Читать книгу Starstruck - Lauren Conrad - Страница 9

Madison sat in the parking lot of Lost Paws, sipping the cooling dregs of her nonfat latte and gazing grimly at the dirty white building in which she would be spending three hundred court-ordered hours. Its paint was stained and peeling; steel bars covered its small windows. On the other side of its chain-link fence was a mini-mart (Slushees only fifty-nine cents!) and a dingy-looking Laundromat. It was a Southern California no-man’s-land—a place of barren streets and merciless sun.

Her phone buzzed on the seat next to her. ICED COFFEES BY THE POOL LATER—YOU IN?

The text was from Kate. Madison appreciated how she reached out now and then—her concern seemed genuine (unlike, say, Sasha’s). But Madison would not be joining Kate in the sun this afternoon. For one thing, she had to walk dogs all day, or whatever one did at a shelter. And for another, Madison didn’t want to encourage a real friendship with Kate. She might be tempted to confide in her then, which was an obvious no-no. Madison couldn’t afford to look back; she had to keep looking forward.

But the view forward was so depressing! Seagulls picked at little hills of trash while airplanes, descending into LAX, rumbled and roared overhead. She glanced down at her Rag & Bone skinnies, her Miu Miu top, and last year’s black Chanel flats. She thought she’d dressed down, but no: She didn’t even have the clothes in her closet to dress this far down.

Madison figured that working with the animals wouldn’t be too bad—even in a dump like this—but she wished it didn’t have to be filmed. Because every second Trevor showed Madison being punished was another second that the Fame Game viewers got to judge her. Or label her a criminal. (Or see her in an old pair of shoes!)

She’d asked Trevor if he could skip filming the whole community-service business, and he had laughed.

“Madison Parker asking not to be filmed?” he said, leaning back in his Aeron chair. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Don’t pretend I’m being unreasonable,” she’d argued. “This isn’t exactly the image I’ve worked toward.”

“Then you shouldn’t have pocketed a diamond necklace.” He scanned her face for a reaction, but she gave him none. “Listen, do you want to be on the show or not?” Trevor had asked. But it wasn’t really a question, because he already knew the answer. “This show is about your life in L.A. And right now, Madison, this is your life.”

Of course he was right. What else was there to say? She’d gotten up to go. But Trevor had stopped her at the door. “Oh, and Madison?” he called. “Move back into your apartment. That’s about enough hiding out at your dad’s place.”

She gritted her teeth. He knew everything. “No problem,” she said, making her voice breezy. “I’ve really missed tripping over camera cords all the time. Bret never puts everything away. You know that, right? I’m going to start selling your equipment on eBay.”

Trevor shrugged. “Well, apparently you could use the cash….”

She’d said nothing to that; she’d just clenched her fists and left.

Trevor hadn’t known it, but he was already getting what he wanted: She’d been planning on moving back into Park Towers. Not because she missed Gaby and her horrible boyfriend, Jay. No, Madison simply couldn’t afford the rent on the bungalow anymore—not with the Luxe payments.

Madison gave herself one last check in the rearview mirror before gracefully stepping out of her car. She made her way toward the crew van so they could slip a mike on her before documenting day one of her humiliation. The sound guy didn’t say anything as he peeled the backing from a strip of tape and quickly secured it to the inside of the neckline of her top. Come to think of it, none of the crew had had much to say to her since her incident with Luxe jewelers.

Laurel gave her a cool glance. “Can you get back in the car and pull out of your parking spot?” she asked.

Madison nodded silently. She knew what they wanted: one long shot of her driving in, stepping out of the car, looking up at the Lost Paws sign, and then walking in. Trevor would be milking this day for everything he could. And Madison had no choice but to let him.

She wasn’t inside the building for more than thirty seconds when a bubbly, silver-haired woman whose name tag read Glory said, “You’ll be wanting these today.” She thrust a pair of thick plastic gloves at Madison’s chest and smiled.

Madison took the gloves from her slowly, with narrowed eyes, wondering what sort of job required them. Glory winked at her. How did she manage to be so cheerful here in this small, dirty employee-break room, where even the smell of bleach and burned coffee couldn’t cover the rank tang of animal urine?

The other new volunteers—who had apparently all arrived early, bright-eyed, and bushy-tailed—included a seventy-something woman, as tanned and wrinkled as a golden raisin; a pair of twins around Madison’s age, with lank, dark hair and goth eye makeup; and a middle-aged man with forearms the size of Christmas hams. No one, in other words, that Madison was eager to get to know.

