Читать книгу Infamous - Lauren Conrad - Страница 9

“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?”

Carmen laughed. “Ouch. You know I never actually stole anything, right?”

Kate looked at her in surprise. “You didn’t? And here I was, thinking Trevor must have an eye for the thieving type.”

“I can’t believe I never told you,” Carmen said. “I took the fall for a friend.”

“Wow, that was really nice of you.”

Carmen shrugged. “It seemed like the right idea at the time.” She sounded like she might have had second thoughts. “My dad was furious at me.”

“Honestly, I felt awkward ever bringing it up, but now that I know you didn’t do it, you have to tell me what really happened,” Kate said.

“It’s not really that exciting,” Carmen said. “I didn’t have to go to court like Mad.”

Kate laughed. “Thank goodness there was no ‘giving back to the community’ required of you! Because why on earth would you want to do that?”

“Yeah,” Carmen said faintly.

Kate wondered if she’d managed to offend her. Again. Why was it so hard for them to get along? It was like they couldn’t help pushing each other’s buttons. She’d simply meant that it was good Carmen didn’t have to go to court, but it had come out sounding like Kate thought she was a spoiled brat.

“Soooooo . . . ,” Kate said, after an awkward moment of silence.

“So Luke called,” Carmen said suddenly. “He said filming’s going great.”

“Oh! That’s great.”

Lately it seemed as if Carmen mentioned Luke about twenty times a day. Not that Kate minded—she was completely over him. Carmen and Luke could absolutely have each other . . . for the five minutes that they’d actually be into it. If there was one thing Kate had learned about these actor types, it was that they changed partners as often (at least) as they changed roles.

What she had with Drew, on the other hand, was real.

Kate tapped the unopened letter against her hand once more and then tore it open. She didn’t mean to read it while she and Carmen were in the middle of a conversation, but she couldn’t help but glance down.

—think it’s so, so unfair when people say you’re boring and stuff, because you’re the sweetest one of—

Kate looked back up, feeling deflated. Thanks for the backhanded compliment, Misty from Nebraska, she thought. As if she weren’t perfectly aware of the nasty things that got said about her—that she was a doormat, she was as exciting as watching paint dry—some “fan” had to go and remind her.

She tossed the letter into the garbage. She’d start her policy of not writing back with Misty.

Carmen handed her another letter and then got up. “I’m heading to bed. Gotta get my beauty sleep before Gaby’s big day. Otherwise D-lish’ll post about how beat-down I look or something, and they’ll be right.”

“Night,” Kate called out. She gazed at the next envelope for a moment before opening it. It was sent from here in L.A., and the handwriting was small and exquisitely neat. J.B. from Studio City: The initials and the handwriting were familiar. He’d written her before, hadn’t he? Yes, and she’d sent him a signed head shot. He was probably writing to thank her—after all, not every TV personality would be so generous with her time and photos. She opened the letter, feeling rather pleased with herself for being so nice, and with J.B. for being so polite.

Dear Kate,

Thank you so much for the photo. I have it framed next to my bed. I’ve watched you since the very first episode of The Fame Game. You are a great talent, and you are better and more beautiful than anyone else on that show. I love your voice. It’s the voice of an angel.

Kate smiled. Now this was more like it. She read on.

I wish that your voice could be the first thing I heard in the morning and the last thing I heard at night. Sometimes when I see you on TV, and your blue eyes turn toward the camera, I swear that you are looking straight at me. Telling me that you see me, and you want to get to know me. Well, I want to get to know you, too. I know it sounds silly, but sometimes I tell people you are my girlfriend—and who knows? Maybe someday you will be. I mean, look how close we live to each other.

Kate looked at the second page enclosed in the envelope. It was a map with what she assumed was his home circled and a line leading to a second location. She looked a little closer and realized it was their apartment. Sure, a few photographers had figured out where they lived after following them home, but Trevor had always assured them that most people didn’t know.

Kate looked up. “Uh . . . Carmen?” she called.

“Brushing my teeth!” she yelled from the bathroom.

“Can you come out here and look at this letter?”

A few seconds later, Carmen came and took the letter and the map from Kate, her eyes quickly scanning the pages. “Oh no,” she said as she read. “Ewww.” When she was done, she handed the letter back to Kate as if it were contaminated. “You need to tell someone about this.”

“It’s not some random weird thing I can, like, ignore?”

Carmen shook her head. “That guy sounds like a stalker and he clearly knows where you live. Where we live. My mom’s had about five hundred stalkers, and trust me, they’re bad news. You need to get rid of him, stat.”

“Really? I mean, sure, it’s kind of weird,” Kate said. “But it’s not like he wrote ‘I’m outside your window’ or something.”

“Kate, people can be crazy. They watch the show and see you in your bedroom talking about your life and think that they know you.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Kate said. “He’s just some weirdo—”

“Yeah,” Carmen interrupted. “He’s a weirdo. And angry weirdos are exactly the kind of people you want to be careful around. They can be dangerous.”

Kate, admittedly, had been sort of freaked out by the letter. But something about Carmen’s response annoyed her. Couldn’t she simply have a rabid fan? Why did he have to be some sort of threat?

“I don’t think—”

“You don’t need to think,” Carmen interrupted. Again. “Turn the letter in to Laurel and she’ll give it to whoever heads security at the network. If anything, they like to have these things on file.”

Kate couldn’t help herself then. She was annoyed and she lashed out. “Maybe you’re jealous,” she whispered. “Maybe you wish you’d gotten a letter like this.”

Carmen stared at her in disbelief. “Girl, if you think that, you are even more out of touch than the creep who wrote you that letter.” Then she turned and stomped away.

Kate looked at the letter again. It was written on scented stationery.

Love always,

J .B.

P.S. Hope to see you very soon.

She shuddered, and then pulled out her phone and texted Laurel. Immediately after that, she texted Drew. CRAZY FAN LETTERS. CARM SAYS I SHOULD WATCH OUT. CALL ME?

But Drew did better than call her. He left Rock It! right away and drove to her apartment, even though she tried to tell him that it wasn’t necessary.

The moment she opened the door and saw him, clutching a spray of daisies, standing there so tall and strong and reassuring, she couldn’t believe she’d tried to convince him (and herself) that he shouldn’t come.

It ended up being one of the best nights ever. They streamed Walk the Line, the Johnny Cash biopic, on Netflix, and cuddled on the couch. As Kate rested her cheek against Drew’s warm chest, feeling his arm tight around her shoulders, she thought about the irony of it all: how the very day that Carmen seemed to think she could be in some kind of danger was also the day that she felt the most taken care of. The most safe.

Kate looked up at Drew, and he looked down at her. They smiled at each other—wide, silly, happy grins. It was great.

And then they kissed, and that was even better.