Lauren Conrad - The Fame Game

Speak of the devil: It was Ethan Connor himself. Maybe this, too, was a sign, she thought. A good one.

“Hey, you,” she said, suddenly feeling better. “What’s up?”

“Not much, Little Miss Hollywood,” Ethan said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh, please,” Kate said, flushing.

“Seriously—what’s this thing you might do? A reality TV show? That’s crazy, Kate!”

“Not might do,” she corrected. “Am doing. It’s called The Fame Game.”

“Weeeellll, holy shit, child,” he said, faking a Midwestern country drawl. “Little Kate Hayes done growed up to be a big television star.”

She laughed. “Maybe. I mean, who knows if it’ll work out. I haven’t filmed anything yet. Maybe they’ll decide I’m too boring and they’ll fire me and hire some other singer.”

“Hey, don’t start putting yourself down,” Ethan said. “Remember? Confidence is the name of the game.”

Kate laughed again. Between Ethan and her sister, the sports metaphors just kept on coming. She tucked the phone against her shoulder as she gazed out her window, which overlooked the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour Walgreens. (At least she wouldn’t miss the view from here.) She gave Ethan the lowdown on the show, everything from her costars to her own hopes to record an album on PopTV’s dime. Then she sighed. “I mean, it’s so great. But it’s all pretty overwhelming, you know? One second you’re grinding coffee beans, and next you’re signing a contract to be on national television.”

“Oh, you’re going to be fine,” Ethan assured her. “You’re just going to have to work to stand out.”

“What do you mean?” Kate asked, watching a homeless guy trying to steal a shopping cart from the parking lot.

“Well, your costars sound like pretty glitzy ladies,” Ethan said. “They’re used to the spotlight. They’re not going to want to share it.”

“Well, I’m sure—”

“Maybe you should start playing up your rock ’n’ roll side,” Ethan went on. “Get some tattoos. Consider a facial piercing or two. Maybe you could dye your hair black, with, like, a pink stripe or something.”

Kate rubbed her temples. “Um—I think they sort of liked—”

“And be prepared to wear super-tight pants. And slutty shoes—”

“Ethan!” Kate exclaimed. “You’re kind of freaking me out.”

Then came Ethan’s deep, familiar laugh. It reminded her of high school: of football games and study hall and cafeteria food and everything else, good and bad, she’d left behind.

“Oh, Kat,” he said, using his old pet name for her. “I’m just trying to help. I mean, out of all the singer-songwriters in Los Angeles, they picked you. You don’t want to disappoint them.”

“Uh, no, no, you’re right,” she stammered, tamping down the familiar feeling that Ethan’s help sometimes seemed like an insult. “Of course.”

Natalie tapped her on the shoulder and held out a mug of steaming coffee. She took it gratefully. “Well, I should go. I have to finish packing.”

“Don’t forget about me when you’re super-rich and famous,” Ethan joked.

“I won’t,” she assured him.

And she wouldn’t. But as she hung up the phone, she couldn’t help but admit that talking to Ethan had not been the reassuring experience she’d hoped it would be. In fact, it had been the opposite.

“Everything okay?” Natalie asked. “Did I put enough milk in it?”

Kate smiled at her soon-to-be-former roommate. “It’s perfect,” she said, taking a grateful sip. “Maybe you should take over my old job at Coffee Bean.”

“Oh, I’m way too surly for customer service,” Natalie said, flopping back down on the bed. “I only wait on people I like.” She stuck her bare feet up on the yellow wall. “What’s your new life going to be like? I wonder,” she said thoughtfully. “Will I be able to tell by watching you on TV? Or is that going to be just some trick—some PopTV version of reality?”

Kate shrugged. “I honestly have no idea,” she said. “All I know is that I’m due at Park Towers in two hours and I am totally screwed. Look at this mess.”

Natalie popped up, and her eyes took in the piles of clothes and bedding still scattered around the room. “I’ll help,” she said. “For real this time.”

“Thanks,” Kate said, wishing she had more of Natalie’s practicality and levelheadedness, not to mention her uncanny ability to fit fifty songbooks into a box that looked as if it should hold about five.

Fueled by caffeine and Natalie’s assistance, Kate finished packing without having a nervous breakdown. With half an hour to spare, she loaded Lucinda, her guitar (named after one of her idols, Lucinda Williams), into the back of her trusty Saab and slammed the door. She gave one last glance at the yellowing stucco walls of her apartment building and one last wave to Natalie, who was leaning out the window blowing kisses. And then she got into the car and slowly drove away, watching the Selva Vista Apartments, which she’d called home for a year, fade in her rearview mirror.

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.

“So this is the place, huh?” Drew asked, pausing outside Grant’s Guitar Shop in Santa Monica. He looked skeptically at the flapping awning and the weird mid-century rock work on the building’s front. “Doesn’t seem that impressive.”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’ve lived in L.A. your whole life, you pretend to play guitar, and you’ve never been to Grant’s.” She brushed past him and entered the small front room, which was packed, floor to ceiling, with stringed instruments: guitars, of course, but also mandolins, violins, banjos, and ukuleles. “You intern at Rock It! Records, for God’s sake. Hasn’t my dad made you come here for, like, research or something?”

“Nope,” Drew said, brushing over the slight about his guitar playing—he was the first to admit that he taught himself to play because girls liked guys with guitars—and seemingly unembarrassed by his ignorance. He shrugged. “He sent me to Largo last week, though.”