But the guy who stood quietly in the corner was a different story. He had light brown hair, sea-green eyes, and a body like a Greek deity’s. If she’d known that volunteers could look like that, she would’ve been giving back to the community all along. Who was he? Madison wanted to know. And why was he off to the side, so carefully avoiding the cameras?

Glory moved to the front of the room; all eyes followed her. “Lost Paws relies on its volunteers to keep its doors open,” she told them. “And while not all of you are volunteers,” she added, looking in Madison’s direction, “I hope you will all have a great experience during your time with us.”

Madison rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, which was stained acoustic tile. “Can’t wait,” she muttered.

Glory either didn’t hear her, or else she chose to ignore Madison’s lack of enthusiasm. “We accept challenging pets,” she went on. “Lost Paws is the place that people come when they have no other options. When you meet some of these animals, you’re going to have to remind yourself: It might be ugly or it might be mean—or, honestly, it might be both—but every animal in here deserves to be taken care of and loved. Remembering that makes a big difference. These animals are in some of the most difficult circumstances of their lives. They’re in cages. They’re frightened. Even though we do our best to try to take care of them, we are a shelter. We are not a home.” She looked at all of them, her vivacity suddenly muted. “Our job is to make this feel as much like a home as possible.”

Madison suppressed another eye roll. Was this lady for real or was this speech for the cameras?

“Sounds good to me,” said the guy with the giant forearms. “I dig it.”

Madison decided instantly that she hated him.

“So let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves, all right?” she said.

Forearms said his name was Stan. The twins were Hazel and Ivy, and the raisin said that her name was Sharon. Madison felt she needed no introduction, but she offered her name anyway. It was clear that neither Stan nor Sharon had heard of her before (well, she never claimed to be a hit with the Geritol crowd), but Hazel and Ivy gazed at her with what seemed like awe.

Madison offered them a small, haughty smile, which neither of them returned. She assumed that they were star-struck. Maybe, if she was feeling generous, she’d give them an autograph later.

“So we’re going to divide and conquer now,” Glory said, before the gorgeous guy had had a chance to say his name. “Let’s get you your assignments.”

Madison looked down at her industrial-strength gloves and wondered why she was the only person who had been given a pair. They looked like the kind of thing you’d wear if you were going to clean up hazardous waste.

Glory’s voice was brisk and efficient. “Stan, I’m going to give you to the Great Danes. They need a walk—and a strong person to do it. Sharon, you’re going to work with me in intake, greeting people and getting them started on their paperwork. Hazel and Ivy, you’ll be in the Family Room, which is where we work on animal socialization. All right, shall we?”

“Excuse me,” Madison said briskly. “What about us?” She indicated the hot guy in the corner.

Glory shook her head. “Wait here. I’ll take you to your duties after I introduce Stan to the Great Danes, Billy and Spike.”

She turned and left, with the other volunteers following her. As Hazel (or was it Ivy?) passed by her, Madison readied herself to smile again. She had to be nice to her fans, even under these unfortunate circumstances. But the girl stared out from beneath her greasy bangs and said, “Scarlett should have challenged you to a cage match, you backstabbing bitch.”

Madison flinched. That wasn’t what she’d expected. But she sat up straighter and smiled. “Sure,” she said sweetly. “And I would have kicked her skinny, angsty college ass.” Then she turned away and stared at the ancient coffeemaker and the dusty vending machine until Glory returned.

When she did, Madison held out the gloves. “These must be for Stan, right? The guy with the arms? Because they’re giant.”

Glory smiled pertly. “Nope. They’re for you. Try them on.”

Reluctantly Madison did as she was told. What was she going to have to do? The gloves were much too big and they smelled like a petroleum by-product. She flexed her fingers. “I feel like my hands are paws.”

“Then maybe it’ll give you some empathy for the animals,” Glory said.

“I have plenty of empathy,” Madison retorted.

“Oh, I’m sure you do, dear.” But bubbly Glory sounded pretty darn sarcastic.

Madison decided not to pick a fight. She could convince these people of her compassion some other time. Or … not. Whatever. “Anyway,” she said. “Show me which cute little puppy you want me to walk.”

Over in the corner, that gorgeous guy made a noise in his throat. Was it a cough? A laugh? Madison couldn’t be sure.

“Uh, right,” Glory said. “Come with me.”

The cameras followed them down a narrow hallway lined with laundry hampers and mop buckets. Wild barking was coming from somewhere, and from somewhere else, a terrible, high keening that sounded almost human.

“Here we go,” Glory said brightly. She opened a heavy metal door and gestured for Madison to walk in.

