed much. “Starstruck” was no longer on every playlist, and her follow-up song didn’t become the hit she’d hoped it would. She did not plan on being a one-hit wonder, and she’d been working like crazy to get another song ready to record. She was up until two the night before, and planned to be up at least that late tonight. (Laurel had even told her to take it easy: “Your under-eye bags are showing on camera. You either need more sleep or a good concealer,” she’d said.)

Kate picked up an unopened letter and tapped it against her palm. She knew that reading it would make her feel better; each note was a vote of confidence, and an ego boost. She still couldn’t believe that she, little Kate Hayes from Columbus, Ohio, was getting fan mail. So far she’d managed to write everyone back (teen girls from all over the world, plus a handful of sensitive boys), but as the stacks grew taller—and they would; they already were, despite her dip in the charts—she’d have to give up that goal. She had her Twitter account and her Facebook fan page, so she could stay connected, but she was going to feel guilty once she stopped answering letters.

“So what’s up with your music?” Carmen asked, having successfully removed her hangnail.

Kate sighed. “A lot—and also sort of nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as you probably know, Trevor wouldn’t let me sign a record deal before, because he felt like it was a quote-unquote ‘season two story line.’ So he basically made me put my life and career on hold because it suited him and his show.”

“Which is also our show,” Carmen pointed out.

Kate waved this obvious fact away. “Of course, but back in the fall people were calling me. My song was everywhere, and now it’s only on that stupid Nokia commercial.”

“Hey! That stupid commercial paid for your Mini Cooper.”

“True,” Kate said, brightening. She loved that car. “Anyway, Trevor says I can sign a deal now, but all of a sudden, my phone’s not ringing.”

“Oh, you’ll have your pick of labels,” Carmen assured her. “Your songs are great.”

“Thanks,” Kate said. “Maybe people are still interested, sure. But it wasn’t any fun to put them off, you know? Imagine if Colum McEntire had told you he wanted you to star in his movie, and you were like, Yeah, sounds great, but can you please wait for three months, because my dad grounded me for shoplifting?”