Lauren Conrad - The Fame Game

Chapter 5 - Your Rock ’n’ Roll Side Chapter 6 - Making Nice Chapter 7 - Basically a Native Chapter 8 - Struggle. Drama. Meltdowns. Chapter 9 - People Like Us Do Not Wait in Lines Chapter 10 - More Than Just a Story arc Chapter 11 - All Grown Up Chapter 12 - Carmen Cupid Curtis Chapter 13 - A Little Old for Stuffed Animals Chapter 14 - The Best Idea You Ever Had Chapter 15 - That Was Awkward Chapter 16 - Walk with Me Chapter 17 - The TV-Ready Next Big Thing Chapter 18 - Sparks Chapter 19 - Think Beautiful Thoughts Chapter 20 - Secret Lovers Chapter 21 - Little Miss Hollywood Chapter 22 - Bad Romance Chapter 23 - Keep Tabs on Your Costars Chapter 24 - Talk About The End of Love Chapter 25 - Everyone Wants to Be Famous Chapter 26 - The Good Ol’ Days Chapter 27 - Good Times, Good Times Chapter 28 - Part of a Larger Plan Chapter 29 - Lucky Girl Chapter 30 - How This Hollywood Stuff Works Chapter 31 - The Best of Friends Chapter 32 - The Birth of a Star Chapter 33 - Empty Chapter 34 - So Damn Catchy Chapter 35 - Nobody Loses Acknowledgments Books by Lauren Conrad Copyright About the Publisher Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Kate tossed a pile of sweaters into a cardboard box and then collapsed onto the leopard-spotted beanbag chair she’d had since junior high. She’d been packing for five hours now and her enthusiasm for the job was seriously fading.

“More coffee?” Natalie asked from the doorway.

Kate smiled up at her roommate. “Do I look like I need it?”

“You look like you need to be peeled out of that chair with a spatula,” Natalie said, coming into the room and sitting down on Kate’s bare bed.

“Yeah, well. There’s one in the kitchen, should it come to that.” She laid her head back on the faded chair and closed her eyes.

“Be more excited,” Natalie scolded her. “You’re moving to some fancy place in West Hollywood! You’re going to be on TV! It’s like my hippie grandma used to say: ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life.’”

“I am excited,” Kate said. “I’m just resting.”

But the truth was, she had begun to feel more apprehensive than anything else. She was leaving her only friend in L.A. and the shabby but totally comfortable apartment that they shared (with thanks to Craigslist for both) and heading off into unknown territory—to be followed around by TV cameras 24/7. Had she really signed up for this? Was she ready for it in the slightest?

She felt in her pocket for the BlackBerry that Dana had given her. “Keep it on you at all times,” Dana had said sternly. “Keep it charged, and keep it on.” She’d made it sound like the world would end if Kate weren’t at her beck and call. “Maybe you should just get me a radio collar,” Kate had joked. “You know, like a polar bear or something?” But Dana hadn’t found that funny.

“What I don’t get is why you have to move,” Natalie said. “I mean, if it’s reality TV, shouldn’t they film you where you actually live? As opposed to setting you up in this new place and pretending it’s where you’d live?”

“Yeah, and pretending like I could afford it.” Kate smiled. “But think about it: Do you want someone filming you while you burn your toast in the morning?”

Natalie wrinkled up her little nose, looking horrified. “No!”

“Well, that’s part of why I can’t live here.”

Natalie nodded, her dyed-black bangs falling into her eyes. “Right. Plus what else would they film me doing, studying for my textiles exams?” Natalie was in her second year at the Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising, aka FIDM. Every piece of furniture in the place was upholstered with some amazing fabric she’d designed herself.

“Dude. Ratings fail.” Kate laughed.

“So are they going to film you at the Coffee Bean?”

“No, I only have to work one job now since this is pretty much my new second job, and they ‘suggested’ I quit that one,” Kate told her. “They want me working, but apparently they don’t want to highlight my amazing coffee talents.”

Natalie looked skeptical. “Coffee talents?”

“Yeah, you know, handing it to someone without spilling it; being able to foam a latte while making small talk with the regulars.”

“Color me impressed,” Natalie said. “Talking—while foaming! I don’t know why you want to be a famous musician when clearly your true calling is as a super-barista.” She giggled. Kate threw a T-shirt at her, which Natalie then tossed into the moving box. “Look: packed! See how helpful I am?”

“I couldn’t do it without you,” Kate said drily.

“But seriously—what’s it going to be like? Aren’t you going to be nervous? I mean, you have to wear a microphone all the time, right? And everywhere you look there’s going to be a camera. . . .”

“Hush,” Kate said, rousing herself from her beanbag to survey the room. The walls were bare now, and the closet was empty except for a tangle of wire hangers on the floor. The warm breeze fluttered the gauzy curtains she’d bought with her first Coffee Bean paycheck. They had tiny blue guitars and music notes on them.

“Mark said they were going to film you at open mics and stuff,” Natalie went on. Mark Sayers was an old friend of Natalie’s; Kate had gone on a semi-date with him once and found him charming but a little too goofy for her taste. “I guess that means you’re finally going to have to get up on stage.”

“I guess so,” Kate said. There was no doubt about it: She was going to have to get a lot braver, quickly. “Are you sitting on the packing tape?”

Natalie felt around on the bed and then held up the dispenser. “Voilà,” she said. “Have you met your costars?”

Kate shook her head. “Not yet. They’ve got an apartment in the same building, though, so I guess I’ll meet them soon enough.”

“That Madison Parker seems like a real Welcome Wagon type,” Natalie scoffed. “Bet she’ll greet you with a plate of brownies or maybe a Jell-O mold.” Then her tone changed to curiosity. “Do you think you guys will end up being friends?”

“Weren’t you going to make me some more coffee?” Kate asked, nudging her roommate with her foot. She didn’t want to answer any more questions.

The truth of the matter was, the person she really wanted to talk to was Ethan. Even though they’d broken up over a year ago, they still kept in touch. Unlike Kate, who considered her Samsung to be an extension of her body (after all, practically everyone she knew and loved was thousands of miles away), Ethan wasn’t really a phone person. But he was good with email. He liked to forward her really bad YouTube videos, like the one of the eight-year-old boy trying to channel Barry White, or the one with the high school girls absolutely murdering a Kings of Leon cover. “See?” he’d write after hearing about her latest episode of stage fright. “At least you’re not like these idiots.”

Days ago, she’d sent him a note about Dana approaching her, but strangely, she hadn’t heard from him. She told herself that he was probably taking extra shifts at the hardware store before the school year started. She glanced over at her phone and thought about calling him. It was three hours later in Ohio—almost dinnertime. She wondered if she could catch him on the way to his favorite diner, the greasy spoon across the street from the OSU campus. Kate jumped as the phone began to buzz and vibrate on her nightstand.