The room was windowless; it held stacks of metal cages. The air was thick with excremental stench, and Madison nearly stumbled from the olfactory assault.

“But there aren’t any animals in here,” she said, her voice tight. She didn’t want to open her lips very much because she was afraid of letting the horrible smell into her mouth.

“Nope!” Glory said. “But there will be. And that’s why I need you to clean these cages.” She pulled a bucket and a giant bottle of bleach down from a shelf. “The water in that faucet is cold,” she said, pointing to the small industrial sink. “If you want hot, you’ll have to hoof it back to the break room.” She gave Madison what was clearly an insincere smile. “All set, then?”

Madison was so shocked that she didn’t even know what to say. And by the time she thought of something—Wait, what? Are you kidding me? Get me a kitten to pet, stat!—Glory was gone.

She stood silently in the dank, smelly room, surrounded by metal bars and shining locks. She looked in panic at Bret, the cameraman, and noticed he had a bandana wrapped over his face to mask the smell. It felt, she realized suddenly, a lot like jail. But jail, no doubt, was nicer.

“I’m not doing this,” she yelled to the empty room. “I am so not doing this!”

It was all she could do not to turn to Bret and mouth “What the fuck?” There was no way in hell she was going to clean all these cages. She remained motionless in the center of the room for a minute, and then she stormed back into the hallway. The camera quickly followed behind her. She found Glory by the front desk, showing one of the twins how to work the computer.

“No way,” Madison said. “You can’t make me do that.”

Glory looked up, her eyes glittering. “Oh, but yes, my dear, I can. This is your court-ordered community service. You can either clean those cages, or you can go back to the judge and see what other punishments he can find for you. I hear they need people at the morgue….”

Madison shuddered.

“Anyway,” Glory said. “I don’t make the job assignments. Ryan does.”

“Who’s Ryan?” Madison demanded.

“You’ll meet him later,” Glory said. “Now go clean.”

The next three hours were pure hell. Madison nearly passed out twice from the stench of the dirty cages. She broke a nail, and the soapy water destroyed her Chanel flats. (She made a note to wear her Jimmy Choo hunter boots the next time around.) And no one came to check on her, to see if she was hungry or if she needed help or if she could use a break. She threw a mini fit around lunch-time, but only the PopTV camera paid any attention.

By the fourth hour, Madison was cursing to herself. “I think we’re done here,” said Bret. “The smell is kind of getting to me. And they said it’ll probably take you the rest of the day to finish.” He looked thrilled to be leaving, and no wonder.

So now Madison was utterly alone. Until she turned around and saw the hot guy she’d spotted earlier, leaning in the doorway.

“Oh, hey,” she said, giving her hair a toss and trying to muster as much sex appeal as possible (which was not much, considering her state of disarray). Maybe Trevor had hired this guy to spice up her community-service story line. “Did you come to rescue me?” She smiled.

The guy shook his head as he took a step into the room. He did not look charmed by Madison’s smile; in fact, he was looking at her the way she’d look at gum stuck to the bottom of her Louboutin. “I’m Ryan,” he said. “And no, I didn’t.”

Well, that was enough to wipe the smile off her face. He wasn’t another volunteer at all. “So I have you to thank for this fantastic job,” she said, suddenly finding Ryan a lot less attractive.

“Fun, isn’t it?” he asked, offering a small smile. Dimples appeared in his tan cheeks.

Five hours ago, Madison might have fantasized about reaching out and touching one of those dimples. Or thought about running light kisses along his collarbone, or slipping her hand inside his shirt and feeling the warmth of his smooth skin. Instead she suddenly wanted to hit him with her purse. The big one with lots of hardware.

“I’m in charge of the volunteers,” Ryan said. “And you too, of course. I’ll be signing your attendance sheets and reporting on your progress to the judge.”

“Well, I hope you’ll tell him that I did a stellar job today,” Madison said bitterly. “And that I ruined a pair of six-hundred-dollar shoes in the process.”

“I’m pretty sure no one cares about that but you,” he said. He walked over to the cages and ran a finger along the now-gleaming bars. “Not bad,” he said. “Better than I expected.”

Madison ignored this. “How come you weren’t on camera?” she blurted.

“I didn’t sign a release,” said Ryan. His voice was brusque. “I don’t like cameras.”

“Huh. I thought that was practically a prerequisite to living in L.A.”

Ryan gazed at her. His green eyes were cool. “Not everyone’s a fame whore,” he said. And then he turned and left.

Madison reached down, took off her ruined shoe, and threw it after him. She missed, though, which was probably a good thing. No need to add assault to her charges, too.